The North Wind Descends

by N. L. Holmes

  “Regularly,” Ptah-mes said, smiling dryly. He seated himself in his chair with a graceful sweeping aside of his skirts. “It’s very nice of her to do it, actually. I certainly don’t expect it.”

  The whole issue of Neferet’s marriage left Hani with a curious sense of unreality. “I’m glad she’s being... nice.”

  “How have your investigations gone?”

  Hani told him what Mery-ra and Maya had found out in Waset. “It seems his mother was a hapiru. She was a drinker and used to fly into terrible rages and beat the children, once so badly that Amen-nefer lost an eye. He seemed to get his revenge by violently molesting his own sister.”

  “An early start to his career as a blackguard, eh.” The edges of Ptah-nefer’s nostrils grew stiff with disgust.

  “And then, my lord, in her fever, my daughter began to recall the details of her accident—or what we had thought was an accident.” Hani’s voice hardened, and rage chilled him inside, so much so that he had to pause to gather himself. “It turns out that she was pushed overboard by a man with one eye, for rejecting his advances.”

  Ptah-mes stared at Hani, his black eyes growing brilliant with a terrible light. “You must want to see him ruined, Hani. I would.”

  Hani remembered how Ptah-mes had put to death his wife’s murderer, who was in his custody. Hani said, trying to rein in the ferocity that had control of him, “I do, my lord. I cannot lie. But unless we find some kind of proof that he’s the murderer, I don’t know what I can do. Pa-aten-em-heb’s sister’s case was judged, and Amen-nefer was acquitted. It’s been a long time since he pushed Baket-iset. It would be easy enough to say the girl has misremembered. Or—as he told me—it was some other one-eyed man.”

  Ptah-mes nodded, his eyes lowered. When he looked up, he said, “You certainly can’t go back to Kumidi with Amen-nefer around. But here’s an idea. I’ve recently created a new commissariat very nearby”—he smiled the cold smile of a shark—“cutting Amen-nefer’s authority in half. Alas, it was all I could manage without the permission of the vizier.”

  “A new commissariat?”

  “One of the local kings just built himself a fortress in the desert at a place called Mankhate. I appropriated it for a second commissioner who has yet to be appointed but who will share responsibilities for the area to the south of Temesheq. I’m sure the commandant of the garrison will be happy to put you up if I write you a letter.”

  “Excellent, my lord,” Hani said with a grin not quite untainted by the desire for vengeance. “But what can I actually accomplish there? All the people who are likely to know anything are in Kumidi.”

  “There must be times when Amen-nefer is away. Those times are fairly frequent, from what I understand. I can give you a soldier to spy for you.”

  Hani nodded, starting to formulate his plans. Then it occurred to him he hadn’t completely informed his superior of what he and his son-in-law had learned in Hut-nen-nesut.

  “Oh, Lord Ptah-mes, we examined Amen-nefer’s army records and learned something interesting. He seems to have been under the patronage of the God’s Father Ay from early in his career. It was Ay who got him transferred to the infantry, presumably to cover for some infraction that might have threatened his advancement. And then there were other times when he was recalled from a distant front to fulfill a mysterious assignment for his patron. Seven years ago, he was sent by Ay to Hut-nen-nesut to accompany a servant woman to the capital.”

  “A servant woman, you say? How strange...” Ptah-mes knit his brows in thought. “That was about the time the Haru in the nest was born. Perhaps she was some sort of special midwife from the House of Royal Ornaments.”

  “Altogether possible, my lord,” Hani said, but something began sounding a clapper of alarm in his mind. He wondered if he dared to tell Ptah-mes about his interview with Queen Meryet-aten, but as implicitly as he trusted his superior, something held him back. It wasn’t his story to share. “I’d like to talk to her, but I suppose there’s no way to find out who she was.”

  “I suppose not.” Ptah-mes rose, his impeccable white clothing hanging in perfect pleats. “Keep me informed, Hani.”

  Hani bowed. “Thank you, my lord. We’ll take off tomorrow morning for Mankhate.” He took his leave of Ptah-mes and regained the reception hall to find Maya seated on the floor, writing busily. “Maya, my friend, let’s go prepare ourselves for the rest of our journey. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. But before we take off, I want to dictate a letter for Neferet. She’s being a very attentive wife, and I’d like to commend her.”

  Maya climbed to his feet. His eyebrow was cocked skeptically. “We’re still going to Kumidi, Lord Hani? Is it safe?”

  “I doubt it, but we’re not going there. Lord Ptah-mes has established a new administrative capital for upper Djahy, and that’s where we’re going.” He turned to the door, and Maya hustled after him. Together, they emerged into the dry yellow courtyard of Ptah-mes’s chancery.

  “But what difference does the city make, if we’re going to run into Amen-nefer?”

  “Ah, but we won’t. This is an additional capital, with its own administrator. Carved out of Amen-nefer’s jurisdiction.” Hani couldn’t restrain a smile of satisfaction.

  Maya goggled at him for a moment. Then a slow grin of comprehension spread across his face. “We might have known Lord Ptah-mes would find something he could do to that abominable man.”

  “Moreover, he’s promised to send a spy to Kumidi, who will warn us when the commissioner is out of town. That’s when we go back.”

  Maya hooted. “This should be interesting. Who exactly are we going to question this time, my lord?”

  Hani turned toward him with an innocent smile. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  ⸎

  It was a surprising distance to Mankhate from Azzati. The little fortress, bleak and sharp edged, rose from the arid hills inland of Kumidi, its stone still blinding and unsoftened by time. But a secure crenellated wall of mud brick surrounded its diminutive footprint.

  “I thought the vassals weren’t permitted to wall their cities,” said Maya, hanging out through the curtains of the litter to observe. The autumn air had grown a little chillier.

  “That’s probably why Lord Ptah-mes appropriated this one. Plus, it’s not far from Temesheq. Not a bad idea to keep an eye on Biryawaza.”

  Maya remembered the groveling king of Upi with his hard, sarcastic eyes. “You know what I find about this trip, Lord Hani? All the locals we’ve met seem so... gray.”

  Hani laughed. “Do you mean middle-aged? No unkind comments about middle-aged men!”

  “No, no. Some have been young like Abdi-hepa. But they all seem like colorless people. They’re putting on a bland mask, and you have no sense at all of what they really are inside. What I wouldn’t give for one honest eccentric like Rib-addi.” Rib-addi had been the king of Kebni, a loyal vassal who had been abandoned to his enemies.

  “He was pretty unforgettable, wasn’t he?”

  Yes, and he made a perfect character in a Tale, with Neferet acting out the part. These people... it’s going to take some imagination.

  The two men fell silent, and Maya sank back against the rear of the litter. His allotted space seemed to be growing smaller as Hani gained in corpulence over the years. Maya shot his father-in-law an affectionate and worshipful glance. There could never be too much Hani. His little eyes were fixed on the view out the crack of the curtains, but he seemed to feel Maya watching him and turned to his secretary and winked, a big grin crinkling his cheeks.

  They came to the city gate, and Hani flashed his diplomatic papers at the guard. It occurred to Maya that such papers had not been sufficient to save Shulum-marduk.

  “Well, here we are. We just need to wait for our spy to give us the word that Amen-nefer has left Kumidi.” Lord Hani swung his legs out of the litter, and Maya scooted to the edge and slid down after him.

  A martial-looking man approached across the plaza that surr
ounded the gate. “You must be Lord Hani. Our high commissioner sent a message to say that we should expect you.” He bowed. “I am Ah-mes-ankh, the commandant of the garrison and interim authority in this city. We are to serve you in any way needed.” He was a frank, open-faced man about Baket-iset’s age—a little coarse featured, with a shapeless, pockmarked ball of a nose—but friendly and respectful.

  Of course, that reprobate of an Amen-nefer was friendly and polite enough too—at first. Maya faced him with a hand on the hip so as to make it clear he, Maya son of Turo, was no servant.

  “Before I show you to your rooms, my lord, I want to tell you that a courier arrived this morning from Kumidi.” Ah-mes-ankh’s voice dropped. “He says it’s a message for your ears only.”

  “Thank you, my man. Send him on up as soon as you’re ready.” Hani gave the officer a conspiratorial smile.

  Ah-mes-ankh called one of his soldiers, who led the way into the commissioner’s residence. It was rather meager in comparison to Kumidi, built in the style of Djahy, with exposed beams between unwhitewashed mud-brick stories and the round beam ends showing as a decorative element below the flat roof. Hani and Maya followed, while another soldier trailed them with their baggage. The afternoon was still fresh—autumn, with its rains, would be coming soon in the north. Maya could almost smell it in the air, although the sky was blue with only benevolent white puffs of cloud, like roves of carded wool ready to be spun.

  Hani and his secretary had been quartered together once more, which suited Maya just fine. Their room was as modest as the rest of the place and none too bright—its single window faced north. But there were a pair of stools, a small table, and two comfortable-looking Egyptian-style beds made up with high, fresh bags of straw and spotless linen. A little brazier sat, unlit, in a corner.

  “You may actually need that tonight, my lord,” said the soldier who accompanied them. “It’s already chilling off after dark.”

  “Thank you, my good man. Whenever you like, we’re ready to see the courier.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Oh,” Lord Hani said as if it had just occurred to him. “How far is it from here to Kumidi?”

  “Perhaps ten iterus, my lord. About three hours on foot. The road is good.”

  Hani’s face split in his winsome gap-toothed grin. “Then that will be all. Thank you.”

  The soldier slapped a fist to his chest in salute and left, drawing the door shut behind him.

  Hani turned to Maya. “That’s good. We can go early in the morning and get back by nightfall. But to take the best advantage of the day, we need to plan exactly whom we’re going to try to see and where we’ll go.”

  Maya made a dubious moue. “Is there any point in quizzing the slaves again?”

  “Probably not, unless some new lead comes up. They all seemed to be sealed like mussels.”

  Further reflection was interrupted by the arrival of the courier from Kumidi. Red-faced and sweaty, he greeted Lord Hani.

  “What news, son?”

  “The commissioner left the city this morning, my lord, by the north gate. I trailed them a ways just to see which fork in the road they took. And I spied his party meet up with a bunch of men who looked like hapiru to me. Then they all headed northeast together.”

  Hani and Maya exchanged a significant look. “Interesting. Anything else you noticed? Did you see the bandits’ chief, that Shum-addi?”

  “No, my lord,” said the courier. “In fact—and I’m not sure about this, because I was a long way off—they didn’t look like that bunch at all. Far wilder. They were commanded by a hairy fellow with an overgrown beard, surely not Shum-addi, whom I’ve seen before. And there’s a certain discipline about his men that these lacked completely.”

  “It’s Monkey Arms, I’ll bet anything!” Maya cried.

  “You’re sure the hapiru weren’t attacking the commissioner?”

  “No, my lord. They all went away together with no sign of hostility.”

  Hani thanked the man, and he departed. Maya could see that his father-in-law was deep in thought, his straight, bushy eyebrows contracting. “If they were heading northeast, it wasn’t to Temesheq.”

  “What’s to the northeast?”

  Hani looked up, a flicker of avid flame in his eye. “Qidshu.”

  ⸎

  They arrived in Kumidi in early midmorning, having set out as soon as it was light. The cicadas chanted half-heartedly—they seemed to know their summer was drawing to a close. Hani and Maya had brought no baggage since they didn’t intend to remain longer than a few hours.

  “Although we may have to go on to Qidshu after all. It looks like we may be back on our first mission in spite of all the distractions,” Hani said. Amen-nefer’s recent meeting in Qidshu with Hotep, the commissioner of Ullaza, looked less and less like an innocent confabulation. “I just hope our friends in Sangar are willing to be patient.”

  Maya shook his head and raised his eyebrows. “Time is passing, and no arrest. They’d better be patient. But at least we have an almost sure suspect.”

  “I think, just for the sake of thoroughness, that we’ll talk to the majordomo at Amen-nefer’s residence. He would know who had been assigned to Shulum-marduk’s service.”

  They entered the residence, and the majordomo approached them almost immediately. He said, bowing, “Welcome, Lord Hani. The commissioner is not here at the moment, but if I can serve you in any way...” He was an Egyptian, thin faced and dressed as the steward of any prosperous estate in Kemet would be. No lack of discipline in this household.

  “I do have a question for you, my man. Do you remember who was assigned to the Babylonian diplomats who were here some months ago as their body servant?”

  “I do, my lord. It was a man named Bayadi. He is, unfortunately, sick at the moment.”

  “Not the plague, I hope?” asked Hani, thinking it was more likely a case of having been beaten.

  “No, no,” the majordomo assured him. “He’s an elderly man, and he’s been getting sicker for a long while. He used to be the best valet in the palace.”

  “Is there any chance we could talk to him? I would like to get some different perspectives on the murder of the diplomat.”

  The official twisted his long mouth, considering. “I think I can do that, my lord. Since this is a royal investigation.”

  Good man! Hani thought gleefully. The majordomo led them inside the residence, through the audience hall, and into the dark corridors behind the staircase that Hani remembered only too well. He passed the door to the furniture depot that had given them their best clue and turned finally into a narrow hall that was none too clean and stank of unwashed bodies. At the second door, he knocked and ushered Hani in. Maya waited in the corridor.

  A man lay on the floor on a flattened straw mattress, with a woman in attendance at his side. He looked to be a hundred years old, but that couldn’t be since he’d been serving until only recently. Gaunt and wasted, his face an ocher yellow and his eyes bloodshot, he was a pitiful specimen. Clearly, his days were numbered, and Hani regretted the necessity of bothering him. But it had to be done.

  “This man is a royal investigator,” the majordomo announced. “He has some questions he wants to ask you, Bayadi.”

  “Should I go, my lord?” the woman asked faintly. She might have been the slave’s daughter. She must have come to tend him, because she certainly doesn’t work at the commissioner’s residence. They all looked to Hani.

  He said kindly, “I don’t see why. As long as he’ll answer honestly in your presence.” Hani squatted at the man’s bedside. Bayadi followed Hani with his bloody-looking eyes, his mouth hanging open. “I don’t want to tire you, Bayadi. But I’m trying to find out who killed the Babylonian. Anything you could tell me would help. Were there any arguments the night before he was killed? Was he on friendly terms with his fellows?”

  The sick man’s voice came out like a creak of unoiled hinge poles, and Hani had to strain his
ears to hear. “Friendly, my lord. No fights. Lord Amen-nefer put ‘em all down the hall together, even though he had to move out of his own room to do it. I heard ’em coming, a little drunk, after dinner, all of ’em together, and I helped get ’em ready for bed, then I left. Didn’t hear nothing after that—I was down here asleep.”

  But Hani’s ears had pricked up. “Lord Amen-nefer moved out of his room, you say? Which one was it?”

  “The one acrost the hall from the others.” Bayadi’s breath was growing labored.

  The woman’s glance darted back and forth between his and Hani’s face with a look of desperation. No doubt, she longed to cry, “That’s enough. Leave him alone.”

  The hair rose on the back of Hani’s neck. He asked gently, “Would anyone be able to get into that room, Bayadi? Let’s say the door was locked from the inside. Could someone get in?”

  The slave’s voice was growing fainter and more agitated, as if he had to force himself against the will of his failing body to speak. “Yes. There was a corridor that come around to the bedchamber from behind, a parallel corridor, what few knew existed. To serve the commissioner quietly—or to bring up girls for ’im.” His eyes sagged shut, and Hani realized with a pang that was probably all he was going to get out of the man. He stared at the poor old slave, and hesitantly, he slipped the Serqet amulet from around his neck and gave it to the woman. “This has healed others. If you prefer, just sell it, but it’s yours.”

  She looked up with tear-glistening eyes and whispered, “Thank you, my lord.”

  Hani rose with a creak of his joints and sorrow in his heart. “Thank you.” He let himself out of the room, so overcome with compassion he’d forgotten about the news the man had imparted. He was still pensive, trying not to picture his own beloved father old and dying like that, when Maya popped up at his side from where he sat in the corridor.

  “Did you find out anything, my lord?”

  “I’ll tell you later, when we’re alone,” Hani said under his breath. In a louder tone, he addressed the majordomo. “Could we see the commissioner’s former room?”