Passenger (Passenger #1) - Alexandra Bracken Page 0,85
thought reached up and slapped her in the face. She turned to Nicholas, almost giddy that she could finally explain something he might not know. “This idea is crazy, but…London—the British Museum—has a ton of artifacts from ancient Greece, doesn’t it? The most famous set were removed—or looted, depending on who you’re talking to—from the Parthenon by a British lord, Elgin, who brought them back here and sold them to the British government for the museum. It’s a whole legal mess.”
Etta rocked back onto her heels, looking up at the clouds and smoke trailing overhead. “I might be reaching here, but the Acropolis, and the Parthenon, are so close to the Areopagus, it feels like they’re linked. It’s been a while since I visited that room of the museum, and I can’t exactly remember what the Elgin Marbles depict—some kind of battle, I think. But there are statues of men and women…”
“Go on,” Nicholas urged.
“I was trying to figure out the ‘deaf ears’ part, thinking of real, living people, but what if it’s talking about the statues themselves? They can’t hear or see or feel.”
“Do you recall ever hearing any strange noises while in their proximity?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Based on the way your mother used the clue about Nathan Hale’s execution, it’s likely the passage is in the museum, near where those statues are housed. The British Museum of my time is likely quite different than the one you know; I’ve never been granted access to it, nor was I ever given the full record of where all of the known passages are located—I’m a bit lost as to what to suggest.”
Frustration pooled in the pit of her stomach, rising with each passing moment. Nicholas watched her, waiting. “I don’t know—are we overthinking this? Should it be something simpler? More obvious?”
He stooped slightly to look her in the eye. “It’s all right. Perhaps it would help to think aloud? Anything, however small, might help us.…”
She nodded. He could help her clarify her thoughts, and might catch something buried in the words. “Mom works for a museum, but in New York. There’s been a lot of renewed debate recently about whether or not the Elgin Marbles should be returned to Greece—it’s been all over the press. The British Museum is just the British Museum, you know? Or, well, I guess you don’t. Yet. But…Alice used to give us her own special tours. Her father was a curator. She told me the whole story about how they came to be in the museum’s collection.”
“Alice…your instructor?” he clarified.
Her throat was suddenly too tight to speak. Nicholas merely nodded again, as if he’d somehow put all of the pieces together.
With a small, tentative smile, he asked, “Shall we go, then?”
With the image of Alice still too close to the front of her mind, and exhaustion stretching every emotion, Etta didn’t trust her voice. She nodded, accepting his arm when he offered it. It didn’t even occur to her that her hands were cold until she placed one into his. Despite everything, Etta felt anticipation fizzing through her veins, prickling across her nerves. The scene around them sank through her, became real. Nicholas gave her a knowing look.
“It’s just…unbelievable that we’re here,” she told him. “All of this…”
It was beautiful, and strange, and unnatural, and she couldn’t help it—she wanted to explore what was around her. To see it for herself, the world unfolding as it was—not the edited versions presented in films and books.
“Under other, less dire, circumstances,” he said, “might you be glad to see this?”
It felt like a betrayal to her anger at the Ironwoods to give the yes that was in her heart, even with the way he’d couched the question. “I don’t know. Let’s see how we do, and then I’ll answer that.”
Let’s see if I can find the astrolabe and my mother, and set my life straight again.
Nicholas slung the leather bag over his other shoulder, letting it slap against his hip as they navigated the maze of debris. He stopped suddenly, craning his neck around. Etta followed his gaze to where gold letters gleamed high above the entrance archway. The contrast between them and the battered ruins of the structure made the hair rise on the back of her arms.
“Burlington Arcade,” he read.
She knew this place—she’d been here once, years ago, for a performance. Alice had walked her through the long enclosed shopping center with all of its glittering stores. They’d found Christmas presents for Rose.