He gazed at the three-quarter moon. Its light suffused the city with a gray luminosity, allowing its inhabitants free movement, unhindered by the need for lamps and torches. The moonlight, however, made it difficult for him to remain hidden from view. His dark clothes alone caused suspicion in those he had passed earlier. Most citizens revered their white covers, which signified their status, for only the wealthy could afford to wear pure white cotton. But he liked his dark clothes, which allowed him to blend into the shadows. He had to look after this set, as he had needed to do away with the last set, bevause they had been covered in blood, which had dried before he could rinse them out. This time he was better prepared. It would not be rushed like the last time. This time it was late at night, not around meal times, when others would come visiting.
Children had long since stopped playing on the rooftops. Board games and discussions had also ended as meals were consumed and events discussed. Most of the city’s inhabitants would have gone to bed already. The smell of frying meats and freshly baked bread had long since been replaced by the slightly scented breeze that blew over the Nile, the water having cooled the eastern zephyr as it came into the city.
It was only the younger unattached workers, and those who had a day to themselves, who could afford to socialize until late in the evening.
His attention was momentarily drawn to the doorway of the beerhouse, watching as some of the patrons emerged from within. He scrutinized them as they passed close by him, but none of them was the one he had come for.
Releasing an agitated sigh, he returned to his wait. This time was certain, unlike the last time, where his actions had been governed by chance. After having waited days for the most opportune moment, he had needed to strike the moment the opportunity had presented itself. He had needed her to be absent from the house, with both the old embalmer and his wife remaining… because he could not strike with her present. She had too important a part in the overall plan. She was the one that would assure him his position with the gods.
That evening, with the Nubian prefect once again summoning her, had offered the perfect opportunity. The old embalmer and his wife had left their door unbarred, in obvious anticipation of her return. It had made accessing their home much easier than he had anticipated.
They had been in their sleeping chamber, something that would have been strange, given the time of day, had it not been for the slight musky scent that had lingered in the air, the couple obviously having taken advantage of their daughter’s absence to fulfill more rudimentary needs. He had captured the old embalmer just as he was about to leave the room. He remembered the man’s surprise at his presence. He had not had much time. Even with her away he needed to speed things along, uncertain as to how long she would be detained, a situation that had not sat well with him. He would have enjoyed taking his time to watch as the blood flowed from their bodies. To revel in the sensations that filled him as their life force drained from them. But he had quickly moved to knock them out, returning them to their bed before setting to work. There had been no time for finesse. They were to be his first, and he had to hurry and get out of the house before she returned.
He had hacked at their chests, pulling out their still beating hearts. The blood had run down his arms, its hot stickiness sending tingles through his skin and filling him with vigor. It made him powerful—he could take a life. He could decide when it was time for them to die… he was truly a god, for only gods could do such things.
Movement from the beerhouse doorway once again drew his attention. He watched as the mason appeared from the doorway, obviously inebriated.
“Sinuhe, are you going to be able to walk home on your own?” one of his friends asked, when they too appeared from the doorway.
“Yes, I’ll be fine,” the mason started, staggering slightly. “There’s a good moon, and it’s a short walk,” he said righting himself, before loudly declaring, “The worst that can happen is I can walk into that old woman that wanders the streets.”
The others laughed at that, one even declaring, “Well she’d take care of you, not that you’d be much use to her,” before taking their leave in the opposite direction.
The watcher remained within the darkened alcove, watching as they left, repeatedly gripping the heavy wooden handle he held. He had picked it up at the midden pits a while back, and had accustomed himself to its weight.
He waited for the mason to move away from the beerhouse, and then followed him. The young man staggered slightly and regained himself, before looking about him.
One of the street cats scurried along the streets and hissed at the stalker as he passed it, causing the young mason to turn around and look in his direction. The stalker halted, once again blending in with the shadows surrounding him, watching – waiting.
“Anyone back there?” the young mason calling, peering into the distance, swaying slightly on his feet, before turning to continue up the road.
Careful to remain hidden in the shadows, the watcher followed. Watching as the young man from time to time looked over his shoulder, his pace increasing slightly as he entered the poorest quarters of Thebes.
The mason finally disappeared into one of the workers’ homes, The watcher waited in the shadows for a while, allowing the man to find his way about his home. From the sound of things he was staggering about, alarmingly.
He smiled. It would be easy to take the man’s heart, and he waited until the only sounds he could hear were those of his own pounding heart, the crickets chirping at night and a mouse scurrying about close by.
His heart was thumping in anticipation of what was to come. He felt that strange sensation once again overcome him, the one that made him feel capable of anything, as he prepared to enter the mason’s home. He pushed aside the cloth covering the doorway before stepping inside, and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness that filled the room. The moonlight filtering in from the single high window allowed him to navigate the small house carefully, without noise, and not long after his entry he reached the mason’s bedchamber. He moved the fabric covering the door out of the way, to discover that the mason was already lying face down on the bed, passed out from too much beer.
He approached the bed, almost stumbling over the small grass mat covering the floor, when the man mumbled something and moved slightly. The watcher lifted the heavy handle, aiming for the best area, and then brought it firmly down, knocking the man hard on the back of the head.
The blow, he knew, was powerful enough to knock the man out completely, but not kill him. Dropping the heavy handle next to the bed, he moved closer to assess the man, grabbing his shoulder to turn him over. His hand immediately moved to the man’s chest, feeling for his heartbeat below the breastbone. A smile tugged at his lips as he felt the organ’s thumping.
An excited giggle escaped his lips at the anticipation, the thought of blood flowing freely, the thought spurring him into action as he reached back for his flint knife that was safely secured below his dark clothing. His heart raced, as his mind cast off anything but the task at hand. His eyes remained fixed on the man’s chest and as he brought the knife closer to it a tingling sensation took over his body.
He could take his time on this occasion and he was going to enjoy it. He felt along the breastbone, until it came to an end, and carefully cut into the skin just below the ribs. He must not damage the heart, for it would mean nothing then. It was also too difficult to break the bones around the chest. It would take too much time. He watched as the blood flowed from the cut, the dark trail progressing along the skin, dripping down onto the bed linen, pooling slightly, before being absorbed into the fabric.
He captured some of it on his fingertips and lifted it to his mouth, tasting the warm sticky liquid, the slight metallic aftertaste remaining on his tongue. A giddy sense of euphoria took hold. The letting of blood was considered by some healers to be medicinal and he could feel the power enter him. He was becoming a god, with godly powers.
Drunk o
n power he made the cut deeper, cutting through the skin, the cut a few times longer than his hand. He reached into the opening, the warm sticky blood covering his hands, as he broke the membrane under the ribs. He could feel the tissue push against his hand as he forced his way up between the lungs. His fingers stroked against the man’s still beating heart. A wave of ecstasy rushed over his body, causing him to become aroused.
He wanted to see it, wanted to watch it beat in the man’s chest. He pulled his hand out reaching once again for the knife as he slashed at the chest, the blood flowing freely. With a giddy giggle, he pulled the skin away from the bone. Excited grunts came from him as he started breaking the bones. He pulled at the bones, drawing them aside, but it was too dark in the room for him to see. His free hand reached down to stroke himself. It was good, so good.
He reached into the cavity once again, his hand wrapping around the mason’s still beating heart. As his body released, he grunted his pleasure, sitting back slightly, his mind glazed in its euphoric state.
His fingers once again closed around the heart, taking hold of it. He pulled it back, feeling it thump faster in his hand. He severed the first artery, giggling when the heart sped up some more, sending blood all over the mason’s chest and sheets. He severed the other vein, lifting the beating heart from the body, quickly severing the last two before lifting the still beating heart up over his head, offering it to the gods. The remaining blood squirted from it and ran down his arms, some of it falling on his face. He stuck his tongue out, licking off the drops that fell on his lips, reveling in the taste of his deed.
“It’s mine now,” he chortled, as the heart started failing, “Soon I will be one of you!” he announced, sniggering slightly, before looking down at the dead body before him.
The heart in his hand stopped beating, and a wave of sensation bubbled up his spine. His entire body felt energized, as the sensations took hold.
He reached underneath his once-again blood-soaked clothes for the cloth he had brought with him. Pulling it out, he lay it on the bed before wrapping the heart in it and moving from his position. His feet landed in a pool of blood as he rose from the bed, causing him to smile smugly with satisfaction. He bent to retrieve his handle, before turning and moving from the body, leaving a trail of bloody prints as he let himself out of the house.
He glanced up the road, knowing he could not be seen in his current state, the blood already becoming sticky, with some of it setting on his skin. He once again faded into the shadows, making his way back to the passage that led to the hidden chamber, where he would process the heart, in order to keep its spirit intact.
Entering the chamber, he walked toward the platform, placing the heart on it, before turning to collect the decorated canopic jar he had prepared for it. He placed the jar on the platform and collected the palm wine and extra natron, placing them next to an earthenware bowl.
He opened the cloth to reveal the heart and lifted it away from the material. He washed the heart with palm wine before placing it in the canopic jar already half filled with natron. He then carefully added more of the salt, before closing the lid.
He checked the jar to make certain there was no blood on the outside before gathering up the equipment, leaving the heart there.
He cleaned and packed away all of the equipment, before going to see to his clothes. He could not return to his sleeping chamber covered in blood.
Stepping outside the chamber, he stripped off his clothes, drew water from the pail he had set there earlier, and set about cleaning himself. Only a few more hearts, a few more nights like tonight and I will be energized. I too will be a god.
CHAPTER SIX
Shabaka approached the crowd mingling in the road. The young runner who had reported the death had warned him of the hostility within the gathering crowd. Their low agitated mumbling could be heard several yards away, with their petulance visible even at a distance.
When the pharaoh had assigned him to Thebes, he had not thought he would need to deal with as many hostile situations. His orders had seemed so simple, to discover the source of the discrepancies and to report his findings to the Palace. However, his time since arriving in the city had been spent looking at dead bodies and inspecting suspect circumstances, rather than making any headway on the actual reason for his appointment there. A matter that was frustrating him no end, never having thought he would remain in the city for longer than half a season.
Most of the city’s citizens had chosen to remain aloof, which had been welcome at first. He soon realized that they did not embrace strangers, especially not those who held a position of authority and originated from their conquered territories. However, he could not complain about the season he had already spent there. The guards and officers under him were all respectful, working well as a team and he had also met Neti.
A smile crossed his face at the thought of her and how they had met. How he had almost chased her from the room that day, intent on reprimanding the guard for allowing her entry…
It had been half a moon phase after his appointment in Thebes, when one of the runners had summoned him to examine another body, an elderly man, the fourth death he had dealt with since his arrival. The man’s friend had found him on the main room floor of his house, and had notified the guard.
Shabaka had still been familiarizing himself with the officers and the city at the time, and everyone had been standing around, mumbling to each other, speculating that the man had obviously died from some problem with his body, when she had arrived.
Her entry had drawn everyone’s attention. She was strikingly attractive, entering the room with poise and purpose. It had been her confidence, her self-possessed presence that had drawn him most, rendering him monetarily dumbfounded.
She had looked about the room, nodding her head in greeting at one of the officers, before making for the body, a rolled up scroll in her hand. He had been about to reprimand her, when two bearers had joined her, turning over the body so that she could inspect it. She had knelt next to the body, tilting her head slightly as she looked at it. Moments later she had commented on the man having died in that position, and that his blood-filled eyes confirmed that it had been something to do with his breathing. Her comment had drawn him closer to her, wanting to ask how she knew that, when she had simply risen from her position and instructed the two bearers to take the body. The men had immediately complied, while she turned towards the officer in charge, extending the papyrus scroll to him. The officer had in turn indicated Shabaka, and she had simply turned to look his way. She inclined her head in greeting and extended the papyrus scroll for him to take. Then she turned and followed the bearers out of the room.
It was only later that he discovered her name, and that she was an embalmer’s daughter, who often came with the bearers to collect the bodies her father was to process. He had sought her out, fascinated by her comments about the body, and had quickly discovered the whereabouts of her father’s Per-Nefer.
She had welcomed him one day and had shown him the body they were preparing, explaining to him what had caused the man’s death, showing him various markings on the body. Her knowledge of the human body had been astounding, and unlike many women, she had been unperturbed in the presence of bodies.
With time, he requested her input more frequently. It often helped him to distinguish if a death was due to murder, or bodily problems. And with the recent escalation of murders, he had come to depend on her input to establish if any of them needed any further inquest.
However, with the recent loss of her parents, he had been uncertain on whether he should call upon her services with the newest incident. He had sent the young runner on to beckon her, hoping she would be willing to help him once more. He would understand if she declined. The murder of her parents haunted him, the scene, the blood. It had been so violent, so unnecessary. He could only imagine how she felt… he only hoped that their deaths had nothing to do with his presence there, and the actual reason of his ass
ignment, or the assistance she had been giving him.
“I tell you it was that witch who did it!” an angry retort broke his train of thought, causing him to look out over the crowd
“I told Sinuhe something was going happen to him, that he shouldn’t have spoken to her,” another loudly professed, causing Shabaka to focus on two younger men within the crowd.
He walked over to them, before asking, “You knew the man?” while indicating towards the guarded doorway.
“Yes, Sinuhe worked with us. I told him he was a fool for talking to her, even bigger for helping her,” the second man professed.
Shabaka looked them over, noting their physique and work hardened hands.
“This is her handiwork. I tell you,” the first one avowed.
Shabaka felt his brow furrow, “Whose handiwork?” he asked, for a moment confused.
“That witch of the dead, only she would do something like this,” the second man decreed. This caused Shabaka to look pointedly at them, before asking, “What does Neti-Kerty have to do with this?” It still confused him as to why they referred to her as such.
“She came looking for mud, and he stupidly enough gave her some,” the first man said, “and that’s why he’s dead.”
“There is no reason why anyone would want him dead,” the second man spoke up. “He was well liked by all of us.”
“I’ll come speak to you again,” Shabaka said before taking his leave of the two men, and moving towards the guarded doorway.
The guard pulled the fabric door cover aside, and Shabaka bowed slightly to enter the home. The coppery scent permeating the air, slowed his movements slightly, and he swallowed as he steeled himself for what he anticipated finding within the other room. For a moment, he questioned whether it had been such a good idea to have Neti summoned before he himself had even seen the body.
The Mummifier´s Daughter - A Novel in Ancient Egypt Page 6