Sethy drove a war chariot. He was wearing the royal crown, red and white with golden snakes on the brow. With his left hand, he held the reins; with his right, the pharaonic scepters. He stared straight ahead and remained stoic despite the crowd’s cheers.
Damon, the new vizier, rode a similar carriage and held the golden royal shield. When people shouted his name, he smiled back.
Kamilah sat in an open litter chair, holding her son. A line of her female companions walked after her.
Soromeh was carried in a similar way. She was doing her best to keep her face neutral, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at the people, who seemed to love her for it. Iram walked at her side, covering her with a sun umbrella. Onamu, who did not react well to crowds, had stayed at the palace.
Soromeh’s close guard walked around her chair. Pa-Heb and Ookami, heroes who were hurt in the line of duty, had the honor to ride their horses at her sides. The other soldiers, among them Silas, Harouk, and Dewei, walked behind.
Naími had been refused a spot in Soromeh’s entourage and was stuck walking among the other nobles. She had learned early enough that they loved to gossip but never said anything useful. She was politely trying to escape from a woman who was explaining at length how her family was part of the royal court since Thutmose the Fourth.
A familiar voice interrupted the woman. “Naími! My dear cousin! I was looking for you!”
A man walked up to her and delicately took her hand, to place it in the crook of his arm. She allowed him to save her from the conversation, and both walked briskly until they were safe on the other side of another group of nobles.
She turned to the man. His skin and clothes were all of the darkest black, his hair in long braids falling over his shoulders. His eyes were almond-shaped and lined in gold. When he smiled, he uncovered white teeth that seemed slightly too pointy to be fully human.
“Anubis,” guessed Naími, suspicious. “What are you doing here?”
“I am the one who walks with the dead, my dear Naími. When they bury a king, I have to make sure they follow our traditions.”
“So you’re the one responsible for this pretentious display? I would have preferred not having to spend half the day walking.”
He shrugged. “All this is a human invention, an excuse to show off their wealth. I’m here to make sure the clergy does their job correctly.”
He pointed behind them, where the old Menefer Sef, high priest, walked very slowly, helped by his assistants. Thirty religious men followed, singing a hymn. The funeral boat came after them, followed by the offerings, musicians, dancers, mourners, more offerings, servants, and finally, the rear guard.
He turned back to her, his smile turning a bit more threatening. “I also came for news, my dear.”
She hesitated. Anubis had been friendly so far, only because they both shared the same goal.
“The royal court is hard to understand,” she said slowly. “Officially, everyone has a specific post, but despite the protocol, there seems to be a social hierarchy that everyone follows.”
He rolled his eyes. “I can relate. The Netcheroos are the same. Did you find which one of them is actually the demon Behemoth?”
“We can’t be sure he’s in the palace.”
“I know the methods of my clan. Trust me, somewhere in those suffocating corridors, there’s a son of Hell whose sole goal is to influence the king’s decisions. We have to find him before it’s too late.”
“I’m doing my best. I read the minds of twenty-seven members of the royal court since I got here. None has information on any kind of suspicious activity that can be linked to the demon. They all live in the continuous fear that they’ll lose their place at court. I don’t know how they manage to live like this, worrying all the time. Each time I read one of them, I get nauseous.”
She threw an exasperated glance to the nobles in front of them, which made Anubis laugh.
“They can’t all be that vapid?” he asked.
She frowned. “The princess was a painful exception. Stealing her thoughts while she was grieving made me ill for two whole days. And I read Sir Damon’s mind, a mistake I won’t do twice.”
“The blonde guy over there, on the chariot? How can he be worse than the others?”
“He’s crushingly optimistic,” she said with a grimace. “I started walking around with a spring in my step, greeting everyone, and feeling affection towards people I never met before. I even think the poor man’s in love. I couldn’t stop smiling. The princess sent me to the priests to get my soul cleansed.”
Anubis burst out laughing, which made the nobles around glare at them.
“If I was afraid you wouldn’t take this mission seriously, I am now at ease. Let’s hope all that work pays off soon and that you discover our enemy’s identity.”
“Or the name of their next target,” muttered Naími to herself.
A soft meow caught Anubis’ attention. He turned and saw a sand-colored cat. It was sitting next to the road, looking very normal if it weren’t for the necklace of emeralds and gold. It stared at them with its huge green eyes.
Anubis immediately let go of Naími’s arm. “I need to go. Things are getting complicated.”
“What? Is something happening? Does it have anything to do with—”
He grabbed her shoulders. “No matter what happens, do not look directly at the Netcheroos. Whether it’s me, the dogs of my pack, or any other Celestial, it’s of the highest importance that they don’t find out you can see them. You have to pass as a human.”
He did not wait for her answer and left through the crowd. Naími took a moment to gather herself and walked up to Soromeh’s entourage. The princess frowned at her approach but merely raised her chin with superiority and turned away. Naími slipped up next to Dewei.
“There may be Netcheroos, further ahead,” she muttered. “Do not look at them.”
Harouk and Silas, who were walking on the other side of the litter chair, nodded imperceptibly.
“Were you told by that man in black?” demanded Dewei.
“Just follow my orders.”
Annoyed, he went back to marching. Naími ignored the princess’s instructions and took a place behind the chair, between Iram and other servants carrying water and fans.
They made their way through the green fields, where thousands of peasants stared and cheered. Too soon, the path entered the desert, becoming wider and drier, marked by regular stone monoliths with sacred inscriptions.
They reached the entrance to the Valley of the Kings slightly after noon. Rocky hills rose high around them, pierced by the entrances to the many underground mausoleums of deceased kings.
Beings made of black smoke, shaped like canines, stood at attention, scattered through the burial grounds. They all stared at the sarcophagus. Naími guessed those were Anubis’s pack.
Further ahead, the valley parted into two smaller paths. The procession turned left and stopped in front of the first entrance, the only one that was not closed. The tomb to its left was still under construction.
Soromeh stretched her neck to whisper to Iram. “That one is for my brother. When he was born, my father sent for the best architects and artists in the country. They say it’s beautiful. I’d love to see it someday.”
“And yours, your majesty?” muttered Iram without moving his lips.
She gestured vaguely to her left. “Somewhere in the Valley of the Queens. It’s a room annexed to my mother’s grave, nothing special. What I’m interested in is what lies at the end of this path.”
Naími, who was too close to ignore the conversation, looked at where she was pointing. The sinuous path and the hills hid whatever the princess was talking about.
“The Temple of Hatshepsut,” said Soromeh with reverence. “She was a woman of royal blood who refused to be second-best and took the title of king, instead of queen, so she could keep all the power to herself. Kamilah used to tell me about her when I was younger. Maybe I coul
d go visit after the ceremony…”
Naími doubted it. She turned back to the procession and let out a shout of surprise.
There, almost next to her, was a Netcheroo, huge, armed, wearing blood-soaked war armor. He had the thin head, triangular ears, and long nose of an aardvark. He turned his tiny porcine eyes towards Naími.
“What is it?” demanded Soromeh, impatient.
“A—a rock in my sandal, your highness,” said Naími.
“Only that? Stay silent. We’re burying my father!”
Naími made a show of removing and shaking her sandal, while the rest of the procession walked past her to get in place around the tomb entrance. When she stood back up, the Netcheroo was still there, looking at her suspiciously. He stank strongly of blood, as if he had come from a battlefield.
“Set, what are you doing here?” demanded a voice.
Naími kept her gaze glued to the ceremony. From the corner of her eye, she saw Anubis approach. He was once again wearing his jackal head.
“Look who decided to show up,” mocked Set. “You’ve missed so many reunions, I was starting to think you’d left for good!”
“Our reunions always end up in arguments that lead nowhere. I’m more useful at a king’s funeral. But what about you? What are you doing at a burial?”
Set showed off his war bow. “I’m hunting.”
“Battlefields aren’t enough for you? You want to see humans die in times of peace now?”
“I’m not hunting mortals, but angels.”
Naími saw Anubis hesitate the tiniest moment, but it was enough.
Set turned from her and focused on the jackal. “You seem nervous, old friend.”
“I don’t know why you’re looking for angels in my ceremony! Did you follow chicken feathers you found on the floor?”
Set nocked an arrow and pointed it at Anubis’s face. The tip was covered in an acrid-smelling dark liquid. “Your absences are suspicious, Anubis. How can I be sure you haven’t betrayed the Netcheroo Council?”
Anubis showed his fangs. “My absences only prove that I don’t want to hear your whining or take part in your power games! Take that arrow off my face before I make you regret it!”
“Move a single hair and it goes into your eye.”
“Enough!” shouted a new voice.
A woman strode up to them. She could pass for a regular human, with a normal face, dark skin, and long black tresses, but two ivory cow horns, tipped with gold, grew from her head. Her only clothing was a long skirt, open at the sides to show her thick hips and powerful thighs. Her breasts, heavy like a nursing woman’s, were covered by dozens of necklaces that fell over her rounded belly.
When she reached them, Anubis bowed slightly. “Hathor. I didn’t know you were here, too.”
“I’m not the only one,” she said. “Horus and Isis are on the hills. We are here because Set is sure that the palace has been infiltrated by the enemy.”
“This is all news to me,” said Anubis. “Does the Council listen to this pig’s ramblings now?”
“We can’t be too safe. This is about the country’s future,” she said. “You shouldn’t be so laid-back about this, Anubis. We need the help of every Netcheroo.”
“To find angels in Egypt’s royal court? Should we be suspicious of the dead king, or his heirs, as they could be our enemies in hiding?”
“Them, or their followers,” growled Set, pointing an arrow at Iram. “Like this one. He looks like a Hebrew to me. He could be one of them.”
“What are you going to do, kill a mortal in bright daylight?” mocked Anubis. “Do you hold our laws in such contempt?”
“I’m not breaking them if he’s actually an angel.”
Naími held her breath. She could not intervene and get the Netcheroo’s attention back on her. She could not tell Dewei, Harouk, or Silas to intervene. She would have to let Iram die.
Hathor grew impatient. “Set, stop wasting our time with a simple Hebrew slave. Let’s go look at the king’s counselors instead. There’s a higher chance the angels are hiding among them to find our demon.”
Set threw a last suspicious glance at Iram and lowered his bow.
“Ah, I forgot we also had a fighter in that arena,” said Anubis, walking next to Hathor. “A son of Hell, you say? What is he disguised as?”
“You’d know if you bothered to come to our reunions!” snapped Set.
“None of us know,” corrected Hathor.
“Is it safe to—”
They walked out of Naími’s hearing range. She lifted her head discreetly and saw silhouettes standing above the cliffs. A man with the head of a falcon and a woman with colored wings. They were scanning the crowd. She lowered her gaze and caught Dewei’s eye.
“Later,” she mouthed, bringing her focus to the priests.
* * *
The sun was low on the horizon when Anubis returned to the palace. He changed into a human appearance and walked to the wing reserved for the nobility, looking for Naími.
He found two guards at her door. They were both talking in low tones and stopped at his approach. One of them was built like a mountain, but it was the other that strode up to him, hand on the sword at his belt.
“You. You were in the procession, but I have never seen you in the palace. What are you doing here?”
“A man can’t go looking for the company of a beautiful woman?” Anubis asked back. “I came to see Lady Naími, but I didn’t know I had to go through her chaperons first. Should I request your blessing if I ever ask for her hand?”
The guard placed his blade at Anubis’s throat, who burst out laughing.
“Dewei, calm down,” said the other soldier.
“Harouk, he—”
“We have our orders.”
Dewei pulled back reluctantly.
“Who should I announce?” he said between his gritted teeth.
Anubis smiled maliciously. “You know what, I thought about it, and I think I’ll come back another time. You won’t always be there to protect her virtue.”
He turned back and walked away. He soon noticed that the other guard, the bigger one, was following him.
Anubis looked around and found too many humans in the corridors. At his left, doors opened on several reception chambers, occupied by nobles who were still celebrating. He opened the first closed door he found.
There was an enormous wooden table, still covered in cups and plates holding the remains of a feast. At the end, two drunk teenagers were kissing passionately. Anubis threw them out. A moment later, the guard entered and slammed the door shut.
The room filled with white light.
Anubis jumped onto the table and transformed back into his natural jackal-headed shape. He summoned his weapon, a pole ended by a fan-shaped axe.
The brightness receded to show an angel in armor, sword at the ready, wings held wide.
Anubis attacked first. He swung the axe in a circle, aiming at the head, but the angel blocked, grabbed the handle, and pulled. Anubis steadied himself, turned the blade, and caught a notch in the helmet with the curved point.
He used all his strength to redirect the axe and slam the angel’s head on the table, place a foot on his head, and press the blade in the tight space between the helmet and the armor’s neck.
The angel dropped the sword, surrendering. The Netcheroo frowned at the easy victory.
“Are you going to behead me or not?” asked the angel.
Anubis froze.
“...Uriel?” he whispered.
The angel pushed the axe back with a hand and removed his helmet with the other.
“You idiot!” he shouted. “What are you doing, walking through the palace, asking after my clan’s agent? You could have been found out! You almost were, this morning!”
The Netcheroo ignored him and climbed down, letting out a delighted laugh. “It’s really you! No other angel could have such a bad temper! Come here so I can see what your face looks like without that st
upid helmet!”
He pinched the angel’s cheek and turned his head one way, then the other. Harouk let him, not done with his tirade. “All the trouble we went through would be for nothing if your clan discovers you’re responsible! I had to hide the truth to Naími, Dewei, and Silas for more than twenty years, just to protect your mangy mutt behind!”
“I’m not dreaming. You have a face!” said Anubis without listening. “The eyes I knew already, but not the brows above them! I feel like you’re about to kill me! And that jaw, this nose, you have nothing in common with the other angels and their refined features! No wonder you never showed your face!”
“I couldn’t remove the helmet,” said Harouk, pushing Anubis’s hands away. “You know this.”
Anubis looked at the angel’s wings. “How did you get freed from your chains?”
“I have a… deal. With Michael. I accomplish this mission, I swear to remain loyal to the Kingdom and not ask questions, and when I return, I get my freedom back.”
“And what about your memories—are you getting those back, too?”
Harouk shook his head. Anubis let out an angry noise.
“Uriel! You have to negotiate! You can’t—”
“It’s Harouk, now. We’ve been using human names for more than two decades. The others call me Harouk.”
“What? No! I’ve known you longer, and I refuse to start calling you something else! And you can’t just rejoin Michael’s ranks as if nothing had happened! He could, at the very least, tell you the crime you committed to deserve to be chained to that door!”
“No, listen, it’s never that simple with Michael. You saw him. He’s—”
A noise caught their attention. Near the ceiling were thin horizontal windows that opened to the exterior. A sand-colored cat was standing there, staring at them with green eyes.
“Oh no,” muttered Anubis.
The cat jumped out.
“Bastet!” yelled Anubis. “Come back, please!”
There was only a heavy silence.
Harouk was frowning. “...One of yours?”
The Celestial Conspiracies Page 8