“What are we going to do?” Reb’s voice is panicked. “If we try to go up there we’ll end up taking a rock to the head and our brains will look like the ones in Sesha’s satchel.”
I give him a look. “Thank you for recalling that particular image to my mind, Reb.”
“There must be another way out,” he insists.
“There is not,” I say, through gritted teeth. “That is the whole point of a tomb. One way in, one way out. Crooked Nose must have been following me the whole time.” Mentally, I curse myself for not being more aware, knowing now whose eyes I’d felt, watching me.
“Listen,” Paser says. “Do you hear that?”
“What?” I say, morose. I have failed everyone I love.
“Nothing at all,” he says, pressing his ear against the wall. “The shovelling has stopped. There is no more rubble falling.”
He is right. We race to the exit, waiting cautiously for another hailing of rocks and boulders to come pouring down. It is silent.
“We have to get to Ky!” I shout and bolt up the steep incline.
“Sesha!” Paser shouts behind me. “Wait!”
Paying no heed, I race up the shaft, arms protectively blocking my face, expecting a large and heavy rock to smash into my body at any moment.
Emerging into the chapel, I breathe hard.
Crooked Nose eyes me balefully, shovel on the ground. The other guard must have accompanied Queen Anat back to the palace, leaving only him behind to see to her dirty work.
“Why did you stop?” I ask the sullen soldier, as Paser and Reb rush up the stairs behind me. Not that I am complaining.
“Because I commanded him to,” a voice says.
Turning, I see a small form standing there, proud and imposing for all its diminutive height.
Prince Tutan. And behind him, gripping one of his larger surgical blades, Ahmes.
“But how did you know we were here?” I ask. The rains have stopped and the skies are clearing.
“Ky told us you were going to see Nebifu,” Ahmes says. “From there Anubis led us.” The dog trots out from behind Ahmes, who fondly pats his head.
I feel a spurt of panic for my brother. “But who is with Ky?”
“I believe they said their names were Bebi and Kewat,” Ahmes says. “They offered to care for him until my return.”
“But Queen Anat … she … she …” Fear stabs at my heart. I have filled Ahmes in, while Paser and Reb gave a slightly edited version to Tutan. We do not need the young prince on the defensive, or pressured to choose between us and his mother.
“She will not be concerning herself with a young boy at this precise moment,” Ahmes says, softly. “There are other more important matters for her to attend to.”
“My mother will not hurt my friend,” Tutan says, overhearing. But a dubious expression crosses his face as he contemplates his words. “Come,” he bids Crooked Nose. “Let us return to the palace.” Reluctantly, the soldier obeys, following his future king and beloved child of his queen, who would be most displeased to hear if anything happened to her only son and heir to the entire kingdom.
I start to follow Tutan and Paser stops me, a firm hand on my shoulder. “Sesha.” His tone is gentle. “We cannot go back to the palace.”
“I must. Ky needs me.”
“He is well, Sesha, and under my care,” says Ahmes. “Besides, you know Anubis will let no harm come to him.” He allows a brief smile, which fades. “But Paser is right. The queen will not want you interfering in her plans.”
“And what plans are those, exactly?” I ask.
“I am not sure,” Ahmes admits. “But it does not escape my attention that if something were to happen to Pharaoh in battle, Tutan will become king, effectively making Queen Anat ruler of the land as his regent. Have no fear, your escape will go unmentioned.” He nods at Crooked Nose’s back. “He will not want her hearing of this.”
“But what of the scroll?” My heart despairs at the loss of the papyrus. My father’s legacy. Our legacy. “Pharaoh has need of it.” The world has need of it.
“Leave it, Sesha,” Paser says.
“Do not worry,” Ahmes says. “I’m Pharaoh’s physician — who do you think he will entrust the document to? I may be able to make another copy without the queen’s knowledge and will do what I can to protect the original.” His words alleviate some of my distress.
“And where are we to go, what are we to do?” Reb interjects. “As you say, Ahmes, if we go back now, the queen will have us killed.”
Though my heart breaks a little at the thought of not seeing Ky in the immediate future, I bind it tightly with strips of resolve.
“Then we must go north. To the Hyksos kings.” I look at Paser and Reb, gauging their response to my radical proposition. “I have a feeling that Merat might like to see a familiar face. Or three.” Our skills as physicians will be valued in an upcoming battle and may provide an adequate cover for rescuing her. More likely we will be killed on the spot, but I cannot let my friend be given away like some conciliatory trinket.
“North?” Reb echoes, looking like he is stuck in quicksand.
“North,” Paser agrees with a nod, folding his arms over his broad chest.
“Take this.” Ahmes hands the blade to Paser before turning to face me.
“Thank you, for everything,” I say to him. He clasps my hand like I am his equal, bringing it to chest height, his other hand covering our grip. “The girl, Kewat. She is with child. Care for her.”
He nods. “May the gods protect you, Sesha.” His eyes scan me, anticipating the words I am about to say. “And have no worry for Ky. I will see that he is safe.” Anubis barks in agreement.
“I know,” I say. He releases my hand and turns to leave the mastaba.
“Ahmes.”
He stops at the exit and looks over his shoulder. The lantern on the wall flickers, casting a glow on the Day of Judgment scene inscribed on the wall, flames illuminating our patron god, Thoth, reed brush poised in his hand.
“Tell my brother I will be back for him.” My voice is as unwavering and steadfast as the Great Pyramids. “And the scroll.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE EDWIN SMITH MEDICAL PAPYRUS (the “secret scroll” Sesha seeks and transcribes) is a real-life document! A manual of military surgery and the oldest known treatise on trauma, it was discovered by tomb robbers and sold into the hands of Edwin Smith, a rare antiquities dealer in the late 1800s. His daughter later recognized its extreme importance and donated it to the New York Museum of Medicine in the early 1900s, where you can see it today. The scroll is believed to be dated to the SECOND INTERMEDIATE PERIOD (approx. 1650–1550 BCE) and is assumed to be a copy of a much older medical document attributed to the Great Imhotep, Egypt’s first renowned physician, scribe, Grand Vizier, and High Priest (among many other things). The copy is believed to have been written by two scribes, with the second making small additions that are incomplete in some sections, as if the scribe were interrupted mid-transcription …
Not only is the scroll one of the world’s most priceless artifacts, it is also important because it is the first document that demonstrates a rational and scientific approach to medicine, rather than relying solely on magic and superstition.
The book is set during the Second Intermediate Period, one of the most obscure periods of Ancient Egyptian history and during which the country fell into disarray. The Hyksos, “rulers of foreign lands,” gained control over the Nile Delta and ruled from the port city of Avaris (modern Tell el Dab’a). Egyptians viewed this brief period as a blight on a glorious history, but it was actually thanks to the Hyksos (who — for the most part — held an uneasy truce with Thebes), that new advancements, particularly in weaponry and military procedures, were introduced to the Egyptians, allowing them to eventually take back their lands and heralding in the extraordinary era of the New Kingdom. Even now, new research is being carried out and there are proponents of several theories regarding t
his tumultuous time, as the world’s renowned Egyptologists attempt to unlock the mysteries of the past and decipher its stories.
Writing historical fiction is always a bit tricky, as the writer desperately wants to get it right for the audience, but it’s especially challenging when a book is set over 3,500 years ago! Some things we know, but many more things we don’t. There are differing theories, perspectives, and assumptions made when examining the past, and researchers have to be aware of the lens through which they view the world. Even our language shapes the way we think! This book is a work of fiction and while I tried to get the details as accurate as years of research allowed, I hope what you take away is a passion and respect for the great civilizations that came before us. I would love for this series to inspire you and other young readers to get excited about history and to explore it for yourself, unearthing your own thrilling adventures and stories along the way. But while you do, be mindful of your own “lens” that you look at the world through, and remember that other people have their own lenses, too. We are all brothers and sisters who share a home called Earth, and we must do what we can for it, and for one another.
Xoxo, Alisha
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
IT TRULY DOES TAKE A VILLAGE to write a book, a process that involves years of research and writing. I am fortunate to have many wonderful people in my village whose efforts and contributions helped make this story possible. I could not have written Scroll without the support of my husband, Aaron, who was also one of the manuscript’s most ardent fans. To Angela Misri, whose initial idea for another project sparked the ember for this story, and to my writer friends Meaghan McIsaac, Joyce Grant, and Ainslie Hogarth for their encouragement and complete understanding of how crazy a writer’s life can be.
To Ali McDonald and Olga Filina, for believing in the manuscript and getting it into the hands of the right people. To everyone at Dundurn Press, including Scott Fraser, who championed the book, as well as Kathryn Lane and Jenny McWha from the editorial team, and my incredible editor, Jess Shulman. A giant thank you to art director Laura Boyle for overseeing this stunning cover and to superstar illustrator Queenie Chan for bringing Sesha’s world to life.
To Egyptologist Roberta Shaw for sneaking me into the Royal Ontario Museum’s private stacks to do research, and to the Ontario Arts Council, whose literary grants contributed to the creation of this book.
To my friends and family who support me and my writing — thank you for everything. And, as always, to my children, Aira and Nolan, I love you, keep reading, and keep dreaming.
And, finally, to you, the reader. Thank you for spending some of your very precious time with Sesha and her friends on this adventure; I hope you will be back for the next one.
The Lost Scroll of the Physician Page 18