I look sharply at Pepi. Is he deliberately inflaming tempers in the room?
“Is my daughter not tribute enough?” Pharaoh rises, colour coming into his cheeks. He looks at his queen. “Her mother persuades me to make the ultimate sacrifice by giving her to your brutish chieftain, and the man is still not satisfied? Our people have ruled these lands for thousands of years and you, Heqa-Khasut, rulers of foreign lands, presume to tell us what to do?”
Pepi makes a polite bow. “We are the ones with the weapons.”
“Shut your insolent mouth,” a nobleman cries from the crowd, probably hoping to incur favour with the king.
Queen Anat steps forward. “Since you speak of tribute, perhaps it is time this tradition comes to its end. If my daughter” — her voice catches on the word — “cannot satisfy your people’s greed, it is doubtful anything can.”
Were the queen and Pharaoh really counting on Merat to sway the chieftain from war? Is this what the princess meant when she said she should accept her fate?
Pepi turns to the Great Royal Wife. “Unfortunately, my lady, I know of an oracle who holds a differing opinion regarding this matter.”
I study the queen to see her reaction. Queen Anat stills. “An oracle? Where is this oracle?”
“Yes,” Pepi says, ignoring her second question. “And it says there is still more tribute to be paid.” I realize he is stirring the hive, creating confusion.
“I have heard enough,” Wujat shouts over the outraged exclamations. “You say you come here to warn us, yet you insult us.” He looks at me. “Your father would be ashamed at the company you keep, Sesha.”
“My father believed we are all the same. No matter the lands we come from, the languages we speak, or the gods we worship,” I say to the vizier. “And I am not the only one who keeps others company.” I look pointedly at the queen, which does not go unnoticed by Pharaoh. Unsure of the exact nature of Queen Anat and the vizier’s relationship, I feel a prick of guilt for blowing smoke, but follow Pepi’s lead in distraction.
“Throw this lying traitor and her spy in the pits,” Queen Anat snaps, eyes flashing. She pushes her dark hair back over her shoulder, a gesture so like Merat it disconcerts me. “We will march to Avaris and consult with this oracle ourselves, leaving carnage in our wake.”
I glance at Pepi. This is not going so well.
Crooked Nose, who has been eagerly awaiting this command, makes a move toward me.
“One more step and I’ll straighten that nose of yours!” I shout, still clutching the tray in my hand, ready to let it fly like a discus at the soldier’s face.
He lunges and pandemonium breaks loose as cowardly noblemen dive out of his rampaging path. Before I can blink, Pepi is at my side grabbing the tray from my hands and swinging the solid wood through the air, smashing it into the charging soldier. Crooked Nose spins around, dazed, one hand still clutching his spear, the other his split cheek. Other men attempt to grab us. There are too many, and I find myself caught in pawing, grasping hands, struggling to get loose, when I hear a familiar voice.
“Let her go!”
Ky.
51
MY LITTLE BROTHER STRIDES forward with an unfamiliar confidence, and I wonder if Prince Tutan has been teaching him how to swagger in a son-of-the-pharaoh sort of way. How did he know I was here? My mind, still clear despite the chaos of the last few moments, supplies an answer: Bebi.
“Ky!” I shout, breaking free of the hands that restrain me, tearing my dress in the process. I run to my sibling, throwing my arms around him. A crack in my heart fills and seals, as if with the wax of Pentu’s bees.
“Sesha,” he cries, and for an instant it is just me and my brother, whom I love as much as a person can love someone, who has been my companion since the day he was born. I have hunted down an ancient document for him, stood by him and saw him cured, crossed a desert for him. Tears spill down my cheeks as I squeeze him, and he pats me as if to reassure himself I am solid.
The queen’s commanding voice interrupts our happy reunion. “Ky, my child, your sister abandoned you, abandoned our people and the land you may one day inherit. You are a member of our family now. We took you in as one of our own.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. To see her standing there behind him, looking concerned, pretending he is anything more than a pawn to her, burns worse than being stranded in the sands with no protection.
“Sesha did what she had to in order to survive,” Pepi shouts. He struggles against the men who are holding him. “It is you who wish to abandon your people.”
Crooked Nose has recovered and holds his spear at the Hyksos’s throat. I shoot Pepi a look to hold his tongue while he still has it. Antagonizing the queen further by revealing her treachery will do no good. I know what a provoked Queen Anat is like — the spear will be sticking out of Pepi soon.
“Ky,” I quietly say to my brother, pleading. “Ask Pharaoh to release my friend.”
He turns to Pharaoh, entreating. “Can you release him? No blood should be spilled on the day of Tabira’s and my engagement. It is a bad omen.”
The pharaoh does not look convinced.
“Our father served you well,” I say to Pharaoh and Wujat. “He saved Tutan’s life and the lives of your loyal subjects, over and over, a thousand times over.” I implore these men whom I once believed to be honourable and good. “All we came here to do was warn you. Having done that, let us leave in peace.”
“Do not listen to her,” the queen says, now walking over to her husband. He looks at her in a way I’ve never seen before. Apparently, Queen Anat has not either — she pauses midstep. Pharaoh glances at his trusted friend and vizier and, seeming to make up his mind, turns back to me.
“Release the Hyksos,” he says to the men. “You speak truly, Sesha. Your father served me well, and your brother is now my own son.” He smiles faintly. “You also accomplished a most difficult task others twice your age and esteem could not: you found me the scroll. For these reasons I give you both your freedom, though you, Sesha, needn’t go with the Hyksos. You are welcome to stay here, with us.” He nods at Ky.
I look at my brother. His face is lit with the glow of a thousand beeswax candles, and I know he’d love nothing more than for me to accept Pharaoh’s offer. One likely made to atone for a daughter Queen Anat apparently induced him to give away. But the queen is behind him, and despite a temporary fall from grace, she remains an enormous threat, perhaps even more so with a thorn in her paw. I think of Paser. Of Reb and Merat. Amara and Akin. All awaiting my return.
“I thank you for your kind offer, Your Highness,” I say, looking at Ky with helpless remorse. Silently begging him to understand. “But I cannot stay.”
The pharaoh nods at my words, accepting them as final, no further invitations extended. He speaks to two of his guards. “Take them to the edge of the city and leave them there.” Turning back to Pepi, he lowers his voice. “Do not take advantage of my goodwill. If I find you in Thebes after sundown, you will be back in that pit faster than a blink of Ra’s eye.” Pharaoh looks at Ky. “My son. Join your brother and go celebrate. The people will want to rejoice in your happy news.”
Queen Anat has stayed silent but she now offers her hand to Ky. “Come, my prince.” Hesitatingly, Ky takes it, and it is like a thousand bee stings to the heart to see him walk away with her. He casts a final glance over his shoulder, a look of confused hurt at my rejection of Pharaoh’s offer, and at what he likely thinks is a rejection of him.
“Ky,” I shout, unable to stop myself. “Come with us.”
“That is not wise, Sesha,” Pepi murmurs beside me. “He should stay where he has plenty and is well cared for. Our lives are rough and dangerous.”
Deep down, I know Pepi is right. Can I really take my brother from the luxury and comforts of the palace, from his newfound inheritance, from safety? Ky looks up uncertainly at the queen, and I see in his face that she has burrowed her way into his heart, like the dung beetle into the sands
, a surrogate mother who he thinks loves and cares for him.
Tears stream down my face as I watch my brother walk away, hand in hand with the queen, the blistering despair in my own heart dissolving the wax seal that was only ever temporary.
The guards leave us at the edge of town with a sack of food and a canteen of water. I pick up a stone and hurl it as hard as I can into the distance.
“Why are you so angry?” Pepi asks. “We did what we came to do, with our lives intact.”
“What?” I stare at him. “Not only was that a disaster in diplomacy, I am leaving my city yet again, without my brother, without a scroll.” I grit my teeth to hold back a scream of frustration. The frenzied desert winds echo my emotions, whipping my fiery hair this way and that.
Pepi reaches into his clothes and pulls out a familiar cylinder-shaped papyrus. “You mean this scroll?” It is my copy, the one Queen Anat took from me.
“What in the name of Horus? How did you get that?” I blink in disbelief, clawing at the scroll, the one my father started and I tried to finish. Pepi graciously passes me the document and I inspect it, hands trembling, convinced that I am dreaming.
“The vizier gave it to me.”
“Wujat?” I cannot be hearing right. I shake my head like there is sand in my ears. Pepi is an even better spy than I give him credit for. “How? When?”
“I encountered him on his way to the ceremony,” he said. “It is fortunate that he, too, despite his flawed taste in women, has a deep respect for the instructions and teachings of one of the greatest men in history. Of course, a little persuasion from my friend here —” he grins and brandishes his knife “— did not hurt our case.”
Relief and joy sweep through my body, soothing the wounds caused by leaving Ky. After everything we have been through, we finally have the scroll. We will return to the oasis and heal Akin. The chieftain will have to let my friends and me go to Avaris and we will escape. It also soothes me somewhat to think that Wujat, former High Priest and Chief Scribe, appreciates the value of Imhotep’s papyrus and would not see the physician’s knowledge destroyed. For he would not have given it up on Pepi’s threat alone. Whatever else he is, Wujat is not a coward.
I wonder how he obtained my copy. “Do you think Wujat is with the pharaoh, or with the queen?” I muse out loud.
“Perhaps both,” Pepi responds, ever philosophical. “The currents of our hearts and minds sometimes come into conflict. It is not always clear from the surface which way they flow.”
I fervently examine the scroll, still unable to believe I hold the document I’d thought forever lost. Pepi, seeing that I am overcome with emotion, smiles. “Remember when I said I would not tell you whether you pass or fail as a spy until the time comes?”
I nod, gripping tight the treasure in my hand. One man’s key to life, the key to freedom for my friends, and the key to a prophecy.
“As we are both alive and our mission a success,” Pepi says with a grin, “you pass. Congratulations, Sesha, you are officially a spy. That was smart thinking, letting the crumb drop regarding the vizier and the queen. Though we blow smoke to calm the bees, not enrage them.”
“Me?” I exclaim. “You are the one who said that the Hyksos could take Thebes if they wanted it!” But I am not too fussed. My heart flips like one of the palace dancers at his announcement and at accomplishing a task that was near impossible.
Pepi shrugs. “We could. But that is neither grapes nor raisins. Now come. Let us go and find our donkey.”
52
THREE DAYS LATER WE MAKE IT BACK to the oasis. I am becoming comfortable with the sensations of hunger, thirst, and extreme exhaustion. Or if not quite comfortable, I have at least learned to tolerate them. Our high spirits at retrieving the scroll also make the journey bearable. Though never easy, there is triumph and elation in this crossing. Pepi and I laugh and tease one another as we traverse the harsh desert. The gods, as if sensing our jubilation, send some light rain on our last night, a celebratory shower that quenches our thirst. I cannot wait to see my friends and tell them the good news, to show them the document, to help Min heal Akin, to at last liberate the people I love.
All except one, that is.
When the oasis comes into view, my heart, downcast at having again left Ky with the queen, flaps like a bird whose broken wing is starting to mend. But as we draw closer, something does not seem right. There is an unnatural stillness about it that is unsettling. Pepi senses it, too.
“Be on your guard,” he says softly, and I reach down to grab the obsidian blade from its bindings at my leg. The village appears deserted.
“There,” Pepi points. A small wisp of smoke curls up through the palm fronds. “Down by the lake.”
We make our way quickly along the paths. A foul stench hangs in the air as we venture deeper into the heart of the oasis. All my instincts are screaming that something is very wrong. At last the water comes into view. As do the bodies.
I am relieved to see that the people lying spread out along the shore are all still alive, though in an extreme state of ill health and varying degrees of distress. There are only a few on their feet; Min is one of them. The healer looks as if he’s aged ten years and is barking orders at two young men: Paser and Reb.
Paser sees me. “Sesha,” he cries, dropping the bucket he is carrying and hurrying over. He sweeps me up in a tight hug, his arms strong, and immediately I feel safe. At home.
“What has happened?” Pepi is there beside us. Paser sets me down as Reb strides over, Min close behind. The three appear exhausted and are smeared with filth, vomit, and sweat.
“There has been a sickness,” Paser says. “We moved the people to be closer to the water, as many are dehydrated.”
“Has everyone taken ill?” Aghast, I glance around, scanning for Amara and her baby. I do not see them. Nor Merat.
“Many,” says Min grimly.
“Where is Yanassi?” Pepi asks, one hand at his brow, searching the masses.
“He left for Avaris,” Paser says. “He —”
“Did he take Merat with him?” I interrupt. Fear at not seeing the princess among the ill has me thinking the worst.
Paser nods and I praise the gods, though it seems they can never let us be content for long.
“What of Amara and her family?” I say, worrying for my friend and her fallen soldier. Their baby would be particularly vulnerable to an illness like this.
“They, too, went with the chieftain.”
“How?” I say, stunned. “Akin was in no shape to travel.”
“I advised against it,” Min admits. “But Yanassi insisted his second-in-command remain by his side.” That would not have been a comfortable journey for the soldier.
“Why did Yanassi abandon the oasis?” Pepi demands. “What is so important that he would leave before our return?” I see one of his hands go to the scroll, safe in its protective casing.
“A messenger came, the morning after you left, summoning the king’s son and nephew to Avaris,” Paser says. “The king is ill and wishes to announce his successor.” He gives Pepi a curious look. “The chieftain told us to accompany you, upon your return here, to meet him in your capital with the scroll.”
“I cannot believe my cousin would leave his people like this, even for the chance to be named king.” Pepi looks at me and I shake my head helplessly, trying to work it out. The whole objective was to retrieve the scroll for the chieftain and heal Akin.
Reb shakes his head. “The village was not ill when the chieftain and his band of men left. We think the messenger brought an unwelcome companion along with his summons from the king — the disease itself. He sickened first and it spread like wildfire through the oasis, burning up those who remained behind.”
Pepi gives me a look as if to say, See, the messenger is always blamed. Though in this instance, it sounds deserved.
Sick king or not, I, too, am surprised that the chieftain did not wait for us to get back with the scroll, especi
ally considering how important it is to him. Unless he thought we might not return? Perhaps he had doubts about our success. Or — more ominously — perhaps Yanassi believed his “cousin” would go directly to the Hyksos capital once the scroll was in his possession, and hoped to beat us there. Amara said that Akin did not fully trust the spy, which likely means neither does the chieftain. Is it possible that Yanassi thought Pepi would present the papyrus to the king, in an attempt to court favour and make a play for the throne? And, assuming both the scroll and I, Pepi’s betrothed, were also in Avaris, the surgery could be performed there. Another harrowing thought occurs to me. What if the chieftain tries to marry Merat before we get there?
“We are cresting the peak of the illness now,” Min is saying, wiping the sweat from his brow. “The healthy tend the ill, but your healer’s hands will be much appreciated.”
“Who is that?” Reb interrupts, pointing at the far end of the lake where a disheveled figure is attempting to take a drink and glancing furtively around. “Did you bring someone with you?”
“Not intentionally,” Pepi says darkly. Letting out a shout, he sprints to the other end of the oasis and we race after him. The stranger, a Theban by his looks, turns to run away. But he has no energy left and Pepi overtakes him, tackling him easily to the ground. We reach the pair, out of breath, and look down at the spy and his captive in astonishment.
53
“WHAT IS YOUR BUSINESS HERE?” Pepi demands, forearm pressing against the man’s throat.
“He cannot speak if you are crushing his wind tube,” I say, putting a hand on Pepi’s shoulder. He eases the pressure. But only slightly.
“Who are you?” Pepi demands again.
The man wheezes, some colour returning to his face. “None of your concern.”
“I believe it is,” I say. Still holding the dagger, I put it to the man’s throat.
Pepi removes his arm. “Are you a spy?”
The man looks at me defiantly and I apply pressure to the blade. The tip sinks into his skin and his eyes widen.
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