The Summer of Sunshine and Margot(53)

The thought was so intense, yet so unexpected, he found he couldn’t move. Margot came to a stop just inside his office.

“Are you all right?” she asked, sounding concerned. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, then reached for the most convenient lie. “Allergies.”

“Oh. They can be awful. Are you feeling well enough to look the ancient pages or do you want to wait?”

“I’m fine. It won’t be a problem.”

“Good. I’m very excited. Are they old, old or just a little old?”

Her enthusiasm made him smile. “I’m not sure. Let’s go find out.”

She wore a pale gray dress that was fitted to the waist then flared out to just below her knee. Her shoes were flats, her hair once again pulled back in a ponytail. She was the epitome of sensible and yet there was an underlying grace and sensuality that was a constant distraction. She made him feel things and he was a man who preferred to be in control at all times. Not that his reaction to her was anyone’s fault but his own. He wasn’t the kind of jerk who would blame someone else for his responses.

He led the way to the front of the house. Three packages sat by the door. They were large and marked as fragile.

He opened the coat closet door and pulled out the collapsible hand truck he kept for just this reason, then wrestled the surprisingly heavy boxes in place so they could be wheeled back to the archive room.

“I’m very curious about what we have here,” she admitted. “This is going to be so fun.”

It took two trips to transport the boxes. One was considerably larger and heavier than the others.

Once the boxes were in the archive room, Alec closed both doors and turned on the built-in air filtration system. Margot’s eyes widened.

“That sounds like there’s a big fan turning somewhere,” she said with a grin. “Should I be worried about ancient spores turning me into a mummy monster?”

“Probably not. Based on the weight and size of the boxes, I’m guessing what we have are previously mounted papyri. They’ll need rehousing before any more damage is done.”

The archive room was lined with cabinets on two walls, and had a huge worktable in the middle of the room. Special bulbs designed to not do any damage to delicate fibers provided excellent light. There was a sink and all the tools and supplies he would need.

Together they lifted the largest box onto the table. He photographed the box, the delivery label, then noted the date and time for future reference. After opening the box, he pulled out protective packing material before lifting out old-fashioned glass housing units.

“As I thought,” he told her. “Papyrus fragments. Papyrus isn’t paper as we think of it. Sheets of papyrus are made by laying thin slices of the pith of the plant so that they overlap. Once that’s done, the sheets are pounded with a hammer, pressed, left to dry and treated with a sizing. A time-consuming process, as you can imagine.”

He placed the housing units along the table. “See how there are two sheets of glass, held together by cloth tape?”

She nodded.

“While this old-fashioned method offers some protection for the papyrus, there are problems, as well. The papyrus can stick to the glass, thereby damaging it and the ink.”

He pointed to a grayish smudge inside the glass. “That’s caused by sodium chloride, which is basically salt.”

“Salt? How did that get in there? Is the Nile salt water or fresh water?” She held up her hand. “Wait. It has to be fresh water. It’s a source of drinking water for the area. So where would the salt come from?”

“The papyrus itself and the salt from the earth the artifacts were buried in. There’s no one direct source.”

“What will you do to protect them?”

“They’ll be rehoused. I’ll do the more significant pages myself and ship the others off to grad students.”

She laughed. “Free labor?”

“Absolutely.”

They unpacked the other two boxes. There were more glass panels with papyrus inside, but in the smallest box they found dusty, worn, sealed tin cans.

“What are those?” Margot asked. “They look old.”

“About seventy or eighty years old. A few may date back to the 1920s.” He handed her a tin. “Papyrus is stored inside. Papyrus no one has seen since it was originally discovered in Egypt and put in these tins to protect the paper. We have no idea what it says or what kingdom it’s from.”

She smiled at him. “Can I please, please be here when you open one of them? I promise not to get in the way or anything.”

“Of course. First I have to go through what they sent me in glass, then we’ll open the tins.”

“You have the most remarkable career.”

“Not many people would agree with you.”

“All those people are wrong.” She pointed to a piece of papyrus under glass. “Tell me what that says.”

He moved around the table until he was in front of it, then studied the ancient hieroglyphics. “See this here? It’s the sun god Ra. He was the most worshipped of the gods.”

He explained why and talked about the most important of the Egyptian gods.

“Nearly every ancient religion supports a cataclysmic flood legend,” he told her. “As told to us in what you would know as the Old Testament. But ancient Egypt has no such story.”