They had, in many ways, pulled apart since their return from the palace, yet it was not unknown to him that men were vying for her attention. He just did not know if there was anyone in particular. It was the only thing that made sense, and why she would now be insistent on keeping the distance between them. He had seen her response, felt her hardened nipples press against his chest. Knowing Neti, she would be feeling guilty for responding to him in such a manner, especially if she was being pursued by another.
He clenched his fists, as he replied, “If that is what you think is best.”
“You can push ahead and collect Moses. I will need his help when I return to the village.”
Moses—the man was quickly becoming a thorn in his side. Not because he posed any threat to her affections (the young man had made it obviously clear on several occasions that he was drawn to Neti), but because he shared with her the working relationship that Shabaka once had, and he missed that.
He had often thought of trying to shake Moses, if only to allow him and Neti some time to themselves, for Moses always seemed to be around her, especially whenever she started the preparation of a body, not that he envied the man that. He did envy, however, the almost silent form of communication they had developed between them. The young man could also better deduce how she came upon her answers, something he wished he could understand. Calmly he replied, hoping his dis-ease did not sound in his voice, “You are needing his assistance?”
“I was thinking that you could take him with you to go see that one man,” Neti replied, turning her gaze from the river to look at him, “while I start on this.” She concluded, by gesturing toward the pot that held the clay.
Shabaka felt the frown form on his brow, moments before asking, “Nameb?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
Shabaka shook his head, “Moses does not have the experience you do with the dead. The man could say something that will give away the means of the murder.”
“He needs to learn,” Neti replied.
“Be that as it may, we need to find whoever did this, and at the moment everything is pointing to this Nameb person.”
Neti nodded, “We can leave later then. I got the impression from the tomb foreman that we are not welcome and should not disturb the men while they work. It would possibly be best to go later in the afternoon and see them at camp this evening.”
Shabaka nodded at that and then turned from her, before she found some other way of separating them. His gaze for a moment landed on the dray owner. He did not trust any man with her and was reluctant to have her remain with him, even while knowing that her authority as one of the pharaoh’s representative would keep her safe from any unwanted attentions. It did not mean it would protect her from Ma-Nefer, if the man suddenly showed up.
He pushed the horses harder than he should have, needing an outlet for his frustration, and speed seemed most appropriate. When the path turned from the cultivated lands, he turned onto the main path that led to the front of the Ramesseum. Although it did not begrudge Shabaka that Moses spent time sightseeing (he had grown up in Pi-Ramesses and found the palaces in Thebes intriguing); today it irked him. Possibly because Neti had taken so much time in the past to show him around, something they had not done—his responsibilities always having prevented it.
* * *
Neti slowly made her way back to the city with the water cart. The dray owner was not the most stimulating conversationalist and had made it quite clear that he considered women to belong in the home, to see to homely duties, not as a ranking member in society. She seethed inwardly at that. Even though her mother had been such a woman, who had taken pride in her work and home, and her father had never looked down on either of them for being women; she still found it difficult to accept that some people could be so tactless about their importance. She had earlier fought to contain her ire, wanting to point out to him that women in the home were also contributing members to society, but knew he would not understand.
However, not having anyone to converse with meant she had the entire return journey to brood about the morning’s events. She had needed the distance from Shabaka, if only to sort through her thoughts and the sudden tingling sensation that still filled her body. He had been so close . . . if only the man had not arrived at that moment, she might finally have experienced his kiss—not that she had experienced any others, but alas, it was not to be. It was not as if she did not have any others interested in her—fact was, she had no interest in them. Besides, she somehow sensed it was more for personal gain, and possible acknowledgement or meeting with the pharaoh, than any real interest in her as a person. Where the moment between her and Shabaka, earlier had caused her to hope, it also caused her to dread the outcome—if something were to happen, only to realize that it should not have. She was not that familiar with Shabaka’s native practices regarding such matters. She knew his brother approved of her, and she had met his parents a few days before departing from Pi-Ramesses.
They had seemed welcoming enough of her, but she was still uncertain, given she had seen both sides of Ramesses. The one was how he responded to the officials and visiting nobles, then there was the other, more personal, side he shared with his wife and inner circle. She could not understand the need for it. Her experience of the palace and its delegates had made her weary of officials and the dishonesty they could so easily disguise.
Neferronpet had been that lesson for her—his careful and considerate befriending of her, while keeping tabs on the progress of their investigation, only served to confirm that those in power could not be taken at face value. His lashing out at her in the end had been cruel, and she tried not to let it bother her, but deep down it did, for his implication that she had been using him, even though it was not true, had stuck with her.
She had found herself mulling over it, if she might not have been doing just that in an attempt to distract herself from Shabaka . . . but no matter how hard she looked at it, he had been the deceptive one. She took some comfort from her thoughts, but it also left her doubting her ability to see people for what they really are. It had been easier when she had been the outcast, and only a select few interacted with her. However, lately, everyone seemed to want to get on her good side, and it only served to confuse her.
She was better with facts, things she could see and analyze, which was possibly why she and Shabaka got along so well. He never pretended that he wanted more from her than the facts and the things she saw. But within that lay her problem, for she wanted more.
Yet, a band tightened around her heart. She was familiar with the warning sensation that flowed through her body whenever he touched her. Lately, she had started to crave his touch—something that puzzled her, for she had no idea if it was the same for him. Yes, she had felt his maleness press against her in the water, but she also knew that men were quickly excited, especially if they did not have partners—just as she was familiar with the purpose that prostitutes served. And she was not certain if his response toward her had been just that, a male to female thing, the urge to breed. It was not uncommon with the approaching festival.
She could not help but wonder if Moses would seek the pharaoh’s approval of Yani during his visit. If only it was that simple for her . . . in her confusion, she could understand why so many marriages were arranged—even hers had originally been. It just seemed less complicated that way, there was a certainty attached to it; one did not suffer these conflicting thoughts.
She sometimes wished she could go back—back to when things seemed less complicated, when Thoth had been a childhood friend, when she still helped her father, when her only concern was whether the high priest would accept her application for certification and when she and Shabaka had first met. Yet she knew it was foolish, for she now had her certification and her career with the pharaoh, yet it felt empty, hollow, in comparison to what she had lost, what she had seen. And with that realization came another, more disturbing one—Was she hanging onto this thing with Shabaka bec
ause it was the only connection she felt to past events? And did she really want this?
* * *
They entered the city gate and moved along the well-trodden road. Women appeared in doorways, with their vases and water pots, and at a certain point, the dray was halted while the man filled pots and jugs.
When they reached the potters’ area, the dray owner, with the help of one of the local potters, offloaded the large pot of clay.
“You planning to start up here?” the potter asked, once the pot was safely on the ground. His voice told her that her business would not be welcome.
“I’m using the clay for a test. When we are done, Phalep said he wanted the clay.”
“I see,” the man skeptically replied.
His response had Neti smile. It was something she appreciated from simple people.
“What is so funny?” he demanded.
“Thank you.”
The man looked at her, astonished, before asking, “What for?”
“For being honest.”
The man simply looked at her, seeming incapable of forming a response.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to start.” Neti said, turning from him, just as the dray owner finished filling the water pots.
Neti moved to the end of the work area. The woman she was staying with had promised to have the equipment she needed ready for her. Neti picked up the thwab that lay on the work surface and looked over the garment. It was well used but would protect her slip. At the thought of her slip, she quickly turned back toward the dray and thankfully saw the owner approach, holding her damp one.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him.
He nodded before returning to his dray and moving on.
* * *
Neti set to work, donning the thwab before gathering up a measure of clay. Some of the potters looked at her in surprise when she did not place it on the wheel, and instead formed a large oval object out of it. As a child, she had often played with clay and had attempted to make a few things. However, it had never progressed past a few oddly shaped figurines, which she had played with. She had never been drawn to the skill form or sought training; however, what she proposed to do took less skill than the misshapen figurines of her childhood.
She was finishing her third shape, having turned a deaf ear to the comments from the other potters, when she felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere.
Turning to see what the reason was, she noticed Moses and his intent gaze on her, moments before shaking his head. His action confused her, as he stepped closer.
“Shabaka said you need my help,” he said, as he came closer, “Although from his tone, I expected something else.”
“Like?” Neti instantly asked.
“Another body,” Moses said, looking over the shapes she had already made.
Neti thought it over for a moment, not understanding, “Why would you think that? He would have said as much, had that been the reason.”
“It’s more what he didn’t say,” Moses replied, before turning toward the clay pot. “So, for now, I get to relive my youth,” Moses said, also scooping up a measure of clay, “How many of these are we making?”
“As many as we have tools to test,” Neti replied.
Moses looked at the pot’s contents, “We don’t have enough clay.”
“We will have to use some twice then,” Neti flatly replied.
“You want to tell me what happened between you and Shabaka this morning?”
“Who said anything happened?” Neti quickly deflected.
Moses stopped his shaping and looked at her. Releasing a frustrated sigh, he said, “Well, let’s see, you are defensive, and Shabaka acts as is someone has . . . I don’t know . . . taken something from him.”
“And you think I’m to blame,” Neti sharply replied, stopping to look pointedly at him.
Moses held up his hands, “I’m just saying that whenever he suffers some mood swing, it usually involves you.”
“So now I’m to blame for his moods.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It’s what you implied,” Neti stressed.
“No. What I said is that he becomes difficult whenever the two of you are at odds.”
“And you think we are at odds?” Neti said
“I don’t know, are you?” Moses calmly asked.
Neti shook her head in reply. His question, and the sincerity in his tone, had her shoulders droop as she dropped her gaze. She did not know where she and Shabaka were, or even if she should tell him what happened earlier. “We are not at odds.”
“By Ra, I wish the two of you would just see it,” Moses said, returning his attention to his work.
“See what?” Neti asked, confused by the frustration she had heard in Moses’s voice.
“The fact that you have to ask just proves my point,” he said, going to work on the clay head.
Neti returned to her work, a brooding silence fell between them, as she tried to make sense of what he had said.
* * *
Sometime later, Moses left to collect the tools they had taken from the tomb the day before, and Neti once again found herself the object of speculation. The potters barely contained their interest in her actions. She washed her hands and arms in the water provided, drying them on an old rag.
When Moses returned, he handed her a scroll, and Neti frowned in response.
“The notes we made,” he explained, as he carefully started to lay out the array of tools.
Neti picked up the first one, looking it over, before handing it to him.
“Hit this part of the clay, not too hard, I only need to see the shape it makes, not flatten the clay.”
It took two strikes before Moses got it right. Neti took her notes and compared it to the drawing she had made before shaking her head, “not this one.”
Moses picked up another tool and repeated the action, and systematically they worked through all the available tools, stopping twice to reshape some of the clay mounts.
When they finally came to the last one, Moses shook his head, “Nothing matches.”
“Yes,” Neti sighed, “This is a problem. I hoped that at least one would match. Then we would have had something to go on. Did you see anything else in the tomb that could have caused it?”
Moses shook his head, “We took everything within the width of the wound.”
Neti again looked at the impressions; none were even remotely similar to the drawing she had made. “I could have made a mistake,” she said, once again looking at the drawing, turning it around to look at it from a different angle. “Could he have been kneeling and someone struck him from another side?” she mused, before looking at Moses.
“We went through the motions you suggested, the placements and posture positions, and worked it out. How do you propose to explain it in any other way?” Moses questioned in return.
“Who would have reason to kill him then? From what we have been told, he was a decent man,” Neti replied.
“But is what we have been told the truth?” Moses spoke her thoughts.
“That is what I’m starting to wonder, no one kills without some reason.”
“These worker communities tend to see to their own matters,” Moses started, “That is, if their council of elders does not resolve it to their liking. If it is a matter of mutual interest, many will turn a blind eye to such actions.”
Neti tilted her head and thought about it for a moment, before answering, “My field was never that complicated. We tend to the dead, we have no reason to seek retribution against our own; well, for anything other than unpaid debts . . .” she suddenly grew silent, causing Moses to look at her in concern.
“What?” he questioned.
“Have you questioned those with whom he had debts?”
Moses shook his head, “None have come forward; his wife is in the process of packing up, she will be returning to her family in Thebes.”
Neti looked at Moses, “Have you sp
oken to her?”
“I met her before you arrived, but she cannot be involved with his death. She was here in the village preparing for his return.”
“But she should know with whom he had debts, also if there was any strife between him and another,” Neti countered.
Moses nodded, “I never thought of that.”
She turned her attention to the men gathered a short distance from them and lowered her voice. “No one claims to know or have seen anything, and the person who did this is unlikely to say anything.” Moses turned his head to look in the direction of her gaze, as she continued. “To be honest, I do not even know if we’ve come across him yet; even the ruse of a possible curse has not brought anyone to say anything.”
“These worker communities are close-knit,” Moses stated. “They can have squabbles among one another, but outsiders are unwelcome. They present a united front in the face of strangers.”
“Yes, I saw that. As it is, I think it is only because of our official status that they tolerate our presence,” Neti mused.
“Official status or not, we are here to solve the murder,” Shabaka’s voice behind them caused both to spin around to look at him. “Have you found anything?”
“Only that none of these tools was used,” Moses answered. Neti could see him watching her.
“What do you mean none of these tools was used?” Shabaka asked in disbelief, and even Neti could pick up the frustration in his tone.
“None match the impression,” she calmly replied.
“So, we are back where we started?” Shabaka’s tone held a note of dejection. And Neti could empathize, for it felt as if they were going nowhere, fast.
Neti nodded her head as she spoke, “And with no one coming forward. I’m afraid we’re running out of options. Moses should go speak to the wife, possibly find out if he had any outstanding debts owing or owed.”
Shabaka looked at Moses, “You can go see her this afternoon when Neti and I leave for the camp. We are going to question this Nameb person and go through the victim’s campsite.” Shabaka started, adding, “Hopefully, we will find something.”
The Curse of Anubis - A Mystery in Ancient Egypt (The Mummifier's Daughter Series Book 3) Page 8