Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 1 - Anubis Murders

by Gary Gygax

  "I didn't even get a thank you," Rachelle had pouted.

  "Female slaves are seldom thanked," Inhetep explained wryly.

  After a bit of consideration, Rachelle had told him, "It is time I accepted my freedom, Master Setne, but I have a single condition you must agree to if this is to be." Setne had been suspicious but finally consented. "As long as I wish, I am to be your servant, your guard, and your associate, if you feel that is appropriate." It was foolish, but the matter was concluded thus.

  The work he had done for Governor Ptah-tetta came to the attention of many others thereafter, and even Pharaoh had need for Inhetep's "unofficial" services. For the last several years, he and Rachelle had been all over the realm and its tributaries, and other nations as well, to suss out crime and its conspiracies, to hunt down enemies of the state. The detection work was interesting and occasionally very rewarding financially.

  In fact, he received such an enormous sum for solving one particular case, that he was excluded as a member of the Uchatu, the Pharoah's secret service. But Magister Inhetep Setne could not cease being an investigator. For the last five years, he had traveled Yarth—at least the lands of Afrik, Azir, and Eropa—doing much the same as he had done before, but now as a private individual.

  Ostensibly it was to learn more of his magickal art. Certainly, Inhetep had no need of money as long as he didn't squander the wealth he had inherited and the gold he had subsequently accumulated. In truth, he and Rachelle might have

  lived two lifetimes without want, traveling and living in state. The Magister had a thirst for arcane knowledge, but he had an even greater thirst for adventure undertaken in the name of truth and justice. Not derring-do exactly. The wizard-priest was addicted to solving mysteries, especially puzzles which involved crime.

  Thus, each place he and the girl went was one which offered some unusual bit of lore. Inhetep's reputation as an arch-dweomercraefter who solved crimes, uncovered spies, and brought criminals to justice, always preceded him. That was sufficient to guarantee that the /Egyptian was called upon to serve in such capacity wherever he and the girl happened to go. Five years of traveling from city to city, twice that number of detection commissions, and now at last a real holiday. Here in Valencia there was neither serious arcane knowledge to be found nor latent mystery. This was fun, relaxation, escape. ... In a short time, they would take a ship for Cadiz where certain ancient parchments were rumored to be held in a secret collection. Then it was on to Atlantl, a place of renown which Inhetep and all ^Egyptians held in honor, despite the degeneracy and dissolution which had overtaken the once-great kingdom. Whatever came thereafter was up in the air, so to speak.

  Perhaps it would be portentous to go on to the western continents; perhaps the time would be ripe for a visit to Hind and the far Orient. . . .

  Lemuria? No, he had no desire to see that great island in the Titanic Ocean, for the ways of its people and their magickal pursuits were totally alien to even the cosmopolitan priest-mage. Setne caught himself there. Only a week of idleness on the seashore in southeastern Iberia, a time of relaxation with his trusted friend and confidante, someone almost his daughter—no, more— but better not to dwell on that! How refreshing to be housed in a charming villa, to see the mountains, orange groves, the sea, the quaint town of Valentia, to receive invitations from all the nobility and wealthy citizens of the area. What more could he ask?

  "A whole lot," Setne said aloud, as he turned and strolled toward the nearby garden. "I must admit it. I am bored silly."

  „ Just then Carlos emerged from the villa. He spied Inhetep and flapped his arms as he ran up to the Egyptian. "Save us, save us, lord! You know magicks. Save us!" the tubby little fellow gasped.

  "Whatever are you dithering about?" Inhetep snapped, irritated at being disturbed from his reverie. "Speak more distinctly," he ordered, for despite a fair grasp of Iberian, Carlos was chattering in a nearly unintelligible fashion. He repeated his words, and Setne reassured him, "I am passing able to direct the unseen powers, but just what is it you want to be saved from?"

  "My cousin, Paulao, the one who is the coral

  dealer in Valentia, a very prosperous and honorable man," the flustered servant explained carefully. "It is he who warned me, and I, in turn, now alert you to the danger!"

  Inhetep exercised his will and remained calmly patient. "Just what danger?"

  "The three men, lordship. The three men!"

  "You must have some more specific information than that, Carlos."

  "Ah, but of course. My cousin described them as great, tall—almost as tall as you from the way he described them."

  "And?"

  "And these three tall men, men as gaunt as death itself, Paulao told me, were just in Valentia inquiring about you!"

  Setne was mildly interested now. "They asked for me by name?"

  "Well, that I do not know, because my cousin said only that they were directed to this villa by an old busybody, who overheard them asking about a shaven-headed priest and offered them information as to where such a person could be found for their money. She is certainly a witch," Carlos reported with satisfaction.

  "She did what?"

  "Why, she took their coins, surely, then told them how to find this villa!"

  "This is intriguing," Inhetep said, pondering the question of who might be seeking him out here in this backwater. "What threats did they make?"

  The small man's eyes grew large at that. "Ah, venerable Magister, who knows what horrible things lurk in the hearts of foreigners—yourself excluded, naturally, magickal lordship," he hastened to add. Seeing no anger in the coppery face of the Egyptian, Carlos continued. "Men with such looks—strangers, hollow-eyed spell-workers, surely—are never intent on doing good! Why else would they consult with a witch? Is there a feud which you are involved in? A vendetta, perhaps? You must save yourself and we who are here to serve you—perhaps leaving now would be best. . . ."

  Managing to change the derisive laugh to a discrete clearing of his throat, Setne looked the frightened Iberian squarely in the face. "Most unlikely, Carlos, most unlikely indeed. Contrary to that, I believe we will prepare a little reception for these three gaunt men you say are coming." Carlos started to protest. Inhetep silenced him with a look. "See that the rest of the household is alerted. Have ices, cold tea, hot coffee, and some sweet cakes ready. Place chairs in the veranda, three facing west, two opposite them. Hurry!" The servant started to run off. "Wait! Tell the Lady Rachelle to attend me instantly. I'll be there in a few minutes."

  "It is done," Carlos fairly panted, looking confident and worried all at once. At that Inhetep did actually laugh.

  "At last! Something to break the monotony," he said to no one. Then, whistling tunelessly under his breath, the wizard-priest went into the nearby villa, long-legged strides covering the distance faster than had Carlos' running. "Let's see what death has in store!"

  — 3 —

  ANUBIS, SON OF SET?

  Despite the warmth of the noonday sun, the men wrapped themselves in hooded cloaks of dark blue wool. Only their faces were visible, pale ovals shadowed by the deep cowls of their garments. The three seemed to glide along the dusty track between the groves. The rutted road led only to the villa on the shore of the Mare Librum.

  If they saw the peasants who served the villa fleeing through the trees, the indigo-clad men showed no sign of it. When they reached the door of the residence, the central figure nodded, and the planks of the door gave forth a sonorous noise, as if someone had rapped on them with a billet of wood.

  Rachelle opened the portal. "Salutations, wayfarers," she said to the three strangely garbed men. She spoke in the language known as Trade Phonecian, the lingua franca of Yarth. "Is there something you wish?"

  "We seek an Egyptian, a priest and magus of

  some renown. His name is Inhetep. He is here." The middle figure of the group spoke, and the last sentence was not a question but a statement of fact. There was neither deference
nor challenge in his tone—no respect, no threat. "Now we will enter," he said firmly. His Trade Phone-cian was heavily accented.

  "Perhaps," Rachelle responded, without moving from her position squarely in the entryway. "Please be so kind as to throw back your cowls first. I must also know your names in order to properly announce you. Only then will I give you three permission to come in."

  It seemed as if the central figure was about to voice some protest, but the man on his left made a slight bow and tugged back his hood, and so did the man on the right. Pulling back his own cowl, the middle stranger said, "I am Aldriss."

  Rachelle looked at the man on the right. "You are . .. ?"

  "Tallesian," he said in a harsh voice.

  "And . . . ?"

  The other man gave a small smile as if sharing some secret with the girl. "You may call me the Behon."

  For a few heartbeats Rachelle stood unmoving, head cocked to one side, eyes fixed on the three men. They were lean and pinch-faced. They were indeed men as gaunt as death. "Follow me, and I will announce your presence to Magister Inhetep."

  She led them through the villa and back outside to the place Setne had chosen. The sun wasn't quite at its zenith, and its rays streamed over the wizard-priest's shoulders where he sat quietly awaiting the visitors. Rachelle announced each of them; Inhetep said nothing in reply, so the girl led them to the three chairs opposite the Egyptian. Then she seated herself just to his left hand, eyeing the pale strangers.

  "You are the one called Inhetep?" Aldriss inquired. It was almost a statement.

  "I am he," Setne answered. "You are a bard, aren't you? From the Isles of Avillon—specifically Lyonnesse."

  "How do you know that?" the man asked, startled.

  Inhetep cocked his right eyebrow. "Your fingers. Harping and playing stringed instruments causes callouses, does it not, Aldriss? Besides, your comrade Tallesian is unquestionably a druid— he wears that proclamation in the beaded chain beneath his robe. The one claiming himself the Behon must then be a sage, a worker of dweom-ers of some considerable heka from the blankness of his aura. It is therefore clear that you three represent the political power of your state— noble, ecclesiastic, and magickal."

  The Behon cleared his throat. His two companions looked inquiringly at him. "That is astute reasoning, Setne Inhetep. I had hoped for

  nothing less. We are, as you have discerned, men from Lyonnesse come to seek you out."

  "I see." Inhetep turned to the girl. "The servants have deserted us, I fear. Please be so kind as to bring the refreshments I ordered from Carlos, my dear Rachelle, for I believe we will be conversing here some time." She hesitated, so the priest-mage reassured her. "Don't be concerned about my safety. These three men may appear threatening, but they mean us absolutely no harm—at this time, anyway. I'll be quite safe in their company until you return." Rachelle's mouth was set in a moue of disapproval, but she stood and went into the building. "While we wait, gentlemen, may I suggest you doff those woolen robes? This climate is not suitable for such apparel, and there will be nobody here to observe us, I think."

  There was a little laughter from all three at the last remark. The men did as suggested, revealing white gowns worn beneath the heavy blue outer wraps. Both Aldriss and Tallesian were muscular of build but quite wiry. The Behon was merely thin. "We have searched for you for some time now," the druidical member of the trio said as he arranged his robe over the back of the seat. He straightened the amber beads and seven-rayed sun and rowan tree of gold which proclaimed him a druid of Mur Ollavan, the City of Sages and chief temple seat of the druids of Lyonnesse.

  "Yes, I thought it would be the rowan shown atop the sun," Inhetep said as he watched the druid's action. "Tell me, which is the tree held sacred by Albion, yew or oak?"

  "The yew, Magister Inhetep. The Caledonians bear the oak, while the folk of Cymru venerate the elm, and those of Hybernia the ash tree."

  "Thank you for the enlightenment. I shall not forget."

  Rachelle returned to the little courtyard laden with a big tray bearing cold tea and orange-flavored shaved ice in ceramic cups, guarded against the heat by a little lid on each. There was also a carafe of strong coffee and an assortment of small cakes and biscuits covered with nuts, candied fruits, and glazes. She placed the tray on a nearby table and began serving the four men, beginning with the gray-haired one who was identified as the Behon.

  "The coffee, please. Now I see that this is more than a pretty face and strong arm," he said, accepting the proffered cup but declining any other refreshment. "I would that I had such an associate," he said to Inhetep.

  The other two were more liberal in their selections. As Rachelle was seeing to them, Setne responded, "And why not? But surely, there must be someone in a city so populous as Camelough for training as apprentice. ..."

  It was the Behon's turn to show surprise, albeit he allowed only a mild bit to show. "So you are aware of who I am."

  "It would be a fool indeed who failed to recognize the direct successor of Myrlyn and chief sage and magus of Lyonnesse. Who other than the ovate could be in such company as the master bard of that kingdom and its archdruid? So then, I am most honored to serve as host to three great men."

  "I am grateful for your not mentioning my name, Magister. You of all people are aware . . ." and the Behon allowed his words to trail off.

  "You do me too much credit, Ovate. I am but a simple priest, a servant of the Wise One, Thoth, who knows a few little tricks and cantrips. I understand the power of the true name; Isis herself was able to utilize Ra's to gain her surpassing skill in heka by such means," Inhetep said, then paused to sip a little of the tea brought to refreshing coolness by means of an enchantment he had placed upon a vessel belonging to the villa. "Please don't confuse my undeserved reputation solving crimes with a special skill in dweomercraefting. The two are quite removed, you understand. More tea, gentlemen?"

  The Behon smiled broadly this time. "But of course, Magister. I most assuredly do comprehend. And no, I have still half a glass to finish. Aldriss? Tallesian?"

  The bard opted for a second of the sherbet; Tallesian made sport of that, but himself had both more of the sweet, minty tea and another cake. It was plain from Rachelle's expression that she was wondering how those two men stayed so gaunt while eating so ravenously. "Perhaps as you do," Setne supplied under his breath. Rachelle quickly looked away from Al-driss and the druid, hoping that those two and the mage with them were not reading her as easily as was the Egyptian.

  "As I stated, august sirs, I am quite honored to be your host. At the same time, I am quite at a loss to understand why three of Lyonnesse's noblest men seek out a poor Egyptian priest, one without so much as a local shrine to attend, on holiday in the wilds of Iberia. Will one of you be so kind as to enlighten me?" He looked at the Kelltic mage as he spoke, but he seemed to be aware of the other two at the same time.

  Rachelle knew that trick of Setne's well. He would pick up many signs from secondary persons while seeming to concentrate on the chief member of any gathering. Aldriss, the bard, was eager to respond. He fairly wiggled but watched the gray-locked ovate for permission, with fingers seeming to stroke an invisible harp as he did so. That one would make an epic of whatever was to be said, the girl knew, for the fame of the Avillonian bards surpassed all others in vTropa. A quick glance at the druid, Tallesian, told Rachelle that he was more reserved but hardly less eager to speak. He sat erect, tense and ready.

  Then she saw a slight motion from the Behon, a finger twitch signal. Both of his companions settled back and looked at the Kelltic master of dweomercraeft.

  "If I may, Magister Inhetep, I will attempt your request. My friends will fill in anything I've missed when I have finished."

  "That is splendid, Behon. Say on." Setne now positioned himself so that he could observe all three of the strangers.

  "One month ago there was a terrible killing in Ys. . . ."

  Inhetep frowned. "Come, come my good ma
gus, be more direct and forthright! In a place such as Ys is said to be, there must be a dozen murders a night."

  "The reputation of the city is overstated. There aren't that many murders in a day and night there. So ... no matter. This one was different. It involved the arch demonurge of the Academie Sorcerie d'Ys."

  "I see. Hmmm . . . Isn't the fellow's name Fontainnoir?"

  The Behon was secretly pleased that the Egyptian had missed the mark. "Very nearly correct, Magister Inhetep, very nearly. The Haut Omni-urge of the college was Bertrand Frontonac."

  "You speak in the past tense. Interesting. I had thought that the fellow in question had committed murder, not become the victim of such a crime. To slay a sorcerer of such power takes the most insidious plotting or a skillful foe. Was it political? Personal grudge?"

  "You strike to the crux of this affair, Magister," the elderly sage answered. "It was a shocking murder because it had been announced beforehand. Frontonac knew, took precautions, and then derided the unknown enemies who had announced his death."

  Inhetep seemed quite unmoved by that statement. "I'll interrupt no further, good mage, if you will set forth the complete picture from the beginning—and I mean what occurred well prior to the demise of the demonurgist Frontonac."

  "You know about the others?" Aldriss exclaimed.

  "He does now," Tallesian quipped laconically.

  The Behon sighed, settled back, and sipped a little of his now tepid drink. "The thing started a year ago," he finally said, looking upward a moment as if to mentally sort out the details before proceeding. "The first victim was the Eldest Spaewife." Setne was about to interrupt, but the gray-haired magus held up his hand. "I know, you need the background of that, too. Someone calling himself the 'Master of Jackals' was responsible. A king of Skandia, Rogven Iron Eyes, of course, received a demand for certain things prior to and after his principal heka-wielder was assassinated. Even I am uncertain as to exactly what the list included, but there was certainly money involved. Rogven, not known for his open-handedness, let alone timorous nature, demanded that the unknown blackmailer meet him in combat. Instead the Eldest Spaewife, the king's chief dweomercraefter, was murdered. They found her one morning soon after Rogven's refusal. The woman had been literally torn to shreds within her sanctum. The whole place was coated in ice . . . bloody ice!"