by Brian Lumley
So it was that desiring to know more about these things he had heard whispered but fearing to approach the other members of his family, Khai finally turned to an outsider. Imthod Haphenid was Harsin Ben Ibizin’s apprentice, a young man five or six years older then Khai whose father had been Harsin Ben’s good friend for many years. On his deathbed three years earlier, old Thutmes Haphenid had asked the architect to take Imthod into his tutelage.
The youth would be heir to Thutmes’s house and his wealth—enough to maintain a modest standard of living—and if in addition he took a trade, then perhaps he could make something of himself. Too weak for soldiering and having little aptitude for business, the youth seemed of little use for much else. But that was not to belittle Harsin Ben’s field, on the contrary, for Imthod did have a good head for numbers, measurements and sketches; and so maybe Harsin Ben could teach him his arts and in so doing prepare him for a useful and constructive life.
Imthod was duly indentured and five days out of seven came to study under his new master. A sickly, unhandsome young man, he could usually be found in the old architect’s workshop studying his sketches and plans, or examining his models of pyramids, temples and other great houses. That was where Khai, who had always found Imthod friendly enough in the past, eventually approached him with his problems and questions.
On the subject of the Pharaoh, however, Imthod was worse than useless; he knew only that Khasathut was the God-king and the most powerful man in the world. As for strange goings-on in the pyramid: the ways of kings were known to be strange, Imthod said, and those of gods even stranger. How then for a God-king whose forebears came down from the stars? And anyway, what was Khai’s interest in the first place?
And so, instead of learning anything from his father’s apprentice, Khai ended up telling him all that had transpired after the Royal Procession, even mentioning his parents’ fears for himself and his sister and their doubts with regard to Pharaoh’s beneficence and the well-being of those he took into the pyramid as his own. And here Imthod was most attentive, prompting Khai until he had picked every minor detail and morsel of information from the boy’s memory. Finally, having learned all, he cautioned Khai against ever repeating his story, then made as if to return to his studies.
After Khai had left him, however, Imthod sat at his bench for a long time doing nothing, with his eyes narrowed and a frown etched deep into his forehead. Four years, the boy had said. Four years until Pharaoh claimed Namisha for a bride and took Khai off to be trained for duties in the pyramid. And Harsin Ben was opposed to Khasathut’s plans, was he?
Imthod began to wonder how much he could learn from the old man in four years. A great deal, he suspected, if he really put his mind to it. But would it be sufficient to earn him the Pharaoh’s royal seal of approval, to make him the next Grand Architect of the Pyramid in his master’s place? For if Harsin Ben were found guilty of treason, why!—then there would be need for a new man to finish his great work.
Oh, there were other architects in Asorbes, to be sure—but none of them had served under Harsin Ben Ibizin, and none of them could possibly know his work as well as his own eager apprentice. The more Imthod thought about it, the more he could see the possibilities. In four more years, he would be a mature man, and if he handled the affair cleverly, he might possibly become the youngest of all Pharaoh’s favored ones.
After all, what did Imthod care for the Ibizins? Nothing! That snotty Namisha with her nose always in the air; and the boy, Khai, so naive and stupid; and Harsin Ben himself, who was blind to genius when it stared him in the face! What was he anyway but an old man, an insufferable old man who was forever complaining about something or other—always going on about how a man might get away with building a faulty house or even an ugly temple, but never an imperfect pyramid—always grumbling about how tasteless and slipshod Imthod’s work was.
Ah, but just suppose that the old fool really was building an imperfect pyramid? What if it could be shown that Harsin Ben deliberately schemed to sabotage Pharaoh’s great tomb? With this last thought Imthod nodded and smiled a sick smile. Yes, he would show the old dodderer, and in the process elevate himself to a position of great power.
But not yet, not just yet. Four years would be time enough. . . .
From that time on—as the weeks turned into months and life in the Ibizin household, while retaining little of its former harmony, nevertheless began to balance out—Harsin Ben found at least one change for the better. This was in Imthod Haphenid’s progress in the field his father had chosen for him. It was as if the apprentice had turned over a new leaf and could no longer get enough of his master’s teaching, which was a transition at once welcome and unexpected.
Perhaps it was because the old architect was so unhappy—with his daughter’s gradual decline, with Khai’s neglect of his schooling in favor of archery practice at the massive barracks behind the pyramid, unhappy with the whole generally bleak-looking future of his beloved family—that he took so much pleasure from the way his pupil now responded to his teaching. One of the old man’s qualities which helped greatly in making him a good teacher lay in his never failing to give credit where it was due, and he often remarked that Imthod’s emerging dedication must surely pay the young architect great dividends in the years to come.
Old Thutmes Haphenid had been right after all, it appeared, and Harsin Ben took additional pleasure in the fact that his friend’s faith in his sickly son seemed at last to be bearing fruit. . . .
V
THE TIME DRAWS NIGH
Contrary to Khai’s boyish beliefs and his mother’s prayers, and despite his father’s sleepless nights and his sister’s almost total withdrawal into herself—which of late had seemed to manifest itself in secretiveness, furtive nocturnal absences from home and bouts of tearful self-pity—the four years passed all too quickly and the day of reckoning rapidly drew closer. During that time, several changes had taken place in the Ibizin household, each of them as a direct result of the Pharaoh’s decree.
Khai’s father no longer protested his son’s desertion of more mundane lessons in order to attend the ranges of the barracks; indeed Harsin Ben now openly encouraged Khai’s participation in target practice, for he secretly hoped that in the end the Pharaoh might be swayed toward letting Khai follow a military career as opposed to inducting him into the affairs of the pyramid. The lad’s prowess as an archer had won him countless awards in competitions with other young aspirants to the Corps of Archers, carrying him to a peak of marksmanship which even his instructors found difficult to match.
As for Adhan: he had become an especially brilliant mathematician—exponent of a comparatively new science which went hand-in-hand with measurement and the arts of pyramid-building—and was now his father’s chief adviser in the design and construction of Pharaoh’s tomb, which rapidly neared completion. Two or three more years at the outside, and it would only remain to fill the pyramid’s topmost cavities with thousands of tons of fine sand and to coat its vast exterior with a shining skin of gold. To these ends, the finest sands had already been brought from the shores of the Great Sea, transported and sifted, and as for the gold: Pharaoh had now commenced the stripping of all known goldmines in the Eastern Desert and the forests north of Nubia, and despite N’jakka’s coolness, he had put out feelers into the heart of the Black Kingdom itself, demanding an annual tribute in large measures of raw gold.
But the four years had taken a terrible toll of Harsin Ben Ibizin. He had aged far more rapidly than advancing years might readily account for, and his hair and eyebrows were now white as fine bleached linens. More and more he had come to lean on his apprentice, Imthod Haphenid, depending upon him for the handling of all architectural tasks with the sole exception of the great pyramid itself, and not once had Imthod let him down. No, for the apprentice had become a master in his own right, and of all other architects in Asorbes, only Harsin Ben could now deem himself Imthod’s peer.
And it was just as well t
hat Imthod had been available to handle his master’s lesser affairs (which after all provided the Ibizin family’s daily bread), for in the last twelvemonth Harsin Ben had grown more and more vague and abstracted as the terror which hovered over his household threatened to descend and stifle all. Now, as the days narrowed down, the old architect was more distraught and concerned than ever. His concern had to do with a summons, the Royal Command, which Khasathut invariably issued to the families of his future brides advising them that their daughters were to take part in his parade of prospective chosen ones. That command had not yet arrived, nor yet any word of Khai’s future as foretold four years earlier, so that Harsin Ben was at a loss to know which way to turn.
It was as if the Pharaoh had altogether forgotten those words he had spoken on that fateful day of the Royal Procession four years ago, or as if they had been merely a whim to be uttered and then put aside; but Harsin Ben could put little trust in that. And yet . . . perhaps there was hope after all. There had been fifteen Royal Processions since that time, and Pharaoh’s Grand Architect had been present at every one of them. On several occasions, Khai or Namisha had been absent—ostensibly as a result of “illnesses,” or of holidays taken out of the city at the homes of friends in Béna or Ohath; but in fact as a rather unsubtle subterfuge to keep them out of sight and hopefully out of mind—and while on these occasions Harsin Ben had been apprehensive, not once had Pharaoh or his aides commented upon the absence of the young Ibizins.
On the tenth day before this sixteenth Royal Procession was to take place, Harsin Ben had asked his eldest son Adhan for his opinion. Adhan had grown into a fine man now and had a wise head on his shoulders. Perhaps he might have something constructive to say on the matters currently worrying his father. On this occasion, however, Harsin Ben found his son reticent and evasive. When he asked what was wrong, Adhan had advised that he should speak to Imthod Haphenid. Perhaps he could learn something from his apprentice, Adhan said, for he had heard it rumored that Imthod was spending a lot of his spare time in the city’s taverns with several of Pharaoh’s spies. One of the latter was well known as a scout for the Pharaoh, seeking out especially lovely girls for the quarterly ceremony of bride-choosing. Perhaps Imthod would know for certain whether or not Namisha was to be one of the twenty prospective brides. . . .
Two days later, when Harsin Ben was unable to bear the suspense a moment longer, he called Imthod Haphenid into his study and broached the subject in as direct a fashion as he could find, speaking first of the apprentice’s friendship with certain employees and confidants of the Pharaoh.
“It’s true enough, master, that I’ve formed friendships within a certain group of men whose duties are deemed rather odd,” Imthod told him, grown suddenly a little more pallid than usual. “But since they carry out those duties on the orders and on behalf of Pharaoh himself, and since—”
“Hold, Imthod,” his master cautioned him, holding up a hand. “I don’t mean to cross-examine you. You must surely know that? No, it’s just that I’m worried about the Royal Procession. There’s only a week left. You know of course that four years ago Namisha was chosen by Pharaoh for a place in his bridal parade—the next Parade, in just a week’s time? Well, since you have friends among Khasathut’s spies—I mean, among those men he employs to . . . to—”
“I know your meaning, master,” Imthod answered, saving Harsin Ben from further embarrassment. “The only thing that puzzles me is how you came to discover that I was working for you in this way.”
“Working for me?” the old architect frowned. “I don’t—”
“You see,” Imthod quickly continued, “I had hoped that perhaps my friendship with these men might go unobserved, for my plan was a shaky one at best. Obviously, I’ve not been as subtle as I tried to be, for if you have suspected me, then what of them whose innermost secrets I’ve sought to discover?”
“What?” Harsin Ben gasped, failing to grasp the other’s meaning. “Can’t you be more plain, Imthod?”
“Master, do you think I’ve not known your dismay that your family must be taken from you? Khai and Namisha taken into the pyramid, never to return to you? I’ve suspected it must be so for a long time, which was why I cultivated such strange friendships with men whose natures are so far from my own. And master—” he lowered his voice, became confidential, “I believe that at long last I have news for you—good news!”
“News? Speak up, man!” the old man hoarsely commanded. “What have you learned?”
“Ah, be patient, Harsin Ben,” Imthod answered, calling his master by name for the first time. “First I had to mingle with these men and gain their confidence, and when finally I learned that Namisha was most certainly to be one of the twenty—that indeed she might well be chosen as one of Pharaoh’s three new brides—then I took my very life in my hands and laughed at my informants!”
“You did what?” Harsin Ben was amazed. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I laughed that Khasathut’s advisers could be so reckless of their own positions as to allow Pharaoh to take so dull and dowdy a bride!”
“You did wh—” the old man could not believe his ears. “How dare—”
“Harsin Ben—master!—pray, hear me out. Do you not see my plan? For I had sown seeds of doubt in their minds, and now at last it appears that those seeds have taken root!”
“How do you mean? In what way?”
“Why, don’t you see? Namisha is no longer a candidate for Pharaoh’s bed. She has been struck from the list of twenty names. She will not be called upon to parade for Khasathut’s choosing!”
“You have done this thing, Imthod?” Harsin Ben’s astonishment was gradually giving way to joy. “But why did you not—”
“You have not heard all, Harsin Ben,” his apprentice quickly cut him off. “About Khai—”
“Khai?” the old man was immediately apprehensive. “What of him?”
“He is not to go to the pyramid after all,” Imthod smiled. “No, for he is to be an archer in Pharaoh’s army.”
Harsin Ben slowly shook his head in astonishment, in disbelief. “And is this, too, your doing, Imthod? It . . . it’s like a dream! How could you possibly have worked this wonder?”
“I am only partly responsible,” the apprentice replied. “Khai’s amazing skill with bow and arrows has been his true salvation. I had only to speak my opinion in the right ear: that a lad with Khai’s talent would be wasted as a lap dog in the pyramid. The rest seemed to come almost naturally.”
“And yet you’ve made no mention of these things before,” the old man frowned. “Why is that, Imthod Haphenid? Have I been such a tyrant that you could not confide in me?”
For a moment the apprentice seemed lost for words, but then he found his tongue. “No, no, Harsin Ben, not at all—but what if all my work had come to nothing in the end? What then? Should I raise up your hopes simply to dash them down again?”
“But when did you discover that all was well? How long have you known?”
Again Imthod seemed at a loss for an answer, but eventually he spluttered: “As recently as . . . as last night—but even so I would have said nothing had you not asked me. I did not wish it known that I . . . that—”
“That you have saved me and mine, Imthod Haphenid! And to think that your father had to beg me to take you as my apprentice. Man, I owe you everything!” And he took the other by the shoulders.
Immediately the apprentice shuddered and broke free. “You owe me nothing, Harsin Ben.” He stood up. “You have been my master and you taught me all you knew. Now there is no better architect in all Asorbes—save you yourself. For this I thank you. Why, my prowess is not unknown . . . even in the pyramid!”
“In the pyramid?” Harsin Ben raised his white eyebrows.
“Aye, for last night I, too, was invited to appear before the Pharaoh when next his great procession takes place.”
“Huh!” the old man grunted. “But that is a mixed blessing, Imthod. A ver
y mixed blessing indeed. . . .”
When the apprentice had left him alone, Harsin Ben called Adhan out of a small adjacent room where he had been listening to all that was said. Taking hold of his forearm, his father frowned at his expression and asked: “Well, did you hear? Now what have you to say? Don’t you understand, Adhan, it’s all over! We’re to stay just as we are: a whole family. And all thanks to Imthod. Who would have believed it?”
“Who indeed?” Adhan answered under his breath.
But his father heard him. “What do you mean?” Harsin Ben questioned, his voice trembling. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” Adhan was quick to answer. “It’s all so sudden, that’s all.”
But as he, too, left Harsin Ben’s study, he was glad that he had not told the old man the whole truth. For in fact there might very well be something wrong, something very wrong. . . .
Adhan had been busy checking on Imthod and had heard certain whispers of a very odd, indeed sinister nature. Nothing factual or proven for certain, not yet—rumors mainly—but strong rumors. And horrible ones. For it had been put about that when Imthod was not studying under Harsin Ben, then that he not only mingled with Pharaoh’s spies but had himself become one of them. He spent his nights in company with the most dubious of characters, and what Adhan had discovered of them did not bear repeating.
For it was said that if a pretty girl’s family desired to keep her off Pharaoh’s list, this might well be arranged through Pharaoh’s own agents—though not without payment. Large amounts of gold had been known to change hands, but on occasion the price was something entirely different. Adhan had heard that if a girl was desperate enough, she might retain her freedom by giving herself for a night or two to one or another—and sometimes more than one—of Khasathut’s spies.