Eater of souls lm-4

by Lynda S. Robinson

  "All she had to do was see that the old woman got out of the house at a time when Reshep was waiting to follow," Kysen said.

  "Does Father suspect?" Bener asked.

  "You should have seen him," Kysen said. "We were looking at Reshep in his strange costume. He wore a preserved crocodile's head, you know. And Father suddenly said Isis's name in a voice so faint I barely heard it."

  Kysen shook his head slowly. "The first thing he thought of was how Reshep had been in this house, on his ship, near you and Isis, and then he realized…" He took a long drink of wine. "He actually shuddered. He closed his eyes so I wouldn't see his pain, but he shuddered."

  "She didn't know, Ky. She would never hurt Father on purpose."

  "No," Kysen said. "And do you know why? Because to do something to someone deliberately, you have to be thinking of them. Isis seldom thinks of anyone but herself."

  "You're angry. In a few days, when you're calmer, you'll see a different picture."

  "Why can't she be sensible, like you?"

  Bener sighed and poured herself more wine. "You and Father are always complaining about me, too. You're not satisfied with either of us."

  "You have a good ka, Bener. Isis has an evil one."

  "Not evil, just one in need of strong guidance. But I think this disaster will force her to see something in her mirror besides her pretty face."

  "Her sight had better improve quickly, because Father will speak to her when he returns, and if she shrieks and whines and lashes at him with her tongue, I'm going to drop her down the kitchen well and seal it with a granite slab."

  Bener rose and offered a hand to help Kysen rise. "Your heart isn't thinking clearly, my dear brother. If you want Isis to suffer, you should take away all her cosmetics, her mirrors, her perfume of Mendes and oil of lilies, and her jewels and robes."

  "You are a clever one," Kysen said as he got up.

  Bener punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'll pretend to console her in my chamber if you'll seize her treasures."

  A nasty grin grew on Kysen's face.

  "Father will only confine her to her chamber. True repentance is attained through sacrifice."

  "Then we're but helping Isis to sail on the route to divine order and rightness as a servant of Maat," Bener said with great solemnity.

  Kysen patted his sister's arm. "True, and to help her keep on a righteous course, I'll give all her trinkets to the women at Ese's tavern."

  Meren walked in a circuit around Reshep's body as he composed his report to pharaoh aloud. One of the younger charioteers sat on the floor with a sheet of papyrus stretched over his crossed legs and wrote down his words. Other men swarmed through the house, inspecting everything from the flour bins to the cheap senet game in the bedchamber.

  As Meren spoke, he tried to ignore the way his chest ached with the dull, insistent pain with which he'd become too familiar. His youngest daughter had betrayed him. She hadn't known how dangerous her betrayal was, but she hadn't given much thought to anyone but herself.

  He had stopped talking, and his men were looking at him. He resumed, pushing all thoughts of Isis out of his heart. Satet had been taken home where Nebamun the physician could care for her, and there was no sign of her sister Hunero or the husband. The house had been cleaned recently, probably by Satet on one of her secret excursions. Meren was furious with himself for not keeping a closer watch on her.

  His negligence was a sign of how much confusion Eater of Souls had caused. Had he not been submerged in guilt over why Eater of Souls had attacked him, he would have pursued his inquiries with Satet more quickly. He would have to remember not to allow his personal sentiments to interfere with his duty to pharaoh and Maat.

  "Thus ends the matter of the one called Eater-"

  "Egyptian! Egyptian, who are you to send for me as if I was a miserable vassal?"

  Labarnas roared into the kitchen with Abu, Reia, and several charioteers right behind him. The Hittite saw Meren first and headed for him, only to be halted by Reshep's body blocking his path. Labarnas was in mid-roar, and his voice cracked. He stepped back and bumped into Abu, but didn't seem to notice. Muttering something in his own language, he made a magical sign before scowling at Meren.

  "Why have you dragged me to this place?"

  "You said you wanted the one responsible for your prince's death." Meren nodded at Reshep. "This is the one."

  Labarnas looked down at the body, the crocodile mask. He walked around to the head, kicked the hippo hide that covered Reshep's thigh, and grunted.

  "I've seen this one."

  "On my ship, when Prince Mugallu visited," Meren said as he walked over to join Labarnas. "Mugallu insulted him, and this man avenged himself."

  "Is this how you Egyptians settle a quarrel?" Labarnas planted his fists on his hips. His voice was as loud as a rock slide. "Hittite warriors with differences face each other and fight under the open sky of the storm god. Prince Mugallu was struck down by cowardice. I will tell my king, the Sun, how you allowed his intimate friend to be slaughtered like an ox."

  "Reshep killed many, for far less than the insults Prince Mugallu gave him."

  "After your pharaoh insulted the prince deliberately!"

  Meren sighed, walked over to a chair that had been brought for his use, and sat down. "Labarnas, do you know how irritating you are?"

  "Irritating? I'll irritate you, you perfumed, soft-skinned lotus sniffer."

  Meren held up a hand. It was a gesture he used to command silence among his charioteers, and he'd employed it without thinking. Labarnas stopped his tirade, then looked annoyed at himself for doing so.

  "Allow me to finish before you lose your temper. You irritate me, Hittite, because you make accusations without knowing what has occurred. You take offense against pharaoh and all Egyptians as though your only purpose in coming to Egypt was to provoke a war. And you accuse me of negligence regarding Prince Mugallu and imply that there's some plot against your king."

  "Everyone knows that you Egyptians are born to deceit. You construct plots as easily as you construct great temples and palaces of gold and lapis lazuli."

  Meren leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Exactly."

  "Don't smirk at me, you cursed Egyptian." Labarnas frowned. "What do you mean, exactly?"

  "Engage in a bit of reasoning, general. If I'm so versed in deceit and trickery, could I not have found a way to murder Prince Mugallu without placing myself or any Egyptian under suspicion?"

  "No doubt you tried and failed."

  Rising, Meren shook his head and walked over to Labarnas. He swept his arm in the direction of Reshep's body.

  "The diplomacy of death, my dear general, requires subtlety, a delicacy of construction, and above all, simplicity of design." Meren lowered his voice and said softly, "You can be assured that if I had wanted to kill Prince Mugallu, he, you, and your whole party would have been allowed to leave Egypt first. Then, once you were past the great border fortresses, well into the barren lands between them and the nearest city to the north, you would vanish. Quickly, in silence, as though a desert storm had swept you away into the vast emptiness of the frontier and buried you beneath a mountain of sand."

  Holding Labarnas's gaze with his eyes, Meren paused with a slight smile. "Oh, I would search for you, send word to your king, invite him to send Hittite troops to search. All in vain. Until one day, on an expedition deep into the Sinai, your troops would find the remains of a battle, and nothing but ashes from flaming arrows, and bones dressed in Hittite armor."

  No one moved. Sounds of the house search reached them, but no others. Finally Labarnas gave a sharp bark of laughter.

  "Did I not say pharaoh's people worshiped the god of deceit? You've just proved me right, Egyptian."

  "Then you understand that these murders were the work of this one man. Remember the thief, the tavern woman, and the farmer."

  Labarnas bent and touched the crocodile mask on the snout, then rose and eyed Meren. "When I t
ell the great king, I'll still blame pharaoh for not providing safe lodging for the emissary."

  "Of course."

  "I want to leave at once."

  "I will beg pharaoh, may he have life, health, and prosperity, for permission."

  "Hmmmph. For an Egyptian, you're almost tolerable. I would have killed you, had I been successful in escaping with you that night."

  "I know," Meren said.

  "But now," Labarnas said as he turned to leave, "I think I would have paid dearly for it."

  "May Amun protect you on your journey."

  "And may the storm god bless your fate, Egyptian. The next time we meet won't be in some gold-encrusted audience chamber but on a battlefield."

  "You sound certain."

  "I am, Egyptian. I am."

  The moment Labarnas was gone, Meren turned to Abu. "Still no sign of the cook and her husband?"

  "No, lord. We found the man who rented this house to them. He's a priest of Ptah, holder of the office of keeper of the cattle of Ptah, which means he knows little except that he assigned the managing of the property to one of his servants. The actual owner lives in another town."

  "Find the real owner, Abu."

  "It will take time, lord."

  "Find him, and find out how the cook came to rent this place from him. Curse Reshep a thousand times. Seeing him has addled Satet's wits so that I fear she'll never regain them."

  "Lord, she had little left in any case."

  "She could make sense on occasion, if she really desired it." Meren glanced around the kitchen. "Someone has cleaned this house recently."

  "Satet, lord."

  "Perhaps. But the couple's possessions are still here. They should be here."

  "Aye, lord."

  Meren watched Reia free Beauty from her cage and toss scraps of bread to her. "Abu, it would be well to discover if there is or was any connection between Reshep and the cook or her husband. There probably isn't, but thoroughness is a virtue."

  "Yes, lord, but it's almost dawn."

  Meren glanced up at the diffuse light coming through windows. Abu was reminding him that his duty demanded that he report the discovery of Eater of Souls to pharaoh.

  "What am I to say to the living god, Abu? That Reshep killed people who interfered with his desires? That anyone who irritated him got his heart cut out? What monstrous fiend infested his ka?"

  "He was possessed by a demon, lord."

  "And by the ghost of a mother who raised Reshep to believe in his own perfection and a father who drank and failed to attend to his son's raising."

  The light coming through the windows grew brighter. "I must go to pharaoh with my report."

  Officially, Meren's task was to guard against anything that might threaten pharaoh or Maat in Egypt. He, and others like him, used their unique blend of clandestine knowledge-gathering and overt intimidation against the myriad threats to the divine order. Yet Tutankhamun seemed most enthralled with the more mundane aspects of Meren's duties.

  Bound by rigid royal tradition and duty, he fed his desire for freedom and release from unending ceremony by listening to tales of the struggles and extraordinary behavior Meren encountered. This, as well as Tutankhamun's personal trust, was why Meren was one of the few in all the world who could ask for admittance to the presence of the living god at any time.

  Such a privilege meant nothing if he couldn't find the king. Finding a living god wasn't usually a problem, since he was bound by dusty, creaking tradition that worked against deviations from the set royal schedule adhered to by noble servitors, ministers, and everyone else around him. Wherever he went, Tutankhamun moved in a cumbersome swarm of people-bodyguards, high-ranking priests, royal servants, courtiers, family, government ministers, and a host of slaves. But Tutankhamun had developed the ability to elude this suffocating hindrance.

  Sometimes he simply rose before anyone else and left the palace with his bodyguards. Sometimes he ended an audience and vanished before his courtiers could come after him. At other times he waited until the middle of the night and stole out of the palace with only Karoya for protection.

  Thus, when Meren went to the palace, he sought the king in the royal chapel, not knowing for certain if he would find the living god in his appointed duties or off on some unexpected excursion with the court in a frenzy of alarm. Luckily, he arrived just as Tutankhamun emerged from the dark inner chamber that held the altar and the sacred shrine in which the image of the king of the gods, Amun, was kept. Only the king and priests of the highest rank were allowed in this chapel.

  Tutankhamun walked into the light of dozens of alabaster lamps. Heavy doors covered with sheet gold swung shut behind him with a boom. Linen-clad backs bowed low, Meren's among them. Pharaoh hurried down a corridor formed by slender wooden columns painted to resemble tall papyrus plants, but stopped and turned back to stand before Meren.

  "Eyes of Pharaoh," the king said.

  Thus addressed, Meren straightened. He didn't expect what he saw. Tutankhamun's skin had been painted in gold with magical signs of warding, protective symbols, an idea that probably had come from the magician priests. He held a golden net such as would be used to catch harmful spirits in a magical ceremony.

  The king came nearer. "You have news."

  "Of a privy nature, O golden one."

  Tutankhamun turned around and addressed his waiting councillors. "My majesty will confer with the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh."

  He waved a hand in dismissal, which caused a murmur of surprise. The dozens of people surrounding the king began to move all at once, except for the Overseer of the Audience Hall and one of the chief judges of the kingdom. The judge whispered to the overseer, who approached the king.

  "Great king, thy majesty is to preside in a hall of judgment at this very hour."

  "The judges and the complainants will wait, overseer."

  Soon Meren was in the uncomfortable position of having to sit in a small pleasure boat while the king rowed on one of the vast palace pleasure lakes.

  "This is the answer?" the king asked as he pulled his oars out of the water. "A mad, petty noble who imagined himself greater than he was? It wasn't Eater of Souls?"

  "Reshep was possessed, golden one, but I don't think Eater of Souls was in him. I can't believe Eater of Souls would serve such as he."

  Tutankhamun looked thoughtful. "True. If Eater of Souls were to come among the living, she'd serve me."

  "Thy majesty speaks with the wisdom of his father Amun."

  "My majesty will order his name erased wherever it's found. Get rid of him, Meren, and I'll put it about that an outlaw was caught masquerading as Eater of Souls in order to rob the citizens of Memphis."

  Meren bowed, and they fell into an uneasy silence. Such was the fate of evil ones. Their names were erased from documents, monuments, family tombs. Their bodies were cast into the desert to become the fodder of hyenas and jackals. Denied their eternal house and the repository of the soul, these spirits were left to the terrible judgment of the gods. When their names were erased from the land of the living, their final avenue to existence vanished, and their souls perished.

  Tutankhamun was staring at the reflection of a lone cloud in the water. "I'm glad you refused to admit him to my presence. Do you think he would have taken offense at me?"

  Meren went cold as he realized the king's meaning. Reshep had envied Meren's power; how much more hatred would he have had for a living god.

  "Never mind," Tutankhamun said. "I can see it in your face. A danger escaped. Which reminds me. My scouts have returned and reported vicious bandit raids on villages just north of the great pyramids. Libyan tribes, they say. Testing my strength, trying to encroach upon my kingdom when they think I'm too young to defend myself. My majesty will not tolerate such transgression."

  "General Nakhtmin will send troops at once, divine one."

  "Oh no," Tutankhamun said. He shipped his oars, stuck his hand in the water, and doused Meren with a spray of water. "Y
our promise, Eyes of Pharaoh. I'm to go on the first suitable raid. This is the first suitable raid, and you're taking me, as you promised."

  Meren regarded the king solemnly, then sighed and leaned against the side of the boat. He touched his fingers to his brow and allowed his head to droop.

  "It's of no use," the king said.

  "Majesty?"

  Tutankhamun shoved an oar into Meren's arms and laughed when his courtier nearly lost his balance. "Admit it. You were thinking of pleading weariness."

  "Thy majesty thinks I would deceive him?"

  "If it suited you, yes. Fortunately, you've done yourself the ill favor of teaching me most of your tricks and wiles." The king thrust the second oar at Meren. "Resign yourself, my lord. We're going on a raid. As soon as my scouts can find the bandit camp-and you're not leaving the city until that happens."

  "Thy majesty's will is accomplished," Meren said with a scowl.

  "This time it is."

  Meren shoved the oars in the water. "I should not have given the divine one my promise."

  "No, you shouldn't have, but it's too late. Now row my majesty back to the water steps, Meren. I must sit in judgment before Ay hears of my absence and comes looking for me."

  Meren guided the boat to the great stone staircase that descended into the water at one end of the lake, and they climbed ashore. Meren watched pharaoh disappear into the palace and stared across the ornamental gardens, annoyed that he'd lost the battle of delay so soon. He should have anticipated that Tutankhamun would maneuver around him and been ready with a creative excuse for further postponement of the king's battle initiation.

  "Ah, well. What cannot be changed must be endured."

  He returned home to an unusually quiet house. For hours he'd been avoiding any thought about Isis and her role in last night's near-disaster. She needed curbing, and he was going to have to do it. Which made him even more angry and hurt than he already was. She was forcing him to be unpleasant, and he hated being that way to his children.

  But he couldn't deal with her now. He needed time to think about what was best. Relieved that he'd thought of a reprieve, Meren went to the hall where Bener had ordered food and beer set out. Kysen was waiting for him, his hands restlessly twisting a papyrus roll. He greeted Meren as his father sat down and picked up a water jar.