Theodosia and the Last Pharoah

by R. L. LaFevers

  Safiya was too shy to look at him, instead addressing her answers to her feet. "They are meeting now with the mudir, telling him of what has transpired. That is why I have been sent. You are to eat, then wash, and then I am to take you to them so they may question you."

  "Excellent," the major said.

  Excellent was not the word I would have chosen. Even so, we quickly finished our small meal, and then Safiya stepped outside while we washed in the water provided. Major Grindle turned his back while I washed my face and arms, and then I did the same for him. It was surprisingly intimate washing oneself—even just one's face and hands—with someone else nearby.

  Not to mention, the results were most unsatisfactory. My face might have been clean, but my clothes were still filthy and coated with dust.

  As Safiya escorted us across the campsite, I saw then what I'd been too distracted to see earlier. The camp was pitched in the shadow of a great temple. Although it was smaller than the Luxor Temple, it was in excellent condition.

  We arrived at a large, central tent, and Safiya held the flap for us as we went inside. My first impression was that I hadn't realized tents could be so very big, nor hold so many people. A dozen men were seated on thick rugs on the ground. I recognized Khalfani, Hashim, and the old grumpy wedjadeen who had wanted to kill me and be done with it. Fenuku, I think they had called him. He now wore the leopard skin of a sem priest. Bother. I knew that ancient Egyptian priests had often served for only a few months out of the year, but it seemed rather unfair to have them traveling about incognito. Priests ought to have warning signs on them.

  Khalfani nodded at us, then turned to the man on his left. "This is the girl, mudir, and this man is the Inglaize we told you about."

  "The one that put a knife to our pharaoh's throat," Fenuku spat out. Clearly he had not forgiven Major Grindle for that yet.

  The mudir's unblinking gaze passed over the major and landed on me. "Tell us what transpired."

  I stood very straight and cleared my throat, determined that my voice not quiver. "When I returned home from my mother's excavation, there was a note on my pillow, demanding that I bring the Emerald Tablet to exchange for Gadji."

  The mudir shook his head. "No, no. I mean, start at the very beginning. How did you come to have Gadji in your household?"

  "Oh, that beginning! Well, we were leaving the Cairo museum for our hotel, and we needed to hire some donkeys..." I told him of hiring Gadji as a donkey boy (although not about Sefu's masquerading as his hump and eliciting sympathy from me) and his following us to Luxor and my subsequent hiring of him. When I had finished, they all looked faintly shocked that I had hired their pharaoh to muck out our stable.

  "Sir, I'm very sorry," I rushed to add. "But at no time did Gadji mention anything about being a pharaoh. He didn't even know himself, until your men told us. He never balked at performing his duties nor suggested they were beneath him. The first I—we—learned of this was at the Luxor Temple when one of your men called him a pharaoh. I meant no disrespect. I was only trying to help out someone who needed food and shelter."

  The mudir said nothing, and his gaze hardened as he turned to Major Grindle. "And you, where do you come into all this?"

  Standing at full attention as if being inspected by the king, Major Grindle explained how he had first learned of Gadji's existence when the boy had shown up on his doorstep, begging the major to come help the effendi miss because Gadji was afraid she would get herself in trouble. He finished with me showing up on his doorstep, asking for help in getting Gadji back from the Serpents of Chaos.

  "And why did you not come to us?" asked one of the seated men.

  Major Grindle looked at him blandly. "I did not know of your existence until four days ago, let alone how to get hold of you in the four hours we had to respond to the demands. It seemed best for the boy that we move as quickly as possible to secure his release."

  Fenuku leaned forward. "And how do you come to know such powerful magic, to create a tablet such as the one that fooled those men?"

  "Years of study," was his clipped response.

  Fenuku opened his mouth to say something else—something unpleasant, by the look on his face—so I cleared my throat.

  The mudir turned his attention from Grindle to me. "You may speak," he said.

  "Sir, if you don't mind my asking, even if Gadji didn't go with your men that night, why didn't they put a guard on him as soon as they recognized him? I mean, with him being so valuable and all."

  Fenuku looked as if he wanted to cut out my tongue for my impudence.

  The mudir turned narrowed eyes to Khalfani. Oh dear. I hadn't meant to get anyone else in trouble, merely sought to shift the blame from us. But honestly, what had they been thinking? I'm just a child and I knew he should have been watched from the moment they first caught sight of him again. If they had, then the Serpents of Chaos would not have been able to nab him in the first place.

  Khalfani shifted slightly in his chair. "We did, indeed, post guards, mudir, but they were attacked. We found them later, bound and gagged."

  "I understand, sir," I said sympathetically. "The Serpents of Chaos have caught me off-guard a number of times."

  "Yes, but how did you come to lose the boy in the first place?" Major Grindle asked. "If he was important to you, there should have been more than one old tutor to watch over him."

  Fenuku's face flushed a dark, ugly red. "You know nothing about which you speak."

  "But if you are going to judge us for not watching him more closely," I said, "it is only fair that we understand how you came to lose him in the first place."

  The sem priest looked apoplectic, but the mudir inclined his head. "It is a fair question. And their knowing will not harm the Son of Re in any way.

  "When our last native pharaoh, Nectanebo II, was driven from his rightful throne," the mudir began, "he took up refuge in the land of Macedonia. In hiding there, he realized his chances for reclaiming his birthright were meager. His only hope to reclaim the throne lay in any future heirs he might have. He could not risk having the blood of the pharaohs die with him, so he went forth and sired as many children as he could."

  "Including Alexander the Great?" I asked. I had not quite believed Awi Bubu when he had first made that claim.

  The mudir's eyes sharpened. "Yes, even so. But he was only one of many sons fathered by Nectanebo. The responsibility was given to us, the Eyes of Horus, to watch over these sons, these children in whom the last drops of pharaonic blood flowed. We were to keep them safe, help raise them in the old ways, teach them of their heritage.

  "But there were many of these children, in seven different bloodlines, and then these children had children, and so on. At one time there were nearly two score separate descendants of Nectanebo and we looked after them all.

  "But one can have only one pharaoh at a time. What to do with all these extras that would not incite feuds and infighting? And when one's country grows poor and weak, overrun by foreign overlords who would use it for their own purposes, of what good is it to be a pharaoh?

  "So most of these children lived in obscurity, closely guarded, taught by learned men who ensured they had the knowledge necessary to be pharaoh should the need arise, but never knowing their own true identity until the line of succession indicated they would be needed. This system worked well for us for hundreds and hundreds of years."

  "Like a ruddy bank account," I heard Major Grindle mumble under his breath. "Then you could collect them at your whim."

  "We lost many during the Turkish occupation of our land, for they were harsh masters. We lost more when Napoleon came to our shores. At the turn of this century, we had eleven descendants of Nectanebo. But the past few years have been hard on our people. When Gadji was born, he was one of only five left, and last in the line of succession.

  "Soon there were two in line before him, but when they died of a wasting sickness, he was the only one left. But before we could summon him here to take his
place at Qerert Ihy, disaster struck and the boy's tutor came to us, shamefaced with the tale of having lost the boy."

  I was incensed that Gadji had been valued so poorly until the others were dead. "So you didn't appreciate him while you had him," I said.

  "It is more that his value increased while we were focused elsewhere."

  "And what of his sister, Safiya?" I asked. "Doesn't she have the same royal blood?"

  "Women cannot serve as pharaoh," Fenuku said curtly.

  The mudir held up his hand, and we all fell silent.

  "Have you launched a rescue party yet?" Major Grindle asked, drawing all eyes back to him.

  The mudir and Khalfani exchanged glances, and then Khalfani spoke. "We left half our men behind to see if they could find traces of the boy. When we first arrived here at Qerert Ihy, we sent a second wave of scouts to see if they could find where those men had gone. As soon as they report back, we will launch a full assault and rescue our pharaoh." When he stopped speaking, he brusquely clapped his hands. We were dismissed.

  Safiya appeared and escorted us back to our tent. Neither Grindle nor I spoke until Gadji's sister left us. "I can't believe they are trying to hold us responsible for Gadji's kidnapping!" I exploded.

  "It is always easier to blame others rather than oneself," Major Grindle said. "Especially when they have made so many mistakes along the way." He began pacing, and at first I thought he was agitated, as I was. But after a moment, I realized he was practically quivering with excitement.

  "What is it?" I asked. "Why are you so wound up?"

  His face brightened, as if by mentioning it I had given him permission to speak. "Did you see those men?" he asked, his face glowing.

  "I saw twelve men," I said dryly. "Which ones do you mean?"

  He glanced around the tent, as if checking to be certain no one had slipped in while he hadn't been watching. "At least six of those men in that tent were Weret Hekau."

  "Weret Hekau? You mean the goddess of magic?" Truth be told, I was feeling a little dim. I'd had only a few hours' sleep and a handful of dates and some rather foul cheese to eat, and I had been called before a rather hostile group of judges; I was not able to equate six men with the goddess of magic.

  The major snorted. "Of course they weren't the goddess of magic." He'd returned to his pacing.

  "Oh, good. I'm glad we got that sorted out, because I was feeling a bit confused..."

  "Weret Hekau was also a title given to ancient Egypt's most accomplished magicians. Those that had reached the highest degree of magical mastery. And six of them were sitting in that tent."

  "How could you tell?"

  "They were the ones with the snake tattoo running up their wrists."

  Ah. I had noticed that and had meant to ask Major Grindle about it, but he had beaten me to it.

  He stopped his pacing. "Don't you see? This means that not all the secrets died with the library at Alexandria. The knowledge needed to attain mastery hasn't all been lost!"

  "Oh. Do you plan to ask them to write it down for you? So you can put it in your vault?"

  Before he could answer, Safiya came bustling back into the tent carrying an armful of clothes. Two other women trailed behind her. "The mudir has spoken. You are to appear before the high priest tomorrow to plead your cases. I have brought clean robes for you to wear so that we may wash your clothes for you. And more water for washing," she said, wrinkling her nose.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Rites of Maat

  I DID NOT SLEEP WELL THAT NIGHT, knowing that I was to face an official trial in the morning. And Fenuku would no doubt be sitting in judgment. He'd made it clear that he held no love for me or Grindle or even—perhaps especially—Awi Bubu. Safiya awakened us when she came in with our freshly washed laundry and a hearty breakfast. After eating and donning my own clothes, I felt more like myself and ready to face our judge and jury.

  We were led from the camp to the giant temple ruins nearby, although truly, they were the best preserved ruins I had ever seen. As we drew closer, I realized that this was no mere ruin whose shadow they camped in. It was a working temple, still used in the worship of their gods. Bald priests wearing pleated linen kilts bustled about the courtyard. Some carried vessels of purifying water, and others carried baskets of fruit or grain. A goat bleated nearby, and a scribe hurried into one of the side chambers.

  We were led past the first pylon, then the second. As we entered the temple chambers, I saw that our trial was to be held in front of three sem priests. They sat in front of a wall that held a huge painting depicting Horus presiding over a Weighing of the Heart ceremony. Would our hearts be determined to weigh less than a feather? Did they have a Devourer nearby who would eat us if we failed the test?

  Furthering the bad news was the fact that their ranks included Fenuku, just as I had suspected. The good news, though, was that Baruti, the kind priest who had sent the falcon to summon the wedjadeen that very first time, was also a sem priest, and he had proved himself quite friendly to us. The third appeared to be the high priest.

  We were made to kneel on the hard stone floor. Once we had, the high priest began to speak. "You are brought before the judgment of Maat, to be held accountable for your actions in regards to the abduction of our pharaoh. Furthermore, you are to be examined so that we may understand how you came to be in possession of your knowledge of our existence as well as some of our most closely guarded secrets. Lastly, you are here to tell us what you know of the traitor, Awi Bubu, so we may determine if your actions in losing our pharaoh were carried out on his behalf."

  "No!" I said, shocked. "Awi Bubu never mentioned the pharaoh to me—"

  "Silence!" Fenuku boomed. "You will be given a chance to speak and will remain silent until then."

  The unknown priest leaned forward. "The charges made against you are serious, child. To even know of our existence can bring a swift and terrible death. To have meddled in our affairs, to have lost what is most precious to us—those things have even more dire consequences."

  "Although," Baruti interrupted, "those laws and punishments have been devised for adult transgressors. Trials such as these have never involved a child before."

  "Then let her go." Major Grindle was quick to step into the opening Baruti gave him. "As you say, she is but a child, and a girl child at that. She has little value and should not be held responsible for what has transpired."

  I appreciated what he was doing, trying to get them to free me, but I did not like being accused of having little value; it cut too close to the bone.

  "That, too, will be decided over the course of this trial," the high priest said. Then he turned to me. "How did you come to know Awi Bubu?"

  Before I could answer, Fenuku leaned over and whispered in the high priest's ear. After long moments of whispered debate, the high priest spoke again. "The point has been made that we have no way to be certain you speak the truth. We would ask that you willingly subject yourself to the Rites of Maat so we may determine the veracity of your words."

  "Um, what is that, exactly?" I asked.

  "With the goddess of truth guiding your tongue, false words cannot pass your lips. Are you afraid?" Fenuku smirked.

  "No," I lied. "Just curious." And wondering if it would hurt.

  "I will endure the Rites of Maat." Major Grindle's loud voice rang out through the chamber.

  Fenuku looked surprised, while Baruti did not. The high priest merely clapped his hands. "Let the Rites of Maat begin!"

  Three lesser priests hurried into the room. I could not help but assume they'd been listening at the door, so quick was their response.

  They approached Major Grindle bearing vessels, bowls, reed brushes—all manner of strange equipment. They bowed before him, then got to work. One of them poured oil from an ornate vessel into a shallow bowl. Another one unstoppered a clay jar and transferred some dark, sticky paste from it to the bowl, then stirred. When it was the right consistency, they had Major Grindle open
his mouth. While he said, "Ahhh," one of the men dipped a brush into the special ink and began to paint on Major Grindle's tongue. Burning with curiosity, I inched forward to see better.

  The man was painting a figure on the major's tongue. A woman—a goddess, to be exact. But of course! The goddess Maat.

  When he had finished, he dipped the reed brush back into the special ink and drew three more hieroglyphs next to the figure of the goddess. When he was done, he withdrew a respectful distance.

  The major looked at me, and we waited a long, breathless moment. When it became clear he wasn't going to keel over dead from poisoning, he gave a brisk nod. "Nothing to it, Miss Throckmorton."

  "What did it taste like?" I asked.

  He tasted his tongue. "Honey and ashes, I think."

  "And what of you, young miss?" Fenuku was leaning forward again, his dark eyes shining. "Will you, too, undergo the Rites of Maat to assure us that you speak nothing but the truth before us?"

  "Yes," I said. "I have nothing to hide." But of course, that wasn't exactly true. I had many things I needed to hide from lots of people; the wedjadeen just weren't among them.

  The lesser priest stepped forward with his mixing palette—I was glad to see that he'd picked up a new brush—and motioned for me to open my mouth. When the ink touched my tongue, it tingled, a faint burning on my taste buds. When he had finished his artwork, he motioned to the sem priests that they could begin the questioning.

  "How did you come to meet Awi Bubu?" Fenuku asked.

  My tongue buzzed and hummed and began moving of its own accord. "I met him when he was performing a magic show at the Alcazar Theater in London." I tried to look down at my tongue, but my nose got in my way. "We went backstage to meet him and grew, er, friendly."

  I saw no need to mention that I had sensed he was working true magic rather than tricks. I waited to see if my tongue would volunteer that information, but it did not. The magic seemed to be very literal—it only forced me to answer the questions asked, not volunteer anything extra. "He then came to visit my parents' museum, and while he was there he sensed an artifact of great power."