City of the Dead

by T. L. Higley

The man’s face brightened like a boy just handed a new spear. “I can see it exactly in my mind,” he said and began to explain.

  I held up a hand. “Follow me.”

  We crossed to the masons, and I motioned for Ako to join us. Neferet’s brother grabbed a copper chisel and began to scratch in the sand, explaining his new design. I nodded, slowly at first, then with a widening smile. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”

  He pushed the lines of the cornerstone’s notched core closer to its edge. “Here,” he said, pointing to the bedding joint and digging a new angle, “here we increase by ten seqeds, and then here.” His chisel jabbed the notch. “Here we decrease. The weight of the stone above will then shift inward—”

  “—increasing its load-bearing ability—”

  “—by fifty-fold,” the boy finished with a grin.

  “Brilliant,” one of the masons said behind me.

  Neferet laughed. “So I have finally found someone who understands my brother and his numbers!” Her glance shifted between the two of us and she laughed again. “You both look like you’ve just been crowned king.”

  By the time the sun set over the western desert, Neferet and I were on an outgoing barge, and her brother had been promoted to master stonemason. Neferet beamed and wrapped her hand about my arm as we stood at the rail.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “It was your brother’s design. There is no need to thank me.”

  She squeezed my arm until I looked down at her. “Thank you,” she said again.

  The barge floated easily toward the Great Sea, toward the Horizon of Khufu.

  It seemed to me that I should focus my attention on these two things alone—the project and Neferet. Perhaps it was time to let go of the past, to let go of my desire for revenge for the deaths of two that I loved. But always in the back of my mind, the priest Rashidi’s words tumbled, warning me. There will be more disorder, more suffering, until ma’at is restored.

  EIGHTEEN

  Axum, the Nubian who served as the project’s guard, met us at the dock when we arrived back at the plateau in the long shadows of early evening, and I knew immediately that something evil had transpired while we were gone.

  “What is it?” I asked, helping Neferet from the barge.

  “Another murder.”

  Neferet retained my hand in hers and squeezed. “Who?”

  Axum frowned down at her and addressed himself to me. “The Great One, Beloved of Horus, has allowed no one to see the body. He will see only you.”

  “Someone in the royal estate, then?” I said, too eagerly.

  “Apparently. But word has leaked out to the laborers that it was one of their own.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Nor I. But hundreds of workmen have descended upon the royal estate to demand answers.”

  I pulled Neferet to my side and said to Axum, “Find someone to see her safely home, then meet me at the palace.” I turned to her and caught her attention with my eyes. “Directly home,” I said. “I do not like the sound of this.”

  She bit her lip and looked southward to the palace. “But my father—”

  “Home, Neferet. No doubt your father is attempting to maintain peace among the workers. I will find him.”

  She studied me for a moment, as though deciding whether to obey, then gave a quick nod and joined Axum.

  I reached the gate of the royal estate quickly on foot, as the sun dipped beneath the line of sand in the west. I pulled up in surprise.

  The sycamore grove inside the wall churned with peasants clustered in angry groups, milling about with fiery torches. I passed through the gate and kept my head down, steering my way along the path toward the palace. The tumult grew louder as I passed, until the grove and gardens around the king’s lake fairly shook with a hundred voices. Within the high walls the sunset could no longer be seen. Darkness spread.

  “The king builds his pyramid on our backs and cares nothing if we are killed while doing it!”

  “The Scourge of Anubis takes from all. No one is safe!”

  The bodies pressed in around me and blocked my passage. I tried to push through but was shoved back. The crowd of men smelled of sweat and too much beer, and in the growing darkness their brown bodies glistened in the torchlight.

  Khufu must have sent out some of his servants. They wrestled through the crowd, torches held aloft, and demanded that the men return to their homes and barracks. Up ahead, more shouting broke out, and a circle widened. I twisted through and found one of the king’s servants on the ground, surrounded by laborers who kicked at his ribs.

  “Enough!” I shouted and yanked one peasant aside to get closer. He responded with a fist to my face. Stunned, I took a step back and tasted blood.

  The man was sober enough to recognize me, and I enjoyed the fear that washed over his features.

  “Your name?” I said and wiped at the trickle of blood at my mouth.

  “Grand Vizier! I did not realize—”

  I wasted no more time on him. The servant on the ground had taken a beating. “What is this?” I yelled. The crowd backed away, and I bent to the man, helped him to his feet and supported him. We walked to the palace.

  When we reached the side of the royal lake, I gave him over to the care of his fellow servants and climbed up on a bench to be better seen and heard. Silence rippled across the sea of bodies and dark faces turned to me expectantly, eyes reflecting the torchlight. I waited for their full attention.

  One of them yelled from the safety of the crowd. “What will you do to protect us from the Scourge of Anubis?” Then a wave of low murmurs.

  I held up a hand. “I have only just arrived, and it would appear that you know more than I. There is no reason to believe that you are in danger.”

  Another shout. “With a killer among us?”

  “I am certain we will identify this killer. And when we do, we will discover that his victims were chosen carefully, not at random. There is no cause for fear!”

  “I will still sleep with my hand on my spear!” one called out and more murmurs of agreement spread through the night.

  “You have worked hard for me for five years now,” I said. “I have treated you fairly and paid you well. Trust me now to take care of you in this. Allow me to investigate this most recent misfortune. I make you a promise that word will be sent down to each of you as soon as anything is known.”

  The mood of the mob had settled, and I pushed. “Go home now. Back to your women and your bread and beer. Sleep well, assured that you are safe. Your king, the golden Horus, holds your fate in his hands, and he will not let you suffer. Go home!”

  This last was delivered with force, and it had its intended effect. The crowd began to disperse and I took advantage of the cleared path to hasten to the palace. Inside, a servant seemed to be expecting me and led me with only a nod to follow him.

  I had to admit to myself a certain excitement about this third murder. I had exhausted every avenue of questioning with the previous deaths and could not discover any further connection between Merit and Mentu. But a third killing … certainly it would provide a clearer picture, if my assurances to the men held true and these were not random victims.

  We crossed through the Great Hall of Pillars, beyond the private hall and into the House of Adoration, the private chambers of Khufu.

  The king sat upon a three-legged stool. His back was to me and his head drooped on his chest. My heart skipped for a moment and I wondered if in fact it was the king who had been killed. But then he sensed my presence and lifted his head.

  Khufu was much changed. A gray pallor like aged granite had spread over his face. I thought he looked as though years had passed since I saw him last, rather than only a day.

  He stood and waved away the servant who had escorted me.

  Behind Pharaoh, a man’s body lay on the floor. His face bore a mask, now too familiar.

  “He has killed again, Hemi.”

  The tr
ace of tears on Khufu’s cheeks surprised me.

  “Who? Who is it?”

  He stepped aside and I tread forward carefully, scanning the floor for anything the killer may have left behind.

  I knelt at the body, which was dressed as a servant. I saw no obvious injuries. I reached for the mask, tried to still my trembling hands, and lifted it from the face.

  Ebo.

  Khufu’s trusted head servant since we were children.

  I rocked back on my heels and looked up at the king’s face, where fresh tears flowed. I laid aside the mask and went to him, grasped his shoulder.

  “I did not realize he had grown so dear to you.”

  Khufu wiped at his face. “He was a good servant, it is true. Well trained and trustworthy. But in truth, I feel more distress than grief.”

  “Distress?”

  He raised his eyes to mine, with all the intensity he had shown as a youth. “Don’t you understand, Hemi? There is only one thing that connects the three of them. Merit, Mentu, and now Ebo. Only one thing.”

  I looked back to the body and my soul chilled.

  Khufu was right. I had found the connection I sought.

  “It is all coming back,” he whispered. “What was long buried will not stay hidden.” Khufu’s face had paled to a deeper gray. “And who, Hemi,” he asked, “who will be next?”

  Justice and truth, the divine order, will always rise above the petty trifling of man, his vain attempts to hide and protect and avoid. On that day long ago, when a hippopotamus dragged Khufu into the marsh water, still gripping the shaft of his spear, we did not realize that events had begun that would change us all, that ma’at would find us regardless of what we tried to conceal …

  * * *

  We stare at the water where our future king has vanished. The hippo can stay under far longer than a man. But this hippo roars to the surface again, thrashing and bellowing. Its mouth opens wide, revealing blackened teeth.

  A gaggle of geese lifts from the marsh to our right.

  In the other boat, Amunet screams. “He’ll be drowned!”

  Ahmose shouts, “Not if the fool lets go!”

  We all know there is little chance of this.

  Khufu retains his hold, but he looks barely conscious.

  “Let go!” we all scream.

  He does not let go by choice, I do not believe. Instead his grip weakens with exhaustion, and his fingers slip from the shaft. He slides from the hippo’s back and into the water beside, still as death. The beast seizes its chance to make a victim of his attacker and turns on Khufu.

  I have brought our boat as close as I dare. We have only a fraction of time to help. Without thought, I leap across the water to beast and man and grab Khufu around the shoulders. He fights me, barely aware of his situation, but I maintain my hold and kick furiously toward the king’s boat. Ahmose reaches an arm down and grasps mine. Together, we haul Khufu over the side and into the hull. His eyes are closed, but he is breathing.

  And then a moment later, the unthinkable.

  Khufu’s eyes pop open. He bolts upright, still dripping marsh water, and begins to howl with laughter.

  “Did you see that! Did you see me swim with the hippo? No king of Egypt has ever taken such a ride!”

  I shake the water from my head and arms and move away.

  There are too many people in this boat now. Mentu poles our boat alongside, and I climb across.

  Merit holds out her hand and her smile as I sit. “You were wonderful,” she whispers and glides tentative fingers across the bare skin of my shoulder to wipe away some marsh grass that clings there. Her light touch jolts my senses alert as when I wrestled with Khufu in the water. “You saved his life.” She looks at Khufu from lowered eyes. “Whether he acknowledges it or not.”

  By mutual agreement, we return to our grassy field where we had taken food. No more hippo hunting this afternoon. “Birds,” Khufu announces with his indefatigable laughter. It is time to hunt for birds.

  We tumble out onto the bank and are met by Ebo, who holds a robe out to his wet master with a sour expression.

  “You should have been there, Ebo!” Khufu says. “It was a thing to behold.”

  Ebo wraps Khufu’s shoulders in the robe and nods. “I am certain my prince was excellent in the hunt as usual.”

  Khufu pats himself dry. “Not the hunt, old man.” He often calls Ebo “old man” though he is no older than we. “I rode the hippo!”

  Ebo’s brow puckers.

  Khufu slaps him on the back. “The shaft did not fly loose, so I went after it.”

  Ebo surveys the rest of us with a look of sharp disapproval. “The prince of the blood should not risk his life for the sake of a harpoon,” he says, rebuking us for allowing such a thing.

  Khufu jabs Ebo in the side. “Now you begin to sound like an old woman, Ebo. Don’t you want me to have any fun?”

  Ebo stares him down. “What I want, my prince, is to see you healthy and happy and on the throne.”

  Master and servant study one another in a moment of strange silence. For the first time I realize how devoted Ebo has become to Khufu, and I see that he would do anything to protect the heir to the throne of Horus.

  Khufu also seems to realize it. He grasps Ebo’s upper arm and dips his head in acknowledgment. Then the prince turns to us. “We are too many to stay together for birding. They will hear us coming long before we are in range. We must split up.”

  Ebo is studying the horizon, where thick clouds cluster, a rare threat in this land. “Evil approaches,” he says. “We should return.”

  We wait, knowing Khufu will direct us. He speaks as though Ebo has said nothing. “Amunet and I will go ahead, raise the birds.”

  Tamit lunges toward my brother. “I will stay with Ahmose.”

  There are no surprises in the way we have paired so far, until Mentu glances at me, then at my brother, and announces, “I will stay with Ahmose and Tamit. I want to see this new skill with the throwstick he has been boasting of.”

  Tamit glares at Mentu as though she could launch a throw stick from her eyes, but he only looks to me and winks. He is a good friend.

  Each of the men procures his weapon from the donkey’s pack, and I note with interest that as Amunet and Khufu wander away, Ebo follows. Perhaps he is unwilling to let Khufu take further risks today.

  I turn to Merit, whose eyes are to the ground. I lift her chin with my fist, and she sighs and looks to me with a sadness that hurts. I had thought she would also be glad for Mentu’s kindness.

  “Shall we walk?” I say.

  We move through the reeds in silence, waiting for Khufu and Amunet and the escort Ebo to frighten birds into the air, where we will attempt to take them down. The marsh is a strange place, with small land bridges crossing stagnant pools and little islands of reeds among the streams that flow northward from the Nile to the Great Sea. I wish that we could lose ourselves, Merit and I, in the marshes. For a while.

  A heavy silence reigns between us now that we are alone. I am aware of my wet clothing. I smell of marsh water. “What saddens you?” I ask.

  She sighs and breaks off a papyrus reed. “I do not care much for Khufu,” she says and begins tearing pieces from the reed. “And yet to see the way he acts with Amunet …”

  “You feel betrayed?”

  “But how can I feel betrayed? Not yet, at least. Nothing has been formalized.”

  “Still, he disrespects you with his attention to her.”

  “It feels shameful to me, Hemi.” She tosses the rest of the broken reed to the grass and grinds it with her toe. “Sometimes I wish that little priest Rashidi would take Amunet for his wife and we could be done with this!”

  I half smile at the uncommon outburst.

  “And yet,” she says, “I cannot help but like Amunet. And I cannot help but like … another.”

  We slow to a stop and I turn to face her. She focuses on something over my shoulder, however. I turn and see Ebo walking ba
ck toward the donkeys.

  “Has Khufu given up so soon?” I call.

  Ebo’s head jerks toward us. I have startled him. “He is still for the hunt,” he says. “He wishes to go on alone, however.”

  Beside me Merit mutters, “Alone with her.”

  Ebo continues past us, and I pull Merit toward me. “It is unfair,” I say into her green-painted eyes. “Unfair the way he treats you, the way he attends to her. And unfair that our paths are chosen for us by those too old to feel passion any longer.”

  She looks as though she wants to pull away, but she does not.

  “I have something for you,” I say, touching the pouch tied to my waist. “But first you must tell me the truth.”

  Her eyes hold fear. “How are we any better, Hemi?”

  “Better?”

  “Than them. Khufu and Amunet.” She leans away, though does not break my grasp on her. “To speak like this, to always try to be together. How is this any different than what they do? Could Khufu not say the same as I? That I have betrayed him?”

  “He is senseless to it, Merit. That is the difference. You do not flaunt your fickle affections for the world to take note. You cannot change the way you feel.”

  She does pull away now. “But I must change it.”

  I will not let her go until I hear the truth. “Tell me, Merit. Tell me how you feel.”

  Her eyes fill with tears, and I realize that caring for me has brought her pain. But I am young and I would rather have my affection returned than see my beloved happy.

  She studies my face, then my shoulders and chest, then all of me. My mouth goes dry.

  “I wish that you were the prince of the blood!” she says, then dares me with her eyes to protest.

  Our heavy breaths mingle in the damp silence between us, an invisible embrace. But it is not enough. I pull her to me, hold her there until I see surrender in her eyes. I feel the tension flow out of her, and she lifts her face. Her lips graze my jaw, and I know nothing more than Merit, her eyes, her hair, her mouth. She returns my kiss with the quiet passion I have sensed so often in her.

  The sky darkens around us, but in a haze of bliss, I pull the amulet from the pouch and circle her neck with it. She turns and lifts her hair, exposing her neck to me. I tie the cord well and kiss the skin beneath the knot.