The Lost Scroll of the Physician

by Alisha Sevigny

  “What is your plan?” Reb says. Though I still do not trust him completely, his help will be welcome.

  “If you keep watch at the entrance to the temple, Paser and I can search the places where we have not had a chance to look,” I say. “Once the High Priests arrive with the statue, you will bang the gong three times to signal that the ceremony is about to begin.”

  Reb is skeptical. “What about the priests who remain here with the king and queen? They will be waiting to greet the statue of the god and present their gifts.”

  “That is where Merat comes in,” I say.

  “Merat?” Paser looks up. “What does she have to do with this?”

  “If anyone sees anything they shouldn’t, she is going to cause a distraction,” I say. I spoke with the princess at our last lesson. She knows that I have been charged by her father and Wujat to find the scroll. I explained that the priests were most particular about their documents and it would be best if I did not have to worry about them impeding my search. She happily agreed to provide a diversion. Especially upon hearing of Paser’s involvement.

  “I do not understand,” Reb says. “If Pharaoh and Wujat asked you to find the scroll, then why do you care about the other priests knowing?”

  “They asked for my discretion,” I say. What I told Merat is true. The higher scribes will not take kindly to a lowly junior scribe — the daughter of one who appeared to have fallen from grace, no less — riffling their sanctuary, going through their valuable and historical documents. In addition, Pharaoh, and to some extent Wujat, are the most powerful men in the land and part of their power comes from keeping those happy who also possess some power themselves, no matter how small. For in discontent lies potential for plots and scheming. Pharaoh reaffirmed the last time we talked that with all of the external threats, he does not need to be concerned about internal ones as well just now. Things were becoming increasingly unstable with the Hyksos in the North. Only a few days ago a suspected spy was captured and interrogated.

  Reb gets up to help himself to another portion of food. Speaking of discontent, I hope there will be enough refreshment to go around during the festival. I offer up a quick prayer for a good harvest.

  “And you are at peace with doing their bidding?” Paser’s voice is as quiet as moth wings once Reb leaves. He knows how conflicted I am, wondering whether someone at the palace could possibly be involved with the fire.

  “Do I really have a choice?” I say. Not only will finding the scroll save thousands of lives — not least of all my brother’s — but it might also provide some answers to that night.

  I have yet to mention the ring to Ky, having been so busy and not wanting to trouble him over something that may turn out to be nothing. And there is his friendship with Tutan to consider. Pharaoh and his family treat Ky as a son and it will trouble his spirit greatly to have any potential evidence of their involvement. My spirit, however, has been much tempered these past few moons; it has become as strong as metal.

  “You will be careful?” Paser asks, with that direct expression he has. The one that looks like he can see right into me.

  “I will,” I say, mouth feeling oddly dry. I take a sip of my drink. “And you, as well?” It is fortuitous that Paser has a taste for intrigue and adventure, in addition to being a good person.

  “Sesha, I —”

  Just then Reb comes back with a full plate. “What did I miss?”

  “I was just telling Sesha to be careful,” Paser says, taking a roll from Reb’s plate. “Now, let’s discuss the remaining spots where the scroll could be hidden.”

  As Paser and Reb debate whether the innermost sanctuary is a likely hiding place, I wonder at what Paser was about to divulge. A warning? Or some other kind of revelation? Tamping down my curiosity, I focus on the task at hand. Today is a big day and may very well be our best chance to find the scroll. We have been through the temple with one of Nebet’s fine-toothed combs and there are only a few areas we’ve not been able to access, the underground catacombs in particular. All my focus and determination must be put to the task at hand. I think of Ky, Merat, my parents, and the safety of the whole kingdom. The stakes are much too great to fail now.

  25

  THE DAY PASSES IN A BLUR. The Most High Priests left yesterday to retrieve the statue of the god from the neighbouring temple. It is being brought up the river on the pharaoh’s royal ship. People have lined the banks and the majority of the priests and scribes wait down at the docks. Cheers and singing float toward the temple on the wind. The statue will be placed on a smaller boat made entirely of gold and silver, inlaid with amethyst and turquoise. The boat bearing the statue will then be placed on a wooden platform and carried by the scribes up through the crowds, along the path, between the avenue of Sphinxes, and, finally, to the towering entrance of the temple.

  That is when Reb will sound the gong and Paser and I will know to sneak back out into the fray before anyone finds us nosing around where no junior scribe should be. The temple is nearly deserted. Pharaoh and Queen Anat, along with Tabira, Merat, and Tutan, who looks bored, wait in the main room with their personal attendants, musicians, and a few of the higher-level priests, snacking, drinking and chatting among themselves.

  A few of Pharaoh’s personal guards stand by the entrance to the temple, their firm stance reminiscent of the giant statues guarding the front of the holy structure. Piles of tributes for the gods lie beside the elaborate three-tiered platform the royals sit on. Ky is there, looking as bored as Tutan. I can tell the boys have been placed under stern orders to behave. He looks around for me but I remain hidden. Ky is the one person I have never been able to tell untruths to, and I know he will see immediately in my face that we are up to something. Just then Paser catches my eye and gives me a quick nod.

  Time to go.

  We mapped out the temple with sticks in the sand. Paser will take the west wing and I will take the east. Both lead down into their own separate labyrinths and meet somewhere in the middle. Access to the labyrinths is usually strictly monitored, but all hands are needed for the ceremony. This is our opportunity to delve into places forbidden to all but the most senior priests.

  Moving quickly, I keep my eyes down, careful not to attract any attention. Paser gave Reb and me a brief lesson in defence the other day, in case we should have need of it. Most priests are not violent, but there is always the chance that one of them might react unfavourably to any unsanctioned behaviour. And they will not hesitate to beat a junior scribe. I remember the look in Reb’s eyes — he knows that all too well.

  Wincing, I rub the large purple and blue mark on my upper arm, a token of our training session. Though my month outside the palace taught me much, I survived mostly by being quick and clever, not by taking the offensive. Paser’s teachings affirmed my methods. He told us when our opponent strikes first, we must duck away and then, when they are off balance, attack.

  “If you are not strong, then you must be smart,” he said. “And if you are not smart, then you must be strong.”

  “And if you are both?” Reb asked, voice full of bravado.

  “Then you have nothing to fear, my friend.” Paser laughed and clapped him on the back.

  I did not ask the question I have been wrestling with of late, not wanting to appear weak in front of either of them. But I could not help thinking it all the same: “What if you are neither?”

  Now is not the time for self-doubt, Sesha. You survived a moon on your own with your brother to care for. You are on the path to finding the scroll and saving him. Have hope.

  The voice whispers to me now, not spoken but rather felt, as the torches lighting the dim hallway flicker.

  I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart.

  All right, Father. Where did you hide the scroll?

  There is no answer and I am left again to my own devices. Father always did say you learn more by doing. But after I go in and out of several rooms of the east wing, nothing jumps out at
me as to where the document might be hidden. I sigh. Searching for a scroll in the temple is like searching for a scarab in the desert. Unless it chooses to reveal itself, it will remain unseen.

  The sound of footsteps stops me in my tracks.

  Flattening myself against the cold stone walls, I hold my breath, praying to the gods the footsteps do not round the corner.

  Closer and closer they come. Desperately, I look around for somewhere, anywhere, I can hide. This time there is nothing.

  Whoever it is rounds the corner and I feel the air leave my lungs in a whoosh.

  Paser.

  “You scared the ankh out of me,” I hiss, much relieved it is him.

  “Come on, you have to see this.” He gestures with the torch in his hand and I follow him down the dark hallway, deeper into the earth. The air is much cooler down here.

  As Paser leads me through the dizzying maze, turning this way and that, a question I have been wanting to ask bursts forth. “Earlier, you were about to say something before Reb joined us,” I say. “Do you mind telling me now?”

  He sighs, his breath causing the torch to flicker. “I learned who left the brains in your bag.”

  “Who?”

  “It was Djaty.” Paser names the boy who fainted during the mummification procedure and then again at the snake.

  “Why?” I ask, bewildered.

  “He was embarrassed at being … overcome in front of everyone. I supposed he thought it would be a way to earn back respect from the others.”

  It is my turn to huff, almost blowing out my torch. Boys. Though I am relieved it was meant as a harmless prank and not something more insidious.

  We take note of our turns, at last coming to a small chamber.

  “In here,” Paser says.

  We walk into the room. It is dark and I do not see what is so special about it. There are a few objects lying around, some older garments of the priests heaped in a pile.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Stand still,” he says. “Close your eyes.”

  I obey and we stand there in silence for a few moments.

  “I do not —”

  “Sssh,” he says, “do you hear that?”

  I try to listen for something, and then I hear it. A soft whistling sound.

  I open my eyes. “What is it?”

  “A breeze,” he says. “Somewhere there is air flowing through here.”

  I close my eyes again. “I hear it. And it feels warm.”

  We walk around the room, holding our torches aloft, searching for the source of the balmy wind.

  The light is so dim it is difficult to see. Closing my eyes, I touch my hand to the stone wall. Slowly, I trace my way around the room, using all my senses. I reach a spot where the air feels warmer.

  “Here,” I whisper, opening my eyes. I begin to press against the large stone bricks making up the wall, Paser doing the same.

  Nothing.

  After a few minutes of this, I slump to the ground, unsuccessful. Paser comes and sits beside me.

  “We are fooling ourselves. The scroll will never be found!” I say, slamming my back hard against the stone.

  Something shifts behind me. “Did you feel that?” I am unsure if I imagined the subtle movement of the stone.

  Paser quickly spins on his bottom and braces his feet against the block in the wall. He pushes with all his strength and it moves back a few cubits.

  “Sesha, help me!”

  I turn around and put my feet on the stone, bracing my body with my hands pressed firmly into the dirt floor.

  “One, two, three,” Paser says. We push our soles against the stone and it scrapes back in protest. The air flows in warmer now.

  Paser looks at me. “Once more?”

  I nod. Grunting, we push with all our strength. My hands slip in the dirt and I dig my nails into the hard ground. At last the stone slides all the way back, leaving enough room for a body to slip through.

  Panting, Paser shines his torch into the dark space we’ve opened up. “After you.”

  Crawling on my hands and knees and keeping my head low, I pass through thick solid stones on both sides and above me, pushing my shoulder hard into the shifted stone to create a little more space, then I wiggle my body through.

  It is as black as a night without stars. I turn and reach my arm back into the square stone passageway to grab the torch from Paser. He crawls through, one hand holding the flame aloft, and passes it to me, then reverses and grabs the other one. He crawls through the narrow space again and passes the second one to me. Now holding both torches, I back out of the way and stand up, casting my light around what appears to be a very large chamber.

  Lifting the torches up even higher in wonder, I gasp. The room is piled high with glittering treasures beyond imagining. Enormous solid gold statues, sparkling jewels and shimmering gemstones, gleaming silver, and ancient artifacts fill the cavernous space, making the nobleman’s items seem like a drop in a reed bucket. Paser stands up beside me, brushing himself off, and gives a low whistle as I pass him a torch.

  “What do you think it is all doing here?” I ask in awe, casting the flame around to light up the corners of the chamber.

  “Maybe it is a secret treasury of the temple?” Paser walks around, lightly touching a priceless object here, examining an artifact there. Slowly, we make our way to the back of the room in astonishment. Finally, my eyes set upon the most astonishing thing of all: dozens of wooden shelves line one wall, stacked with hundreds and thousands of scrolls, neatly rolled into thin cylinders.

  My scribe’s heart beats faster at the sight of so many in one place, but at the same time it sinks at the sheer number of them.

  “Do you think it is in there?” Paser whispers.

  Biting my lip, I contemplate the question. “I am not sure.” It does seem like a perfect location to keep the papyrus: safe and away from prying eyes. But if Father was immersed in transcribing the scroll, he would want it more accessible. “It is likely the place where the original document was found.”

  “It certainly is private,” Paser echoes my thoughts as he walks behind an enormous quartzite statue of Hathor, the cow goddess. The sun resting between her golden horns is made of pure gold, the horns themselves a lustrous silver. He disappears from view behind another towering statue. It is of the Great Imhotep himself.

  I stare up at the face of the legendary doctor and priest, one of the most revered men in our history. Imhotep was a scribe, like me, as well as Grand Vizier and adviser to several kings. He was also an astrologer, a poet, a sage, and a revolutionary architect. It was he who designed and built the very first step pyramid for King Djoser, creating the model that inspired the Great Pyramids — a lasting contribution to our nation’s legacy. I think of civilizations to come who will marvel at the awe-inspiring structures, and wonder what they will be like. It is also for them that we must preserve the scroll, so that they may learn from us.

  “Sesha!” Paser calls from behind the statue. “There is a writing table here. And some documents drawn up in a fine hand.”

  Hurrying over to the table, I bring my torch, illuminating papyri containing flowing hieratic script. My heartbeat roars in my ears like the mighty lion. Swallowing, I look from the writing to Paser.

  “These are written in my father’s hand.”

  26

  WE SIFT THROUGH THE PAPERS.

  “Look for anything that resembles a medical document,” I say, holding the torch closer. The roaring in my ears has faded somewhat, but handling manuscripts my father actually composed is having an effect on me.

  “Oh, really? I thought to keep an eye out for a collection of poems.” I do not miss the teasing in Paser’s voice.

  “Merat also talked of poems,” I say, examining one of the documents up close.

  “What did she say?”

  “It is why she wants to learn to read and write. So she may compose them.” I put the document down; it is not what we are looking
for. Turning, I glance around the area. “It has to be here.”

  “Sesha.” Paser’s voice is not teasing anymore.

  “Yes?”

  “Why do you think your father went to such lengths to keep the scroll hidden from the other priests?”

  I say the only thing that comes to mind. “Maybe he was afraid they would destroy it before he had a chance to finish copying it.”

  “Why would they do that?” Paser asks.

  “I suppose we will know the answer to that when we find the scroll.”

  Dong. A faint reverberation sounds through the air.

  “It’s Reb,” Paser says. “The procession must be arriving at the temple.”

  “Hurry!” I say, picking up various scraps of papyrus and frantically scanning them.

  Dong.

  In my haste, I drop my torch to the ground. Quickly crouching to pick it up before it is snuffed out, my eyes go to underneath the desk, where the dying flames show something.

  “Paser, bring your light! There is something under here.”

  Paser shines his light under the desk. As I reach for the papyrus, I know this is it.

  Dong.

  “Sesha, we must go!” Paser urges.

  There is no time to make sure. Grabbing the scroll, I stand up, leaving my dead torch on the ground. We run the length of the room, sidestepping and darting around magnificent treasures and silent statues until we reach the pushed-aside stone block.

  Dropping to my hands and knees I crawl through first, Paser right behind me. Or at least I think he’s right behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I see that the space I just wiggled myself through is empty.

  “Paser!” I panic.

  “Coming.” His torch winks out and he drops to his knees. Once he is through he stands and takes off the belt holding up his kilt. I stare in confusion as he tucks one end of his skirt tightly into the other, ducks down, and crawls back through the passageway. He backs out again, grunting with effort, and I realize he has looped his belt around the stone and is dragging it into place.