by Scott Peters
Zet managed a grin, although inside he felt like his world was falling apart. "I better get going! Have to get to the stall on time."
"Thank you, Zet," she said, handing him a package. "Lunch. Dried fruit mostly," she said.
Looking into her eyes, he knew then that despite her smile and light-hearted tone, she felt as worried as he did. And out of everything, that frightened him the most.
"Have a good day!" she called.
"You too!" he called back, and ran from the front door. He couldn’t bear to see her that way.
Please, let me sell at least one pot. Please. Just one.
He prayed like that as he walked. At the woodcarver’s house, he paused before the open door. The man crouched and chiseled at the lid of a half-completed, ornate trunk. Sweet-smelling cedar-wood dust hung in the hot air.
"Excuse me?" Zet said.
The shirtless man glanced up. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.
"I’m looking for a place called the Rose Bark. Do you know where it is?"
The woodcarver thought for a moment. He shook his head. "Nope, sorry."
Zet carried on. He asked dozens of people as he went. No one had heard of the place. It was strange. Thebes was big, but someone had to have heard of it.
He took the long way around, cutting north up two extra streets. He approached the market from a different angle to get a clear view of his stall. He wanted to check things out in advance, from a distance. Who knew if men would be posted up, waiting for him?
To his relief, all was calm.
It was just like any other day. Blue sky crowned the hot square. The dusty, shuffling sounds of morning preparations were like a balm to his soul. Soothed by the familiarity, he padded across the paving stones to his family’s beloved business.
The other vendors greeted him, curious but friendly enough.
It was only as he drew closer that he noticed something was wrong. The linen sheets that covered their precious wares hung at odd angles. The tall, covered stacks were shaped differently. Shorter. Lumpier. Bulging in odd places.
A tremor of fear started in his belly. It spread outward, claiming his arms and legs, making his head spin. His hearing went all funny, as if he were going to pass out. He forced his legs forward. Faster. Sweating, he broke into a run.
With both hands, he yanked the closest sheet up.
Broken pottery shards spilled out. An avalanche of them. Tumbling and clattering and smashing to the ground. Zet stumbled backward, pulling the sheet with him. Nothing was recognizable as having once been a beautiful dish or pot. Instead, he faced a mountain of destruction. He fell to his knees, clutching the sheet to his face. He nearly threw up.
Zet forced himself to his feet. He ran to the other covered piles. Pulled the sheets free. By now, every vendor had abandoned their stall to come and stare in horror.
"Who could have done such a thing?" the goat-vendor cried.
So much beautiful work had gone into making the earthenware. Zet and his father had often made trips downriver to purchase the items in bulk from the artisans who made them. To see it destroyed was sickening.
Forcing back tears, he crunched over the remains. One item caught his eye: a shard with Kat’s handwriting on it. He bent and picked it up.
Their list.
They thought they’d been so clever, making a list with all the facts of the case. He dropped it and crushed it underfoot.
"Fetch the medjay, boy!" said a spice-merchant. "This is an outrage to all of us!"
Zet glanced up at him, barely registering the gathering crowd. With a nod, he left the square. But he had no intention of fetching the medjay. For all he knew, they were on the High Priest’s side now and they’d take him into custody. If that happened, he’d have no hope of stopping the meeting at the Rose Bark.
Shaken, he forced the horror of what he’d seen from his mind. Because if he thought about it, he’d break down and wouldn’t be able to carry on.
He was angry. He was frightened. And he was determined to put an end to this.
The morning passed in a blur. Zet went everywhere. He felt as if he asked every person in Thebes about the Rose Bark. No one knew if it was a tavern or a shop or a little square with a tree in it. No one had ever heard of it.
The whole thing was beginning to baffle him. It was too strange. How could no one have heard of the place?
It felt like a dead end.
Not knowing what else to do, he decided to head for Padus and Ama's house. He slipped through the familiar heavy curtain. With relief, he found he was in luck. They were both home.
"We both just came in ourselves," Padus said.
Ama called them into the kitchen. "This is a stand-and-eat lunch," she said, laying out some dried meat and bread, and pouring water for the three of them.
Zet pulled out his packet of dried fruit, but Ama told him to save it for later when he might need it. They still had a well-stocked pantry, and she'd make sure he was full before he left. He nodded in gratitude.
The three of them settled in to compare stories.
Chapter Sixteen
Transformation
As it turned out, Zet, Padus and Ama had all had similar experiences trying to find the mysterious location.
"No one has heard of it!" Ama said.
"I'm beginning to think it's more complicated than it seemed," Padus said, rubbing his chin.
"What do you mean?" Zet asked.
"Maybe it's a code of some sort?" Padus said.
"If that's the case . . ." Zet trailed off. A code? They had no time to break a code. Not without some further clues as to its meaning. And how would they manage that? It was past midday. The meeting at sunset was now only hours away. They had no hope.
His mind went to his stall. Frustration took over. He put his water cup down harder than he meant to. It slammed against the wooden table.
Ama jumped.
"Zet," she said, looking at his face. "What is it? What's happened?"
He sighed and put his fingers to his eye-sockets, trying to rub away the nightmarish vision of what he'd seen. Finally, he let his hands drop, and he met their curious stares.
"It's our stall," he began.
He told them of the destruction. Their mouths dropped, and their faces turned white as sheets.
"Buying new pots would cost a fortune. We'd never be able to do it. My father trusted me. My family has been selling clayware there for generations. And in two days I lost it all. What am I going to do?"
"Something," Padus said. "We're all going to pick ourselves up and think of something!"
"Not to make things worse than they already are," Ama said, "But I overheard a medjay asking about you, Zet. Apparently they're searching for you. It’s too dangerous for you to go back out!"
Zet toyed with his cup, turning it slowly. Padus started pacing. Ama cleared the lunch things away.
Needing some space to think, Zet wandered out into the front room. He pulled the curtain aside a few inches and stared into the street. The silence of post-midday-mealtime had settled on the city. Many people were napping, waiting for the world to cool down. With Ra, the sun-god, at his high point in the sky, the heat was almost unbearable. It radiated up from the sun-bleached paving stones.
Zet felt eyes watching him. Glancing up, he caught sight of a cat nestled under the shady overhang of a rooftop. They stared at one another for a time. Then the cat closed its feline eyes, but Zet knew it was still aware, still watching him with some sixth sense, in the way cats seem to do.
He turned his attention back to the deserted street. How could no one in the city know of the Rose Bark?
It was a riddle. A question with no answer. He had no time to go down that route any longer. He needed to switch paths. And he had an idea.
"Ama!" he called, hurrying into the kitchen.
She turned, wiping her hands on a cloth.
"Ama, I need you to shave my head."
Clearly this was the last request
she was expecting.
"And Padus, can you write?"
"Of course! I may be a lowly farmer, but as a papyrus maker, I made it a point to learn the craft of writing."
"I have a great favor to ask of you."
"Name it. Whatever I have is at your disposal," Padus said.
"I need you to write a letter."
When he'd told them his plan, they agreed that although it was dangerous, it was the best hope they had. In addition to the shaved head, Ama had a few ideas of her own to add to Zet's transformation.
Letter in hand, Zet stepped out the door. To any observer, he no longer looked like the boy who manned the pottery stall in the market. He looked like an official city courier. The dark waves of hair that his mother loved were gone. Instead, his head was clean-shaven. Thick black lines of kohl surrounded his eyes. At his waist, he wore a belt of blue-dyed fabric, which Ama had made by folding one of her scarves. She attached a leather pouch at his hip, and made a number of loops for holding things at the back. One of the loops held the letter Zet had dictated to Padus.
He looked so official, Ama worried someone would stop him and ask for his services.
"Don't worry," Zet said. "I'll be running too fast for that to happen."
They wished him good luck.
"Thank you," he said, and sped out the door.
It wasn't long before he reached the office of the medjay. He slowed, his heart pounding at the sight of all those officers coming and going. Sweat trickled down his ribs.
It was now or never.
Summoning his courage, he strode the last few steps to the door. A medjay was exiting just as Zet came up the low steps. Zet started when he realized the man looked familiar. It was the muscular thug who'd come looking for him with the thin-man the day before. But today, the thug was in uniform.
Zet's mind screamed, run! But he stayed his ground, praying the costume worked.
It did. The thug shoved past with barely a glance and headed into the street.
Inside he found himself in a front office. He approached a desk, where an official sat making notes on shards of white ostraca. The official glanced up.
"Got a message?" he said.
"Yes. It's for Merimose, the head medjay." Sweat poured down his sides, but not from running. Zet hoped the man wouldn't notice he was sweating in fear.
"Give it to me, Merimose is out of the office."
Zet expected this to be the case, which is why he'd written it all down. Everything—about the High Priest, about the stolen plans to Pharaoh's palace. So that if he was caught today, Merimose might still have a chance of working things out. And if he did, he'd know Zet was telling the truth.
"When will he be back?" Zet said.
"The day after tomorrow."
Chapter Seventeen
The Mighty Bull
Zet stood before the officer, reeling at the news.
"You're certain?" Zet said. "Gone until the day after tomorrow?"
The officer looked suddenly curious. "Why, what's it to you, boy?"
"It's just, my orders are that the document is important. He needs to see it today!"
"They're all important. That's the way it is in this office."
"But this one . . ." Zet paused. "Are you sure there's no chance of him coming back today?"
"Not a hope. He's on the opposite bank, investigating a crime in the tomb builder's village." The man gestured in the general direction of the Nile.
Zet knew that if you stood on the bank and squinted into the distance, you could see brown, desert hills. Egypt's Pharaohs were buried in those hills, in secret tombs, but he knew little more about them than that. What he did know was that it took hours to get there from here. He had no chance of going to the tomb builder's village to find Merimose. Not now, it was too late.
If what the man said was true, he was completely out of luck.
"I see," Zet said.
"Give it to me, I'll put it in his box," the man said.
What else could Zet do? He handed over the sealed scroll and watched the man set it into a small cubby.
"Is there anything else?" the officer said.
Zet shifted from one foot to the other. Should he tell him? Should he trust this man? The sun was a good deal past noon. Time was running out. He swallowed.
"No," Zet said. "No, thank you. I'd better get on with my work."
The man nodded and turned back to writing on his ostraca shards.
Wandering out into the streets, Zet tried to think what to do. He'd barely gone two blocks when he cursed himself for handing over the papyrus. He should have taken it to the palace! He could have entered as a messenger, and handed it to one of Pharaoh's own men!
Maybe it wasn't too late. He could have Padus make another.
When he reached Padus's street, however, medjay swarmed the narrow lane.
"It's that house," a woman was saying. "He's the one with the two different sandals. He used to leave them on the step all the time."
Zet hung back and watched in horror as two big, armed medjay entered through Padus's curtain. He heard Ama's cries. Then, a moment later, the men came out with Padus between them. Zet's stomach almost heaved at the horror.
They would kill him. Impale him on a stake, or burn him to death. That was the punishment for crimes against the state. And it was Zet's fault. He was the one who'd given Merimose the clue that had eventually led the men to Padus's door.
Padus turned and Zet stepped fully into the alley. Their eyes met. Padus made a tiny movement with his head.
No, his friend's eyes said. Don't give yourself away.
A medjay remained on guard in front of Ama and Padus's house. The others marched Padus right past where Zet stood. He could have reached out and touched his friend, they were so close. But there was nothing Zet could do. A suppressed cry caught in his throat.
His whole world had fallen to pieces.
All because he'd sprinted across the square two days ago, on that cursed afternoon, in hopes of a handful of copper deben.
Zet's feet carried him to the palace. He didn't know what he was going to do; he simply hoped the answer would present itself. Men marched up and down in front of the grand entryway. He approached the first one he saw and tried to explain he had an important message for Pharaoh.
"Where's your scroll, boy? Or an ostraca?" the guard asked, his eyes searching for the expected item.
"That's just it, I'm to give the message by word of mouth."
"No one gives Pharaoh messages by word of mouth. Get away from my gate."
At that moment, trumpets sounded.
Weapons clanked as men rushed into position.
"Pharaoh's coming, make way!" said a man.
Zet darted back, pressing himself to the ground.
A procession appeared, marching down the wide boulevard. First came a handful of royal soldiers, with swords at their waists and pectorals over their chests made of hammered silver and inlaid with gold. Then came ladies, some carried on litters, others walking, all in gowns of white and trimmed with precious metals and jewels. They chatted and fanned their faces, laughing. In a large litter, carried by six powerful men, sat the Mighty Bull, the Great God on Earth.
Pharaoh himself.
The curtains had been pulled back, so all might look upon him.
It was a rare glimpse, and one Zet had never dreamed of experiencing. Not only did Pharaoh normally remain hidden from his people, with the war in Hyksos, he'd been traveling much of late. Rumor was that he'd spent a good deal of time leading the soldiers himself, but that he'd come back now to deal with matters of state.
Zet raised his head for a better look, and at that moment the Mighty Bull happened to glance down. Their eyes met.
Pharaoh's were dark and his lids were heavily painted with green malachite, gold dust, and black carbon. Despite the overwhelming glory of his appearance, it couldn't hide the bluish pouches under the Great One's eyes.
The Mighty Bull looked worn, a
nd Zet wondered if he knew of the plot on his life. Surely he'd heard of the royal scheming, if Padus had known of it. Between that and the war, it must be taking its toll. Even on one so great.
Zet had no idea why he did it, but despite everything, he smiled at Pharaoh. To his utter surprise, Pharaoh smiled back. His eyes crinkled at the corners, causing the make-up to bunch into little wrinkles. The Great One raised a jeweled hand, as if waving and blessing Zet all at once.
The action emboldened Zet.
This was his chance. He had to warn Pharaoh!
He stood. As he did, a guard shot out as if from nowhere and grabbed him by the arm.
"Get back," he ordered.
In the next instant, the litter had passed through the gates. Pharaoh was gone. The doors clanged shut once again. His opportunity was lost.
"Get moving, or I'll cite you for causing a disturbance," said the guard, still crushing Zet's arm in his powerful grip.
Zet glanced at the fingers and the man let go.
"I know that was an amazing sight for a boy like you," he said. "Now run along. You'll have a good memory to tell your friends and family."
Out there in the street, Zet realized he had nowhere to run along to.
He'd lost his family business. They couldn't go home, they could never go home. Even once today was over, the High Priest would track him down and kill him and his family. A man like that wouldn't want witnesses. And he couldn't go to Padus and Ama's. They'd been caught, too.
He thought of his childhood friends. His best friend Hui had left home several months ago to become an apprentice at the Kemet Workshop. Hui might have had some idea what to do. As for the others, there was no way he'd even think to bring them into this nightmare.
His life as he knew it was over.
The thought nearly crushed the breath from his chest. He and his mother, sister and baby brother would have to leave town with nothing. But where would they sleep? How would they eat?
How would his father ever find them?
Zet wanted to lie down right then and there. He wanted to escape into a corner, curl up into a ball and close his eyes against the world.