City of the Dead

by T. L. Higley

  “What, Father?”

  “Promise me you will put the past behind you. Learn to love again.”

  I risked a glance at Ahmose, but my brother’s face was stony. “I will do all I can, Father,” I said.

  Neferma’at would not be appeased. “Ahmose, you too. You changed that day. But the past is not important.”

  “You exhaust yourself, Father,” he said. “You should rest.”

  Neferma’at seemed to take instruction and closed his eyes again.

  Ahmose stood and moved away. I rested my forehead on my father’s arm.

  “He seems chilled,” I said. “Is there a blanket?”

  Ahmose brought a piece of white linen. “He likes this one,” he said and pushed past me. My brother draped the linen over the old man, tucked it around his legs and hips. I watched as a stranger here, and my throat thickened.

  “I am sorry I have not been here more, Ahmose.”

  Voices in the outer passage grew closer. The head servant entered the room, his face pale. “Pharaoh Khufu, Beloved of Horus, Ruler of the Two Lands, Son of Ra …” He seemed to run out of titles. “He is here.”

  I smiled sadly. “Bring him in.”

  Khufu appeared in the doorway. His usual cheerfulness was absent. “When I heard,” he murmured, “I came to—to pay my respects.”

  I nodded to my cousin and returned my attention to Neferma’at. “He is fading.”

  Khufu slipped to the bedside, and I considered it a credit to the man that he knelt there, beside his elderly uncle.

  Neferma’at opened his eyes and squinted at Khufu.

  “Ah, my brother has come,” he said. “I have not seen you in years, Sneferu.”

  Khufu gave me a half smile and took his uncle’s hand. His large ring seemed to dwarf the frail hand. “How are you, brother?”

  Neferma’at managed a slight shake of his head. “The gods are calling me west, my brother. It is my time.”

  Khufu patted his hand and Neferma’at grinned, the old spark returning for a brief moment. “But we had some good times, didn’t we, Sneferu?”

  Khufu laughed. “Yes, indeed.”

  Neferma’at lowered his voice. “Our boys think this pyramid they’re building will be greater than ours, do you know that?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’ve heard that.”

  “Let them build three of them, that’s what I say. Then let them speak of greatness.”

  Khufu smiled at me, a sad smile that spoke of our shared loss.

  “Besides,” Neferma’at continued, “those boys owe everything they know to us. We taught them what it meant to build a legacy in stone.”

  “We certainly did, brother. Saqqara will stand for eternity.”

  Neferma’at gripped Khufu’s hand. “But you must bury me in Meidum, remember.”

  “Yes. Beside Itet. Your tomb is grand.”

  Neferma’at closed his eyes, energy gone again. Khufu pulled his hand away and placed it on my shoulder. My breath caught, but I focused on my father’s face.

  “He is a great man, Hemi. He will be greatly honored in Egypt for his seventy days.”

  Khufu stood, and I with him. We moved away from the bed and lingered in the doorway of the chamber. “What have you learned of this killer in our midst?” he asked.

  I thought of the old man with the rotted teeth, whispering of Merit’s frequent visits to the workmen’s village, disguised.

  “Not much yet, I am afraid. I am still asking questions.” I hesitated. “What do you know of a group called the People of the One?”

  Khufu scowled. “Rebellious sect. Have nothing to do with them.”

  “There may be a connection to the killer.”

  “It would not surprise me. They are Egyptians but claim a connection to the Joktanites and have adopted the god of the east.”

  “Which god?”

  Khufu snorted. “He has no name.” When I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, Khufu held up a hand. “By Hathor’s horns, I speak the truth. They worship only one god, whom they say has no name that man knows, yet is the only god, the creator of everything.”

  “Hmm. Are they a warring sect?”

  Khufu shook his head. “They live among us peaceably. Only contrary to all that holds Egypt together. They meet in secret, all around the Two Lands, from what I hear.”

  “Why have I never heard of them?”

  Ahmose joined us in the doorway. “Perhaps if you two need to speak of official matters, you could move to the palace.”

  My jaw dropped. That my brother would speak to Pharaoh in such a way shocked me. But then a look into my brother’s eyes revealed such grief that I immediately dismissed it. I stepped between Ahmose and Khufu. “I must tend to my father, my king. If you will permit me.”

  Khufu bowed his head. “Take whatever time you need.” He disappeared toward the outer part of the house, where slaves would bear him back to the palace.

  I turned to Ahmose. “We were discussing Merit’s crossing,” I said. “Pharaoh has asked me to investigate her murder, and that of Mentu.”

  “Of course.”

  I sighed. Neferma’at called out to me once again, but the old man was already unconscious by the time I reached him. A loneliness, deep and heart-numbing, descended on me. The loss of my father, added to Mentu’s and Merit’s, and the distance of my brother left me weary. I laid my head on my father’s hand and felt the tears flow. My mind carried me back many years, to a day I had cried such, the day my pet monkey had died. My father had comforted me that day. There could be no such comfort at this loss.

  I lifted my head sometime later and found Ahmose watching me. I swiped at my face, wishing my older brother had not witnessed yet another weakness. But when I looked at Ahmose, his expression held something other than contempt. Instead, Ahmose looked at me as though I were a stranger.

  Ramla, Ahmose’s pretty little wife, came with food and with their son Jafari, who had seen only seven Inundations. The boy talked of nothing but being an engineer, a builder like his uncle, the grand vizier. He sat close to me while we ate, peppering me with more questions than there were lentils on my plate.

  I answered each with a small glow of pride that was extinguished each time I glanced at my brother’s darkening expression. Eventually Ramla shooed the three of us back to our homes, promising to sit with Neferma’at. I grasped my father’s hands in what I knew might be our last time together, then walked the short distance home alone and collapsed into my own bed, overwhelmed by the deep well of loss into which I had fallen.

  * * *

  The workmen’s village housed ten thousand men, with their wives and children, during the season of akhet, in addition to the artists who resided there year round. But there was also a large contingent of men brought from nearby areas who stayed in the village during the ten-day work week then returned to their homes and families for two days. These men were housed in barracks at the edge of the village, and, when they returned from a day’s labor, they were fed in a large hall located adjacent to the bakery and brewery, which hummed with steady work, keeping the men in bread and beer.

  I arrived at the dining hall along with my men, as the evening meal was being brought in on steaming platters and circulated among the men on floor mats by women dressed to please them.

  I lowered myself to a reed mat near the wall and surveyed the room with tired eyes. It had been a long day on the work site, with a section of stones misdirected to the south side of the pyramid and a small cave-in where we were shoring up the sides of the king’s burial chamber. When I had gotten free, I sought out Sen and asked my new overseer of constructions where I might find his daughter.

  Sen had raised his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth together.

  “I have a few questions about a matter in the village for her,” I explained, but the older man only smiled.

  “She is usually serving in the dining hall at this time of evening.”

  “I don’t understand. Serving?”

&nb
sp; Sen’s chest expanded. “She wants to. She knows it is beneath her, and certainly not required. But she cares for the men and enjoys finding ways to help.”

  She was not here, however, I decided, as I watched the men hoot at the serving women and bang their empty jugs on the floor for refills. The yeasty smell of the hall mingled with the smell of hard-working men, and I wondered that I found the scene pleasant and much preferable to my usual meals alone.

  A young woman approached me and held up a jug. I nodded and she filled a cup, then bent to hand it to me. Her fingers brushed mine, and I looked up apologetically. She smiled through lowered lashes, and I realized the touch was intentional.

  She doesn’t know who I am.

  For a moment I was tempted to lose myself in the anonymity. Then common sense prevailed and I studied the contents of my cup until she moved away.

  I watched the men, how they talked and laughed together, with a shared experience that paved the way for friendship. I had never really felt that level of comfort with anyone.

  A laborer nearby looked at me and I avoided his eyes, not wanting to appear in need of conversation. My own inner silence seemed to echo with hollowness in the midst of the great drone of laughter and conversation.

  Finally the man beside me caught my eye and spoke. “You honor us, Grand Vizier, with your presence here. I hope our revelry does not displease you.”

  I shook my head. “I am waiting for someone.”

  “Can I be of assistance?”

  “Do you know Neferet, daughter of Senosiris, Overseer of Constructions?”

  His face opened into a great smile. “Of course. She is a fine lady.” He scanned the room, then pointed. “And she has found you.”

  I raised my eyes and found Neferet crossing through the hall toward me. She stopped several times along the way, speaking to and laughing with men who called to her. I could not hear the words spoken, but it was clear that they did not treat her as the other serving women. One would have thought her twice her years, from the way the men reached for her as though seeking her blessing.

  Finally she reached my side. She smiled down at me but said nothing.

  I stood and cleared my throat. I forgot why I had come.

  Her smile widened at my silence. “My father tells me that you are searching for me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Shall we sit?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  I allowed her to find a spot on the floor first, then lowered myself beside her. I offered her my cup, but she shook her head.

  The dining hall began to empty, and Neferet shifted so that her full attention was on me. I noted her dress, a different one than last I’d seen, but also sewn with red threads and beads attached.

  She followed my look and smiled. “I know. I can never seem to be content with simply white.”

  “I like it.”

  She laughed.

  “Is that funny?”

  Neferet shook her head. “Only the serious way in which you said it, as though you were approving the way a stone was dressed at the quarry.”

  “I am afraid I have more experience with dressing stones than women.” The words spilled out, then I felt myself redden. I turned away.

  Neferet laughed again and moved closer to me on the floor. “Why are you here, Grand Vizier?”

  Why indeed?

  “The old man in the artists’ section, he said that the Great Wife came to the village often. He said I should speak to the People of the One. And then he pointed to you.”

  “And why are you asking about the Great Wife?”

  “Because I—I cared about her. And I want to find the man who sent her ka to the west.”

  The dining hall had grown quiet, and my words echoed farther than I would have liked.

  Neferet’s eyes never left my face, but she was quiet. I fought the flush that I felt climbing again.

  “She was very important to you.”

  “Yes.” I swigged the remainder of my beer.

  “For a long time.”

  “Yes.”

  “My heart aches for your loss,” she said, and I believed her. “How is your father, Hemi?”

  “Not well. He is in his last days. But he has lived a good life.” Only after I answered did I notice that she had used my little name, not my title or formal name.

  “A life well-lived will be missed all the more,” she said and reached for my hand.

  “You like to touch people, don’t you?”

  She smiled her wide, happy smile but pulled away. “I am sorry.”

  I didn’t mean you should stop.

  I forced the conversation back to Merit. “What do you know about the People of the One? And what connection do they have to the Great Wife? Do you think one of them may have been involved in her death?”

  “You ask more questions than I have answers, Hemi. But I do know that the queen came to the village several times.”

  “Dressed as a common woman?”

  Neferet ran a hand over her own clothing. “Dressed as one of us, yes.”

  I ground my teeth. I could not seem to say the right thing. “I did not mean—”

  She held up a hand. “I feel no shame in my status, Hemi. Some women are born to be queens, some are not.”

  “You would make a beautiful queen.” I rubbed the back of my neck and looked away.

  “Thank you.”

  A moment of silence left me wanting to run from the hall like a hunted antelope. No, nothing so graceful. Perhaps a hippo.

  “Do you know why she came?” I said. “Did she meet with these rebels?”

  “Rebels? Who has called them rebels?”

  “What would you call them? They reject the sacred truths of Egypt to worship a foreign god without a name.” My voice held a disdain that echoed Khufu’s, though I was not so offended as I sounded.

  “Have you ever wondered if the sacred truths are really true, Hemi?”

  The hall was empty now, save the two of us. I studied the far wall before I answered. “I believe in justice. In divine order. In the existence of ma’at, running through all things.”

  “Justice. Yes. And what about after death?”

  “Justice, still. The weighing of the heart to see if it is pure and can enter eternity.”

  “What will happen when your heart is weighed, Hemi?” Her words were soft but intensely spoken.

  The flutter of a warning echoed through me, like a whispered secret in a cavernous temple. My heart pounded with a desire to confess the truth to her. “I do not know,” I admitted. “I have tried—tried to be—I do not know.”

  “I think perhaps you do. That we all do. But you are afraid to face the truth.”

  I placed my cup on the floor and twisted my fingers together in my lap. “I am not a pure man. I know that. I do not see how my heart could pass the test.”

  She leaned toward me. “Nor could any. True justice leaves us all without hope.”

  “Are you one of them, Neferet?” I lifted my eyes to hers. “The People of the One?”

  She smiled, a knowing, patient smile like that of a tutor watching a student slowly learn. “Yes.”

  “I must know about the Great Wife. Please.”

  She placed both her hands on mine and whispered one word. “Come.”

  TWELVE

  We twisted through the darkening streets, Neferet leading me like a child. I kept my head down, preferring not to be seen. Lamps flickered to life inside homes we passed as the sun dropped below the wall that hemmed the city. The streets emptied of people, now safe inside their homes, tending to their families. The night seemed under a spell of the gods, silent and warm and full of mystery.

  We walked for some time, until Neferet drew up short in front of a modest home flanked by others more prestigious, and faced me. She stepped close, until her head nearly touched my chin, and looked up.

  “I feel in my heart that I can trust you,” she said. “But I need you to tell me so.” I looked over her he
ad at the house. She touched my arm. “No, you must look at me when you speak.”

  I ran my gaze over her face, her eyes, her lips, unsmiling now.

  “I would not betray you, Neferet.”

  Her slow smile was my reward. She took my hand and led me farther still, to the grand home next door. We passed into the home without being greeted, but once we were in the inner courtyard a servant stepped from the shadows. He was young, perhaps less than twenty Inundations, but his eyes were wary.

  Neferet greeted the servant with a kiss to the cheek, but the man’s attention was on me.

  “I have brought a guest.” Neferet held out a hand to me.

  “There will be many questions,” he said.

  Neferet nodded, then pulled me through the courtyard, to a chamber at the back of the house.

  I expected to find a small group of the rebellious sect huddled in the shadows and was surprised to find the room empty. Perhaps word of my inquiries had gotten out and no one had come.

  Neferet crossed the room purposefully, to the opposite wall. She turned and beckoned to me where I stood by the entrance to the room. And then the far wall became a door, and I realized that it had been cleverly plastered with mud-brick to conceal its purpose. Neferet swung the door open and stepped into the darkness.

  With a flicker of doubt at the wisdom of my actions, I crossed the room and passed through the doorway.

  I was unprepared.

  Three steps down, a chamber larger than the house above yawned before me, lit by dozens of oil lamps and filled with more people than I could count, talking and laughing like beloved family members.

  My entrance was like a jug of water poured on a fire. The conversation sputtered and died nearby, and the hush spread outward until the entire room had fallen silent and watchful.

  Neferet lifted her chin and smiled at the upturned faces. “He does not come to accuse or control,” she said. “He has doubts, as we all once had. He seeks truth. And he may be trusted. Welcome the grand vizier, my friends. Welcome him as you would welcome me.”