The Lost Scroll of the Physician

by Alisha Sevigny

  The big one, who seems to be their leader, spots the spoiled plum and picks it up off the ground. “Now, why don’t I believe you?” Anubis barks and he rounds on the dog. “And look at this. There was mention of a dog. A dog they described as lookin’ a lot like this one.”

  “Who are ‘they’?” I challenge, backing up to stand in front of Ky, now fully awake and wide-eyed with fear.

  “That would be us,” says a nasty voice from the shadows. A familiar meaty arm reaches out to grab Ky, pulling him into the dim light of the dying coals. The triumphant vendor towers over my brother and me. His frizzy-haired wife stands behind him, eyeing Anubis warily. “This is the boy. He and his filthy brother stole from us.” I don’t bother to correct them.

  “And your only proof is a plum?” I borrow my manner from Princess Merat, daughter of the Great Royal Wife and the haughtiest of Pharaoh’s offspring. The giant guard raises an eyebrow over a crooked nose that’s been broken more than once. He looks familiar.

  “And the dog.” The woman steps forward, eyes spewing venom. “It attacked me. The mongrel must be killed at once.”

  “No,” shouts Ky, making a move for Anubis. The vendor throws him to the ground.

  “You have no evidence to support your claim,” I appeal to the crooked-nosed guard, who seems to be listening at least, desperation replacing some of my haughtiness. “It is our word against theirs.”

  The guard steps forward, eyes narrowed. “That’s some fancy talk for a flea,” he says, spear coming up to poke at my rags. I force myself not to flinch, holding his gaze. “Exactly who are you, Flea?”

  Remaining silent, I sidestep his spear and hurry over to assist Ky, who is slowly getting to his feet. He is pale and trembling.

  The vendor steps toward us, emitting malevolence along with his foul breath. “Let’s throw them and their dog in the Nile and be done with the thieving demons.”

  I look around. We are trapped. There is no hope for it. Taking a deep breath, I commend our souls to Ra and peel back the layers of grit that have settled on me these past few weeks.

  “I am Sesha, Daughter to Ay, Great Physician and Chief Scribe.” Whirling, I stare at the broken-nosed guard, injecting as much force as possible into my tone, fully invoking the proud princess. “And I demand to see the pharaoh.”

  3

  “SESHA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Ky whispers.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper back. What have I done?

  “This is outrageous!” the vendor’s wife snaps. “She is obviously lying.”

  Crooked Nose circles me, examining my features more closely. I know he will see tawny eyes peering out from a dirty face, tangled brown hair that, when washed, glints with gold, or so my mother was fond of telling me. A straight nose, proud like my father’s. I stick it high in the air now, to show my disdain at his examination. This comes easier than expected. Merat really does have quite the range of expressions.

  “I am not lying. I’m sure the pharaoh has been looking for us.” I gesture to my brother and myself. “He will be most angry if we are not brought before him.” I do not know if this is true, but it’s the only thing I can think of to buy some time, and hopefully avoid landing at the bottom of the Nile with one of these crumbling bricks tied to our feet. Regardless of whether Pharaoh had something to do with my parents’ death, I’ll take possible treachery over certain drowning.

  Crooked Nose spits and turns to the other guards. “We better take them in.” They look unsure but are too well trained to argue.

  The vendor and his wife are not. “We need to make an example of these vermin,” the vendor demands. In the dark it is all too easy to imagine the purple-red stains on his clothes as blood. “Or they will multiply like locusts, a plague on the marketplace.”

  “That is not going to happen today,” Crooked Nose barks at the vendor, then fixes me with a gimlet eye. “Though if she is lying, you can have her, her brother, and the dog for wasting my time.”

  I swallow. That does not sound like an idle threat.

  The palace rises up before us, opulent and enormous, a shining white beacon of light. Despite my misgivings, a feeling of coming home spreads through my body. Ky and I grew up here; running through Father’s chambers, playing with the pharaoh’s many children. Perhaps I am wrong and he had nothing to do with Father’s death. Perhaps it was completely unrelated to the papyrus. Perhaps it was a tragic accident. We draw nearer to the palace, Ky practically vibrating beside me, Anubis on his right.

  “Do you think Tutan will remember me?” he whispers, relieved to be on our way to warmth, food, and people who were once friends.

  “We have only been gone one moon” — I smile down at him — “Not only will he remember you, he will be praising Amun for returning you safely to him.” Ky is beloved by everyone at court, but especially by young Prince Tutan, Merat’s brother and current heir to the throne. My brother radiates a sweetness that makes all who meet him want to protect him on sight. I glance over my shoulder.

  Present company excluded.

  The guards walk behind us, spears at their sides, not drawn, so not a particularly hostile escort. This has my spirits lifting. The vendor and his wife had continued to argue with the guards, but after a few threatening jabs with a spear, slunk away into the shadows, disappearing with the first light of morning, robbed of their vengeance.

  For now.

  “This way,” Crooked Nose commands, leading us into the high-ceilinged hallway, limestone painted lavishly with gold sparkles in the sun’s rays. Upon entering the main hall, an aching weariness spreads through my bones, and not only because of the interrupted night’s rest. After a month of surviving moment to moment, worrying about our next meal, potential snake bites, my parents’ death and my brother’s worsening condition, my body is finally saying “enough.” I stumble, almost collapsing onto the granite floor with exhaustion. It is in this unfortunate position that Pharaoh strides into the room, his people behind him. Though he is not tall, he is broad and emanates a powerful pull that draws one in. His dark eyes are kohl-lined; right now they show concern.

  “Sesha, gods be praised, is that really you and Ky?” I attempt to stand, Ky helping me up, and we bow before him.

  “Yes, My King,” I say, voice hoarse.

  “I cannot believe it” — he blinks — “nor can I recognize you under that tangled mop and those layers of filth. You must be cleaned up at once. But first some food. I can count your bones, those that are visible beneath the dirt.” He claps and Wujat, Grand Vizier and former High Priest, steps forward. Where Pharaoh is thick and barrel-chested, Wujat is whip thin and tall, but emits no less strength than the man whose kingdom he helps run. He was also my father’s friend, and would often seek his council. It is a balm on my spirit to see him.

  “Sesha, Ky.” His voice is warm. “I am so glad we have found you. Tell me, children, why did you not come to the palace straight away?”

  Ky looks at me, one hand on Anubis, who has been permitted to enter with us.

  “We were … confused, Oh Holy Wujat,” I say. It is truth enough. “We did not want to be a burden on you, My Lieges.”

  “Nonsense,” Wujat says and Pharaoh nods. “Your father was a great man and served the kingdom well. How could you think yourselves a burden?”

  “Sorrow can make one behave in odd ways.” Queen Anatmoset, Great Royal Wife, steps forward in her golden headdress, as beautiful as always. “The poor children were probably frightened half to death. To lose their parents in such a tragic manner.” She shakes her head, raven hair swinging along with the jewels dripping from her person as we bow before her. “I am so very sorry for you both,” she says, her thickly lined black eyes taking in our disheveled states.

  “Thank you, my lady,” I murmur. Though nothing but kind, Queen Anat, as she is called, has always intimidated me. Descended from a long line of kings, it is said she often advises her husband and Wujat on state matters. Pharaoh inherited the throne when he marrie
d her.

  She gestures for two of her servants to attend us. “See that they are fed and washed,” she commands. Ky slips his hand into mine, which does not go unnoticed. “I will have the new physician attend to you both, as well.”

  I flinch. So Father has been replaced. I suppose it was inevitable. Members of the large royal family need someone to care for their health. “Thank you, my lady.” The attendants lead us away from the great hall and I exhale, unaware I’ve been holding my breath.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” Ky whispers as we walk down the grand corridor.

  “No,” I whisper back, careful to not let the attendants hear. “Yet I still cannot shake the feeling that we’ve just walked into a nest of vipers.”

  Ky squeezes my hand as we head for the physician’s chambers at the end of the palace. “Lucky for us, you’re a snake charmer.”

  4

  I AM STRUCK BY THE FAMILIAR smells the instant I enter the physician’s chamber. For the second time in mere hours, moisture assaults my eyes, which I close, letting the scents of my father and his work wash over me.

  “Everything is exactly the same,” I say, looking around. Anubis sniffs at some bowls in the corner. Ky lets go of my hand and walks over to the counter, picking up the pestle from the mortar Father used to grind up herbs and medicines.

  “It would be silly to change things when they work so well where they are,” a voice says. Ky fumbles the instrument but manages to catch it before it crashes to the floor, hastily returning the utensil to its place on the shelf. “I am Ahmes. You must be Ky,” the man says, then turns to me. “And Sesha. I am glad to hear you are both alive and well.”

  “Thank you.” I bow, inspecting my father’s replacement. He is tall, head and body shaved, as is the custom. His brown eyes are warm and they look out at us with concern. He is much younger than I expected.

  “And who is this?” He looks at the dog.

  “Anubis,” Ky says.

  “Ah,” he nods. “There is food being brought for you. Would you like to wash first or later?”

  “Now, please,” I say, eager to remove the grimy film of sand that’s covered every inch of my body for the past month.

  “Very well. And you, Master Ky?”

  Ky’s stomach grumbles loudly. “Food, please.” Anubis barks his agreement.

  Ahmes smiles. “Of course. Sesha, you know the way to the baths, I presume?”

  “Yes.”

  “We will wait here for you.” He gestures to the large table at the other end of the room. A serving woman walks in carrying a tray laden with food and drink. The delicious aromas make my mouth water and I almost change my mind about bathing first. She passes me, placing the tray on the table, and I see her nose wrinkle, nearly imperceptibly, except a month on the streets has sharpened my powers of observation.

  Never mind. Bath first.

  Emerging from the pools feeling better than I have in a very long time, I dry myself with the cloth provided.

  “Sesha.” It is Merat, the princess whose manner I evoked when dealing with the guards. “Welcome home.” She places a clean robe on a chair beside the pool.

  “Thank you, Princess.” I bow, aware of the generosity of the pharaoh in letting me use the family baths and the honour of Merat bringing me the robe herself, without her usual condescending expression.

  “I am sorry about your parents.” Her words are sincere. “Your father was a good man. I will never forget how he saved Tutan.” The young prince once suffered a severe reaction to a scorpion bite and Father saved his life.

  “He loved Prince Tutan like another son,” I say, tightening the cloth around my body, self-conscious of my now clean — but presumably still bedraggled — appearance. Her eyes flicker over my hair.

  “I will send Nebet to you,” she says. Nebet, personal dresser and attendant to the elder princesses, is a sorcerer with her combs and kohl pots.

  “Thank you, Princess,” I say again and she nods, leaving the baths as regally as she came in.

  Has a month on the streets addled my senses? Maybe my original assumption about wandering into a vipers’ nest is wrong. So far everyone has been nothing but kind. Perhaps they truly do feel sorry for us. I sigh, putting on the clean linens Merat brought.

  I need to find the scroll. Not only did Father believe it could help Ky, it might also contain information that could either condemn or clear the royal family. At the very least it will spare me the pains in my neck from constantly having to look over my shoulder.

  Ky belches loudly as I walk into the physician’s chambers, better prepared for the onslaught of emotion that comes with entering my father’s former domain. He is alone, except for Anubis.

  “Where is Ahmes?” I glance around for the physician.

  “He was called to attend one of Tutan’s sisters. She has The Fever.”

  “Which one?” I ask.

  “Little Tabira.”

  Poor thing. The Fever is especially ruthless on children. It can come and go without warning, alternating between burning up and bone-racking chills. “May Amun be with her,” I say and my brother nods solemnly. It occurs to me that Ahmes’s departure has provided an opportunity.

  “Ky,” I urge. “Help me search for the scroll.”

  “What? Now?” He glances around the room.

  “Yes. Perhaps Father hid it in here.” Walking around, I look on shelves, peering under counters, in drawers.

  Ky gets up and explores the room, looking with me. Father also taught him to read and write and though he is only ten, he can decipher most texts with ease. “Do you know what it looks like?”

  “Like a scroll?” Stopping in front of a desk, I stare down at a surface overflowing with papers. Picking one up, I scan the document. “A Treatment for The Malady of Fever,” I say aloud.

  “You can read.”

  I jump. Ahmes stands in the doorway. I wonder how long he’s been there.

  “Yes,” I stammer, cheeks growing warm. I hope he attributes it to the baths. “My father taught me.”

  He studies me. “Is there any particular reason why you’re riffling through my things?”

  “Don’t you mean our father’s things?” The sharp words escape before I can stop them. Lowering my gaze, I bite my lip.

  “They are mine now, Sesha” — his voice is gentle — “but if there’s something you’d like to remember him by …” Relief floods my body. He thinks I’m looking for sentimental trinkets. This could work in my favour.

  “Actually,” I begin, doing my best to keep my tone casual, “there is one papyrus I’d like to have. Maybe you know of it? My father was working on it before he died.” Hazarding a glance, I see an unsettled look cross his features.

  Too much.

  He is familiar with the document. Cursing the loss of my angle, I press onward. “It is something I was helping him transcribe. It would mean so much to have it back.”

  If Ahmes did not shave off his eyebrows, one would rise now. “Are you referring to the Great Imhotep’s treatise on surgical traumas?”

  “Yes.” I hold my breath. That must be it.

  “The document is gone,” he says, abrupt.

  “Gone?” Ky echoes.

  “Yes,” he says, voice terse. “No one’s seen it since your father died. It’s assumed it perished in the fire …” Along with your parents hangs in the air.

  No. That cannot be. Father did not keep his documents at home.

  “What about the temple?” I suggest.

  Ahmes closes the door to the chambers and walks over to me. “What about the temple?”

  “That is where he did most of his work. That and here.” I gesture. “But the temple is more peaceful. It is where he preferred to carry out his academic pursuits.”

  Ahmes pauses, then, “I believe the temple has been thoroughly searched.”

  It sounds like I am not the only one looking for the papyrus. I wonder again at its importance. “Who searched the temple?”

&nbs
p; “I did,” Wujat says from behind.

  5

  I WHIRL AROUND. The pharaoh’s Grand Vizier examines me thoroughly, making me wish for something slightly more substantial than the linen robe I’m wearing. He must have come in through the back entrance.

  “Not personally, of course.” He waves a hand. “I had several of my men go through the temple from bottom to top.”

  I am sure the priests loved that. Obtuse guards pilfering through hundreds of holy documents and generally wreaking havoc. Wujat should know better, having held the office of Most High Priest before his duties as Grand Vizier had him delegating it to another, namely my father.

  “And they knew what they were looking for?” I say cautiously, a plan forming in my mind. Ten ankhs to one his men can’t read.

  “They came back with several documents, yes. But none was the correct one. Your father was waiting until he’d finished the transcription before revealing it and presenting it as a gift to the pharaoh. The papyrus is reportedly attributed to the Great Imhotep, and is the only known copy.” Wujat starts pacing. “Ay believed it contains knowledge that has been lost to us, increasing its already inestimable worth.”

  “How did it remain hidden so long?” I can’t help but ask. But I know how vast and complex the catacombs are under the temple, where things can and do stay hidden for hundreds of centuries.

  Wujat does not answer. “The priest who originally discovered the document was not convinced of its authenticity. He showed the scroll to your father one night and Ay thought otherwise. He persuaded the priest to let him study and transcribe it. The manuscript is over fifteen hundred years old and in desperate need of preservation.”

  “And what of the other priest? He does not know its location?”

  Wujat hesitates. “Brother Qar has since … departed for the afterlife. Most unfortunate.”

  Or convenient, depending on who is asking. Either way, this means there are no remaining witnesses to the scroll. Not that Wujat knows that …