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The air inside the building was filled with the usual smell of sweat and the humidity level had hit intolerable levels, but that wasn’t the only thing wrong with the atmosphere. Rebecca could feel deceit clinging to her skin the minute she walked through those battered wooden doors.
Dancers sat stretching in Studio A, waiting for rehearsal to start. Rebecca slinked by, headed for the changing room, when Raven stopped her in her tracks. Rebecca looked up and saw her friend’s olive eyes staring dull and unresponsive.
“What’s wrong?”
Raven allowed her bag of gear to slip from her shoulder to the floor.
“Thanks ever so much,” she said, her voice flat and lifeless.
“What?” Rebecca suffered stabs of electricity in her gut.
“He’s our new artistic advisor,” she spat out. “And Lenore took away my job as understudy.”
Rebecca jiggled her head as if trying to dislodge the sound. It couldn’t be happening. Somehow, overnight, Sharif had won. He’d worked his magic on Randy and the rest of the production crew. The show had been altered forever.
“That bastard. It’s not possible,” she said, but Raven already heaved her bag up and slipped away.
Chapter Twelve
Neferet’s ears were still ringing with the sound of her mother’s carping. The woman yelled and screamed about how Neferet shouldn’t “take liberties,” even though she had no right to lecture the God’s Wife so. Neferet seeing Kamose upset Meryt the most. Neferet shook her head, trying to dislodge the memories of their recent altercation, then stormed to the temple. Her recent talk with Father had turned Meryt into a harridan, but Neferet would turn a deaf ear to orders from Mother. She’d see Kamose as often as she’d like. Then she sighed inside because she really hadn’t had an opportunity to be with Kamose at all, thanks to palace politics.
She set her mind to the task at hand. It was time to get ready for the Heb-Sed festival, a time-honored ritual to prove that the Pharaoh had the requisite fitness to stay in command. Every thirty years, they repeated the ceremony. Because the Pharaoh took office at the age of sixteen, no one suspected he had turned senile, yet the festival was required to take place regardless of outward appearances. In the Heb Sed court, the king must run around markers that symbolized the various outer regions of Kemet. In earlier days, the serious tasks, such as archery and spear throwing, marked the course. Now mere ceremony took over. Heb Sed no longer stood as a time test of strength or endurance. However, for a man of forty-six, getting old by the standards of his time, it remained an important showing of the ruler’s continued vitality.
Escorting the dignitaries who showed up from all the main cities of Kemet became Neferet’s project at Heb Sed. She also attended to the ambassadors of neighboring lands. Many of them would have to travel for several weeks. They would be housed in unused priests’ quarters at Karnak, and Neferet ordered her many servants to spruce up the often dingy lodgings, making them resplendent enough to boost the Pharaoh’s reputation as a generous host.
Each visiting representative would bring with him images from local temples to bear witness to the Pharaoh’s virility. These icons, too, would be housed in the temple. To do this duty, Neferet gave the keys of the storeroom to Deena, who would need to pick up a fair amount of Kemet’s language and show an unswerving loyalty to Neferet. The God’s Wife had faith in her assistant.
Over the next few weeks, in the land surrounding the palace, work crews guided by Kamose strained and lifted, building a new, temporary temple to Amun, plus a plaza with a wide arching colonnade with ornate pillars.
Tasked with organizing the cooks and arranging recipes for the various Heb Sed feasts, Meryt presented a sullen face to nearly everyone since she had her run-in with Neferet. Meryt ran about business in a huff, checking the fatness of pigs and the milk of goats with her head held high. Neferet knew Meryt considered herself above this job, which could have been handled with ease by the head palace chef. However, Pharaoh had insisted on an assignment for all — including his Great Royal Wife. The entire kingdom must pull together for this event, which made Zayem’s continued absence a continued, glaring insult.
From Kamose, whom she dared not meet near the palace, Neferet discovered that Meryt had not sent out scouts to search for her son. This stood out odd behavior, even for Meryt, for she always had been overbearing in her desire to protect Zayem. Neferet had only to think of her childhood, when young Zayem met his mother almost on the hour for checks of his whereabouts. Meryt never bothered to monitor her daughter in that manner. An often-forgetful nurse netted that job. So, Neferet and her friends could get lost in the marshes near the Nile, watching out for crocodiles and picking rare blooms, while her half-brother remained tethered to the palace by the maternal leash.
“Maybe Zayem is on some mission for his mother,” Neferet said to Kamose out in the flax fields behind the poorer dwellings. They chose meeting places with care, for Meryt’s cronies sneaked about everywhere.
“I’m pretty sure of it,” Kamose said, holding up one hand like a visor, shielding the blistering sun. They conferred only a few yards from the beginnings of the vast desert. “When he failed to kill us, he was sent into hiding until Meryt could bring him home to safety.” He kicked at the ground with his a sandal, eyebrows drawn together. “Does father know?”
Neferet nodded, not willing to speak too much of her need to inform on Zayem to the all-powerful Pharaoh. She wished she could have handled Zayem on her own, but there were limits to her authority.
“I also have the palace priests and guards on high alert, not to mention the Medjay,” she added, alluding to the Pharaoh’s police force. “We know how he got into the Amun shrine, desecrating it. No man is more reviled than Zayem at Karnak right now.”
She looked up at Kamose and felt the urge to kiss his troubled brow. It would be such a small thing, a gesture of concern. Indeed, she looked back toward the main road and scanned for onlookers to measure their safety. Just then, a strange man on a donkey lumbered into view. A spy? Kamose remained within reach, yet a million cubits away in availability. He, too, seemed at a loss for what to do about their nearness. She could smell his skin on the verge of burning and not from the sun.
“We’ll be safer after the Heb-Sed, when the commotion calms down,” Kamose said, his eyes penetrating hers. “Right now, there are too many informers everywhere.”
“What makes you think anything will change after Heb-Sed? The dignitaries will leave, and we will still be a target for spies. We can’t let down our defenses until Zayem is found.”
Kamose blew out a puff of air and looked down at the ground, his black hair shining in the rays of the sun.
“Then we could be apart for a long time.” Rue filled his voice.
“Don’t worry. Meryt has to call him back to court eventually. She’ll probably broker some truce with father, and Zayem will be pardoned.”
Kamose smiled with his mouth but not with his eyes.
“I should hate to see that happen, but to be free to see you again, well, any opportunity will do.”
Neferet touched his chin and peered into his face, tracing a slight battle scar near his pierced ear. “But will Zayem give up when he is absolved? Will we ever be safe?”
Kamose looked into the far distance. He seemed to be studying a young boy who played in the street.
“We must build up a better ring of spies than he has,” he answered. Then he stepped forward to talk to the street urchin in this unfamiliar stretch of town.
#
The Heb-Sed announcement dinner filled the palace dining hall with smells of an international feast and the sweet, inviting lure of the festivities to come within a month’s time. Biting, sour lemons from the East sprayed their zest into the air, and waiters poured sweet, stewed grains from Nubia. Fragrant trays of luscious olive oil from the lands across the northerly sea floated by in the arms of servers. Neferet elected not to wear the incense-infused wax cones th
at were all the rage at court. Men and women would affix the beehive-shaped formations to the top of their wigs, then as the heat increased in the room, the wax would melt and sweet smells of lotus and jasmine would work their way into the fibers of the headpiece. However, the wax was too much weight for her slender neck. The wig weighed enough, like a second head. Besides, if she had the cone dripping perfume on her, she’d never smell the marvelous culinary aromas.
No, Neferet rejoiced to breathe in the scent of pomegranates and stewing lamb. This would be a repast to be remembered. She took her place at the royal table, sending a longing look down to the end toward Kamose. His eyes sparkled in return. At the arrival of the Pharaoh, most of the crowd prostrated themselves to the ground, but the royal family remained standing, merely bowing their heads.
The Pharaoh motioned for all to rise. He gave a small speech about the joining of all lands for this noble event. Then he ordered the food to be served.
Neferet was just biting into a piece of tender fruit when a hand clasped her on the shoulder. She turned to see the Grand Vizier, the Pharaoh’s closest advisor and an expert in palace politicking. A tall man, he bent nearly double as he whispered in Neferet’s ear.
“I hear you will be housing the foreign visitors,” he said.
She nodded her head, wondering what the Vizier could want with her. His role was secular, and she served a god.
“Eye them carefully and keep an ear ready for what you hear,” the Vizier said. “They come as friends, while in reality, they plot to attack us at any time. Some of them will be sizing up our defenses. Make sure you talk to none of them but report to me anything you happen to stumble upon.”
Caught in the web of spying and counter-spying, she thought. I should have known they’d snare me in their political games. She lifted her chin in assent and looked into the Vizier’s small, shaded eyes.
“Watch yourself, too,” he continued, rasping like a snake. “Some of these men would love to take you by force, and kidnapping is common in their countries.” Icy prickles made their way down her naked arms.
The Vizier smirked. He held out his arms in a gesture of respect and shuffled away, leaving her to eat in troubled silence.
Chapter Thirteen
The car door flew open, and Rebecca blew inside, propelled by a gale-force wind. She reached up to pull the hair out of her eyes and let out a huge breath.
“It’s even worse by the lake,” Jonas said. The gentle spring had faded away, and thunderstorm season crashed upon them. A dark, ominous sky over Chicago signaled the imminent detonation of a major monsoon. “But there’s no rain yet. Just this wind. I don’t get it.”
The howling wind pushed pedestrians scurrying down the street in Lincoln Square. Some would walk in short bursts and then stop to rest. Others clung to sides of buildings for support. Everywhere, trash somersaulted down the road.
Jonas pulled a fast U-turn and took off into the wind. The powerful gusts of air acted like a force field, and the car rocked as if pounded by a large boulder. Rebecca grabbed onto the safety bar by her seat.
“You don’t have to worry, I’m okay driving in this stuff. I grew up on weather like this,” he said. The car jolted again, and her heart leapt.
“June,” Jonas said. “Thunderstorms and the opening of your show.” He gave her knee a squeeze. She tried to smile.
“So, how did you get Raven to start talking to you again?” he asked, eyes lit with interest and a lopsided smile on his face.
Rebecca let out a sigh.
“We were rehearsing, and there’s a scene where she takes out a knife and threatens to kill me over the prince’s love. She held that knife over my head and looked so menacing that I whimpered. Just like a poor little puppy. She just couldn’t keep a straight face anymore. We both laughed our butts off. After that …” she waved her hand as if to say, “life went on as usual.”
“I’ll bet Randy loved that little scene.”
“Interrupting rehearsal this close to the opening? Oh, you bet he had a fit. But it was worth it to get my friend back.”
A power bolt of air smacked the car again as they made progress east. Jonas changed lanes just before a guy in a Mini careened inches from their side. A tumbleweed of newspaper and trash hurled across all four lanes of traffic, sending cars skidding in all directions. Jonas dodged the chaos like a pro. Rebecca looked up at the sky as they approached Lake Shore Drive. The color didn’t look healthy — gray with tinges of blue-green. Tornado colors.
Jonas tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and was silent a beat too long.
“What’s wrong?” Rebecca asked, watching small trees nearly double over in a strong gust.
“I tried to get a hold of Sharif,” he said, putting a dramatic flourish on the foreign name as if he were announcing a movie star. Rebecca looked up in alarm This was the confrontation she feared.
“He’s really great at dodging people,” Jonas continued, squeezing the wheel with a bit too much force, whitening his knuckles. “Lots of voice mail, never returned.” She fidgeted with her hair, not looking at his face.
He shifted gears and passed a Focus crawling along at thirty m.p.h. on the drive. “But I did get him once. I think he was expecting a call and got me instead.”
“What happened?”
“I stated my name, and he was flummoxed. Didn’t seem to connect it with anything. It wasn’t until I mentioned your name. That seemed to brighten him up.”
“Was he mad?”
“On the contrary. He went on and on about how he’s your biggest fan. Couldn’t say better things about you. Then I mentioned that I’m your boyfriend.” He coughed. “That put him off a bit.”
“Did he try to hang up on you?”
“No, but he tried to say his intentions toward you were ‘entirely honorable,’ as he put it. I told him that he’d better quit seeing you, or I’d talk to him about it in person.”
She toyed with the button on her jacket. This was the conversation she didn’t want to happen. Jonas dodged some more debris on the road as a sudden roar of thunder sounded over the lake.
“So, what exactly is your relationship?” he asked.
“There is none, Jonas. He hangs around and makes me nervous, but he hasn’t put any moves on me since the night of the dinner.”
Jonas set his jaw. “Wait a minute. He put moves on you?”
“No. No. He danced with me, that’s all. And I got away from him.” Her ribs squeezed.
“Good. It better stay that way.”
“There’s something else, I’ve found out,” he said as white and purple lightning flashed over the lake. The windshield remained dry, but he was having trouble maintaining control of the steering as the wind continued to surge.
He began to relate how he did an Internet search on an Egyptologist named Cadmus and found no one: no authors of scholarly papers, no professors, no archeologists. He called a few Egyptologists at the nearby universities, and not one had ever heard of him. Jonas still had some police contacts from his newspaper days. A check there turned up some tantalizing information.
“The Cadmus family owns a giant shipping business and much of it operates on the shady side of the law,” he said. “My sources suspect smuggling and even gun running. You see what you’re playing with?”
“You don’t have any proof of any of that,” she said, feeling a strange need to protect Sharif — a man she herself didn’t trust. “And I’m not playing with anything.”
“Well, you have no proof he’s an Egyptologist. Anyone can print business cards.” Rebecca turned her head to look out the window and saw nothing but windblown gravel from a construction site.
Large waves, rarely seen on Lake Michigan, began to rush over the pavement after they crossed over the Chicago River. He moved into the right lane. Rebecca noticed tourists in Millennium Park running for cover with newspapers over their heads.
“At least, they’re not riding on those silly Segways,” she said, and Jonas
snickered.
Rebecca turned and gave him a sweet smile. “Would you do me a favor?”
He nodded.
“My little sister Amy is going to come to the show next week by herself. So someone needs to get her at the Greyhound Station. I’ll be tied up at the theater.”
“No problem,” Jonas said. He whipped his car into his condo’s underground parking lot just as an empty plastic bottle slammed into the windshield. “I’ll be happy to do that for you.”
Relieved to be indoors again, she let her shoulders relax. “Amy’s the best of the bunch,” she said.
“But why is she coming alone? Isn’t the rest of your family coming?”
Rebecca stared out the window again, counting flying plastic bags before answering. She didn’t want to let Jonas see her cry about this. Without turning to face him, she said, “When have I ever explained my family to you?”
He drove, silent. Words came to him at length. “In the year we’ve been dating, you’ve never spoken about them. Odd, I know, but I didn’t want to pry.”
“Well, they are simple farm people. They hate the city and don’t understand contemporary dance.”
“But that’s no reason — Aren’t they proud of you?”
“Listen, Jonas,” she said, turning to face him, eyes starting to glisten. “I’m the freak of the family. A mistake in the gene pool. Maybe if I get married and have a baby, they might see me. If I visit them in Iowa.”
Rebecca folded her arms close to her trembling middle and tried not to let her thoughts trail back to growing up in Cedar Rapids. But they did, and soon, she explained the family dynamic that made her flee to the city. Everyone was “normal,” but Rebecca. There she was, skinny and tall, looking like no one else in the family, listening to classical music in her room and thinking of little else but ballet. She became Mom’s favorite target. No matter what went wrong, Mother blamed Rebecca. The anger always fell on her, yet she never stopped trying to please her bullying parent.
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