Eater of souls lm-4

by Lynda S. Robinson

  "No heart? Someone hacked out his heart? When Suppiluliumas hears of this, he'll declare war upon me. I haven't even been on a raid yet! How can I go to war?"

  "Be at ease, majesty-"

  "Ease? You of all my advisers know what might Suppiluliumas can summon. He conquered the Mitanni Empire, didn't he?"

  "I beg thy majesty to listen," Meren said. "Prince Mugallu isn't the only one to have been killed in this same fashion. He's only the latest."

  Closing his mouth on a protest, Tutankhamun dropped to the ground beside Meren. "Go on."

  "From what I've been able to discover, there have been others, majesty. A farmer visiting from his village, a tavern woman. There may be others. Kysen has gone to the prince's residence to see what happened there and perhaps find out why Mugallu left the house alone at night."

  Meren handed the king one of the porous jars sitting in stands by the mat. Tutankhamun accepted it, but the jar hung suspended by the neck in his hand as the king struggled to comprehend the implications of what he'd been told. All at once the youth tipped the jar over his mouth and drank long gulps of cool water. Then he let it splash over his face and neck. Wiping his eyes, he held out the jar for Meren to take.

  "In the Book of the Dead, the gods protect the justified from the power of the Devouress."

  "Yes, majesty."

  "How many dead, do you think?"

  Meren shook his head. "I know not, divine one. The chief of watchmen of the city is a lazy fool who seems to think a death important only if it involves a great one."

  "There can be no harmony and balance in my kingdom if the farmer, the perfume maker, and the fisherman are slain!"

  "Thy majesty is wise." Meren held out his hands, palms upward. "I am sure the wife and children of that farmer suffer."

  The king's gaze began to shift from Meren to the fig tree, to a dish of bread and dates, back to Meren. "So you think there is one killer and many dead. And the streets boil with rumor that Eater of Souls has been sent from the netherworld to prey upon the living."

  "Majesty, it may be that the evil one but hides himself behind the guise of the Devouress."

  "And Mugallu?"

  "I don't know, divine one. Perhaps he stumbled upon the evildoer." Meren felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. "The other explanation is that he was meant to die all along."

  "Why? Who would want to force a war between my majesty and the Hittite king?"

  They lapsed into silence, then met each other's gaze.

  "Who at court is dissatisfied?" the king asked.

  "Perhaps, majesty, we should ask who would gain if pharaoh and the army were drawn out of Egypt to campaign in the north."

  "Those who have been forced to give up office and rank," Tutankhamun said. "My brother's old ministers, corrupt officials who have lost their positions by my reforms, the priests of Amun, who won't be satisfied until they rule instead of my majesty, any royal prince who thinks he should be pharaoh in my place." The king sighed. "I don't want to go on."

  Meren forced himself to continue. "And if I discover that the killings are the work of Eater of Souls…"

  "Would that mean the gods are angry with me? With Egypt? Have I done something so terrible that they seek to punish my people, and through them, me?"

  He heard the strain in the king's voice. "Majesty, you have worked to undo the damage wrought by your royal brother, to restore the old gods, repair their temples, cast out evil and incompetent judges, tax collectors, overseers, and priests. No. If Eater of Souls truly walks the earth, someone worked evil magic to summon her and set her loose among the living."

  "Then we must fight the dark magic," Tutankhamun said. "I will gather magician priests from the temples of Ptah, Sekhmet, and Isis."

  "Yes, majesty. They must perform divinations in order to discover the true nature of this killer."

  Tutankhamun picked up a bread loaf, tore a piece from it, and tossed it to a duck. "If the killer is only a man, he must still be possessed by some evil fiend to have done these things." More ducks came waddling over in search of bread.

  "Of course, majesty, but at least it would be an ordinary evil, and not Eater of Souls."

  "I suppose that would be a comfort." The king tossed more bread to the ducks.

  Meren sighed. "I think an ordinary demon would be much easier to banish than the Devouress."

  "Perhaps the magician priests can divine the hiding place of this evil one."

  "Thy majesty must not be disappointed if they cannot. If divination produced solutions to such mysteries, my tasks as the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh would be much easier."

  "True, but I will still put the question to the priests."

  Meren bowed. There was nothing he could say, for he wasn't certain of the kind of evil with which he was dealing.

  The king tossed the last of the bread to the ducks and looked across the garden. "Ah, I thought it wouldn't be long before Ay came to us."

  The vizier was walking slowly toward them on a gravel path. Slaves bore a palanquin over him to protect him from the sun's rays.

  "I have thy majesty's permission to increase the guards on the city walls and the docks?"

  The king stood. "Yes, and double the men on watch. I'll summon the mayor and make certain he understands that the city police are to make themselves vigilant. My majesty will have no more of this laziness and failure to report evil."

  Meren rose at the king's signal and bowed.

  "And Meren, don't think I'm not aware of your attempts to delay taking me on a raid."

  Doing his best to look innocent, Meren said, "Delays, golden one?"

  "My majesty will remedy the matter as soon as possible. Neither of us has a choice anymore, do we?"

  The king had discerned a consequence of this disaster Meren hadn't considered. He gave pharaoh a reluctant smile.

  "I fear thy majesty is correct."

  It was dusk. High clouds drifted over Memphis, white, flat-bottomed, their undersides bursting into hues of pink and rose as the solar orb dipped below the horizon. Satet paused in the street beside the stall of a pottery vendor. Shading her eyes, she gazed up at the clouds. She had always nourished her ka on the precious and brief beauty of clouds. This pleasure was even more necessary now that she had to endure Lord Meren's silly questions about Hunero.

  Who remembered what daft old Hunero said so long ago? On the farm Satet had more important concerns than the whereabouts of her sister. But now that she was in the city, she might as well find Hunero and go to live with her. It would be better than living at Lord Meren's house. His daughter, Lady Bener, was an exacting mistress of the house. She wouldn't let Satet instruct the cooks unhindered, and the girl insisted on making Satet rest at night when she wasn't sleepy.

  Satet trotted down a street, passed through a gate formed by two old stelae, flat, round-topped stones carved with the decrees of viziers who had died before Egypt acquired her empire. It was good that Lady Bener allowed Satet to cook as well as instruct. A few days of the work had ordered her thoughts a bit, and it had occurred to her that the way to find Hunero was to find the best vendors of ingredients her sister loved to include in her cooking. She had been exploring the stalls in different parts of the city, and at last she'd located one whose owner had dealt with Hunero.

  The spice dealer had been a close-lipped man with eyes that seldom fastened directly on her own. Satet hadn't liked him, but she understood him. Gain governed his character. If he could enrich himself by opening his mouth, he would, though doing so was contrary to his nature. Satet had simply given him a small faience bowl from the room Lady Bener had assigned to her.

  The bargain had produced directions to Hunero's new house in the dock district. In the midst of the houses of ship carpenters and dock officials and buildings used to house offices and storage for temple traders, she found it. Hunero's house was a narrow, two-story building that looked as if the taller buildings on either side were slowly expanding and compressing it.

 
Satet examined the dwelling from threshold to roof with a disapproving scowl. "Humph. Left the old house for this, did she? That's Hunero. Always seeking to better herself when she's quite well off where she is. And what happens? She ends up with something not half as good as what she had." She marched up the two steps before the door and banged on the dried and peeling wood. "Never satisfied. Never got over being the queen's favorite cook. Always pining."

  She got no answer, and all she heard was the buzzing of flies. Dozens of them sailed in and out of the grilled windows high above the door. Satet pounded harder. A woman poked her head out the door of the neighboring house, muttered a curse at Satet, and slammed the portal shut.

  "Donkey's consort!" Satet retorted. She began kicking the door and shouting, "Hunero, I know you're in there. Let me in!" Drawing back her foot, Satet gave the door another kick with the full force of her strength.

  "Owwwwww!" She grabbed her foot and pressed her free hand against the door.

  It gave way, and Satet fell through. She landed on her hands and knees, foot throbbing, in a dark space. What little light the dusk provided showed her a lamp beside the door. Several flies tried to land on her face, and Satet brushed at them absently. With care for her jarred old bones, Satet crawled into a sitting position, lit the lamp, and maneuvered herself to her feet.

  Picking up the lamp, she shut the door. "Hunero, I got inside, so there's no use hiding."

  Holding the lamp aloft, she directed the light around the room. More tunnel than chamber, it held the furnishings with which Hunero had absconded. On a raised ledge around the room sat beds that could be used at night, reed boxes filled with utensils, tools, and linens. Several low stools had been arranged around a table bearing a senet game box. Two columns supported the roof, and beyond this living chamber lay the kitchen. That's where Hunero would be.

  Satet marched into the kitchen, and there, kneeling before the small oven in the back corner, was her sister. "Ha! You thought I'd go away, but I found you. I'll wager you were surprised to hear my voice when you thought I was still in…"

  Hunero hadn't turned around. She hadn't moved at all. Satet held the lamp out and walked over to the oven. Something was crawling on her sister's back. Flies. The dim yellow light spread over Hunero's back and landed on a blackened spot surrounding a hole in the linen of her shift. More flies darted in and out of the wound, and other insects. The lamp began to shake, distorting the light.

  Satet gripped it with both hands and continued to stare at her sister. Hunero had been kneeling before a ledge that formed a work surface in front of the oven. Her face was buried in a thick slab of dough. All Satet could see was the side of her cheek, sunken, dried, discolored with flour. Backing up, Satet continued to stare.

  Her thoughts slowed to the speed of the Nile current in a year of drought. Then they grew even more sluggish, like the mud slurry in a desert wadi after a storm. Loud buzzing to her left caused Satet to turn her head. Against the wall, a stairway led up to the second floor from the kitchen. Bay sprawled facedown, as if he'd fallen on his way up. He too bore a hole in his back and dark, clotted stains on the skin surrounding the wound. His body failed to hold her attention for long.

  Satet looked back at her sister. "Well, look at this place. Is this the kind of life you prefer to the farm?" She rocked back and forth on her heels while holding the lamp in both hands. "Don't prattle excuses at me, dear sister. And don't expect me to come here to stay with you. I'm taking some things for myself back to Lord Meren's house."

  Looking around the kitchen, Satet found a basket with a lid. "No, I'm not going to stay. You may have wanted to seek your fortune in the great city, but I'm the one who's gotten a place with a fine nobleman." Satet cocked her ear in Hunero's direction. "I always said Bay was lazy. Make him wake up and fetch fresh fuel for that oven. I'll come back tomorrow and help you clean this mess. And get rid of these cursed flies!"

  Turning her back on Hunero and her brother-in-law, Satet bustled into the living chamber. She filled the basket with two shifts, a pair of hardly used sandals, a faience eye-paint pot, and a wooden comb with long teeth, the top of which had been carved in the shape of a gazelle. After placing the lid on the basket, Satet picked up her lamp and went to the door.

  Extinguishing the light, she tossed a comment over her shoulder. "I won't take morning meal with you tomorrow.Lady Bener's cooks will fix me a fine one before I come to see you."

  Without waiting for a reply, Satet hefted the basket on her hip, stepped outside, and shut the door behind her. Night had come, but darkness wasn't complete, and lamplight glimmered from windows up and down the street. Humming a feast song, she began the walk back to Lord Meren's house.

  Chapter 11

  Once he'd left the palace, Meren had gone home, where Abu and Kysen met him. They, along with the watchman Min, spent the remainder of the day and the hours since nightfall assessing what details were known of Mugallu's death and the other killings. Min had brought two white feathers with him. They lay in a bronze tray on top of a chest, their white purity spoiled by stains that had once been red. One was from the body of the farmer, the other from the tavern woman. Min had filched the one on the farmer's body. When he'd heard of the tavern woman, he'd gone to the village and retrieved the second feather.

  Meren had decided to call these ugly crimes the heart thefts. It was a term they could use openly without having to name victims or refer to the butchery enacted upon the bodies. If citizens discovered the exact nature of these murders, fear would spark an inferno of violence against anyone perceived as a threat-petty thieves, the addlewitted, the cantankerous, the mean, even some helpless foreign slave.

  Reviewing the fool Sokar's notes and reports for the last six months had taken a long time. Abu and Kysen were still working, with Min, who could not read, serving as interpreter of events and decipherer of Sokar's euphemisms. Meren had just finished reading the reports on Mugallu's death and writing his own account. Periodically the silence that prevailed was broken when one of them asked Min a question.

  Meren felt groggy from so much writing and sitting.

  He should have gotten up an hour ago, but Bener had prevented him. She had invaded the office with an entourage of servants bearing food and drink. As she refused to leave until they ate, Meren had realized how limited his choices were. After the meal his daughter sent the servants away-and remained. He'd argued with her previously about how unsuitable it was for her to concern herself with his affairs, but weariness and a respect for Bener's intelligent heart had prevented him from trying to get rid of her tonight. So she stayed, read reports, and eased the burden of the work.

  Bener shifted her position on a stool and murmured a question to Min. "What is this note? There is no explanation other than the phrase 'no settlement in the matter of the two hyenas' and a date two months ago."

  "Lady, Sokar uses the-the phrase to refer to a house boundary dispute between the temple trader Penne and the overseer of the magazine of Prince Rahotep. They have been arguing about it for many years. Their fathers quarreled over the same boundary, as did their grandfathers. Sokar said their sons will continue the custom because the two families produce nothing but weakwitted laggards who haven't the sense to stop wasting means and time on such a useless quarrel."

  "I remember," Meren said. "There has been a case in the vizier's court on the same dispute for generations. By the patience of Amun, I wish the worst troubles I had were like that."

  Handing his account of Mugallu's death to Bener, Meren rose, wincing at the stiffness in his knees and ankles. He hadn't been able to go to the royal practice field, or even to drive his chariot in the desert, lately. He began to walk about the room to ease his discomfort. There were similar offices in his mansions in Bubastis and Heliopolis in the delta, at Thebes, and in his country estate near Abydos. Yet he preferred this one.

  It was larger than the others, running almost the length of the reception and central halls above which it was built. The
walls were plastered, painted pale blue, and decorated with a simple frieze of reed bundles at the top and bottom. The windows set high in the walls bore grilles of gilded wood. The six slender columns set in two rows had been carved in the shape of tall green lotus plants, the petals of which spread out at the top, as if reaching for the sun. The stems of the flowers had been painted with alternating bands of gold and blue at the base and just beneath the petals. As had been intended, the decoration of the room imitated a reflection pool dotted with lotus plants and surrounded by the sundrenched blue of the sky.

  Only in the last few years had he been able to enjoy his Memphis office this way. He and his wife had shared too many private moments here. After she died, he hadn't been able to remain in this chamber for long, because Sit-Hathor had filled it with gifts to him. Leaving the master's dais, Meren went to a long cabinet set against the wall. There rested the last of Sit-Hathor's gifts, an alabaster lamp carved in the shape of a chalice cup sitting on an open, rectangular base.

  When not in use, the lamp appeared a simple object of the valuable, cream-colored stone. When lit, a scene appeared as if by magic, illuminated by the gold flicker of the oil and floating wick. A close-fitting alabaster lining had been affixed within the chalice bowl. It was on the outer surface of the lining that the scene had been painted. Meren studied the glowing chalice, upon which he could see an image of himself and Sit-Hathor. He was sitting in his ebony chair with the legs carved to imitate a leopard's and claws fashioned of ivory. Sit-Hathor stood before him, smiling and offering him a lotus flower. This pose had been a private joke, for Sit-Hathor had been a woman more likely to pelt his face with the blossom than offer it meekly.

  It was growing late. The office was illuminated by a dozen alabaster lamps, but reading in such light wearied the eyes. The strain worked against alertness, and everyone had to be alert with an unknown killer abroad in Memphis. Meren turned to face the room. His fingers traced the fluted shape of the chalice lamp as he began.