City of the Dead

by T. L. Higley

  A figure in white slipped into the courtyard.

  “Neferet!” I swiped at my face, stood, then glanced down at the harp and back to her.

  The starlight seemed to glisten on her cheeks, and I realized she was crying.

  “What is it?”

  Her eyes roamed over my face, and I thought perhaps she was afraid.

  “Your music,” she whispered.

  I set the harp against the bench and stepped in front of it. “It is just a foolish diversion. The music interests me. It is all based on mathematics, you know. I find it interesting to analyze—”

  She was shaking her head. “I knew there was more.”

  “More?”

  She crossed the courtyard to stand before me and placed a hand on my chest. “More.”

  A frightened silence beat between us and lengthened, until I felt like my soul had been stripped bare, and I had to look away.

  “Why have you come, Neferet?” I asked and tried to swallow.

  She dropped her hand and looked at the ground. “I–I do not know. I wanted to see you. You left quickly this morning.”

  The pounding in my chest would not abate. I needed to speak of something else. I took a step backward. “You didn’t come alone, did you?”

  “I came to the royal estate earlier in the day, on some business for my father. I waited for you to come home.”

  There must be something else we can speak about.

  “You should not have stayed so long. Darkness has fallen, you know.”

  Brilliant, Hemi.

  “I know. My father will be angry.”

  “I will summon my slaves to carry you home. You will be safe.”

  “Thank you.”

  I lifted my head to call the slaves, but she grabbed my arm.

  “Can we sit awhile?”

  No. “Yes.”

  I shifted the harp and we sat on the stone bench. “I am afraid my courtyard does not have the visual appeal of yours.”

  She surveyed the plain walls and dying plants, then my face. “With the right touch, it would.”

  Is there nothing safe to speak about?

  She stood and moved to the corner, to my household shrine. It occurred to me that her house lacked such a shrine. The lamp on the offering table was unlit, and no incense burned before the goddess. No libations had been poured. Neferet ran a hand over the goddess’s wings and smiled back to me.

  “Ma’at,” she said. “Not Thoth, the builders’ god. But I am not surprised.”

  “I try to serve her faithfully.”

  “Have you learned anything new about the Great Wife’s death?” Neferet said, turning toward me.

  “I do not think there is any way to learn who killed her. She was going to the village to meet with Mentu-hotep, to discuss building plans for her pyramid.”

  “Why—”

  I held up a hand and shook my head, and Neferet seemed to understand my meaning.

  “But they have both been killed,” she said. “There must be some significance.”

  “You are probably right, but I do not know how to discover it. And the Horizon of Khufu demands my attention.”

  She came to me and clutched my fingers. “You cannot give up! What about justice, divine order?”

  “You understand me too well.”

  Neferet looked into my eyes and spoke softly. “I understand that you are in bondage to the past. And I do not believe that you will be able to live your future until you are free of it. Finding the Great Wife’s murderer is part of attaining that freedom.”

  Her fingers were warm on mine. “The future will look much the same for me,” I said. “I am a builder. That is who I am.”

  She squeezed my hand. “More,” she said, smiling. “There is more. But first you must reconcile with the past.”

  “I do not know how.”

  “Why don’t you speak to those who knew them well? Perhaps they had learned something that put them in danger. Find out if they feared anything. Or anyone.”

  I nodded. It was a good idea.

  She pulled away. “I should return home.”

  “Yes.” I jumped up and hurried to call my slaves.

  A few minutes later she was situated in my sedan chair, with a blanket tucked around her to ward off the night air. The slaves hoisted the chair to their shoulders, and Neferet reached her hand down to me. I took it in my own.

  “Good night, Grand Vizier. Thank you for the music.”

  I watched her dark eyes, the way they focused on me, as though she saw no one else. The chair moved forward and I heard her soft voice call into the air, like a piece of music unto itself.

  “Someday, Hemi, you will play for me again.”

  FIFTEEN

  The princes’ school stood very near the palace, but not so near that the king would be troubled with the antics of the boys educated there. The students included his own sons and any others of high birth whom the king allowed.

  It was late afternoon when I returned to the royal estate from the work site and passed by the school. The boys were outside, playing at spear throwing, their target close enough to trip over. Their tutor, one of the highest officials in Egypt, watched from nearby.

  I slowed to watch them and easily picked out the prince of the blood, heir to the throne of Horus. The boy had Merit’s delicate nose. He was naked, as all boys of that age are, and his head shaved bare, save the one side allowed to grow long into the prince’s forelock, and banded together to hang below his shoulder. The boy heaved a spear toward the target.

  Not bad.

  As though he sensed my attention, he turned, then ran over to where I stood. “May the gods bless you today, Grand Vizier,” he said.

  “And you, Kawab.”

  “Have you found the one who sent my mother to the west?”

  I leaned backward. “Not yet, I am afraid.”

  The boy looked toward the setting sun. “Will you?”

  “I will do my best.”

  “I miss her, you know.”

  I smiled. “As do I.”

  My answer seemed to satisfy the boy, who returned to his classmates.

  I continued on, thinking how it seemed only a few years ago that Khufu and I had taken our lessons together, with Ahmose and Mentu always nearby.

  A time of innocence.

  The estate of Tamit lay within a few hundred cubits east of the school. The front of the house deceived the eye, as it appeared small. Beyond the door a huge enclosure opened to the compound that housed Tamit’s menagerie of animals, her curious hobby.

  I dreaded this interview.

  The doorkeeper ushered me directly through the house and out the back to the sandy compound. To my left, Tamit lay on a chaise under a canopy, propped by an excess of red-and-gold-stitched cushions. She held a gold cup in her fingertips, and a monkey skittered around beneath her chair.

  At my approach, she sat upright and adjusted her wig with one hand. “Grand Vizier! I did not expect this pleasure today.”

  “I was hoping to speak to you.”

  She smiled and licked her lips like one of her large cats. “I had hoped you would come soon. To see the animals.” She gestured behind me, but I did not turn. “Walk with me, Hemi. I will show you my pets.”

  “As you wish.”

  The enclosure crawled with loosed animals, gazelle and ibex, porcupine and hare, even a giraffe. A cluster of cultivated palm trees housed a baboon, which hung from a branch and hooted at us. The perimeter of the space held cages of various sizes.

  “They have all been taken by lasso or by dogs, in the desert. Some of them as far east as Syria.” Tamit paused before a cage where a leopard paced, its golden gaze upon us. “Is he not beautiful?”

  I nodded, and we continued on past several hyenas and a caged lion. I paused and studied the kingly beast; he seemed to have lost some of his regal nature.

  “Tamit, I came to ask you about Merit.”

  She sighed and trailed her fingers along the cag
e, daring her pet to take a bite. “I don’t know why she was in the village, dressed as a peasant, if that is what you want to ask.”

  “No. No, I came to ask if she ever confided in you.”

  We started back toward the canopy. Tamit stroked her braids, down to their beaded tips. “Confided in me? About you?”

  I swallowed. “No! About … other things. You seemed to be the only woman of the court with whom she spent any time.”

  “She was not enamored of the other wives, as you can imagine.”

  “You and she have been friends since childhood.”

  Tamit lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, we all go back many years, do we not?”

  We reached the canopy, and Tamit poured another cup of red wine from a jug and brought it to me. I reached to take it from her, but she held on, letting me pull her closer until she released the cup only a span from me. She smiled the calculating smile of a woman who knows her power.

  “Did she ever mention anyone who frightened her?” I asked. “Threatened her? Was there anything bothering her before she died?”

  Tamit closed the tiny gap between us and raised her own cup to her red-painted lips. She sipped at the wine, her eyes raised to mine. Her other hand traced a line up my arm, from wrist to shoulder.

  Her nearness brought warmth to my face, and I took a step backward. “Can you think of anything that might have pointed to her being in danger?”

  Tamit turned her back on me and paced back and forth a few times, watching her animals. Her restless movement reminded me of the leopard, caged and frustrated.

  At the edge of the enclosure, the lion let out a tired sort of roar at the baboon who taunted him from the safety outside his bars.

  “We were not close, Merit and I,” Tamit said. “We saw each other often, but she never seemed to feel … comfortable with me.” She turned her wine-red smile on me. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Was there anyone else she may have confided in?”

  Tamit came close again and tipped her head back. I could smell the wine on her breath. “The only one who seemed to bother Merit was you, Hemi. But you already knew that.”

  I ran a finger around the rim of my cup, then set it down. I ignored her jab. It was part of the past, and she knew better than to speak of it.

  The little monkey chose that moment to clamber up its mistress’s dress and clutch her around the neck. Tamit made little clucking sounds at the beast, then turned her face to it and puckered her lips. The monkey obliged her with a kiss and then a grin at me.

  That is not attractive.

  She detached the monkey’s arms from her neck, set it down, and tossed it a small onion. The monkey swung under the chaise to pick the onion apart.

  “Reminds you of your friend, Mentu, does he not?” she said.

  Again, I ignored the familiar insult. I needed her cooperation.

  “Merit never had any intimate friends, Hemi. Not since my sister.” Tamit smiled. “But then everyone loved Amunet, didn’t they? Merit, Khufu, even that little priest, Rashidi. She was that kind of person.” Tamit planted herself before me again. “No one ever felt that way about me, Hemi. But I do have my charms, don’t you think?” She reached for my hands with her own, but I snatched them away. Her eyes flickered for a moment with what appeared to be sincere pain.

  “Tamit, I—”

  She turned away. “I can tell you nothing else, Grand Vizier. Perhaps someone else knew her better than I. But I was not her confidant.”

  I reached a hand toward Tamit’s back but thought better of the gesture and let it drop. Instead, I thanked her quickly, escaped the enclosure, and left her to her pets.

  I had forgotten about Rashidi’s youthful infatuation with Amunet. It is funny how we are all still so connected, even after these many years. Tamit’s passing comment took me back to that day once more, to Khufu’s teasing and Amunet’s coy smile. It was a dangerous, foolish day—the day we do not speak of. We did not know it, but death hung about us like an invisible shroud, anxious to claim one of us for its own.

  * * *

  We lay drowsing in the afternoon sun, our bellies full of the picnic meal, not yet ready to give up our rest for the hunt. Khufu is breaking off blades of grass and tossing them at Amunet. She growls at him as though frustrated, and he laughs.

  “Who is your favorite in all of Egypt, Amunet?” Khufu asks.

  “Hmmm.” Amunet rolls over and props her chin in her hand, watching the rest of us with a grin. “Ahmose is quite fine.”

  Tamit throws an arm across Ahmose. “Stay away, sister!” She laughs.

  Khufu pulls himself to a sitting position. “I know, you are in love with the priest in training, Rashidi, who follows you with his eyes when you pass by.”

  “Rashidi! That little weasel?” Amunet throws pieces of grass back at Khufu. “I would sooner marry Ebo!” She points up at the young slave, who bows in her direction as if to offer his services if needed.

  We all laugh.

  “Ah, but you forget,” Khufu says, “Ebo will never be Pharaoh. He cannot do whatever he wishes, as I can!”

  She shrugs and grins at the rest of the group. “You don’t do much that impresses me. At least Ebo can do much heavy lifting.”

  “Is that so?” Khufu jumps to his feet, and I look at Merit. She rolls her eyes, as though she anticipates Khufu’s foolishness.

  “But can you do this, Ebo?” Khufu asks. He pulls his donkey forward from where it grazes on the plain, then brings Amunet’s donkey alongside it. He leaps onto the back of the first, then brings his feet up and stands in a crouch on its back. The donkey shifts to one side, and Khufu barks at it. Then in one quick movement he pushes himself to stand and braces one foot on the back of each donkey. They hold for him, and he gives a triumphant shout.

  “You see? I can do anything! Even the animals submit!”

  We all clap, as he expects us to. He holds his position until Amunet cries out, “You’ll break your neck!” When one of the donkeys grows restless, Khufu jumps down, arms raised above his head, grinning broadly.

  It is always this way. Khufu is the center of all we do. So it is only when Khufu announces that we will begin the hunt, and instructs Ebo to pack the remains of our meal, that we go to the boats.

  I hope for bird hunting today, as I am growing quite skilled with the throw stick and welcome the chance to show Merit how I can bring down a bird. But Khufu insists that we hunt the hippopotamus today. Only the biggest beasts for the heir to the throne of Horus.

  We pile into two boats and lay our spears in the hull. Mentu is in the back of the boat that also holds Merit and myself. He pushes off, and the prow slices into the green-brown marsh, streaming pale reeds on either side. The brackish water smells of silt and fish, but I trail my fingertips at the side of the boat, enjoying the cool of the water.

  Khufu’s boat is ahead of ours, and the future pharaoh stands at its prow, one foot on the edge. His profile against the sun gives him the look of a god. I glance at Merit and consider standing in our boat.

  She is like the pure white sun here in the marsh, I think. Her eyes widen and she reaches for my arm and pulls my hand from the water. A crocodile lies at the marsh’s edge, its eyes half-closed in a deceptive stupor.

  I decide it is better to remain close to Merit.

  Mentu poles us along from the back of the boat.

  Ahead, Khufu shouts. “Hippo!”

  I can make out the gray hump of the beast’s huge back as it dives below the shallow water.

  We scramble for our harpoons, fitting spear points to shafts. The harpoons are crafted so that the shaft frees itself from the point when the animal is hit.

  We draw as close as we dare, alongside the other boat, and wait. The hippo cannot stay underwater for many minutes, and it is not long before its cavernous maw breaks the surface, followed by a bulbous head.

  Mentu’s harpoon flies over my head and hits the water several cubits from the hippo. I release mine, but the head is
too small a target. Ahmose has no taste for hunting, so it is left to Khufu to bring the beast down. He waits, with the patience of an expert hunter, until the hippo’s body crests the water. His shaft flies true, and the point embeds in the beast’s upper back, below his head. The hippo bellows with fury and shakes its head to dislodge the point.

  Khufu’s shaft is still attached to the point, however; it has not freed itself as it should. He tugs to no avail.

  The hippo dives to elude its attackers and takes the harpoon with it.

  “Come back, you cursed water demon!” Khufu yells, and I recall his earlier boast about the animals’ submission.

  Khufu holds fast to the end of the harpoon, unwilling to let it disappear with the hippo. He will need to wound the animal several more times before it will be exhausted enough to be roped and dragged to shore.

  “Let it go!” Amunet shouts.

  Just as I am certain Khufu will be yanked from the boat, the hippo surfaces again, snorting and rolling. I marvel when my cousin jumps to the prow of the boat and, with a crazed yell, leaps onto the back of the animal and grabs for the spear point.

  The women scream, every one of them. I scream myself. We all stand up in our boats, threatening to topple us into the water.

  The hippo goes mad with the indignity of being ridden. His head arcs backward, and his body rolls from side to side. Khufu holds the spear like the horn of a saddle and rolls with him.

  Then in the blink of an eye, the hippo dives, stealing the future King of the Two Lands.

  * * *

  The Great Wife was a private woman. I searched among the lesser wives, among the servants, even among the concubines, for one with whom she may have shared her fears. None of them knew anything more of her than I, and most of them far less.

  As for Mentu, if he had been concerned about any danger to himself or Merit, would he not have told me? Of course, Mentu had kept secret his meetings with the Great Wife. What else had he not told me?

  I knew of no one else in whom Mentu might have confided. Not even his wife, as I learned when the woman reacted with anger at my question.

  “He didn’t talk to me of such things!” she said, with the huff of a neglected woman. “His projects, his work—he kept all that talk for you. Do not come to me with your questions!”