The Crocodile Makes No Sound

by N. L. Holmes

Hani dragged himself wearily over the threshold. He smelled something delicious cooking, and his stomach growled eagerly in response. He realized it must be lunchtime, although his days on the boat, subjected to the endless and repetitive interrogations, had begun to spin around him a time all their own—the cocoon of the spider around its prey. The servant led him into the elaborate salon and sat him down in a fine chair that had to be Aha’s. Hani eased his weight onto the cushion with a groan.

  “One moment, my lord. I’ll get the mistress of the house.” The servant scuttled off into the rear of the residence.

  Hani grunted with pain as he shifted in the chair.

  At that instant, the front door banged open, and the loud, cheery voice of Neferet called from the vestibule, “Iry? Nobody’s at the gate? Hello!”

  She burst into the salon with her medical basket over her arm, braids bouncing, mouth pursed for some call, but stopped in midstride when she saw her father. Her eyes grew wide in horror. “Papa! Oh no! What happened to you?” She ran to his side and knelt beside him then hugged him until he winced and pried away her fingers. “Oh, Papa!” Her eyes filled with tears. “What...?”

  “This is what a smart mouth gets you, my duckling. Learn from this lesson.” Hani tried to smile, but the side of his face was too swollen, and he had the feeling his effort came out a ghastly grimace.

  Neferet was regrouping rapidly; eyebrows knit in concentration, she started to dig in her basket. “We need to clean that wound, Papa. Here.” She brandished a stick about the length of a hand. “Chew this.”

  “What, are you going to do surgery?” he cried, alarmed, drawing away from the stick.

  “No, Papa. It’s willow. The bark helps ease pain and keeps the red down. And this”—she produced a little faience pot with a wax stopper—“is water-lily tea. I’ll get you a cup.”

  She sprang to her feet just as the servant returned from the inner house. “My lord, your pardon, but Lady Khentet-ka is confined to bed. She’s expecting any day, you know. Permit me to get one of the serving girls to help you.”

  But Neferet forestalled him with a disgusted wave. “I can take care of him, Iry. Just get me some water and some cloths, please.”

  With a look of discomfort, the man slipped off to the kitchen. Neferet, gazing at her father with brows crumpled in pity, took his hands. “Oh, Papa, if you could see yourself. What happened?”

  “The medjay thought I might know something about the whereabouts of your uncle.”

  “The medjay!” Her eyes grew round. “They should have asked me. I know where he—”

  But Hani pressed an urgent hand over her mouth, his heart hammering. He hissed, “By all the gods, my love! Don’t let anyone hear you say that. You don’t know; do you understand? The person you think it is just found him a place to stay.”

  She looked mutinous but shrugged.

  “I’m serious, Neferet. You see what they did to me. They mustn’t have any reason to think you know anything at all, do you hear?”

  “All right, Papa.”

  “And besides, we don’t want to get that person into trouble.” He fixed her with his good eye.

  “I understand.”

  The servant returned with a pitcher and basin and a stack of ripped-up old shirts that served for rags. Neferet wrung out one of the cloths and began to dab gently at Hani’s cheek. He twitched in spite of himself.

  “I’m sorry, Papa, but if I don’t press, I can’t get the blood off. What did he hit you with?”

  “His fist,” Hani muttered.

  After a moment’s earnest cleansing, Neferet asked, almost as if ashamed of her curiosity, “Did they have a baboon, Papa?”

  “They did, my love. He was the nicest one among them. We became friends.”

  She sat back on her heels. “What does their fur feel like?”

  “I don’t know, duckling, I didn’t pet him. That wouldn’t have seemed respectful. He was quite a dignified fellow.”

  She screwed up her eyes and flared her nostrils and hunched her shoulders in what Hani took to be an imitation of a baboon. “Did he look like that?”

  “More or less, yes.” He laughed and regretted it as his ribs spasmed.

  The door opened once more, and male voices could be heard from the vestibule. Hani recognized Aha and Pa-kiki, who must have returned from the Hall of Correspondence together.

  “Aha! Pa-kiki!” cried Neferet, surging up and running out to greet them. “Guess who’s here and what happened to him?”

  Her voice dropped as she related in breathless detail the juicy news of the morning. Hani’s two sons burst into the room, their faces aghast.

  “Father!” cried Aha. “You must have nothing to do with that man!”

  “Who? Mahu? It wasn’t by choice, I assure you.”

  “No. Uncle Amen-em-hut. He’ll drag us all down with him.”

  Hani squeezed his firstborn’s proffered hand. “As it happens, they’re looking for him for something he didn’t even do. But Mahu’s uninterested in that little fact. That would mean he’d have to find the real culprit.”

  “Papa.” Pa-kiki dropped to his knees at his father’s side. “They didn’t hurt you badly, I hope?”

  “No, son. The worst, I think, is from when I nearly fell backward down the gangplank. I must be pretty badly bruised.”

  He could tell by the children’s faces that they, too, were thinking of Baket-iset’s terrible accident and how easily their father could have been broken forever by such a fall.

  “Stay where you are,” said Aha, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll tell them to bring you a table here, and we’ll all eat. Where is Khentet-ka?”

  “In bed again,” said Neferet with a roll of the eyes. To her father, she mouthed, “She’s just lazy.”

  Aha called the kitchen servants, and before long, they’d brought out the folding tables, and everyone sat on stools around their father and tucked into the lunch. Hani felt he could have done with something a little simpler and heartier, but it was certainly delicious. Aha didn’t appear to be suffering from insufficient food.

  “Where are the children?” Hani managed painfully through a mouthful of ornate marinated vegetables. Chewing required more movement of the cheekbone than he’d realized.

  “With Khentet-ka’s mother,” Aha explained. “It’s gotten too hard for her to watch them all the time. And even with a nurse—all the yelling and noise. She needs a lot of rest.”

  Neferet rolled her eyes again.

  “So, what did the medjay want with you, Papa?” asked Pa-kiki after they’d finished all but the dried dates.

  “They wanted to know what I knew about Uncle’s whereabouts. It seems someone has been posting death threats against the king, using his name.”

  His sons drew back in outrage.

  “But I pointed out to them that it wasn’t Uncle, because he had no writing implements. He was shut up in our boat shed for weeks.”

  “Our boat shed?” cried Aha, appalled. “Stay away from him, Father.”

  “I only happened upon him by accident, son. But the point I want to make is that they’re accusing Amen-em-hut of something he didn’t do. And they didn’t like it much when I pointed that out.”

  “Well, I don’t like them,” cried Neferet with spirit. “Their baboon is better than all of them.” She made her baboon face again, but it drew no laughs.

  “Stay away,” Aha hammered, his plump face crimson and a bit wild. “That Lord Mahu is a dangerous fellow. No one who is anyone likes him, but he’s useful, so he has the king’s ear.”

  “Yes,” said Hani dryly. “If the king wants false charges leveled against someone, I’m sure he’s useful.”

  “Father, surely you don’t think—”

  “I don’t know what to think. I offered to look at these mysterious broadsides and see if the handwriting was Amen-em-hut’s, but Mahu wasn’t interested.”

  Pa-kiki was listening to everything with his mouth open. “This doesn’t se
em right to me,” he said finally.

  ⸎

  Lord Ptah-mes’s yacht did indeed reach Akhet-aten before the police boat. After storming into the police barracks in search of his father-in-law, Maya and the others found themselves cooling their heels. They retreated to the Hall of Correspondence and, the following day, appeared once more at the medjay’s headquarters. And they came... not just like any old petitioners but in Lord Ptah-mes’s chariot with servants running at their side. People fell back as they passed in the street—Ptah-mes erect and concentrated, the reins in his red-gloved hands, Mery-ra braced wide legged beside him, and Maya peering over the bar of the box, the lappets of his wig flying back with the speed. He thought he’d die of excitement. How many people, even scribes, ever have the chance to ride in a chariot? His mother would faint when he told her about this.

  They arrived in a flurry of dust and clattering hooves, and Ptah-mes left the vehicle in the care of his servants. Bystanders gathered shyly to catch a look at the luxurious car of tooled leather and steam-bent wood and the high-strung, priceless horses. The three men strode into the three-story tower of the police office as if they owned it, demanding to speak to Lord Mahu. He had, in fact, returned late that morning.

  Mahu appeared in the reception hall, looking rumpled and in a bad mood. “Who is it who wants to see me?” he said ungraciously.

  “I am Ptah-mes son of Iuy, high commissioner of the northern vassal states and former vizier of the Upper Kingdom. I understand you have one of my men in your custody,” said Lord Ptah-mes loftily. He was considerably taller than Mahu, perfectly groomed, and decked with all his gold of honor, and he’d put on his frostiest grandee face.

  “And who would that be, my Lord High Commissioner and former vizier?” Mahu managed to make the titles sound like an insult.

  “Hani son of Mery-ra.”

  “Wrong. He’s not in my custody anymore. But he could be coming back if he doesn’t learn better manners.”

  Ptah-mes said coldly, “I should warn you that by impounding members of our king’s foreign service, you endanger the security of the kingdom, my lord. I hope you’ll be mindful of that the next time you’re tempted to lay hands on him.”

  “I’ll certainly be mindful of that, my lord,” said the chief of police sarcastically.

  “What did you arrest him for, anyway?” demanded Mery-ra. “He’s committed no crime in Akhet-aten.”

  “And who are you?”

  “His father. Military scribe under the God’s Father, Lord Ay.”

  Maya shot a surprised look at him but then dropped his eyes. In a manner of speaking, it was true. Ay was head of the entire cavalry.

  “He’s a person of interest in our investigation of the sedition of his brother-in-law.” Mahu glared from face to face. “I don’t suppose any of you chaps happen to know where Amen-em-hut is hiding?”

  “Oh, of course,” Lord Ptah-mes said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “He’s probably under my sheets with all the other seditious priests.”

  Now, there’s sangfroid, Maya thought admiringly. But it cut a little close to the bone. He could see Ptah-mes was angry or perhaps afraid—his nostrils were tense and pale and his lips compressed. Still, his expression of bored contempt had never changed. Mahu, on the other hand, was livid, his bushy eyebrows drawn down, his mouth rippling in what wanted badly to become a snarl. This could degenerate fast. Maya felt uneasy.

  Evidently, Mery-ra had picked up on the brewing collision too. “Come, my lord,” he said under his breath, plucking Ptah-mes by the sleeve. “We’re clearly going to get no satisfaction here.” He turned away.

  Maya made as if to follow him, swallowing hard. This Mahu fellow exudes violence. He’d love nothing better than to have us pounded into pulp.

  Ptah-mes lingered an instant, eyeing the dumpy police chief up and down. “I’ll certainly make known to our lord king in my next private audience how insolent his servants have become.”

  Mahu’s color drained a little, but he responded coolly, “You do that, Lord Ptah-mes.”

  They left in a dignified procession. Once out in the street, Maya blew a relieved breath. Lord Ptah-mes stood chewing his lip, his eyes narrowed, as he pulled his gloves back on.

  Mopping his forehead beneath his wig, Mery-ra said, “Hani might be at Aha’s. Why don’t we check? You don’t have to come with us unless you want to, my lord. You’ve already done more than mere friendship could demand.”

  “I’ll come.”

  Maya suspected he wanted to know if Hani had been made to talk. They mounted the chariot again, and Maya hung onto the rail for dear life as they galloped through the scattered properties of the southern city, the grooms or guards or whatever they were running tirelessly at their sides. The clatter of hooves, the rattle of harness, the thunder of wheels! Oh, what a story this will make!

  ⸎

  Hani was stretched out on the bed he’d formerly occupied at Aha’s house, trying in vain to find a position that didn’t hurt. He supposed he’d have to turn the bed back over to Neferet that evening in any case. He could sleep with Pa-kiki perhaps.

  He cursed himself for a fool. He’d disobeyed the cardinal rule of the diplomat and lost his temper. The veiled threats against Nub-nefer and the children had been too much. And now he’d made an enemy in a high place. Just what he needed—another enemy in a high place.

  One might have thought that, with the minimal sleep Hani had enjoyed during his days on the boat, he would have fallen asleep easily. But his mind was spinning, and the ache of his cheek and his back—which seemed to have been badly scraped, as he found out under the water of a shower—made him restless. The children had all returned to their respective jobs after lunch, and in the absence of the mistress and her children, the house was unnaturally silent, not livened by the whisper of trees or the twitter of birds. This was a city of the dead, for sure.

  His thoughts had finally begun to drift and float somewhere between waking and drowsing when a pounding on the door brought him once more to attention. He heard the bare footsteps of the doorman pad through the quiet house and the sound of the door being unbolted.

  “Is Hani here?” his father cried.

  “I’m here,” he yelled back, unsure if he could be heard. With a teeth-gritting effort, he pulled himself up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Even as he struggled to his feet, he heard the steps of several men clattering through the salon, and the door flew open.

  “Hani! Thank the Hidden One you’re alive!” Mery-ra growled, throwing himself on his son. Hani yelped. “Easy, Father. I’m black and blue from one end to the other. Maya!” he said over Mery-ra’s shoulder. “Lord Ptah-mes! What...?”

  “Your father told me the police had taken you,” Ptah-mes said, grim. He clapped Hani a little shyly on the arms. “We came up as fast as we could.”

  “In fact,” Maya added, his face red with excitement, “we beat their boat here. You should have seen our grand entrance into the police office!”

  “What did they do to you, son? That scum Mahu just said you’re a person of interest in Amen-em-hut’s case.”

  Hani and Ptah-mes sat on the bed while Maya and Hani’s father crossed their legs and settled on the floor at their feet. Hani proceeded to tell them all about the interrogations—day after day of the same questions—and how it had suddenly come to him that Amen-em-hut couldn’t be guilty of posting calls to arms because he’d spoken to no one and had no writing implements.

  Ptah-mes nodded in slow motion, his face drawn.

  Mery-ra said caustically, “They just want a scapegoat. The king’s probably after Mahu to produce a nose and a pair of ears.”

  “Don’t let them be yours, Hani,” said Ptah-mes in a grave voice. “I wonder if you wouldn’t be safer somewhere in Kharu.”

  “I’m beginning to think so, my lord. But safety isn’t everything.” Hani was troubled to see how pale Ptah-mes’s face grew all of a sudden and how fixed his features became. I hope he d
oesn’t think I’m accusing him of playing it safe. “It was brave of you three to walk into the lion’s den like that. I could have been lying, bloody, in a closet somewhere.”

  “Shall I leave you all here?” Ptah-mes asked, rising. “Or would you prefer to return to my house?”

  “I came here because I thought it might be the more expected place,” Hani said, bending painfully and heaving to his feet. “I didn’t want to lead the police to you if I were followed—make them believe we were anything more than colleagues. What do you think, my lord?”

  “You’re probably right.” Ptah-mes turned back to the others from the doorway. “Take some time off to recover, Hani. You can use my boat if you want it to go back to Waset. And I’ll send for you if anything comes up.” He forced a preoccupied smile and left. They heard his precise footsteps clicking through the salon.

  The three men listened to him open and shut the door. The house fell silent again. “He’s worried,” said Hani.

  “What’s a man like that got to worry about?” Maya snorted. “You should have seen us, my lord. We drove up to the police barracks in a chariot! A chariot! With horses and everything!”

  “They don’t go very fast without horses, son,” said Mery-ra drolly.

  “And outrunners! And he had on driving gloves! I’ve never even seen gloves before.”

  “I think everyone should see gloves at least once before they’re twenty-seven,” said Hani, struggling against a laugh that he knew would hurt. But then he thought of Ptah-mes, and his laughter died. He’s worried that his wife is the one behind the death threats.

  CHAPTER 11

  Some two months later, on a brisk morning in the midwinter second month of the season of Peret, Hani and his younger son and his father sat ensconced in the salon around a brazier. Maya had gone down to the farm to await Sat-hut-haru’s lying-in. Hani himself was eager to be off to the country—not that he could be of any service to his daughter in this most feminine of endeavors, but he wanted to support her by his presence. Coincidentally, Aha’s latest child was probably due to see the light of day at the same time. However, Hani and Mery-ra had awaited the arrival of Neferet and Pa-kiki before taking off for the south. At the moment, Neferet was still sleeping, and the three generations of men, providing for themselves in the absence of the mistress of the house, were enjoying toasting chunks of bread over the coals.