“I will not.” Seata said, however remained reluctant to touch anything.
“You do not like the feel of golden objects?” The Master Craftsman asked, confused.
Seota was quick to shake her head, “I was taught not to touch unknown objects because they may be enchanted by their makers.”
“Ah, but that is only funerary objects, not those for adornment of the wearer.”
“Then you believe that not everything within a tomb or destined for a tomb may be cursed?” Neti asked, causing the Master Craftsman to turn and look at her.
“Yes, all that is within a tomb is cursed. But they are not always cursed by the maker. Curses are placed upon objects when priests speak their burial chants, they are the ones who casts spells. But the objects within a craft hall itself are not cursed, only the pharaoh is their owner, and anyone foolish enough to go against the pharaoh is a man seeking his death.”
The Master Craftsman and Seota returned to the others, with Shabaka politely saying, “We should return; the pharaoh will be needing us at court soon.”
Together, they started on their way back to the entrance, when they passed a serried of craftsmen, each holding a long rod with a glowing tip over what appeared to be a bag of some sorts.
Shabaka stopped and pointed to the men, asking their guide, “What are they doing?”
The Master Craftsman stopped and looked in the direction Shabaka was pointing, then said, almost dismissively, “Oh, them. They are glass workers.”
They watched as the men lowered the molten ends from the forge, turning their staffs around and around, before pushing them back into the forge.
“What are they doing?” Shabaka asked.
“They are trying to make large glass jars, but I told their craft master that unless they can work the material in the same manner as a potter, I cannot see how they will ever achieve larger jars then the rods they use.”
“But isn’t glass used more for beads?” Neti asked, confused.
“Yes, for some time they have been effective for use in bartering, but you know how artisans are, they always want to try something new.” The Master Craftsman said, dismissively.
“Glass is a gift from the gods themselves,” A man said approaching them. He turned to Neti as he introduced himself “Hello, I am Fartz, the craft master of the glassmakers. Please do not for even a moment believe a word this man tells you. Glass is the future. For where else can you take something as simple as sand, heat it and add copper, salts, ore, or ochre to it and obtain something so beautiful, so hard and clear as glass.”
“You are attempting to make clear urns?” Neti asked in disbelief.
“No attempting. We already are. They are not perfect yet but we are working on it.” Fartz said pointing to one of the men. “Watch! He is about ready to take his off from the rod.”
The man twisted the cooling glass around and then lowered it to a marked area on the floor, carefully placing it on the ground before pulling out a knife and puncturing the bag within. He then pulled the rod free.
“As you can see, we have not perfected it yet. We are looking into a better manner of releasing the glass from the rod, but when we do, we will produce clear urns stronger than baked pots.”
“And you make them only using sand?”
“We use the finest sand. That which is almost dust makes the best glass.”
Neti looked skeptically at Shabaka but said, “I would like to learn more of this another day. If it is true, I could have use for see through jars, although I think the others would think of them as magic.”
“As so many dos with things they don’t understand,” Fartz said.
Neti turned back to where Seota and the Master Craftsman should have been only to find them missing
“Where is Seota?” she asked looking about, Shabaka also for a moment glanced around him before spotting her with the master. He pointed and Neti followed without a word spoken.
“Come Seota,” Neti said as they approached, “…we have other matters that need tending.”
Seota thanked the man before they took their leave of the man.
On their way back to the palace, Shabaka said, “I’ve arranged to meet with a friend at one of the beerhouses tonight, do you think you will manage?”
“Go,” Neti said, “I’m certain Maathorneferure has something planned for us.”
5
Chapter Five
The sun already hung low in the sky when Shabaka entered the beer house. It was one of the few of his friends, Rahann, he had frequently visited as young man while under Ramesses’ tuition.
The beer house had not changed much since then. Several smaller groups were scattered along the side of the hall. The center of the hall was taken up by those willing to chance their luck and fortune. Shabaka passed them without even glancing at the contestants or the game.
There was the usual series of whispers as he made his way to the serving area, where the man lowered his head in acknowledgement before placing a pitcher on the serving platform.
Shabaka placed a small silver piece beside the pitcher, which the man was reluctant to take, however Shabaka said, “For the evening, I have someone who will join me.”
“Thank you. It is not often that I have patrons as willing to pay upfront.”
Shabaka said nothing and turned from the man looking over the occupants. Most were well into adulthood. It was one of the reasons he appreciated that particular beer house, the boisterousness of the younger generation often saw arguments and fights to start.
“I was wondering if you would even make it,” A familiar voice said.
Shabaka smiled warmly as he turned to his friend who came to stand beside him, teasingly replying, “And why would I not?”
“I don’t know,” Rahann jested back, “Ramesses always seems to find things for you to do. And, quite frankly, if I had a partner like yours, I would not let her out of my sight while here.”
Shabaka had no idea how to respond. However, he looked his friend over, he was well built, many women even found him attractive. However, Shabaka considered that to be more due to the man’s silver tongue.
“Ah-ha, thought so, you like her. Should have known it was a girl keeping you from Pi-Ramesses.”
“If I remember correctly, Ramesses assigned me to Thebes.” Shabaka said as he gestured to the server for another pitcher.
“That was only temporary, until he could figure out what was happening.” Rahann said.
The servant placed another pitcher on the serving platform and Shabaka gestured to Rahann to take it.
Shabaka took his and pointed to one of the smaller areas, before replying, “Well there was a lot more going on in Thebes, and a lot of criminal activity after the Pharaoh and royal guards moved out of the city, than he originally thought.”
“So are you back for good now?”
Shabaka shrugged his shoulders and said, “We actually go wherever the pharaoh wants us to.”
“We?” Rahann questioned, “As in you and the embalmer girl.”
Shabaka settled on the mat before replying, “Neti is not a girl.”
“Yes, I noticed, but it is not like she’s married either.” Rahann said as he settled.
“Well it is definitely not due to a lack of interest from the men.” Shabaka said flatly, before taking a sip of his beer.
“You included I take.”
“That is a path I do not want to go down.” Shabaka said.
“Marriage or Neti?” Rahann asked.
“Both,” Shabaka said,
“Well seeing you are not interested and she is obviously not taken. Care to introduce me?”
Shabaka’s back went ramrod straight although he tried to keep his voice neutral as he spoke, “You! I would have to be mad. I know only too well of your short lived fascination with women.”
“Oh, come on, being a prince has some advantages. Do you want to tell me that you have not had desires for a woman?” Rahann challenged.
“And why not? We both have the right to take more than one wife.”
“Yes we do, but I’m not even entirely certain I want to have this conversation with you.” Shabaka said, but then noticed a man standing close-by.
“Too scared of revealing the truth, no doubt.” Rahann threw back, “We all have desires we act on, and most women are too easily won over with the prospect of a prince or becoming a princess to decline.”
Shabaka frowned and Rahann tilted his head in response.
“Something I said?” Rahann asked.
Shabaka indicated to the man with his head, “I hope you haven’t enticed too many local girls.”
Rahann also frowned but shrugged his shoulders.
When the man made no effort to move on Shabaka said, “Hey you! What do you want? Or are you standing there to listen to our conversation?”
The man turned to look at him but did little else.
“Do you actually have something to say?” Rahann demanded,
The man looked from Rahann to Shabaka before demanding, “Are you the prefect Shabaka?”
Shabaka nodded.
“I have a message for you…” The man started, but was cut short by Rahann.
“You don’t look like any kind of messenger.”
The man ignored Rahann and looked at Shabaka as he spoke. “There is a man, outside, in one of the alcoves, who wishes to speak with you.”
“I do not meet strangers in alcoves, especially once it gets dark.” Shabaka firmly replied.
“The man said he would be too easily identified if he came here, but he has information of importance.”
Rahann looked at Shabaka, lifting a brow in question, before asking, “You still getting into fights?”
“You know as well as I do that I never start them.” Shabaka said turning his attention back to the man, demanding, “What is your name.”
“That is not important,” the man said, his voice flat.
“What does this man want?” Shabaka demanded.
“I don’t know, but he only offered to pay for a beer and flatbread if I gave you the message.”
“Want me to come along? It’s been a while since I’ve had a good fight.” Rahann offered
But before Shabaka could answer the messenger said, “The man said he will see only you, and that if you bring anyone with you he will disappear.”
“But you can identify him, so what is the purpose of all this?” Rahann asked.
The man said nothing in response, which had Shabaka look at him in question. He was accustomed to threats even being levied in an attempt to solicit such meetings.
“Tell him I will be there shortly.” Shabaka said.
The man nodded and then left.
“You think that is wise?” Rahann asked. “There could be several of them waiting to pounce on you.”
“Here in Pi-Ramesses?” Shabaka asked, disbelieving. “They would be fools to try it.”
“You have made enemies in the past,” Rahann cautioned.
“My actions was in service of the Pharaoh, not personal.” Shabaka countered.
“That I may understand, but others are not as willing. You know how people can bear grudges.” Rahann again cautioned.
“Well if you are so concerned for my safety, you can wait by the doorway. If I have any trouble, I will call for help.”
Rahann smiled, “A good old fight, just like when we were younger.”
“I don’t think it will come to that,” Shabaka said as he rose from the mat. “I have also learned that the most valuble of information often comes one’s way when least expected.”
“Are you already investigating something for the pharaoh again?”
“Not investigating,” Shabaka countered, “More like looking into something.”
“There is a difference? Rahann asked as they made their way to the doorway.
“We don’t have any proof, or anything really to investigate.”
“But it is your job to find proof.” Rahann flatly stated.
“Only if there is anything to be found.” Shabaka said.
“Care to share?”
“Not particularly,” Shabaka said as they stepped out onto the road. “You remain here.”
When Shabaka stepped outside the beer house, it was already Twilight, which allowed some contrast within the shadows, but it was quickly fading. He looked to one side of the road, but found no indication of an alcove, so turned his attention to another. There was a darker area not far from where he stood and he made his way towards it. It was not really an alcove but a house that had been destroyed. The font in its entirety was missing, as was the roof. Only the adjoining walls to the other homes still stood.
Within the area, Shabaka could still make out where the walls and been and part of the stairwell to the roof, but the rest had been removed, possibly as building material.
The practice of reusing the material of abandoned buildings was common, and often saved others a great deal of time, usually spent looking for materials.
There was no movement within the walls, and the area was too small to hide several men. Shaking his head he turned, intent on returning to the beerhouse, when a voice spoke. “Are you alone?”
Shabaka turned towards the direction the voice had originated from and said, “Yes.”
There was movement from behind one of the outcrops, which placed Shabaka on guard. Although there was still the possibility of stepping into the main street to avoid a confrontation, he did not want to draw immediate attention to their location if it was not needed.
The man remained in the shadows. Shabaka could roughly guesstimate his height to be about the same as Neti’s. His upper body more pronounced, an occurrence that seemed contradictory to what should be allowed. Shabaka made no reference of it, knowing that the man would be likely to flee if he suspected any possibility of being identified.
“Why did you ask for me?” Shabaka asked, his eyes quickly growing accustomed to the lower light, enough so, to make out patches of lighter skin on the man’s arms. The marks appeared to be those of injuries and had not yet faded, which were indication enough that they were recent. The man also had a thinning hairline and a hook-like nose.
Silence hung heavy in the air, so much so it seemed to become oppressive. “I asked, why did you called me here?”
“And I am trying to determine if you are really alone.” The man said in response.
“Why wouldn’t I be? That is what you asked for.” Shabaka replied.
“That may be so, but it does not mean that you would have come alone. You are rarely alone.”
The man’s words, the knowledge of such a fact, sent a chill down Shabaka’s spine, along with another uncomfortable sensation that quickly formed in the pit of his stomach. Were it not for the fact that Neti and Seota were safe at the palace, he would have considered it a trap to separate them.
“I see that you are feeling concern for your companions, but it is not them I wish to speak with.”
“Then why do you wish to speak with me,” Shabaka challenged, “You have not said anything of any worth to me. Thus far, you have done little more than waste my evening.”
“I called you here because you are the chosen prefect of the pharaoh, the one he trusts above all. And what I have to tell you cannot be heard by another.” The man said, then lowered his voice, which made it difficult for Shabaka to hear anything else he mumbled.
Shabaka automatically stiffened his back, waiting for someone to move from the sides but nothing happened and no movement could be detected.
“What do you have to tell me?” Shabaka finally demanded.
“That you are a fool and blind.” The man said.
His words immediately angered Shabaka, who firmly demanded. “Who are you to say such a thing of me?”
“One who has watched you, so listen and heed my words.”
Shabaka fought to contain his anger,
he narrowed his eyes in hope of better identifying the man but it had already grown too dark. “Explain yourself,” Shabaka finally demanded.
“You were at the craft hall today, walking with the Master Craftsman.”
Shabaka nodded in response somewhat hesitant, not liking the fact that his motions were being tracked.
“And while you are the pharaoh’s finest, there was thievery happening right under your nose.”
“What thievery? Shabaka asked, adding, “…falsely accusing someone of theft from the pharaoh is a criminal act, punishable by the pharaoh.”
“Ah, but unlike you I have seen it.”
“Seen it, how?” Shabaka asked.
“The Master Craftsman may paint it differently, call it something different, but it is theft all the same.”
“You work in the hall?” Shabaka asked.
His claim was met with a prolonged silence, enough so to concern Shabaka that the man may have slipped away. “If you make such a claim, you should step forward and be identified.”
“And suffer the fate of the others who dared speak?” the man challenged him. “I came to you because I was told you could be trusted.”
“If you have done nothing wrong why then fear prosecution.” Shabaka challenged
“Prosecution is not what I am afraid of.” The man firmly replied.
“What then?” Shabaka demanded.
“Think of the most painful way to make a man suffer…”
Shabaka finally nodded, “I understand. But you must also understand that I can provide for your safety, but only if you come forward.”
“I have been a craftsman for many years, and like many others, it is not the payment or the metals we work with that matter, but our ability to express ourselves through our work. It matters not to me if I work with steel or gold, it is the work that matters. Your offer will take that from me.”
“Then why come forward?”
“Because I believe that taking something, which is not rightfully yours, is wrong.”
“And this is why you have come to me?” Shabaka asked.
“I am telling you this, because those involved have become greedy. They are taking even more now.”
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