The God Collector Read online

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Speer. I’ve always admired what the artists here do for the museum.”

  Had he? The name was familiar, but Theo couldn’t place it. The man didn’t look like a professor of any kind, and the way he talked made her doubt he was another painter or sculptor. A banker or lawyer, then, likely one with an affection for hiking or extreme sports, judging by the callouses and broad shoulders. Maybe his name was on one of the donor plaques in the lobby? It would explain the familiarity.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” she said with a smile, trying to strike the right note between formal and friendly. Her words were coming a little more clearly now, which was a relief. “We’re just here to help put it all together, though. The history and science are what’s really important.”

  “Never underestimate the role of the artist,” Professor Applebaum interjected with the fervor of an academic dog seizing a favorite intellectual bone. “The ultimate expression of a society’s cultural values, as well as criticism of same, can be found in the artistic expression even of everyday pursuits—”

  Sinai yawned. “It sounds boring to me. It doesn’t take much talent to see things that are already there, after all. Not the kind of thing an artist should do. No offense intended,” he added, nodding to Theo.

  “I’d say I do the same thing you do, Mr. Sinai,” she said as mildly as she could. Now her face was warming for a completely different reason. “We both make things to express an idea or an image, and we get paid for it. I’d say the only difference—” is that you probably make seven times what I do, “—is that you work to your own schedule.”

  “Art is worthless unless it says something new,” Sinai responded. His tone was just as mild as Theo’s, but she guessed that he wasn’t nearly as ruffled as she was. He had the air of someone who was speaking from certainty.

  “’Fraid we’ll have to agree to disagree,” Theo said as a sommelier approached their table with the wine list. Sinai was well-known, both as a painter and a sculptor, and Theo had seen and admired his installations, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy arguing with him about whether her own work actually counted as art. Instead of continuing that line of conversation, she took the wine list and let the talk carry on without her.

  The three men provided an interesting study. Sinai was at ease with the waiter and his companions, ordering easily, while Applebaum’s politeness couldn’t quite conceal his awkwardness when he tried to tip the sommelier. Artist and art historian, somehow opposites.

  The third man, though, didn’t appear to fit with either. The relative ease of his manner was at odds with the lines of his form: his shoulders and back were held stiffly as if he was afraid of being caught doing something he shouldn’t. She wondered if she was imagining it, but when she followed the line and silhouette of his broad form, watching the way the shapes shifted as he moved, she realized she was right. It wasn’t so much how he moved, as how he didn’t. Sinai’s shoulders were relaxed, Applebaum’s were pulled forward slightly as if he was trying to duck into himself, but Mr. Adler was tense and still.

  The sommelier turned to Theo, distracting her from her thoughts. “Your choice, ma’am?”

  “Just water, I think,” she said, handing the list back to him and mentally thanking the universe for the intervention. Being caught staring again wasn’t going to make a good impression on the patrons. “I have to work later, and I don’t want to push my luck.”

  “And for you, sir?” the sommelier continued. Mr. Adler had barely glanced at the list.

  “The Arras Blanc,” he said. “You have to work later?”

  It took Theo a moment to realize that the question was directed at her, he’d changed gears so quickly. “Well, I don’t have to,” she said, flicking a stray wisp of blonde hair behind one ear to cover her confusion. “But I want to. We’re planning the main mural for Treasures of the Middle Kingdom, and I’m sure you know how any big project goes. The minute I turn my back, I think of something I should’ve done instead.” She tried a small smile.

  “Treasures of the Middle Kingdom,” Mr. Adler repeated slowly. “The artifacts are from the Eleventh and Twelfth Dynasties, I believe. It opens at the end of December, doesn’t it?”

  “And it has the mummy?” Professor Applebaum interjected. There was a genuine smile on his face, and Theo couldn’t help smiling back more widely this time; awkward or not, the man was clearly an enthusiast. “The tubercular specimen with the anachronistic burial?”

  “You’ll have to talk to the Egyptologists about the details, Professor,” Theo said. “I just paint them.” Not that she hadn’t studied every scrap of information she could get her hands on about the planned exhibition, or even about Egypt in general. Theo always had time for a culture that equated images with magic. “But yes, the mummy and its funeral goods. It’s one of the most unusual things we’ve ever done, and definitely one of the biggest. Practically every department we’ve got is involved somehow.”

  “What’s so special about this mummy?” Sinai said. “You’ve got whole rooms full of mummies in the other exhibits. Was this one a king?”

  “They don’t know what it was,” the professor cut in, his hands flat on the table as he leaned forward a little in his excitement. “Nothing about it suggests royalty. But it was buried with thousands and thousands of ushabtis, the little figurines meant to serve the gods in the next world. It’s the largest ushabti cache discovered, ever. A very rich burial in a very small tomb, with a very sick mummy.”

  That drew raised eyebrows from Sinai. “Ahh,” he said. “There’s a story here, isn’t there?”

  “Any chance of a curse?” Adler said. There was a touch of dry humor in his voice; maybe he was unbending a little, now that the conversation was flowing. “That’s usually what stories like this are about.”

  “No curse that we know of,” Theo said. She knew plenty about the shabti statuettes and their mysterious little inscriptions, but she wasn’t sure how interested the whole tableful of donors was likely to be in Egyptian minutiae. Applebaum was clearly into it, because he’d described them using the proper academic ushabti rather than the everyday shabti, but the other two might still be bored stiff by the topic. She settled for middle ground. “But it’s a definite deviation from the historical record, and that’s almost as good. Add that to one of the best-preserved Twelfth Dynasty mummies discovered in a long time and, well, everyone’s very excited about the possibilities.”

  Mr. Adler relaxed a little as conversation began to flow, but that didn’t mean much. Something about his lines bothered her: the tension in his shoulders and back, the odd angles of his nose and cheekbones… He had interesting lines, that was for sure, and his palette begged for a portrait in oil pastels. Yet, though some of the tension had bled out of him, he still seemed on edge for no reason that she could figure out.

  Once, she glanced up from the table to see a familiar figure standing at the edge of the hall. Mark Zimmer, the new head of Security, a lean man of thirty-eight with striking bright-red hair and a tendency to stare at people a little too hard, as if he were trying to X-ray them. He’d quickly gotten a reputation for anal-retentive efficiency, but nobody complained too much about his strictness when he was around to hear it. With a museum thief making headlines—especially one flashy enough to get himself a colorful nickname—increased security was a necessity.

  He didn’t look happy, which hardly surprised Theo. The donors’ party always concluded with a behind-the-scenes tour of the museum’s workshops, and having several dozen unvetted persons prowling around and poking at things was probably high on his list of worst-case scenarios.

  As she watched, he swept his gaze towards her table. She could almost see the wheels turning as he ticked off the people: Applebaum—not a threat. Sinai—not a threat. Her—cleared. Adler—possibly suspicious. He frowned a little, but moved on. Apparently Adler hadn’t pinged h
is radar too much, though Theo would bet he’d be coming back their way soon enough.

  Theo saw him twice more during the second and third courses. She wondered vaguely if he was going to eat, but her attention was diverted by Sinai and Applebaum starting a loud argument about disease in art. By the time the dessert plates were taken away she hadn’t gotten them to agree, but she had at least persuaded Applebaum not to shout. Nobody wanted to hear about gout over their ganache.

  At that moment, a murmur of conversation rippled through the room, and heads automatically turned. On the dais, a middle-aged man stepped up to the microphone, an almost smile on his sharp face. As near as he got to one, anyway.

  Dr. Wayne Van Allen, curator of the Columbian’s Egyptology Department and the man whose pet exhibit was keeping Theo’s and Aki’s crews busy. Any member of the museum staff could guess the content of his prepared remarks: “welcome”, “glad you could make it”, “here’s what we’re planning to do in the next year”. Still, Theo lent half an ear. It wouldn’t make a good impression to be seen not paying attention.

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. His voice was flat and soft, though he seemed to be making an effort to sound lively. Theo kept her head aimed in Dr. Van Allen’s direction, watching the movement of her tablemates in her peripheral vision.

  “We’re gratified to see so many of you,” the curator went on, “especially since this coming year is going to bring us all a lot of surprises. Thanks to your generosity and the hard work of our museum staff, we’ll soon be ready to display a unique set of treasures. Artifacts from a period of Egyptian history that public perception often overlooks.”

  As Dr. Van Allen continued, sketching out their plans for the exhibition and giving the donors some background on the Eleventh and Twelfth Dynasties, Theo took the opportunity to sneak a few more peeks around. Though he affected a pose of bored detachedness, Sinai was definitely listening; the idea of the lost periods of history seemed to intrigue him more than he would let on. Professor Applebaum, on the other hand, had tuned out, and Theo guessed that he was growing tired. Being talked to—or at—seemed less to his taste than a conversation where everyone could pitch in. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Aki and Sandra at their table, their heads close together as Aki sketched something on the tablecloth.

  Something flickered to her right—a glint of gold, moving sideways and too quickly to be the ripple of a banner. Theo turned her head slightly and met the eyes of Mr. Adler. He had taken out a pocket watch—yes, a real pocket watch, the kind of old-fashioned affectation that the bankers and lawyers loved—and was checking the time as discreetly as he could. When Theo caught his gaze, he gave her a quick, small smile and flicked his own towards Dr. Van Allen. She smiled a little herself as she understood—like Professor Applebaum, he didn’t enjoy being talked at, but he was trying to be a little more discreet than just zoning out in his seat.

  “…including a complete reconstruction of the burial chamber.” This drew murmurs of approval from the donors, and Dr. Van Allen inclined his head to the room at large. “It may seem strange to feature a mummy, when the focus of the exhibition is on the treasures of the period, but the mummy is a striking example of some very unusual burial practices and seems to have led a very full life. We are honored to be able to exhibit it.

  “And now for the final event of the evening. On the back of your place cards, all of you will find a group number. Each group will be personally escorted around the museum, behind the scenes, for a firsthand look at the most important and secretive parts of our work. Please don’t hesitate to ask your guides about anything that interests you—the Columbian is proud to host all of you who have made our efforts here possible.”

  Theo breathed a little easier after she turned over her place card and confirmed that it was blank. Only the donors would have been placed in groups, but for all she knew, someone might have failed to turn up and left her holding the bag of guiding one of those little tours. Aki and Sandra, along with half a dozen other museum employees, were waving and calling out congenially to the people who had been assigned to them. Theo envied them their ease, not their job of escorting the guests. Not when she still had a mural to finish planning.

  As people began to rise and find their groups, she nodded to the fellow members of table five and climbed to her feet. She wobbled a little on her heels but didn’t fall.

  “From the escape attempt, I take it you’re not leading a group?” Adler said dryly. “No fool, you.”

  Be nice to the guests, don’t make the Columbian look bad, relax. “I’m just part of the team,” Theo said, lifting the hem of her dress just a little to prevent stepping on it. Damn shoes. “There are so many talented people here already that I couldn’t add anything to a tour tonight.” She gave Adler a self-effacing smile. “You’re in group…six?” He nodded. “That’s probably Aki’s group. He’s the painter I mentioned earlier; incredibly talented, and not even thirty either. He’ll be able to tell you so much more than I could.”

  Sinai was saying something to Professor Applebaum, and she took the opportunity to slip out while they were distracted. As for Mr. Adler, it would probably be better if she didn’t get caught staring again. He would be well looked after—Dr. Schechter’s genius for social arrangements would see to that—and Theo, having done her duty, could escape with a clean conscience.

  Chapter Two

  Underneath, where the ink and paint had been scraped away, there was only blank paper. But then Bet shook ash and some special powder over it, and the images stood revealed. I ordered him to teach me the trick, but he would not. Scribes must have their secrets, he said.

  ~Excerpt from the Wilkinson Texts, circa 1000 BCE (fragment)

  The Columbian Exposition Museum of Natural History was laid out in a grand classical style, with one massive hall at the center of the ground floor and a dozen smaller galleries branching off on either side. It had been a real triumph of planning to make the echoing great hall comfortable enough for a sit-down meal, but Theo still slipped away from the party with a sense of relief. One particularly ornate pillar fronted a niche for a security door, and she scanned her ID and slipped through, pulling off her heels as she did so. One of the security guards nodded to her as she passed an intersection, stopping his automatic reach for his walkie-talkie when he saw Theo.

  Being behind the scenes at the museum was like going backstage at a theater. Out front it was all elaborate displays set against the seemingly ageless stone, a backdrop of history with the modern elements never quite overpowering it. Back here, the museum’s lifeblood ran through painted concrete corridors lit by harsh fluorescent lights. There was no clash of decoration because there wasn’t any decoration. It was all business, which was a nice change. Sometimes it was hard to look at the hallowed halls of learning and not think about what she could’ve done better.

  Farther on, beyond an old-fashioned steel gate, was one of the massive freight elevators that helped the place run smoothly. They were constantly in use during the day, carting supplies between floors as one traveling exhibit was broken down and another constructed. At night, with the massive building quiet, Theo could catch a ride straight to her floor.

  She could hear chattering in the distance as she closed the grate of the freight elevator. Theo pressed the button for the top floor—the artists’ loft—and breathed a slight sigh of relief as the doors closed before any groups could hove into view. She felt a little twinge at the selfishness, but she was also fairly sure that if she got stuck in an elevator with a donor she’d wind up accidentally getting her department defunded.

  The elevator rose, and rose, and rose. The gates on each level were closed but the doors beyond them were open, and Theo caught glimpses of the museum coming sluggishly to life as she climbed upwards. Like an iceberg, ninety percent of the Columbian’s normal activity went unseen. She spotted scenery painters, robotics technicians, docum
ent preservation specialists and an associate professor of botany arguing with a man who was wheeling a giant stuffed gorilla into Oversized Taxidermy. A couple of them waved or nodded as she went past. Theo responded in kind. After eight years as a volunteer and employee at the museum, she knew many of them, and the behind-the-scenes people were families and societies unto themselves.

  The upper workshops of the Columbian had been chipped out of several other combined spaces long after the rest of the building was completed, and the loft was twenty feet high on one wall and thirteen feet on the other. Small skylights on the angled roof would let in any sunlight available, but in the middle of the night they were like black mirrors. Two windows, each covered with steel bars to prevent anyone accidentally going skydiving, gave the loft a bisected view of the lakeshore.

  The room itself had been pulled, rather awkwardly, into the twenty-first century. Deep-blue carpeting and slightly paler paint covered the hundred-year-old wood and plaster. Small offices lined each side of the aerie, filled with mismatched pieces of old furniture and displaying whiteboards with schedules and sketches pinned up around them. The rest of the space was taken up by a loose assortment of half-height cubicle walls surrounding messy workspaces. The cubes themselves overflowed with cartoons, reference pictures, personal touches and all the other things that the members liked to see. Papers, fliers and Post-It notes were an inch deep on the walls.

  She liked the loft. Jokes and sarcastic commentary bounced from person to person, designers trading tips and artists criticizing each other’s technique. If a new hire was likely to clash with the existing ones, it quickly became obvious in the busy communal atmosphere.

  In the years since Theo had graduated from art school, the world of graphic design had gone high-tech. Digitizing tablets and flatscreen monitors filled most of the cubicles, each setup boasting the latest editions of Photoshop and Corel Painter. But the Columbian still had old-school artists on staff, and many of the large cubicles had desks jammed up against the dividers to make room for easels and art boards.