“You have to admit that he looks unstable,” said another. “He’s still wearing yesterday's bloody tunic. He hasn’t washed his face or let the healers bandage his wound.”
“And his eyes,” muttered someone else. “Like a wild animal’s. He’s making the soldiers nervous.”
“Ha!” laughed Debeheni. “Maybe your men, but not mine. I saw a bunch of them proudly bearing a red hand on their faces. They’re impatient to avenge their king.”
“They won’t have to wait long,” said Damon, striding in. “Stop gossiping, and let’s get to work.”
He leaned over a map of the capital.
“If they sacrificed so many of their men in a single attack, it's because they’re desperate. They probably suspect that we interrupted their messages. They don’t expect help from the nearby cities anymore. They probably don’t have enough provisions left to feed both civilians and soldiers. It’s time to strike.”
The first day, he sent the archers. Flaming arrows flew over the ramparts, and the fire spread quickly through the dry city. A column of black smoke darkened the sky, and distressed cries reverberated through the night.
The second day, foot soldiers attacked the city walls at their weakest spots. Wooden doors were burned, stone walls thrown down, and the last sentinels killed. Hittite soldiers who tried to rush out were killed by the Egyptian troops.
The third day, the soldiers entered the city and decimated the Hittite armies. The citizens, weakened and hungry, offered no resistance.
At sunset, a chariot came from the beach. The Pharaoh was driving, wearing his crown and war clothes, his face stoic. He stopped in front of the open city gates.
Damon stood under the arch, tall and proud, his face still bearing the red hand.
“My king!” he shouted, shaking from exhaustion. “This city is my gift to you!”
As Damon had promised, the Pharaoh entered, head held high. Followed by his vizier, his chief of armies, and his personal guards, he made his way to the prince’s palace.
Over the door was hoisted the Egyptian flag.
* * *
Senedjet, chief of the city police, entered the library with a bunch of scrolls under his arm. He made his way through the working scribes to reach a small platform at the end of the central space, where stood a single table. The master scribe sat behind it, talking to a group of subordinates.
“Senedjet!” shouted Pamiu with a smile, chasing his subordinates away with a simple gesture. “Please, sit. Forgive my back, I can’t work on the floor like I used to. We’ll have to do with chairs.”
Senedjet placed the scrolls on the desk. “I got the numbers you asked for, Pamiu. I had to hunt down most of my patrol captains. My men hate having to record their work.”
“We are in Egypt, my friend. Here, everything is noted. Everything has to be reported to the king. I’ll make someone put this in the archives.”
Senedjet waited, uneasy, while Pamiu looked through the numbers and nodded to himself.
“And… err. How are… some things?” asked Senedjet, glancing nervously around.
“Some things have been slowed down by your boy’s mistake,” said Pamiu, correcting a line. “Thankfully, I had planned for the possibility of a failure.”
“Then her highness is not disappointed by my work?”
“Let’s not bother princess Kamilah with such tiny details. She wants results. It’s our job to deliver them. Just focus on your work, and you’ll be rewarded when the time comes.”
Senedjet nodded nervously and looked around once more. Pamiu finished his notes and gave him a big smile.
“Perfect. Everything is in order, my friend. I’ll ask my scribes to rewrite all this, make it look cleaner and nicer for future generations. You and your men can rest for another season.”
Senedjet got up, awkward. “Give my regards to her highness,” he muttered.
Pamiu’s smile became forced.
Once Senedjet was gone, Pamiu gathered the documents and went to one of the last rows, placing them in an unidentified basket. A strong smell of blood made him grimace.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he warned, raising his head. “The Olympian often comes to rummage through my scrolls.”
Set stood there, looking out of place in his armor and with the head of an aardvark. He squinted his small porcine eyes. “You shouldn’t allow an Olympian access to Egyptian information.”
“I wouldn’t worry. He seems to be focused on religious texts. If I stop him, I show my hand. As long as he doesn’t start looking through the census, judicial notes, and crop reports, he won’t cause any trouble.”
“You’re wasting our time with all this. More than forty years spent in this building, rewriting documents one at a time, and yet you still have nothing to show for it!”
“You, more than anyone, know that you have to prepare for a war,” said Pamiu with a bit of condescension. “Some battles are won with numbers instead of weapons.”
Set stepped closer, menacing. “If your numbers fail to win this battle, the pact is void. We will not allow you to join us, and you will be left to face Lucifer’s wrath alone.”
Pamiu placed a hand on the Netcheroo’s torso and pushed back, annoyed.
“Don’t try to intimidate me. I’m older and more powerful than you are. When this is over, when I win this war for you, the Netcheroos will make a great feast to welcome me.”
“If you manage to win, I’ll serve you the wine myself,” sneered Set. “In the meantime, we are currently in the days foretold by the prophecy. The Hebrew prophet will be born soon, if it hasn’t happened already, and will be hiding somewhere in the city. Probably in one of the poorer neighborhoods. You should have the king level all of that and give some prestige back to our capital.”
“You have no finesse,” scoffed Pamiu. “Need I remind you that your clan is still trying to avoid an open war with the angels? That would be an open affront even they are not dumb enough to ignore. Trust me, the human way can be crueler than yours.”
“The human way can fail. You spent too many years here. You’re becoming one of them.”
“What are you insinuating, Set?” asked Pamiu with annoyance.
“The king’s eldest daughter.”
Pamiu burst out laughing.
“Princess Kamilah is a pearl in the desert,” he said with affection. “She is smart, fierce, formidable. I’m glad I was her tutor and proud to see what she’s become. My only regret is that I can’t give her the throne she deserves.”
“You should get rid of her. She holds too much power over the king.”
“There’s no need to be so harsh. I can just keep her away from the capital for a while.”
“Would it be enough?”
“Trust me, I know my actors and how this will play out. Listen, can’t you hear the trumpets, outside? The king and his troops are back. The show is about to start. You’ll have your bloodbath, Set.”
He smiled one last time and left for the palace, to greet the king.
* * *
The ambiance was festive. The troops disembarked at the city’s main docks and marched towards the palace under a thunder of applause. The crowd chanted the king’s name but soon were also yelling Damon’s, whose exploits were told and retold through the crowd quicker than the troops could advance.
The king went through the palace gates under a rain of flower petals. Songs, dances, praises, flags, and drums were put to work to acclaim the victorious ruler. He entered the throne room, head held high, wearing the war armor and the combat crown. Damon followed, also dressed in his shiniest armor, holding the royal shield. The generals followed in order and then the soldiers who had shone on the battleground.
The king stopped at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by his war council. A minister read the names of all fallen soldiers. Their families would inherit their weapons and salaries. The deserving warriors received honors. Once again, people sang the glory of the king and of Egypt.
&n
bsp; Damon tried to remain still, despite the pain of his wounded arm and the travel exhaustion. He held the shield high enough to hide the wooden splint and bandages. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sethy clench his jaw. The healers had tried to convince him to skip the ceremonies, but a king could not show weakness. Instead, they made him drink and smoke enough herbs to dull the pain.
Damon looked through the crowd. Kamilah’s absence was notable. Soromeh stood in the first row, surrounded by two guards. He almost did not recognize her. She was pale and thin and stared at the floor, expressionless.
As soon as the ceremony ended, Damon went to see her.
“By all the gods, Soromeh, did you forget to eat while we were away?”
She looked at him with haunted eyes. Damon placed the shield in the hands of the nearest soldier and held her with his unwounded arm. She placed her arms around his torso automatically. When she felt the thick bandages under his tunic, she raised her head and saw the splint.
“What’s that?” she asked with more energy.
“Just a scratch, not as bad as you think. The healers mummified me so I wouldn’t make it worse. But I have to warn you—Sethy was stabbed, right in the abdomen.”
They both looked at the king, who was discussing with the members of his council who had stayed behind. The master scribe was kissing his hands with great emotion, while others waited to do the same. Sethy’s expression was empty.
“The healers had to drug him just so he could stand,” muttered Damon. “He should be resting instead of holding audience.”
When Soromeh didn’t answer, he got worried.
“Soromeh, what happened during our absence?”
“Onamu is dead,” she answered in a monotone. “A mosquito bit him. He died the day after the wedding.”
Damon felt his heart break. He hugged her again, but this time, she remained unmoving.
She kept talking, her voice empty. “His body was given to the palace embalmers. He’ll be buried in my funeral chamber.”
Damon raised his head and found Naími, who was standing nearby with the guard Dewei. The vizier raised his eyebrows and gestured to the princess with his head. The oracle opened her arms, powerless.
Their silent conversation was interrupted by a group of guards who surrounded Naími and Dewei, snapped orders, and brought them in front of the king. Sethy left his council to face them.
“Oracle Naími, soldier Dewei of the royal guard, you are both accused of desertion,” he stated. “You’ll be locked in the palace prison and will await your judgement. Soldiers Harouk and Silas will join you as soon as we find them.”
A wave of surprise went through the crowd. Naími betrayed no emotion, but Dewei looked about to explode in anger.
“What is he doing?” whispered Damon to himself. “He’s the one who allowed them to come back!”
Soromeh was lost, still trying to understand the situation, but Damon’s words snapped her back to reality. Her eyes shone with a renewed flame. She strode forward before Damon could grab her.
“Your highness!” she shouted to be heard above the crowd. “Why are you locking up my lady-in-waiting and my guards when you yourself gave them permission to come back to my side?”
The king looked at Soromeh for the first time since his return.
“Impertinent. You dare accuse me of lies in front of my people? Keep silent or face my anger.”
Soromeh clenched her teeth. They stared each other down.
She threw her hair over her shoulder and left, escorted by her guards. The crowd started muttering again.
Naími and Dewei were led through another door. The king went back to his council.
Damon hesitated before joining him. For a moment, under a different angle, Sethy looked like a complete stranger.
* * *
Once he was done with his duties, the king left for his quarters. Three steps from the door, he was approached by a high-ranking servant, who bowed.
“Your Majesty, my mistress requests your presence.”
Sethy hid a scowl. As the firstborn, Kamilah was the only one who could send for him like that.
He followed the servant, not to the princess’s quarters, but to the docks. The Lotus Flower, Kamilah’s private ship, was ready to set sail. The ladies-in-waiting were taking care of her son and luggage. Kamilah, dressed in travel clothes, was waiting on the shore.
She greeted him with a nod. “Brother. I’m glad to see you alive.”
“This explains why you missed the ceremony. What is so urgent that you feel the need to leave town the day of our return?”
“There is more to ruling a kingdom than winning wars,” she said with some reproach. “I’m going to the delta metropolis. Their accounts don’t match our estimates for this time of year. I suspect someone may be taking from the crown’s taxes.”
“So you’ll descend on them like the god’s fury and personally check every single number they wrote in the last year.”
“They have nothing to fear if they’re not stealing from the kingdom. You know we need to be vigilant. In the event of a drought, any discrepancy in our reserves can bring death or revolutions.”
“I know this,” he said, hiding his annoyance. “I’ll just wish you a safe trip.”
“And I’ll give you a warning. I have been told about the scene you and Soromeh made in the throne room, earlier. Be careful. Since her wedding, she holds considerably more power and doesn’t know how to use it. Do not lose your temper with her.”
“I know.”
“Watch over the palace during my absence. If you fail to do so, I will be forced to take action.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise I make to this country. Do not disappoint us.”
She turned around, held the ship captain’s hand, and gracefully climbed on board. Sethy did not stay to watch the Lotus Flower leave.
* * *
Naími and Dewei were walked to the royal prison, at the far end of the palace grounds, near the soldiers’ barracks. The cell they were thrown in was small and dusty, the only light coming from a thin opening near the ceiling that was barely a window. In a corner, there was a hole in the ground and a bucket of dirty water; in the other was a pile of moldy straw.
Naími, sitting with her legs crossed, was trying to meditate by focusing on the thin ray of sunlight on the floor. All her efforts were undone by Dewei’s pacing. Three steps to the left, grumble, turn, three steps to the right.
“Do you have anything?” he asked when he could stand the silence no more. “Any idea of how to get us out of here?”
“It’s more complicated than just leaving this cell,” she snapped. “I could simply ask Harouk to destroy the exterior wall and be done with it. No, I need to regain my position at the palace by getting back into the king’s good graces.”
“You said he allowed us to leave. Why would he change his mind?”
“It may be a move from the demon to get rid of us. Or maybe it’s simply an improvised gesture from a young and ambitious king who came back drunk on power after his first war victory. Let me think.”
She went back to her meditation. Dewei leaned on the opposite wall.
“You know you have to take Princess Soromeh into account,” he warned. “You saw her earlier. She was furious. She’s going to interfere, and the king won’t be happy.”
“I know.”
“You’re worried.”
“Of course.”
Dewei kneeled in front of her and waited. Naími avoided his eyes.
“It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Premonitions, dreams about her. Something dark circles her, but nothing has been decided yet. You don’t have to worry. I can focus on the mission.”
She closed her fists over her knees, still refusing to look at him.
“I worry about you,” he admitted.
“You always worry about me.”
“Naími.”
She breathed in and noticed she was shaking
. A long silence stretched between them. The ray of light was slowly climbing the wall. The sun was setting.
“I will fail my mission,” she whispered. “I feel it, deep inside of me. I was trying to ignore that premonition, but things are getting clearer and clearer. I will fail, I will die, and my life will have been meaningless.”
The Celestial Conspiracies Page 23