“One must show utmost respect for the dead at all times,” Sebau says over his shoulder as we trail down the hall. “You are the only group of students permitted to observe this sanctified process.”
This is one of the changes my father implemented. For much of the past, medical scribes had naught to do with those who did the embalming. But Father felt much could be learned by examining a body. With him gone, who knows how long they will keep up this practice? Sebau stops in front of the entrance to the room and gives us a stare as hard and cold as the walls of a tomb. “As you are training in the medical arts, some think the best way to learn about the body is to observe it closely. That being said, any inappropriate behaviour and expect the stick.” He pulls back the curtain and enters the room.
Preparing myself, I step past the curtain, hoping the bodies will not affect me as they did last night. Both have been stripped and washed with sweet-smelling wine and water from the Nile. While it is not as difficult viewing the corpses in the light of day, I cast my eyes around for something else to look upon.
Farther back in the room there is a large pile of items. Glinting gold, silver, and shimmering stones adorn a giant pile of treasures, stacked carefully on top of each other. These are the items the couple will need for the afterlife, to sustain them and their spirits. In addition to the usual assortment of gems and charms, there are other beautiful objects such as bejewelled musical instruments — including one splendid reed — stunning statues, intricate pottery, and furniture, almost reaching the ceiling. Though I am used to seeing much wealth in the palace, it is quite something to see so many valuable objects heaped together in a mountain of glittering riches.
It is no wonder the priests have a difficult time keeping thieves away. There have been a few infamous robberies in recent years, of some of the more prominent nobles’ tombs, including a few of the ancient pharaohs and their families. Thieves made off with many irreplaceable and precious items. I remember Father grumbling under his breath at the latest one, a great king from the past. He wondered how the robbers were able to get by the guards, and how they knew exactly where to look, deliberating with Mother whether they might have had inside help. The criminals still have not been caught. And a good thing for them — robbing the graves of the dead is a most heinous crime, resulting in execution by impalement, or worse, being burned alive. This ensures the wrongdoers will have no body to pass into the afterlife with. I shudder, tormented at the thought of my parents sharing the same fate. Perhaps they will not be there when Ky and I arrive in the Field of Reeds.
In the midst of my distress, Reb materializes in the group, catching my shudder.
“Scared, Sesha?” he says with a quiet sneer.
“It is you who should be scared,” I whisper back, fierce as a lioness. “What have you done with my tools?”
A smirk of satisfaction crosses his face and he opens his mouth to reply.
“Shut your mouths!” Sebau barks at us. “Did I not say the utmost respect must be paid during this process?” His eyes narrow on Reb. “And why are you late this morning, might I ask?”
“The clouds … they … they … blocked the sun’s rays, so I was not woken in time.” Reb looks down at the floor. There are new bruises high on his left arm, next to a vicious-looking scar.
Sebau looks as if he is about to reprimand him further, but just then two priests walk into the room. One carries a long metal rod with a hooked end, and the other holds a sharp blade. They walk over to the bodies lying on the concrete slabs. Sebau monotonously takes us through the process. Bulging wicker baskets rest under the tables, filled with a salt called natron, which will cover the bodies for forty days, sucking out all moisture. They will then be stuffed with pleasant-smelling spices and linen to give them back their shape, covered with oils and resins, and adorned with protective amulets and any other jewels or items the nobles requested to be buried with. Then the bodies will be carefully wrapped in strips of linen and each one will be placed into intricately painted human-shaped coffins.
The priests each stand at a body, ready to begin the work of preparing and preserving it for the afterlife. The first priest holds his rod aloft and begins muttering an incantation. Most of the protective spells will be said in the final stages, when the linen bandages are applied, but perhaps the prayer is for him, to ready him for the grisly task ahead.
We watch in silence, breath held, as the priest takes the rod and shoves it, hard, up the nobleman’s left nostril. There is a sickening crunch as he breaks through the nasal cavity and the hooked end of the rod sinks deep into the skull. He moves the instrument in a forceful, circular motion, pulverizing the tissues in the head. Sweat breaks out on his brow after a few moments of jamming the rod in and out, swirling the contents around. Once the priest perceives them mushy enough, he begins to withdraw them through the nostrils, using the hooked end of the rod.
Piece by piece, chunk after chunk of spongy pink and grey matter is extracted through the nose. Each time the priest inserts the rod, he pulls out more and more of the squishy material, scooping it onto the tray beside the body. While he finishes his task, the other priest steps up to the body of the woman.
He makes a swift and deep incision into her left side. This is where he will extract the vital organs from. I momentarily avert my gaze from the grim proceedings. Eight elaborate containers rest on a table behind the priests, each one finely carved from limestone. These special jars are meant for the liver, the intestines, the lungs, and the stomach. The heart will be left inside the body. In the afterlife, it will be weighed against a feather so the person’s life can be judged by Osiris. A wicked person’s heart is heavy and is immediately gobbled up by Ammit, the Devourer. If the person has lived a good and honest life, as proven by their light heart, they will be allowed to enter the Field of Reeds, the beautiful and sunny kingdom of Osiris. There, people are surrounded by golden wheat and fruit trees, able to eat, drink, and be happy for all of eternity. If they make it there, that is.
My attention is drawn back to the pile of pink and grey juicy tissue. The brains, having no important function, will be disposed of. Father strongly disagreed with this practice, feeling that there is much about the organ that we do not fully understand. He had witnessed injuries to the head, which resulted in a person losing the ability to walk or talk. And then there is Ky’s condition, as well.
There is a loud thump and we look over. One of the other students has fainted. Sebau lets out a loud sigh.
“One in every class,” he mutters, clapping his hands. “That is enough for today. You will go back to the main room and record your observations. Paser, Reb, pick him up and take him outside for some air.”
Obediently we line up to file out, leaving the priests to their messy tasks. Paser and Reb walk over to the fallen student, who has swooned next to a pile of cloth rags. Too bad he didn’t sway a little more to the right; it would have been a softer landing.
Reb kicks the pile of rags aside with his foot. Suddenly, Paser lets out a shout. Heads turn and I catch the angry hiss of what sounds like a very large snake.
19
MORE SHOUTS ERUPT AS PANIC spreads through the room, quicker than a fire through dry fields. Everyone runs for the exit. Everyone but Paser, Reb, and the fallen boy, who are trapped by the muscular body of the scaly brown snake, which rears up indignantly out of the heap of rags. Though normally shy, cobras are fiercely hostile when cornered. This one is not happy about being disturbed and rises to full height, flaring its hood and flicking its tongue with another sinister hiss.
Paser and Reb are frozen.
And with good reason. A single bite from a cobra has enough venom to kill an elephant. I used to milk Apep regularly, lessening but not completely removing the danger in working with her. She also knew that striking my hard reed would only cause her pain, so would hesitate to do so. This specimen will not have had the same training.
The boy comes to in all the commotion. Sitting up with a dazed l
ook on his face, he looks around for clues as to what is happening. As he catches sight of the hissing, looming snake, his eyes roll back in his head and he promptly passes out again.
Without thinking, I run to the pile of the nobles’ riches, snatching the bejewelled reed I noticed earlier. Carved from bamboo, the instrument is dotted with semi-precious stones. Putting it to my lips, I begin to play, quickly moving the flute-like instrument in arcs to capture the snake’s attention. A cobra’s reach is about one third of its body length, and I make sure to stay well out of range, moving hypnotically from side to side. It begins to sway along with me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Paser and Reb each grab a leg of the unconscious boy and slowly inch themselves out of harm’s way.
Cobras are often reluctant to strike; they subscribe to the thought that the best offence is a showy defence. Slowly, still playing the instrument, I walk backward in the direction of the tables. The cobra eyes me warily as I retreat. Putting the instrument down, I grab one of the baskets and tip it on its side. Salt spills out silently onto the floor, spreading underneath the embalming tables. Grabbing a handle of the empty basket, I walk it back toward the cobra, moving as cautiously as possible. Leaving the basket there on its side, I back away again. The cobra will want a safe, cool, and dark environment to escape to after all the chaos. Withdrawing from the room, I reach the exit, bumping into Paser, who whispers excitedly in my ear.
“Sesha, that was incredible!”
“Well done, child,” Sebau says, his voice slightly shaky.
I shrug. “The snake would rather eat a toad than me. He only felt threatened. Soon he will crawl into the basket and fall asleep and then we can remove him.”
“Class is adjourned for the rest of the day, while we deal with our … visitor,” Sebau says. More priests have come down the hallway to see what all the noise is about.
The boy who lost consciousness has once more been revived. “What happened?” he mumbles.
“It appears there is a charmer in our midst, Djaty,” Reb says to the fainter, but his usual look of disdain has been replaced by one of wariness. Without another word, he turns and walks down the hallway.
“I am starving,” Paser says, clapping me on the back. “Nothing like unexpected danger to wake the appetite. Let us go find something to eat.”
The group disperses and I follow him to the room where food is kept on hand for the priests and temple scribes. We fill our plates as others file in behind us. Some of the boys are teasing the rattled Djaty, while others congratulate me as the story of my exploit grows more harrowing by the second. Embarrassed by the attention, I turn to Paser.
“I would like to get some air.”
“I will accompany you and you can tell me where you learned to handle a snake like that,” Paser says.
We turn and walk out through the halls, holding our dishes. Reb appears as we approach the outer room of the temple. He, too, is holding something in his hands.
“My tools,” I say, heart leaping.
“I should not have taken them,” Reb says abruptly, handing them to me. With a quick bow of his head he walks off, heading in the direction of the food. And that is probably as close to an apology as I will get from him.
“I am surprised he returned them,” I say.
“He is probably scared of you.” Paser grins. “What you did back there probably has a lot of people wondering if you have been blessed by the gods.”
I think again, as I so often do, of my parents. “If so, they have a most peculiar way of showing it,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
We walk out into the sunshine and head to the garden off the side of the temple where many of the fruits and vegetables are grown. Finding a place to sit on a stone bench, we eat in companionable silence.
I am the one to break it. “The gods have little to do with it. It was my father who taught me how to” — I struggle to find the correct word — “to bond with the snake. Despite their divine connections, they are just creatures like you and me, and as we want to be treated with respect, so do they.”
Paser must catch the forlorn echo in my voice. “Your father was a most impressive man. Have you been to visit his tomb yet?”
“No,” I say, looking at my half-eaten food. “Queen Anat mentioned they are in one of the mastabas, but I am not sure which one.” The necropolis is vast and complex and lies on the west bank of the Nile where the sun goes down and enters the underworld. My eyes are drawn in that direction, looking past the other students milling about. The action with the snake has everyone taking a break and there’s a distractedness in the air that comes after an unexpected commotion. A distractedness that could be taken advantage of …
“I know where they are,” Paser says.
I look up at him, heart soaring then plummeting all in one breath. As much as I want to visit my parents I cannot let another opportunity to look for the scroll slip through my fingers.
“Do you want me to show you?” he asks.
“That would be most kind of you,” I say. The rush of subduing the cobra lingers in my veins, emboldening me. “But first there is something I must ask Nebifu.”
If Paser thinks anything odd of my errand he does not let it show. “I will wait here,” he says. Placing my plate on the bench beside me, I leave before I can change my mind.
20
SCRIBES STROLL THE HALLWAYS, and though it is not unreasonable for me to walk the temple at this time of day, I keep my eyes down. Slowing my pace, I reach the corridor leading to one of the inner chambers, glancing around to make sure no one is watching. In a blink of an Eye of Ra, I turn down the corridor. The gods of luck must be with me because it is empty. My feet are light as I approach the thick door of my father’s old study. With a quick intake of breath to steady myself, I rap sharply on the wood.
No answer.
I rap again, a little louder. There is no “come in” or any sound at all to indicate its inhabitant is present. Cautiously, I push on the door and it creaks open a crack. Poking my head in, I call out softly.
“Your Holiness?” Nothing. Pushing the door all the way open, I look up to make sure I am still unobserved, then slink into the room.
Like Ahmes’s chambers, it is mostly unchanged from when my father occupied it, though some time has passed since then. Running my fingers along the shelves, I look closely for anything that might resemble the scroll. Minutes pass while I scour the room, but nothing sticks out as a likely candidate. Would Nebifu’s chambers have been searched, as well? No wonder the priest seems to resent Wujat, the implication being that he is not bright — or honest — enough to recognize or reveal the scroll of his own accord.
It is not here. Frustration rips through me and I slam both hands down on the desk with such force that the blow echoes through the sanctified chamber. Just then, voices reach me from the corridor, increasing in volume as they get closer. Wildly casting my eyes around for somewhere to hide, I settle on a large wardrobe at the back of the room. Its door closes behind me just as Reb and his uncle walk into the study.
“What were you thinking, being late this morning?” Nebifu berates his nephew.
“I am sorry, Uncle,” Reb mumbles as I peer through the slim crack in the wardrobe.
“Do you have any idea how it looks when my own … relation … cannot even make it to his classes on time?” His Holiness is incensed.
“It will not happen again, Uncle.” Reb looks past his uncle, eyes flickering over the wardrobe. I stop breathing.
“Leave my sight.” Nebifu waves his hand in disgust. “I will deal with you when we get home.” Reb doesn’t wait around to be asked again.
“Stupid boy,” Nebifu mutters. “As if I do not have enough on my dish with Pharaoh and Wujat searching for that blasted scroll …” My heart leaps like a gazelle as he rummages around in his desk for something. Is he about to reveal the missing document? But instead of a papyrus, he pulls out a small jug and takes a few healthy swallows, then le
aves the room. Letting out a sigh I climb out of the stifling wardrobe and spend a few more precious seconds looking for the scroll, to no avail. It does not appear to be here after all. But even in my disappointment, I sense its nearness. It is somewhere in the temple, calling to me.
Making sure there is no one in the corridor, I exit the chambers, stealthily making my way back outside to fresh air and to Paser.
“My apologies,” I say, breathless, when I reach him. “That took a little longer than expected.” Paser is practising his scripts on some ostraca.
“Did you manage to speak with Nebifu?” he asks, curious.
“He was not … available.” I smooth down my robe, brushing away dust and the cloistering smell of Nebifu’s wardrobe.
Paser puts away his tools. “Do you still wish to visit your parents?”
Not trusting myself to speak, I give a slight nod. Perhaps they will be able to provide some guidance in my search. I am not having much success, and Ky is running out of time.
Paser stands and offers his outstretched hand to me. “Then let us go.”
I take it and we set out for the City of the Dead.
The necropolis stretches out before us. Dozens of mastabas, flat-roofed, rectangular structures, dot the landscape. Predecessors to the Great Pyramids that lie futher along the Nile, they are hallowed tombs for the dead, though not nearly as impressive in size as those guarded by the equally imposing Sphinx. My father took me to see them once; I will never forget the awe I felt looking upon the incredible structures. We leave our raft at the water’s edge and weave through the paths. Many of the ancient tombs are crumbling, completely filled in with rubble, dating back from ancient dynasties. At last we reach the newer buildings.
“That one over there.” Paser points off to the left but it has already caught my eye. I have been here a few times before, when I was very young, to visit the spirits of my grandparents. Mother took me. I remember asking why Father did not come. She said that he had not gotten along well with his parents, who died before I was born, but she thought it important that we pay our respects.
The Lost Scroll of the Physician Page 10