Previously in ancient Egypt...

"My lord prince," the guard says, "we have found the princess's missing maidservant. She fled to the temple of Hathor in Abydos fearing the wrath of the gods. The high priestess's guards have returned her to the palace with a message for you from the high priestess."

Prince Menkheperre stops chewing and looks up. "A message?"

"Yes, my lord. And she brings something with her only you may see."

***

The prince grabs a pair of linen napkins tucked under the platter of bread and hands me one. It's pure white and its edges are embroidered with tiny golden lotus flowers. I can't bear to wipe my greasy hands all over it. The stains will never come out. I look around for something, anything else to use. Apart from wiping my hands on the divan's indigo-blue cushions, or on my jeans, there is nothing.

The prince wipes his hands on the napkin, then drops it on the ground. He glances at me, expectant. I think about the Queen of England and the rule that when she is done eating everyone is done eating. I take the hint and wipe my hands as delicately as I can, cringing inwardly at the crime I am committing to whomever spent a week embroidering this.

"Bring her in," says the prince.

The guard departs and returns with a delicate featured young woman. Her wig is askew, and the kohl around her eyes smeared. She wears an elegant pale blue gown adorned with a gemmed collar of carnelian and malachite. Several narrow golden armbands circle her upper arms. Clutched against her chest, something flat wrapped in material. I catch my breath, hope tingling in me. Please let it be the missing mirror. My ticket home.

Still holding the object tight against her chest, she falls to her knees and prostrates herself to the stepson of the pharaoh. Though she says nothing, the quaking of her shoulders betrays the fact that she has started to cry.

The prince gestures to the guard to retreat. He bows and backs away. I watch him go, then turn my attention back to the girl as the heavy door to the apartment closes with a dull thud.

"Lady Wesemkhet, you will rise," the prince says as he pushes himself free of the divan and moves to the edge of the terrace into the searing light of the sun.

A strong breeze gusts past, rich with the alkaline scent of the muddy river. The awning billows and comes down with a snap. In their pots along the terrace's edge, the fronds of the date palms dance, speckling the pair in light and shadow.

The girl rises, her head bowed, the mirror still clutched to her chest. A tear slides down her cheek and I sense the magnitude of her terror, how she blames herself for the disappearance of the pharaoh's daughter and only child.

The prince holds out his hand. "I would see what it is that you keep for my eyes only."

Lady Wesemkhet loosens her grip on the object and takes it to him. Holding it out with both hands, her head bowed, she places it into his, reverent. She steps back and waits with her hands folded over her abdomen.

The prince unwraps it,letting the material fall to the terrace. It catches in the breeze and driftsup against a potted palm. In his hands, the object glints in the sunlight, allgolden and shiny, the size of a ping-pong paddle. I catch my breath. That's it! I'm sure it's the same mirror I saw this morning when I was three and half thousand years in the future. Now, all I need to do is look into it and I'm home! What a story this will be. I'll make it into a book, and it'll be a bestseller. All my problems will be—

"Lady Wesemkhet, you are one of Pharaoh's most trusted attendants to the princess. You duly informed us of the disaster that has today struck our empire despite the consequences you might have faced," the prince says, folding his arms, mirror in hand. "Why then would you flee to the Temple of Hathor and take the property of the princess with you?"

"My lord prince, blessed of Amun," the girl begins, her voice soft and melodious, her eyes on the prince's sandaled feet, "I beg you, forgive me, but I was told to go there by the Great Lady Hathor, herself."

The prince goes still. I realise he's taking her deadly serious. I know there's no such things as gods, but when in Rome...

"And how did she speak to you?" he asks, quiet.

"My lord, she appeared in the mirror you now hold and gave clear instructions. She appeared after the princess disappeared and—" she cuts a quick look at me, then recoils as if I am tainted, "—the one who is with us arrived."

"And your instructions were to steal the princess's mirror and take it to the Temple at Abydos?"

Lady Wesemkhet nods. "Yes, to take it to the High Priestess who would receive the Great Lady's command."

"And did this divine errand bear fruit apart from having you arrested for a royal theft - a crime punishable by death?" he asks. I expect her to flinch, but she keeps it together.

Another nod.

"And?"

She takes a tremulous breath. "The High Priestess said that the Great Lady has commanded that you travel to where your sister has gone, and that you take the one who arrived in her place with you."

He cuts a look at me. I meet his look, equally astonished. The goddess Hathor (who is of course, not real) wants Thutmose III running around loose in London? This is bad for a zillion reasons. One. He needs to be here - to do the amazing things he does to secure Egypt's power in the ancient world. Two. If he leaves and doesn't reign the whole history of the world will change. I might not even be born. I find myself wishing I had more wine.

"And did she say why?"

Lady Wesemkhet presses her hands harder against her abdomen, making the material of her gown pucker around them. "According to the High Priestess, the Great Lady - may Amun forgive me - said: 'Prince Menkheperre is in mortal danger. If he does not go with the one who has come, he will not live to see his destiny, and the empire of Egypt will fall.' The High Priestess gave the mirror to me, saying I must return it to the prince and that no one else, especially not the one who has arrived may touch it, or terrible things would unfold even the gods could not prevent. She also said to keep it covered until the right time."

The prince shoots an alarmed look at the mirror, then another at the cloth he tossed aside fluttering against the potted palm. The girl takes the hint, retrieves it and hands it back to the prince with the same reverence as if she were offering him gold.

He takes and it wraps the material around it with alacrity, as if fearing he has already tempted the wrath of the gods leaving it exposed for a just a few short minutes. "And where must I go to begin this journey?" he asks. 

I wonder if it's meant to be a trick question, to catch the girl out if she's been lying to cover her ass.

"The Temple of Abydos," Lady Wesemkhet answers, lifting her face to the sun, and it's clear from her guileless look that even as weird as everything she's said sounds, she truly believes she's carrying a message from a goddess. "The High Priestess is waiting for you there."

He blinks, chews his lip for a moment as he looks down at the clumsily wrapped mirror. He lifts his head, and his eyes meet mine, resigned.

"Lady Wesemkhet," she says, "you will do what you can with our guest to make her look like one of us. You may take what you need from the princess's wardrobe and jewels."

My new personal maid bows low. "As you command."

"You were made a messenger of the gods," the prince continues as she begins to back away. She halts, wary. "For that I will spare your life, for now. Until this matter is resolved to the satisfaction of the gods, you will come with us to the Temple, where you will speak of this to no one on pain of death."

"I have already sworn the same oath to the Great Lady."

The prince nods. "Then let us prepare to depart. It is never good to keep the gods waiting."