by N. L. Holmes
“It’s turned up some strange possibilities, my lord,” Hani replied to Yanakh-amu’s question. He explained how Yapakh-addi seemed only to be reimbursing himself for unrepaid loans, how Rib-addi seemed unaware of most of them, and how suspicion fell on his brother and vizier, Ili-rapikh. Yanakh-amu nodded slowly. “Somehow this doesn’t surprise me. Kebni is a hotbed of corruption by even the kindest definition.”
“I was unaware that Yapakh-addi was also a Kebnite. How is it he was raised at our court?”
“He’s a prince of a cadet branch of their royal family. A cousin of some sort of old Rib-addi. His line was excluded from the throne long ago by a coup d’état, and they’re little more than garden-variety aristocrats now.” Yanakh-amu stopped to blow his nose. “From what they said at court when I was growing up, he hasn’t changed since his days there as a boy—always sucking up to those in power and mean and belittling toward those less favored than he. He was part of Rib-addi’s retinue, but he stayed behind in Kemet.”
Maya, who’d turned his ears to listen to the conversation, remembered Rib-addi saying that Yapakh-addi had hated him for years. Seems odd that his enemy was lending him money. Perhaps the late Neb-ma’at-ra had told him to.
“Is he any less dangerous now that his protector, the old king, has become Osir?” Hani asked in a low voice.
Yanakh-amu turned to him with a cynical smile. “I wouldn’t count on it, Hani. Knowing him, he’ll manage to ingratiate himself with the new king as well.”
The three men bounced along in silence. Maya’s thoughts began to revolve once more upon his fears. He was as drained as an empty wineskin by the time they stopped for the night.
CHAPTER 6
The diplomats gathering from the northern vassal states had put in a grueling month and a half. Even with the faster transportation provided by Lord Yanakh-amu, they arrived in Waset with only days to spare before Neb-ma’at-ra’s funeral, which was to take place the prescribed seventy days after his death whether Hani son of Mery-ra made it back or not. Hani had never been so glad to get home. Home to the quiet garden filled with the twittering of birds. Home to the warm arms of his wife and the laughter of his children. Home to the jovial counsel of his father.
He and Nub-nefer sat on stools side by side. Hani could scarcely keep from taking her hand or putting his arm around her shoulder. This precious life around him seemed defenseless and fragile as a glass vase, as if the Apep serpent had targeted it for attack. The days after a king’s death were vulnerable for the entire Black Land—he who’d stood between it and the forces of Chaos had been struck down, and evil would not relent in its efforts until a new champion was crowned. Hani hoped the fact that their young king had already reigned for more than five years as coregent might secure the perilous gap. Except that the young king was more likely to be the danger.
The family had gathered for dinner in the salon the day after Hani’s return. The younger girls were all over their father, pushing each other off his lap by turns. Pa-kiki was full of round-eyed questions. Mery-ra was even more ebullient than usual, as if determined to hold at bay the gloom that still hung over the household in spite of its master’s return. Finally, Nub-nefer sent the children off to bed. She was preparing to call the servants to carry out Baket-iset’s couch, but Hani stopped her. “Let her stay, my dear. She’s an adult, and I would value her insights.”
When Pa-kiki and the girls had kissed their parents and grandfather goodnight and pranced off to their rooms, Nub-nefer turned to her husband. “How did your mission go, my love? Were you able to complete it before you were recalled?” She hung onto his hand with her warm hennaed fingers, and he closed his own around them, savoring her nearness.
“No, alas. I ran into a wall in both cases. Although there may be a way forward. While I’m in Waset, I have a signed permit to view Lord Yapakh-addi’s books. If they confirm that multiple loans were made and never repaid, then I have to deny Rib-addi’s claims.”
“What a shame,” Mery-ra said with a ferocious snort. “I don’t know if he’s innocent or guilty, but that fellow Yapakh-addi is an arrogant bastard, and I hate to see him vindicated.”
Hani shrugged. “What can I do, Father? The law is the law. Even if Ili-rapikh has cheated his brother, it still doesn’t mean Yapakh-addi wasn’t owed a reimbursement.”
“And what about the murder of Abdi-ashirta, Father?” asked Baket-iset. Ta-miu, curled up against her side, gazed at Hani with great golden eyes as if in expectation of an answer.
“Alas, my dear, I haven’t made much progress there either.” He explained about the death of Pa-wer just before he could interview him and the dying soldier’s recollection of his assassin’s words, which seemed to incriminate Aziru. “But Rib-addi, who knows more than he’s letting on, thinks the killer of Abdi-ashirta was one of us. And in fact, the murder weapon is an Egyptian knife.”
“But anyone could have used an Egyptian knife,” cried Mery-ra. “That doesn’t prove a thing.”
“True,” Hani said. But then he recounted for them the suspicions of the late Neb-ma’at-ra.
“Some palace intrigue,” Nub-nefer said thoughtfully. “I thought you said Abdi-ashirta was useful to us.”
“That’s what the king thought. Now we have Aziru, who is less predictable and less wholly in our camp, I think.” Hani sighed then looked up as he remembered. “Rib-addi also said Abdi-ashirta was killed because he had not paid off us and the Mitannians.”
“Paid off?” said Mery-ra, raising his tufted eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“No idea.” Hani grinned dryly. “I was hoping you could tell me, Father.”
Nub-nefer cast her husband a tender look. “No wonder you’re so tired, my dear one. It sounds like your trip has been full of travels and of frustrations.”
“This house is more beautiful to me than the Field of Reeds,” he replied fervently, overcome with the painful sincerity of his love. “I could almost hope Our Sun doesn’t renew my commission so I would never have to leave again.”
Mery-ra chuckled. “You’d be bored in a week, my son. You’re too young to retire. I, on the other hand...”
“You don’t work that much anymore anyway, Grandfather,” Baket-iset reminded him, a smile trembling on her lips.
“I bring in a substantial amount of grain still, young lady. Just ask your mother if it doesn’t help put bread in our mouths,” said Mery-ra, giving her wasted arm an affectionate little shake.
How loving they are, the one toward the other. Even if the children sometimes fight, they’re all bound together by the strongest bonds of affection. Hani was speechless with tenderness toward his family.
Nub-nefer saw his face and squeezed his hand, her eyes melting.
All you gods, protect my family, he prayed with a bursting heart. Don’t let whatever is about to happen touch them.
Managing to sound calm, he said, “Poor Maya is desperately afraid he’ll be decommissioned. He can’t stop talking about it. I told him our resignations were a formality, but you know how it is when a fear has taken root.” Hani himself certainly did. It was as if some predatory bird hovered overhead, and he, a small defenseless thing, scuttled always in its terrifying shadow, huddling over his chicks.
Nub-nefer, with her instinct for easing the situation, said, “Let’s invite him to dinner tomorrow, after he’s had a chance to see his mother.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, my dear. He can tell you all about his adventures.” He leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek, drinking in her sweet, unique scent of lilies and bergamot, which he had not smelled for so many months. “How is everyone else doing? Has Aha come by at all?”
Nub-nefer’s smile melted off, and what was left in its place was partly grieving and partly incensed. The color rushed up her cheeks. “He’s insufferable, Hani. Didn’t he learn a thing from us? He’s always so patronizing that I’d rather he didn’t come. You’d think we knew nothing—he, looking down from the great age of twenty-
four.”
“He’s keeping bad company,” said Mery-ra. “The new king’s toney friends.”
“If we love him steadfastly,” Hani said, forcing himself to hope, “we can bring him back to his senses.”
Mery-ra gave a skeptical snort.
But Hani replied earnestly, “‘It is useful to help him whom one loves, so as to cleanse him of his faults.’ I have to believe that, Father.”
Mery-ra reached over and patted his son on the shoulder. “Of course you do, my boy. He’s not a bad lad under it all.”
“And the others?” Hani wanted to turn the conversation from his firstborn, about whom nothing good seemed to be forthcoming.
“Amen-em-hut is having trouble with his stomach. He’s so worried about everything. And now... well, I suppose it will be worse.” Nub-nefer sighed, her own brows knit in anxiety. “Pipi is well—”
“No one can accuse that boy of worrying too much.” Mery-ra chuckled. Hani’s younger brother was a paragon of taking life easy.
Baket-iset, who had maintained a sad silence while her own brother was under discussion, now interjected, “Qenyt is fine. We stocked the pool for her, and she thinks she’s the greatest hunter in the Two Lands.”
“Baket, my dear, that reminds me. I especially want your opinion on something because I know you have a certain intuition. When Abdi-ashirta was here with us and I took him fowling in the marshes, he said he had always wanted to see our River, or something to that effect. But later, I found out that he had been raised at our court as part of the entourage of Rib-addi of Kebni. Why do you think he might have concealed such a fact?”
Baket-iset glanced at her father from the corner of her eye. “Are you sure he didn’t mean to see the River again, Father?”
“I don’t honestly remember his exact words, but that wasn’t the sense I took. Do you think he’d be likely to lie?”
She frowned, pondering the answer, and Mery-ra said in her place, “Any son of Kharu would lie, Hani. It’s more natural to them than breathing.”
“But why about something like that?”
“You, a collector of aphorisms, need to be reminded that people lie?”
Hani laughed at himself ruefully and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m tired, dear ones. I think a good night’s sleep is what I need.” He rose from his stool and stretched. “So, shall I invite Maya for dinner tomorrow when I see him?”
Everyone approved the idea eagerly. As Hani bent to kiss his eldest daughter, Ta-miu rose and stretched her lithe little body to an improbable length. Baket-iset said to her father softly, “I think he was telling the truth, Father.”
⸎
Maya had spent the previous evening regaling his mother and her sisters with stories of his adventures abroad. It had been gratifying to see how excited, delighted, fearful, and joyous they grew in turn as he described the rigors of their journey, the crossing of the desert to Urusalim, the austerity of the garrison in Ullaza, and the tatty luxury of Kebni with its sly, doddering king. He began to feel he might have a gift for embroidering the everyday into a tale worthy of hearing. Perhaps he could put this down on papyrus at some point, a story like The Tale of the Two Sailors or Travels of Si-nehat. Especially like Si-nehat. There would be a point at which he could insert a reflection on burial and how the traveler—Maya himself—longed to be buried back home in the Black Land. He saw how much pleasure composing his aphorisms brought to Lord Hani, and it seemed to Maya that his tale would be even more entertaining to write.
One of his aunts—all three of them were big people—pressed upon him another plate of stuffed dates with her large red-knuckled hand, and he accepted with the dignity befitting a literate adventurer. “Tell us again about how the other scribes almost killed you out of jealousy, nephew,” she begged.
So he began to recount how In-her-khau and his drunken companions had milled around his door, armed with stout cudgels and bricks. Gradually, he felt his powers of articulation waning as the hours passed and the beer flowed. It was past time to put the little nieces to bed, and he was ready to close his eyes. He had gone over to his mother to kiss her good night when she fumbled a small package wrapped in cloth out of her shawl. “Wait, son. I made a little something for you. So you’ll be safe on your next journey, and I won’t have to worry so much about you.”
The big aunts all closed in around them, eager to see what their gifted sister had crafted—she who was a jeweler for the king. From the cloth, Maya drew an amulet, small but cast in solid gold—a figure of the kindly dwarf god Bes, protector of children.
Well, I am my mother’s child. From the corner of his eye, he spied her eager old face, creased with love, watching him to see how he liked it. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Mother. How can I thank you?” He knew how much work this had drained from her—taking time away from paying jobs, leaving her with scorched fingers and weary eyes—and how much even a little gold cost. It was exquisite—perfectly detailed despite the tiny size, something that might make any aristocrat envy him.
His heart swelled with pride and affection. “Thank you!” he cried, throwing his arms around her.
“Nothing’s too good for my boy,” she’d murmured proudly, weeping into his neck. Around them, the aunts had all made sentimental ooh-ing noises.
The next morning, as he made his way to Lord Hani’s house, he thought, So, that was a very successful evening.
Hani greeted him with a smile, but he was still preoccupied. “We need to look at Lord Yapakh-addi’s books before the new king tells us this adjudication is closed, Maya. Take some potsherds to make notes on, and let’s get on our way.”
“Before we go, my lord, could I show you something my mother made?” Maya pulled open the neck of his shirt and lifted out the Bes amulet. He had hung it from a leather cord. “It’ll look nicer on a chain, but I didn’t feel I could ask for anything else.”
Hani’s eyes opened wide, and his thick eyebrows rose in a double arc of appreciation. “Why, it’s magnificent. It’s as fine as anything I’ve ever seen for its size. This is really something to cherish, my boy.”
Maya blushed and tried not to look too proud. “She’s one of the best.” Of course, it was a stereotype that dwarfs made good goldsmiths—presumably because of their small hands—but in his parents’ case, it was true. Maya himself had certainly never shown the least talent.
“You might keep it under your shirt when you’re in the street, though. It’s gold, and that could tempt someone to try to pull it off you.”
“Oh. Right.” Maya hastily tucked it inside, where he could feel the cold metal starting to take on his warmth almost immediately.
“How did she like your tales of travel?” Hani asked as the two men departed through the garden on their way to the outer gate. Nothing was blooming at this season, but a flock of little birds twittered in the branches, enjoying the shriveled remnants of the sycomore figs.
Maya grinned, his cheeks once more burning with modest pride. “They all enjoyed them, my lord. I can’t thank you enough for taking me.”
“Well, chances are it’s the first of many times, Maya. You were very helpful. And you didn’t take up much room.”
Maya glanced up to see his employer trying to suppress a grin. Hani’s little brown eyes twinkled. Maybe that means he knows the king will renew our mandates, Maya thought hopefully.
Yapakh-addi’s urban villa was a virtual palace beside Lord Hani’s unpretentious but comfortable home. A massive wall surrounded it, pierced by an impressive gate with brightly painted decoration. Across the cornice, the words were carved: Yapakh-addi son of Abdi-ba’alat. Overseer of Royal Cattle, Fan Bearer at the King’s Right Hand, Emissary-at-Large in Kharu. An expensively dressed doorkeeper stood at attention, his arms crossed.
“He’s a Fan Bearer, too, is he?” murmured Hani, his good humor seeming to sink. “I just hope he’s innocent.”
“What I wonder is if that man has to stand there all day on th
e off chance that someone will want to come in.”
“Oh, I think Yapakh-addi has clients coming and going all day. One good word from him could accomplish almost anything.”
They approached the gate man and presented the letter of introduction. He screwed up his face over it and held it upside down, clearly unable to read, then excused himself.
A brief while later, he returned, his haughty demeanor restored. “Lord Yapakh-addi bids you enter.”
Oh no. He’s there, thought Maya with a sinking stomach. He’d remembered the contemptuous air of the king’s friend and hoped his servants would let them in without him.
Indeed, that was what happened, whether the lord of the house was present or not. The two scribes followed the doorkeeper through an endless orchard, vegetable gardens built around beehives, then pleasure gardens studded with pools, shrines, and kiosks, all of truly royal quality. An army of gardeners bustled about, beautifying the grounds still further. Yapakh-addi probably had access to the king’s own craftsmen.
Well, thought Maya smugly, I have something made by one of the royal goldsmiths.
The house itself was palatial, built in two stories, with elaborate pierced stone screens over the clerestories. Breaking the stark whiteness of the walls, the doorframe was ornamented in designs of bright color. The door itself, painted red, was tall enough for Maya to have entered standing on Hani’s shoulders if he chose.