Secret of the 7th Scarab (The Mummifier's Daughter Series Book 4)

by Nathaniel Burns

  "And you think that is a suitable answer to give the Nubian king when he asks me what happened with his son?" Ramesses demanded, turning around, scowling.

  Moses shook his head in response and lowered his gaze.

  Ramesses visibly sighed before making his way back to his throne. "Have Neti summoned," he said sitting down, "if she is not on her way already." Ramesses settled before continuing, "I want that Nubian scribe brought before me again. He knows this man; I want to know what he thinks."

  Moses nodded his head and turned from the pharaoh.

  "Moses," Ramesses called him back, causing the young man to turn and look at him, "This matter is not to be discussed with anyone, not even your intended partner," Ramesses affirmed.

  "Yes, my lord," Moses replied and set off.

  * * *

  Sometime later, Neti entered the assembly hall. The silence filling the room as she entered gave the impression that it was empty; however, as the doors closed she could just make out Moses and Khabo at the side of the throne and cautiously approached them.

  "There you are, my child," Ramesses said, as she approached, before turning to Moses, "Make certain no one is listening," while indicating toward the doors.

  Moses moved to the various entryways checking that no one was present within the confines of the room or outside the doors before returning to the presence of the pharaoh.

  Neti frowned as Moses came to stand next to her and Ramesses spoke in a lowered voice. "For now, no one is to know that Shabaka is missing. What is said between us remains here, I cannot afford for word to get out that he is missing."

  "I think it might already be too late," Neti spoke up. "The slave we bought spoke with him while in Apisit Ripisit."

  "Who is this slave?" Ramesses demanded.

  "She is a prostitute I purchased, as per Khabo's instruction," Neti said, turning to look at the Nubian.

  "You did not need to actually buy a slave," Khabo quickly, concernedly replied.

  "Well, it seemed best to do so at the time," Moses backed Neti.

  "Although I have no idea what to do with her now," Neti said, turning toward the pharaoh. "By purchase she belongs to you, my lord."

  "You can keep her, my child. I have no use for her," Ramesses said, waving his hand just as Neti was about to protest, "as payment for risking your own welfare to gather information on Shabaka's whereabouts."

  "But, my lord, I have no real use for her," Neti insisted.

  "You will find a use for her, I'm certain," Ramesses dismissed the matter and turned his attention to Khabo.

  "Nubian, your information was accurate last time. It appears that Ma-Nefer did send Shabaka to Apisit Ripisit. And although I intended to have the area surrounded and searched, we were too late," Ramesses sat forward in his seat as he continued, "Thus, as Ma-Nefer's previous scribe, you should have an idea about where he would take him for trading, or you would know how to discover such information."

  Khabo shook his head and staunchly replied, "No one who leaves Apisit Ripisit speaks."

  "If you do not comply with my demands I might send you there!" Ramesses avowed, angrily adding, "Do not play with me; I am in no mood for games!"

  "That is how it is, my lord," Khabo truthfully replied. "No one who leaves will speak of what they saw."

  "Then I will have them whipped until they speak!" Ramesses angrily replied.

  "My lord, even if you managed to capture most of those involved, no one uses their real names there. Any information you manage to gain will be useless, and they have people everywhere and will know that you are approaching long before you even reach the entranceways."

  "What I cannot understand is how such a place could exist in my realm, here in the old city, and that my guards could allow such a thing, turn a blind eye to it!" Ramesses seethed.

  "My lord," Khabo again spoke up. "Apisit Ripisit only came to be because slave traders did not want to wait until market days to trade slaves. It costs them money to keep the slaves until the market days."

  "Costs them money?" Ramesses seethed in reply. "You mean they do not even feed them?"

  "The woman I bought appeared starved," Neti added. Her words caused the pharaoh to look at her in concern.

  "The innkeepers at the marketplace charge high fees to put up people with slaves, and they do not allow for the grouping of slaves before a sale. Many traders refuse to put up slaves only for them to eat to their fill on bread and beer for days before a sale." Khabo replied. "Apisit Ripisit made it easier for these traders, with the slaves kept together and with enough people to ensure that they do not try to escape. For a small payment you can leave a slave there for several days if needed. It makes it ideal for those wanting to trade slaves who will not fetch much."

  "Not fetch much!" Neti exclaimed in disbelief, "I paid five gold debben for an aged woman of pleasure."

  "Which is not much by most standards," Khabo continued, "unless she is crooked with age."

  "She is not many seasons older than I am," Neti replied.

  "Most madams will make that back in a work cycle, leveling her keeping expenses within a season. The younger ones cost almost ten times that, even at Apisit Ripisit."

  "So there is only slave trade there?" Ramesses asked, unconvinced.

  "Since your departure from the city, my lord, there has been an increase in other dealings. The guards are not as observant on that side of the city anymore," Khabo honestly replied.

  "There is trade in gems and artifacts then?"

  Khabo nodded his head, before adding, "Although those who trade in such matters remain elusive. It is a group of traders that is very difficult for one to gain access to, and I would not advise you to even attempt to try. Those men would kill their parents to keep the group safe."

  "And this Ma-Nefer is one of them?" Ramesses demanded.

  "It took him some time to gain access, however, with a good word of some of the others, and because he always had caravans moving goods, they soon enough welcomed him."

  "But if he has these people to deal with, why would he need to seek someone on the west bank."

  "When was he on the west bank?" Khabo asked.

  "With the festival; he grabbed my arm during the rock fall," Neti said, lifting the fabric that draped her upper arm, the blue finger imprints on her skin obvious.

  "What would he be doing on the west bank?" Moses asked, looking pointedly at Khabo

  "He has a sister, Mirrim, who lives on that side. She is one of the cooks in Deir-el-Bahari's kitchens. He used to send her cloth and herbs."

  "She is to be brought to the palace!" Ramesses instructed, turning his attention to Moses, "You are to arrange this! If he wants to take one of my men, then I will take someone close to him. Death by lion would be too easy an end for him." Ramesses remained quiet for several moments, with everyone looking at him, before again addressing Khabo, "These other traders at Apisit Ripisit, would they exchange tomb artifacts?

  Khabo looked at him for a moment, tilting his head and frowning. Neti's eyes widened, her heart pounding at the implication the pharaoh's words had, not wanting to return to the depressing place.

  "Tomb robbers usually only take the furniture," Khabo uncertainly replied, "and then often use it in their own homes. None would attempt to take other artifacts."

  "But say they did?" Moses asked.

  "It is possible," Khabo replied, somewhat unconvinced, "but not many would dare handle such artifacts," he countered, "as simply touching them calls for a curse to befall you. Most know this," he said, turning his attention toward Neti, "She knows this, she is familiar with the rites and chants."

  "But some might?" Ramesses pressed.

  Khabo shook his head as he spoke, "I do not think they will remain there for long, though, as none would want a curse to befall them. Such goods would be sold or taken from there to a place where people would not recognize them. Why do you ask, my lord?"

  "There have been recent tomb raids on the west bank. The prefec
ts, Shabaka and Neti, were to look into it," Ramesses dismissed. Turning to Neti, he said "Calm yourself, my child," noticing her concern, "It is a matter that can wait, I know how much the thought alone distresses you, but we first need to discover where Ma-Nefer possibly could be taking Shabaka."

  Neti nodded her head, although her shoulders drooped as she lowered her gaze.

  Ramesses again turned his attention to Khabo, "You have traveled with this man, Ma-Nefer, so you would know which trade routes he would follow and where he could be going. Where do you think he would most likely take Shabaka?"

  Khabo looked from the pharaoh to Neti and back again, before replying. "There are several routes he could take. Some routes we could rule out because they are only for merchandise, and some routes people might recognize the prefect, or they would be able to at first."

  "What do you mean by that?" Ramesses demanded.

  "Once he is marked and taught to walk, behave, and talk like a slave, no one would consider him as anything other than that. The Nubian prince has a strong personality, as are those of noble birth and he will not give in to the life of a slave without a fight. A spirited slave would be noticeable, so until such time as he is broken, they will move on the lesser trails, where he cannot ask for help."

  "And you know these trails?" Ramesses demanded.

  Khabo nodded as he replied, "I have traveled them in the past; those who travel there do not listen when slaves speak."

  "But you are not afraid to speak up," Ramesses was quick to counter him.

  "I am an educated man. I have long since learned that owners demand compliance and complying to the demands, even if unreasonable, will prevent a beating. I have seen many cruel things done to those who do not submit. I choose to not suffer the wrath of an angered owner."

  Ramesses nodded at that, "So where would this man take Shabaka?"

  Khabo remained silent for several moments, before replying, "Going north or south are not viable options. North would only take them into Upper Egypt, where the Nubian price is known. Going south is also foolish because they would enter Nubia, where they would be killed if they were caught. The prince knows the language of the people; he knows the words that have two meanings. He could call for help, even if there were someone in the caravan who could speak Nubian."

  "That leaves east and west," Moses said.

  "If they were to travel east, the prince would travel with a group of women for sale, possibly as a protector. There is little market to the east for male slaves."

  "So they are going west," Ramesses concluded.

  "If taken west, over the harshest of deserts, they will sell him as a laborer, as there are many dark-skinned people like him."

  "But if Ma-Nefer does that, there is no way that he would receive even a small part of the ransom he asked for Shabaka," Ramesses countered.

  "To Ma-Nefer, it is not be about the ransom, but a far more personal reason—he wants to see Shabaka beaten and reduced to something lower," Khabo turned to look at Neti, as he concluded, "as he does with anyone who defies him."

  "I will send guards west into the desert," Ramesses angrily declared, "and I will have this Ma-Nefer dragged behind a horse all the way back to palace."

  "No, not guards," Khabo quickly countered, causing the pharaoh to glare at him. "They would only put everyone on alert. Travelers will think that there is unrest in the west and those they pass will take precautions. They could also decide to leave him wandering in the desert."

  "Then what can we do?" Moses demanded. "It is difficult enough to find someone in the desert when you know where they are headed."

  "Yes, those who live along the river's edge have the banks to guide them in their travels, but in the vastness of the desert everything looks the same."

  "So what does this have to do with finding Shabaka?" Neti was the one to interrupt their conversation, causing Khabo to look at her.

  "It means you need to know when the caravans travel and when they rest, more so than knowing which way they are traveling. Experienced traders follow undetectable routes through the desert, routes they know will lead them to an oasis, a city, or a well."

  "And you think I don't know this?!" Ramesses demanded, "I have gone to war in this desert!"

  "Yes, my lord, I am aware of that, But in a matter like this simply knowing where they are going is less important that knowing how they intend to get there."

  "It is easier to head in that direction and just stop them," Moses replied.

  "It would be, if we knew exactly where they were going. We have only surmised that they might be moving west," Ramesses mused, as his gaze dropped to the floor in front of his throne.

  "Until such time as we know exactly where they are going, we have to follow the signs and ask others what they have seen."

  "And how can we trust the word of these people? You said they do not talk," Moses firmly objected.

  "Travelers, especially traders, travel in groups or caravans. The additional numbers ensure their safety and limit their losses, in the event of an attack. You should know that most of the charge for the goods you purchase comes from the risk of traveling through the desert. Thieves are everywhere, waiting for an opportunity. With trading in gold and jewels, there is an increase in opportunists."

  "This still tells me noting," Ramesses declared.

  "I have told you a great lot, maybe not as directly as you would like, but you do have the answer," Khabo sincerely replied.

  "I have no time for riddles; I need to find the prefect," Ramesses declared.

  "Wait, I've got it," Neti said, stepping forward. "Those who travel in the desert have specific resting areas near a source of water. Many of these areas are not far from Thebes, so if we checked each of the closest ones we could get a better idea of which way they are going."

  "But they would have already left," Moses reasoned.

  "That might be so, but others would have seen them," Khabo replied "because they would seek out the company of others."

  "So I need to send guards everywhere?" Ramesses asked in confusion. "That would leave Thebes unguarded."

  "No, my lord, only one or two guards go with a camel, as travelers, seeking to camp alongside the others. They would be readily enough welcomed by traders."

  "And you think these traders will talk?" Ramesses demanded.

  "You will be surprised how many would offer information in exchange for a few debben," Khabo replied. "The men just need to ask the right questions."

  "And what would these questions be?" Ramesses demanded

  "Now if I knew that, it would make it too easy," Khabo calmly replied.

  "Don't fool with me," Ramesses warned.

  "But I am not, my lord. Knowing which questions to ask depends on the trader to whom you speak, as well as the information sought. One should not be quick to offer payment for the information either—it would make them suspicious."

  "It could take days to establish this," Neti said, turning to the pharaoh, "Surely, my lord, there must be an easier way."

  "If there is, my dear child, I do not see it. Thus let it be. As soon as it can be arranged we will have guards sent to the surrounding wells, they can ask about travelers with slaves. While you, Moses, will bring me Ma-Nefer's sister from Deir-el-Bahari."

  Chapter Six

  The wooden slats beneath Shabaka sharply lurched, jolting him to full consciousness and drawing a grunt from him. His tender body had a cloth completely covering him and for several moments he tried to reconcile where he was and what had happened. He tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt, and he quickly pinched them shut. Shifting under the cloth cover, he tried to move his arms but a sharp pain emanated from his wrists, while his stiff body protested the action, drawing another grunt from him.

  A few moments later, a work-hardened hand clasped one ankle and without warning yanked him backward. His body scraped the rough wooden surface and he was, for a mere moment, suspended in midair before hitting the scalding sand. Hissing on c
ontact, his body was slow to respond as the scorching sand burned his skin.

  "He can walk from here. The dray is slowing us down," a harsh voice decreed.

  Shabaka tried to lift his head and a piercing pain shot through his skull when he tried to open his eyes. He was uncertain how long they had traveled or even where they were, only that he did not recognize any of the voices around him.

  "His temper got the best of him this time," one of the unknown men said, his voice not as harsh as the first.

  "How does he expect a man in that condition to cross the desert," another voice spoke up, just as Shabaka felt a presence close to him.

  "Maybe he does not intend for him to complete the journey," the first, harsher voice said. "Rumor has it this slave stole something from him."

  "Even so," the second voice again sounded, "he is not going to get anything for him if he cannot cross the desert. He is not even strong enough to get up from the sand."

  "I say we leave him here, as he is only going to slow us down. We have had enough delays with the dray already," the third voice said.

  "And you know what Ma-Nefer will do if he found out," the first seethed.

  There was silence, followed by the crunch of sand. "Leave him there for now. We can concern ourselves with him when it is time to continue. He will either get up or die." Shabaka heard the second man, the voices becoming distant.

  Shabaka felt a small hand touch his shoulder and he cringed, expecting another blow, but instead felt a shadow fall over his face. The hand pressed his shoulder, and he wished it had not, for it felt as if a heavy weight was pushing down on him.

  "Come, you need to wake up," a young voice said. The hand left his shoulder for a moment and he could hear movements around him. He expected that the young one had been pulled away from him, only to feel a cloth landing over his shoulders, lessening the blazing heat from the sun against his skin.

  Shabaka grunted and shifted in the sand, as the heat eased some of the aches in his muscles and allowed him to straighten his body. His throat was dry, burning, and he tried to say something, but no sound escaped. He felt something pressed against his lips.