Dragon Soul (Dragon Falls, #3)(63)
“How did you know that?” I asked, feeling like I had the words stamped on my forehead.
“Everyone knows that, silly,” she said, handing the sunblock to Ipy when the latter emerged from the pool and stood next to us to towel off.
“They do?”
“Were we going to have a margarita party before lunch, or after?” Ipy asked, eyeing Mrs. P’s recumbent form.
“Party? Is there a party? I didn’t see one on the ship’s news this morning. Did you see mention of a party?” Ken bounded over to where we were clustered, clad, as was Barbie, in a shop swimsuit. Each woman had a towel, and Ken carried a flowered straw bag filled with sunblock, paperback books, magazines, and battery-operated personal fans.
“Sorry,” Ipy said, glancing at the newcomers and instantly dismissing them. “Private party.”
“Hello! Are you Sophea’s employer? We’ve so wanted to meet you ever since we heard about the destruction to all your lovely things. I’m Ken, and this is Barbie, and isn’t this a glorious day for a swim? So decadent swimming on a ship, isn’t it?”
With a less than tolerant look at Ken and Barbie, Gilly slid off her chair and gathered her things. Mrs. P stretched, jammed a straw hat that she’d filched off another costume onto her head, and, wrapping her towel around herself, padded after Gilly.
Ipy gave the two older women a bright but wholly false smile. “Pleased to meet you. If you’ll excuse me, I have much to do. Margaritas don’t make themselves.” She hurried off before Ken could do more than coo about how she loved a good margarita.
Both women watched the pack of priestesses go before turning back to me. “The first challenge is about due, I understand,” Ken said to me. “Are you ready for it?”
“Uh… I guess.”
Barbie prodded her companion. “We should find a good place to watch.”
“You’re right, you’re very right,” Ken said nodding emphatically. She said in a confidential tone to me, “That’s our job, watching over people. And helping them, of course. I didn’t catch your employer’s name, but if she wants help with the margaritas, why, Barbie here is a dab hand at the blender.”
Barbie rolled her eyes and pulled her friend away. “You’re boring her with trivialities. Did you remember to pack our rain slickers?”
“Of course I did. We wouldn’t want to get gore all over our espadrilles, now would we? Bye bye, Sophea. Good luck with the challenge.”
“Gore,” I said to myself when they left. “Lovely. And me in white lace.”
I returned to the cabin to find the margarita party in full force, with music blaring from someone’s phone, a conga line proceeding around the main room’s furniture, and much boisterous laughter. I warned them about making nuisances of themselves, then gathered up my hat and cutlass, and went to see if Rowan had returned to his own cabin.
I noticed as I trotted down the stairs to our floor that the ship was docked at another small town. Oh good. Maybe Rowan would want to come with me to find a shop with something to wear that didn’t make me look like a reject from a sexy version of Pirates of the Caribbean.
Unfortunately, his cabin was empty when I got to it. Rowan’s bag was gone, though, showing he’d moved his things to mine, a fact that made me feel warm and squidgy, and all sorts of other emotions that I really didn’t want to face at that moment. I peered out of the porthole, noting that a handful of people were streaming down the gangway to the town, clearly fellow passengers doing a little shopping.
“And why shouldn’t Hell have shops?” I asked myself, counting the money I’d tucked into an inner pocket. “I’ll just go see if they have some skirts or something that I can get for Mrs. P and me.” Then I could find Rowan and ask him about those challenges.
Suiting action to word, I made my way to the lower level of the ship, emerging from its dark depths to the brilliant sunshine of Egypt in late summer.
I felt like I’d been punched with a big fist of pure heat. It was way hotter than on the ship, and I thanked the goddess I was wearing a hat. Maybe I could pick up some fans along with the skirts.
I trotted down the gangway, looking around the town that sat right on the edge of the river. Palm trees dotted the shoreline, along with various shrubs and lots of tall brown grasses that rustled in the breeze. Beyond it sat the village, all the buildings made from the same cream-colored stone (or mud, for all I knew). Most of them were low with flat tops, but there was a central building that had beautiful arches and little domes along the length of its roofline.
From appearances, I could be standing at any small village on the Nile, so much so that I had to remind myself that this was the Underworld, and not reality as I knew it.
Behind the village, the hills rose to their flat-topped plateaus, familiar from many an Egyptian mummy documentary about dig sites. I expected to see dogs and chickens and children running around the village, but as I strolled down the main (and only) avenue, there was no one in sight.
“Hello?” I called out, wondering which building housed the shops. “Anyone here?”
A dog bayed in the distance, and at the same time, a low, deep horn sounded from the ship. I dashed back a dozen steps, prepared to see the ship getting ready to go—leaving me behind—but it was anchored as calmly as ever. The gangway was still in place, held down by ropes and stakes. No one appeared at the entrance of the ship, waving on stragglers.