And on that particular day, a Sunday, after morning service, when he had gone to his laboratory for something or another, she, Cooper, Wintervale, and Kashkari had come back from a walk in the country with, of all things, a pewter freezing-pot. By the time Titus set foot in Mrs. Dawlish’s again, the house was in an uproar, with boys being sent out to obtain all manners of items, a tub from the laundry room, ice from the nearest ice well, and the cook’s recipe book from the kitchen.
The Master of the Domain was dispatched to find a gallon of fresh cream at an hour long after the morning’s milk had been delivered. He had somehow accomplished this Herculean task, and that afternoon the boys had flown kites and played tennis while taking turns stirring the cream until it began to congeal.
A gallon of ice cream was a drop in the ocean where dozens of boys were concerned. By the time she had doled out a serving to everyone, there was barely a spoonful left for the two of them. It had certainly not been the best ice cream he had ever tasted, only the most wonderful.
And that was when Birmingham had declared that he would be sure to take a freezing-pot with him, when he undertook his future digs in Upper Egypt. Birmingham had gone on to describe what must be this exact place. She had listened attentively, curious as usual about what nonmages did with their lives, but Titus had only looked at her, while terms such as “Temple of Hatshepsut” and “Valley of the Queens” washed in and out of his hearing.
He reached out and touched her hair, feeling its softness between his fingers.
“Thinking of the ice cream?” she murmured.
“Of course,” he said.
Every bright, beautiful memory was always associated with her. Until she came along, he had never understood the concept of boyhood, of those years in a man’s life that should be full of fun and laughter. Now he only wished he had met her sooner—that they had spent more time together.
He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and pulled her closer. She gazed at him, her thumb grazing across his chapped lips.
Kashkari cried out.
They drew apart, their heads turning in unison toward their friend. He seemed to be still asleep. A bad dream, most likely. They waited a few seconds, glancing at each other, holding back laughter of both frustration and mirth.
She reached out toward him again.
Kashkari bolted upright, breathing hard.
Titus and Fairfax scrambled to their feet. “You all right?” she asked.
Kashkari looked up at them, blinked, and gasped.
They both immediately glanced behind. But no enemy was approaching from the outside. All the same, Titus gestured for Fairfax to go to Kashkari while he himself took up a defensive position near the mouth of the cave.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, kneeling down beside their friend.
Kashkari rubbed his face. “No, I’m fine. Probably got startled by a dream, that’s all. Where are we? And what time is it? How long have I been sleeping?”
“We are in the hills west of Luxor, across the Nile. And it’s . . .” She hesitated. “It’s sometime past noon.”
“What?” Titus exclaimed. “How long did you let me sleep? I should have left hours ago.”
“You needed your rest. A few hours won’t make any difference one way or the other.”
“They very well might,” he shot back.
“Let me—let me go outside for a moment,” said Kashkari.
Titus had already begun to apply cleaning spells to himself as Kashkari slowly got up. As the latter made for the mouth of the cave, he went deeper inside, to a different chamber, and changed into a fresh set of clothes that had been part of the rebels’ battle supplies.
When he reemerged, Fairfax was waiting. She lifted his tunic from behind and ministered to his back. Then she opened a small jar, also part of the rebels’ kit, and dabbed some balm on his lips. “You never look after yourself,” she said.
Her touch was gentle and warm. Her words fell somewhere between an accusation and a lament.
“I will learn.”
She shook her head. “That’ll be the day.”
He took her hand as they walked out. The cave was near the top of a completely barren hill, its rocky bones baking in the hot sun of the afternoon. The land dropped off in the distance, the brown, bare ground abruptly turning into startlingly green fields as it neared the Nile, the lifeblood of Egypt.