“Serqet has power over snakes and scorpions.” The old man eyed the glistening pendant in Hester’s lap as if expecting it to come alive. “She can protect from bite or send scorpion to punish. In the afterlife she gives breath of life to the deserving dead.” He sent Hester a hard stare. “You see other signs of goddess?”
Hester frowned. “Well, we saw a snake. I threw a rock at it.”
The old man nodded, apparently unsurprised. “Omen. Symbol of royalty.”
Tremayne looked highly skeptical. “So this necklace is old? Valuable?”
The old man ignored him and regarded Hester with dark, serious eyes. “You put on?” He mimed placing it around his neck.
“Uh, yes. I did. Briefly. Why?”
His wrinkled brow became even more furrowed. The look he sent her was both sympathetic and grim. “Then curse begins,” he whispered gravely.
A shiver of apprehension raised the hairs on the back of Hester’s neck, but Tremayne couldn’t contain his snort of disbelief.
“Curse? What curse?”
The old man glared at him. “Serqet’s curse. It is written on the stele of Ranthor.”
Harry raised his brows. “And what kind of curse is it? Does the wearer get the attributes of a scorpion? The ability to paralyze their victims? To pinch with deadly accuracy? Does she get a poisonous tail?” He turned to Hester. “You’re not cursed. Except with a sharp tongue and a willful temper, and those you had already.”
The old man frowned at his irreverence. “Serqet was a goddess scorned.”
Harry gave a low laugh. “And ‘Hell hath no fury,’ eh? Oh, believe me, I have plenty of experience with feminine ire.”
“Of course you do,” Hester said irritably. “One wonders who the widows and opera singers of London are fighting over in your absence.”
Harry chuckled. “They’re pining for me already, I guarantee it. But I was thinking of Aunt Agatha, actually. That woman could make a fire-breathing dragon behave. Cross her at your peril.”
The old man ignored their byplay and sent Hester a significant look. “Serqet was betrayed in love. Her bitterness and anger cursed that which you hold in your hands.”
Hester glanced down at the necklace. The silver and gems seemed to glitter malevolently in the thin beams of sunlight that pierced the dark interior of the hut.
“Serqet’s gift holds great power; the power to destroy. The French emperor, Bonaparte, he learned of this. When he came to Egypt fifteen years ago, his greatest desire was to find . . . that. He believed the power of Serqet would make his assault on Europe unstoppable. He sent men far and wide, to all the temples and tombs, to search. I was part of one such team, sent to translate. We had no luck.”
The elder’s face split into a toothless grin. “To think, during all this time, it was here, at my very door!” He shook his head with a wry chuckle but then became serious once more. “But such power comes at a price. All the evils in the world shall befall you now, unless the curse is broken.”
Tremayne snorted. “Lady Morden doesn’t need any help attracting disaster. She’s a one-woman danger zone. Only a few hours ago, I had to rescue her from the bottom of a well—”
Hester sent him a quelling glare, and he wisely let the rest of his sentence taper off.
“How is the curse undone?” she asked urgently.
The old man’s dark eyes twinkled. “Only a love stronger than the hate that fills it can undo the scorpion’s curse. A sacrifice from a true heart.”
Tremayne slapped his palms on his knees and rose. “True heart. Sacrifice. Got it.” He caught Hester’s upper arm and practically dragged her to her feet. “Lovely talking to you, sir, but we’d best be off. Lady Morden’s keen to find her bodyguard, you know. Good day.”
Hester sent the old man a weak smile of thanks as Tremayne bustled her out the door.
As soon as they were safely out of earshot, he said, “What a load of codswallop. You don’t believe any of that curse nonsense, do you? All the evils of the world. Ha!” He squinted up at the sky.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for imminent peril. A sandstorm, maybe. Or a bolt of lightning. If you’ve suddenly been endowed with even greater powers of destruction than usual, I believe I ought to take cover.”
“You shouldn’t mock,” Hester scolded, tucking the necklace back into her skirts. “He clearly believes the curse is real.”
Tremayne shook his head. “Ancient Egyptian goddesses? Curses thousands of years old? It beggars belief, as old Shakespeare would say.” He started back down the hill towards camp then pointed at a procession of camels and riders that was entering the village. “It seems we have company.”