Meren’s hand went still on the oar. Kysen almost spoke, but instinct warned him not to interfere with whatever thought had stopped his father in midsentence. He watched a lock of Meren’s hair stray over his forehead. Zar would be offended that his master had yet again removed his finery while out of the house. Meren continued to stare blankly past Kysen’s left shoulder.
“Father?”
“Mmm.”
“You have remembered something?”
“What?”
“You’ve remembered something.”
“I—I’m not certain.”
“Tell me, and I might be able to help.”
Meren didn’t answer at first, then he shook his head. “I must consider well before I speak. It’s too dangerous.”
“I consort with thieves, a murderous Greek pirate, and Ese. What more danger could I face?”
Meren’s gaze focused on him at last, and Kysen saw a flicker of pain quickly disguised. “Oh, much more, Ky. Much, much more.”
Chapter 16
His absence had caused the evening meal to be late. Distracted by his discovery on the boat with Kysen, Meren had eaten without paying much attention to his food until he realized Bener had been putting more helpings of lotus roots, roast crane, and shat cakes before him. Now, although it was late, he still felt overstuffed. Bener said it was his fault for failing to eat enough to keep his belly from shriveling. He didn’t argue because he was still chasing an idea, following it as one tracks an antelope down a crooked desert path between steep-sided cliffs, carefully and with the wariness of a lion.
Finally Bener had ordered him out of the hall so that the servants could clean. He was instructed to go with Kysen to the roof, where the night breeze would be the strongest. After surveying the darkened city, they had perched on the wall top that formed a balustrade around the roof. Meren took a goblet of wine from Kysen, but he was distracted from his deliberations only when he heard music. Looking across the roof, he saw three musicians seated on a mat. One played the double pipes, another a harp, and the third a flute that produced deep, mellow tones.
“Bener thinks you have forgotten how to be at ease,” Kysen said.
Meren glanced at the musicians again. “Bener is perceptive, but I haven’t the time to correct my bad habits at the moment. Ky, we’ve been looking for Eater of Souls in the wrong places.”
“But she attacked most of her victims in the foreign district and near the docks.”
“All of the dead ones inconvenienced people.”
Kysen frowned at this sudden change of subject. “I thought we were discussing where to find the demon.”
“We are.” Meren set his goblet aside. “The farmer nearly caused a chariot to crash. The tavern woman deserted a customer. Tcha’s partner robbed someone.”
“I see.”
“Ky, Eater of Souls, if she is a living person, has to be a noble.”
“A noblewoman.”
Meren shook his head. “You still don’t follow my path. The tavern woman’s customer, the chariot driver, the one who was robbed, I think they are the same man.”
“A man who disguises himself and kills because he is inconvenienced?” Kysen asked with a stare.
“You sound doubtful.”
“Father, you’ve plucked this notion from your imagination more than from knowledge.” Kysen sighed when Meren folded his arms over his chest and said nothing. “What signs are there that Eater of Souls is a nobleman?”
“I told you.”
“You told me things you’ve surmised.”
“There’s also the ax.”
“An ax can be borne by any man, or woman.”
“This wasn’t an ax used by a carpenter or chariot maker,” Meren replied. “Those axes are plain, and you’ve seen the ones used by woodchoppers. Their handles are long, and many have semicircular blades. This was a battle-ax, Ky.”
“Which any common soldier possesses.”
“Not this one.” Meren stood and leaned against the roof wall. “I should have noticed before, but I’ve been paying attention to the more frightening features of Eater of Souls—the claws, the crocodile’s head and jaws, the feather placed where the heart should be. What I saw was a battle-ax, but not one used by an ordinary soldier. It was like those given to great warriors by generals and kings.”
Kysen said nothing for a moment, then whispered, “By the gods. Are you certain?”
“It had an elongated blade, like the ones we use in battle,” Meren said. “But I think there’s engraving on the flat of the blade, and the handle has sets of parallel grooves inset with gold. The wood isn’t ash or sycamore. I think it must be stained cedar or dark brown ebony. The leather thongs that bind the blade and support the handle are gilded with red gold. When I stopped concentrating on Eater of Souls and began to search for other memories that were as clear but not so frightening, I finally recalled the ax.”
“By the gods,” Kysen repeated softly. He turned to meet his father’s eyes. “Who have you inconvenienced of late?”
“Should you not ask whom I haven’t inconvenienced?”
“This isn’t a time for jests.”
“Bener says I need merriment and leisure.” Meren held up his hand. “Very well, don’t frown like a priest-instructor faced with a dozen inattentive pupils. The list of those I’ve annoyed is long, even if I include only recent weeks. There’s the Great Royal Wife.”
“Father, please be serious.”
“And Princess Tio.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t appreciate my humor, Ky. I also annoyed Mugallu, but he’s dead. Then there’s Djoser, who’s mad because I won’t support Lord Reshep, and there’s Reshep himself. Of course, I could include others at court and General Labarnas.”
“Not a Hittite.”
“Of course not,” Meren said. “And I’ve managed to make Rahotep furious.”
“I saw him at Ese’s. He was in one of his drinking miseries.”
“These black moods of his are growing more foul. I shall have to do something about him if he doesn’t cure himself.”
“Who else have you inconvenienced, Father?”
Meren smiled. “Apparently one of the three men so feared by Othrys.”
“May Amun protect us.”
“Yes, and that list contains only those I’ve annoyed recently and directly. A great man offends many, even if he tries not to, Ky.”
They lapsed into silence as each contemplated the possibilities.
Meren rubbed his chin, feeling the rough stubble of a day’s growth of beard. “Who have Mugallu and I both offended?”
They stared at each other, scowling, but a sudden din of female chatter caused them to break off. Bener marched up the interior stairway to the roof, turned, and snapped at her younger sister.
“I told you to instruct Mutemwia to watch her.”
Isis stalked up the stairs, her perfectly arranged robes askew from the climb. “I don’t have to do your bidding. You’re only my sister.”
“I’m mistress of the house,” Bener said as she marched over to Meren. “And unless you’re going to do all the work that entails, then that means I can give you orders. Now look what’s happened, and it’s all your fault.”
“I’m not the one who lost her. You’re the mistress of the house, so it’s your fault.”
“What’s wrong?” Meren asked.
The girls turned to him and spoke at the same time.
“She lost Satet.”
Meren shoved away from the wall. “What are you talking about?”
“I told Isis to tell Mutemwia to watch Satet so that she didn’t leave the house and wander the city again, but she didn’t do it.”
Isis pinched a pleat in her robe and jerked it into shape. “I’m not a slave to be commanded by her.”
“Luckily,” Bener said with a scowl at her sister, “I noticed Satet was gone and told Abu. He followed her and just returned.”
Meren headed for the
stairs. “Ky, stay here with the girls.” His son caught up with him halfway down the stairs.
“Bener and Isis have a houseful of servants and guards to protect them. You’re the one who is apt to go about without protection.”
“I’m not wasting time arguing,” Meren said. They reached the bottom of the stairway, where Abu waited for them.
“She has gone to a house near the dock market, lord.”
“Excellent,” Meren replied. “We’ll go there now.”
“Wait, lord. You must have an escort.”
“He’s right, Father.”
Meren threw up his hands. “I don’t want to frighten the old woman. You may bring one man. And be quick. I’m leaving the moment my chariot is ready. I don’t want her to run off elsewhere before we get there.”
He was pleased with Abu’s speed. By the time he stepped into his chariot, his aide had returned with Reia. Abu drove Meren while Reia accompanied Kysen. The trip to the dock market neighborhood was slowed by darkness, and in the market itself Meren called a halt.
“It isn’t far, lord,” said Abu.
Meren glanced around the open space bordered by houses, workshops, and storage buildings. Those few still up at this hour weren’t likely to be drawn to an empty market.
“I don’t want the aged one to be frightened away by the noise of our approach,” Meren said. “Reia will remain here with the chariots.”
Soon he was standing in front of a meager house squeezed between two larger ones. The street was empty and silent. Meren held up a hand to prevent Abu from opening the door. Kysen began to ask him a question, but Meren silenced him with a gesture. Perhaps he was imagining that the quiet of this street was different from that of the others nearby or the market.
There seemed to be a void of sound surrounding this house, an absence of the noises that should have hung in the distance. Here it was as if the night had swallowed sound as it engulfed light. No dogs barked, no babies cried. Even the wind seemed afraid to blow, and Meren could hardly hear his own breathing. He glanced around, noting the deserted rooftops, the doorsteps without cats. This street was near the rough dock taverns. No doubt its inhabitants stayed inside with their doors barred at night.
He turned to Kysen and Abu. “Ky, you and Abu stay here. I don’t want to alarm Satet and whoever she’s visiting.”
“Lord, I don’t think there’s anyone else in the house,” Abu said. “It’s too quiet.”
“They may be in the rear.”
“At least allow me to come with you,” Kysen said.
“No. This is probably where her sister is staying, and we must go carefully so that we don’t frighten off this cursed royal cook.”
“I should at least go to the roof,” Kysen said.
“Very well.”
Meren pushed open the door to reveal a darkened front chamber. Beyond he could see a dim yellow glow. Nodding to Kysen, he slipped inside and shut the door. As he walked toward the light, a goose honked, causing him to start. Then he heard Satet.
“Be quiet, Beauty. I’ll be finished soon. I must fold this sheet, or it won’t fit in the basket. Look, I found my cosmetics box. I knew Hunero took it with her when she left.”
Meren stepped into a kitchen lit by a single lamp. To his left lay a staircase that led to the second floor; to his right, an oven sat against the far wall beneath a ventilation hole in the roof. Jars of fruit, oil, and beer sat on shelves, while baskets lined the walls. Before one of them, near the oven, knelt Satet. She placed a folded linen sheet in a basket and looked up at him.
“You! Go away. I can’t instruct your cooks anymore. I have this house now, and I’ll be busy selling bread in the market.”
“Where is your sister?”
“I don’t know. She’s terribly lazy. She might be asleep.” Satet turned to Beauty, who was pecking at bread crumbs scattered by the oven. “What do you think, Beauty? Tell him what an indolent Hunero is. Was my sister not asleep when we first found her?”
Meren walked over to the stairs that led to the second story and glanced into darkness. He looked over his shoulder at Satet.
“You should have told me you found your sister.”
As he spoke, Satet picked up a small cosmetics box, placed it on top of the sheet in the basket, and straightened. She glanced his way and gasped. Her mouth formed a cavern, while her eyes widened to the size of ripe olives. Meren looked at her expression and at the same moment felt a presence behind him. He whirled and dropped to a crouch. Something buzzed by his head, and he heard a snarl.
Meren threw himself backward. A giant shadow chased him, and he caught a glimpse of blank yellow eyes. With the speed of a leopard, claws lashed at him. It was all he could do to scramble out of reach before the ax came at his head again. There was no time to draw his dagger, no time to do anything but dodge, veer, and duck to avoid being slashed or hacked. He jumped aside as the creature sprang at him. Satet whimpered and fell to the floor senseless. Beauty squawked when Meren stepped on her foot, then flapped her wings and hissed.
Eater of Souls swung the ax, but with both hands Meren grabbed the arm that bore the weapon. To his horror, his strength was as a child’s against the creature. The arm jerked free. The ax flew up. A clawed hand grabbed his neck, and he felt the blades cut into his flesh. It was then that he remembered his voice.
He shouted an alarm, twisted in that animal grip, and kicked. Eater of Souls roared, but struck again with the ax as Meren tried to pull free. Meren saw the blow coming, stopped struggling, and lunged down, pulling Eater of Souls with him. They hit the floor as he heard the front door crash open. Something hissed by his ear. Meren grabbed blindly and found Beauty. Snagging the goose by her neck, he threw her at Eater of Souls. Beauty landed on the creature’s chest, wings flapping, neck stretched. She hissed once, then struck, lunging past the gaping jaws.
Meren heard a scream as he rolled away and jumped to his feet. The ax dropped as Eater of Souls drew both arms up for protection against the pummeling beak. At that moment Kysen raced down the stairs, his dagger drawn. Abu was in the doorway with his own weapon. Both drew back their arms, but Meren cried out.
“No!”
Eater of Souls thrust the goose away, grabbed the ax, and scrambled to a crouch. Grunting, her breath coming in loud rasps, she prepared to throw the weapon.
“Reshep, don’t!”
The ax paused high in the air. The crocodile head tilted to the side. Then a high voice with the texture of sand issued from beneath the snout.
“Ammut, the Devouress, Eater of Souls, comes to destroy transgressors. I am sent by the gods to protect the favored one.”
The voice sent waves of cold crashing through Meren’s body. It wasn’t Reshep’s. This voice slithered through muddy, sluggish water. It basked motionless in the boiling heat of the sun for hours, then slid beneath the water close to the shore and lunged at unsuspecting and thirsty gazelles. And yet there was an undertone of grit, a rumbling purr that belonged in the deserts and savanna where it stalked prey through the tall grass.
Meren exchanged glances with Kysen and Abu. Neither had moved once they heard that voice. Kysen lifted his brows in a question. Meren shook his head.
“Reshep, I know it’s you under that mask. Stop now.”
“The gods have sent Eater of Souls.”
“Reshep?” Kysen gaped at Eater of Souls. “Are you certain? Reshep has such a vain, lazy heart.”
Abu shifted his weight, his arm still cocked to throw his dagger. “He’s possessed.”
Eater of Souls paid Abu no heed. The dead yellow eyes seemed to stare at Kysen, but then the snout turned and pointed toward Meren. In the shadowed light he could see that the preserved crocodile’s head fit over Reshep’s. The lower jaw came down to conceal half the man’s face, while the lion’s mane attached to it covered his neck and shoulders. A hippo hide emerged from the lion’s mane in front and back and was attached to Reshep’s kilt by leather thongs.
Reshep r
aised his arm to point at Meren. His hand was covered by a thick leather gauntlet. Finger stalls of polished bronze ended in curved, clawlike razors. One of them pointed at Meren.
“Evil one, source of pain and emptiness. Usurper of glory, worship, and power. You steal what is rightfully the favored one’s, and you must be devoured.”
The ax lifted, but Meren spoke quickly. “The favored one is Reshep?”
The ax paused.
“All who cause pain to Reshep must be devoured?” Meren asked softly.
Kysen’s voice rose. “Father—”
“Be quiet!” Meren whispered sharply.
“The gods are merciless to those who deserve annihilation,” Eater of Souls replied. The ax arm lowered. “The father of the chosen one, he caused much pain. His mouth poured forth scorn and reproach, endlessly, destroying the praises of the mother. There was great relief when the father was devoured.”
“And the mother?”
“She praised the favored one, but only when he became a mirror by which her own perfections could be reflected. And she was a bottomless well, always needing, always empty, never content. She drained the Favorite of glory and perfection to feed herself.”
“The gods decreed that she be devoured,” Meren said.
There was no answer.
“And the farmer, he nearly caused your—Reshep’s chariot to overturn.”
Eater of Souls uttered a rumbling purr of assent. “The cursed simpleton stepped into the street without looking.”
“The tavern woman?”
Eater of Souls raised the ax once more. “Judgment must be carried out.”
“What about the Hittite?” Meren said loudly.
The Devouress hesitated, then raised her snout as if to test the scent of Abu and Kysen. Turning back to Meren, she lowered her weapon and rested the handle in both hands.
“The foreigner insulted the favored one. As you insult him by your existence.”
When a crocodile is hungry, it lurks just beneath the surface of water near the bank, still, with soulless patience. When some small or weak creature ventures into the open to drink, it lunges out of the water and closes its jaws around a leg or neck. In a heartbeat the creature is dragged underwater, to be crushed and drowned under the weight of that slithering body. There is no sign of the attack, no warning snarl or growl. There was no warning when Eater of Souls lunged at Meren and swung the ax.
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