by Anton Gill
When he finally found a rickshaw it was one pulled by a man so old and broken down that he relented. He gave the man a half deben of copper and sent him on his way. The old man began to curse. Huy realised that his action had conveyed to the old man his opinion that he was no longer fit to work. Hastily, he made his way up the hill away from the racket. In his heart, he shook out a few drops of ink from his pen in homage to Imhotep. May Imhotep protect all scribes from the curses of old men, he thought. There is nothing more deadly than an old man’s curse, because it contains all the power he has left, and he has nothing to lose.
He found Kamose dressed to go out, his litter ready.
‘Where have you been?’ asked the governor impatiently, without preamble.
Huy told him as much as he chose to. He did not mention the tunnel.
Kamose ducked his head in a worried gesture. ‘The times are bad,’ he said to Huy. ‘I had hoped you would have cleared up the matter of Ipur’s death. Now it seems that crime is proliferating here.’ He spoke both as if he thought that Huy’s presence should have acted as some kind of deterrent, and as if he thought Huy was to blame for the escalation of killing. But there was detachment in his voice too, as if his heart were dwelling on another fear.
‘I will find out how Duaf’s killer got away,’ said Huy.
‘How will that help us catch him?’ retorted Kamose, refusing, as Huy had feared, to be fobbed off with trifles. Then he asked the question the scribe was dreading: ‘Is this death connected with Ipur’s?’
‘I cannot know that.’
‘Then you must find out. Though I doubt if they are. These are the works of our nation’s enemies. They know that they are defeated and they are striking out desperately and by the most underhand means.’
There was something in this rhetoric that did not convince Huy, and he took note of it.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
Kamose looked surprised, and then angry, at the directness of the question, but he replied gracefully enough, though his voice was still flurried. ‘I am going to meet Userhet with my son-in-law Atirma. We are the last chief men left. There may be a conspiracy against us.’
‘Why have you not summoned them here?’
‘I prefer to meet at the military camp. It is more secure.’
‘Will you stay there?’
‘It may be that I will bring an escort back. Does that answer your question?’
Not quite, thought Huy; but he inclined his head, and remained silent. Something that Kamose had just said had convinced him. Not that he had needed much convincing. This was a small town, and there would be more connections than coincidences. His next job was indeed to trace the connections between Duaf and Ipur.
Chapter Eight
‘She is dead. I know it. If she were alive, she would have found a way of letting me know. Besides, where would she have gone?’
Senofer placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder – lightly, for he was uncertain of physical contact between them. ‘Whatever has happened, Meritre is gone. You must accept that.’ He had not realised his brother’s feelings for the woman ran so deep after all. Had he not said that he did not love her?
‘Yes. It is hard, though. Especially now that her wretched husband is dead.’
Senofer looked at him. ‘Don’t tell me now that you ever considered marrying her?’
‘She was good to me,’ said Meten, sullenly.
‘She is a decade older than you. Besides, she has a daughter who is well of an age to marry, and she will inherit now.’
‘So you keep saying.’
‘You told me you did not love Meritre. Besides, she is only a woman. There are more important things to consider than her. Things that cannot be so easily replaced.’
‘Perhaps I didn’t love her. But I was able to take her away from Duaf, that old shit. Do you know how he treated me? What I had to put up with? May Seth piss in his dead mouth!’
Senofer pursed his lips. The plan was too good to abandon. In his own heart he was glad that Meritre had disappeared. Meritre would never have been Duaf’s principal heir – even if she had been, he knew the old merchant well enough to know also that he would have altered his testament the minute he became suspicious of her infidelity. But Meten was impetuous. He did not know how to think. That was why he needed Senofer more than Senofer needed him.
‘Nofretka will need a protector,’ he insisted gently.
‘She loves Heby.’
‘And where is Heby?’
‘This is something we could speak of until our hair falls out and our skin withers,’ snapped Meten. ‘Should we not be considering what Duaf’s death means for us?’
‘Perhaps someone has done us a favour,’ said Senofer, looking levelly at his brother. But privately he was considering the effects of it. Duaf’s death in truth was a nuisance. Nofretka would be mistress of her own destiny now. Meten would have to move fast and delicately to make sure of her. He told his brother so, but he wished he could have felt more optimistic about the result. Well, if Meten couldn’t manage by himself, Meten would have to be helped. Senofer had no intention of letting Nofretka’s fortune go.
‘Whoever killed him may have acted in hot blood,’ said Meten doubtfully. ‘He might not have considered the consequences.’
‘He? It could have been anybody. Duaf was not loved. Even his daughter might have considered his removal desirable. After all, being alone in that house with him... But I imagine you would be the best judge of that.’
Meten bit his lip. ‘What about the others?’
Senofer spread his hands. ‘Do you think one of them might have done it? Find out. You were Duaf’s secretary. You are the one who is in league with them.’
‘Only as a clerk,’ said Meten. ‘I do not have their confidence.’
‘Still you are involved with them. That was part of the plan. To have eyes and ears on the inside of their scheme.’
‘Which means I am implicated with them,’ said Meten.
‘Yes, but you know I would not let anything happen to you,’ said Senofer. ‘You are my brother. And it was not my idea: it was Heby’s.’ He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘Where are they now?’
‘They have met together at Userhet’s quarters.’
‘With Ipur and Duaf gone, they must be looking over their shoulders.’ He paused again. ‘So should you.’
‘Do you think it was Heby?’
‘I am not sure. I do not think that towards the end he trusted us.’
‘He hoped our work would be finished before he was sent away to fight.’
‘Yes,’ smiled Senofer. ‘It was as well that we managed to delay its completion that long. But as I say, that in itself might have attracted his suspicion.’
‘He wanted to take over,’ said Meten. ‘I am sure that he would have turned on us.’
‘If he was true to his own ideals, to his fight against corruption here, then he would have been right to do so.’
‘And yet we deceived him successfully enough.’
‘Zealots like Heby are often blind to the enemy nearest them,’ smiled Senofer. ‘That is why he was so easy to play. Like a reed pipe in a child’s hands. It takes no skill to get a note out of it.’
‘But if he is back – if he has an accomplice we do not know about – then we may be in great danger.’
‘I don’t think so. He is a deserter. If he surfaces, he will be killed.’
Meten looked doubtful. ‘But if he could show a reason good enough for desertion. If he timed his move to coincide with the end of the war and Horemheb’s return...’
‘If!’ jeered Senofer. ‘If! And how could he perform these miracles? Is he a god? I think not. Even if he is in the city, we will bring him down before he can do us any harm. As for his plans, we can pre-empt them. We can destroy the others and claim the credit for cleaning up the town before he has time to wipe his arse.’
‘What shall we do?’
‘You must fi
nd out what Userhet and Kamose are planning. And keep an eye on Atirma. I want his head.’
Meten grinned. ‘I know where your ambitions lie, older brother.’
‘Since our father chose to ignore my seniority and leave us equal shares of his estate, I must look after myself as best I can,’ replied Senofer drily. ‘And now you must go. Matters will move fast. The slave profiteering will end with the war.’
‘You forget that I am their book-keeper. I told you, I have kept a note of every sale to the Alasa dealers, and I can show how each consignment of slaves was covered up. In any case, they need a record of the true negotiations for their own private records. To make sure each hyena gets the same amount of meat.’
‘I am right about Atirma, then.’
‘I have everything you need to destroy him.’
‘Where is the evidence?’
‘It is safe.’
The brothers looked at each other, each trying to read the other’s eyes, and failing.
*
Nofretka paced her father’s work room fretfully, pausing to sit on one of the heavy stools near the window every now and then, only to stand up again moments later and resume her restless walking.
Seated at the work table, Cheruiri watched her. In the two days that had passed since Duaf’s death, she had grown up. Her face bore no trace of grief, only of determination. There was a hardness too, which he had not noticed before, and there was something of Duaf in her eyes now. The testament had been read and approved by Kamose, and soon Nofretka would come into the full inheritance of Duaf’s fortunes. What she would do with it, whether she would go or stay, remained to be seen.
For herself, she felt scared and alone. The responsibility that had fallen onto her shoulders had fallen too soon and too heavily. And yet she knew she had to accept it. The worry of arranging Duaf’s affairs and deciding how to pursue them was already upon her. Even if she had felt the inclination to grieve for him, she would not have had the leisure to do so. Now, Duaf was in the hands of the embalmers. In seventy days, when he was brought to his tomb, she would be free. She felt that she had fixed upon her plan already. It was a simple one: to leave this place. But not alone.
‘You must tell me where he is.’
‘I have told you,’ said Cheruiri, ‘I do not know. He comes to me.’
‘Then the next time you must ask him. You must tell him that I must see him. Does he know what has happened?’
‘I have not seen him.’
Nofretka turned to the window, her hands clasped pensively to her mouth. ‘I am sure he knows. What is he doing?’
‘Waiting his time,’ said Cheruiri, quietly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I told you he has his own plans. He means to carry them out, no matter what else occurs.’
‘But my father death changes everything. You must tell him to meet me. We must plan what to do. We can go away together now.’
‘He will not go until he has done what he has set out to do,’ said Cheruiri.
‘And what is that?’
Cheruiri was silent. He could tell her that he did not know, exactly, but she would sense the lie, for he had told her too much already. He would not tell her he suspected that Heby was also the author of her father’s death. Duaf and Ipur, and then Kamose, Userhet and Atirma – and the brothers, for Heby had seen through them at last. It had taken him long enough, but at last he had seen what their true motives were. Cheruiri would not tell her either how he thought that Heby had changed. He had sent the message that he loved Nofretka, but he had sent it from his mouth, not from his heart. Cheruiri had watched Heby being taken over by his belief, so that it consumed his character. Was there room in Heby’s heart now for anything more than his belief, than his mission to be the flag-bearer of his hero, General Horemheb, in bringing justice back to the Black Land?
‘He wishes to set this city to rights, and to present it to Horemheb as a gift,’ he said.
Nofretka looked at him disbelievingly. ‘What wrongs have been committed? And why should Heby take it upon himself to do this?’
‘I do not know.’
‘And yet you help him. You must know why you do that.’
‘Partly because I believe in him; partly for myself. ‘
‘Is that an answer?’
‘It is the best that I can give you.’
She came over to him, knelt at his feet, clutched his knees. ‘You know where he is. Take me to him. I will cure him of this madness.’
‘I will tell him you need to see him. I am sure he will come to you.’
Nofretka rose and crossed the room back to the window, where she stood, watching the light dying on the sea as the sun dipped towards the western horizon.
*
There was no doubt, thought Userhet, as he sat and listened to the droning arguments of his confederates, that the good times were coming to an end. Already he had received the reports that he had been expecting for some time. Horemheb had signalled from the front that the next transports to be expected in the City of the Sea would not contain captured Kheta and Khabiri to be sold as slaves, but returning soldiers of the Black Land. The military camp was to be reduced to the order of a small fort, where a brigade would be stationed for the foreseeable future, but it would not be under Userhet’s command. Horemheb would be returning soon himself – within the next ten days. Then he would expect a full report and would hold an inspection before giving Userhet the orders which would determine his future career.
His future career! If he had one, reflected Userhet grimly. The missing fingers of his maimed hand ached, as they often did when he was under stress. He flexed the hand in a vain attempt to relieve the pain.
He looked from Kamose, who was speaking, to Atirma, who was slouched in his seat, staring glumly at the surface of the table in front of him. Where was Meten? Where were the account books of the slaving transactions which had been Duaf’s responsibility?
And what of Duaf? Ipur’s death might have been regarded as an isolated incident, an unfortunate accident; but this new killing seemed to confirm an earlier suspicion that the chief men of the city were under attack. From whom? The Medjays were, as usual, useless; but even the scribe Huy from the Southern Capital had appeared unable to do anything to trace Ipur’s killer. What worried Userhet was what else Huy might turn up in the course of his investigation. He had been against using him from the first, but Kamose had acted without consulting the others. Unless Kamose was acting on orders Userhet didn’t know about. Userhet’s thoughts returned to Huy. Surely the king hadn’t given such an important official leave of absence just to look into the disappearance of his son. How much did Ay suspect? And yet Huy did seem genuinely only to be looking for his son.
He looked from one to the other again, and the thought formed itself in his heart: what will they do to save their skins? He resolved privately to sleep with one eye open, as the saying was, from now on.
‘We have nothing to fear,’ Kamose was saying. ‘We have set aside enough of our gains from the sale of the slaves to Alasa to satisfy any enquiry. All Ay would want to see is the goods we got for them – he would not suspect that a far greater profit is hidden.’
‘If the king wants to see slaves, he can see mine,’ said Atirma. ‘How would he be able to tell that there are no more of them? And they will be able to tell him nothing.’
‘There are a few left in the stockade,’ added Kamose. ‘The wretches the Alasans would not take. It is good that we did not kill them. We must keep them alive, even feed them up. Their presence will add to our case. We could even have Atirma put in a bid for them under the pharaoh’s nose.’
‘Ay is not a fool,’ said Userhet. ‘And I would feel more comfortable if we had Duaf’s account books in our own keeping.’
‘I will send to Meten for them,’ said Kamose. ‘But there is no need to mistrust him. He is as deeply involved in this as we are. He cannot betray us without betraying himself.’
I hope you a
re right, thought Userhet. But as far as I am concerned, as soon as the books are in our hands, Meten dies.
‘We have another problem,’ Kamose said into the silence.
‘Yes?’
‘Huy.’
Userhet spread his hands in impatience. ‘I would have thought our problem was an enquiry into the slave-trading profits.’
‘Precisely,’ cut in Atirma. Userhet did not like the plump young man’s cold look. ‘And Huy’s son, in case you had forgotten, is Heby. I do not believe he has simply disappeared.’
Userhet scowled, but did not answer.
‘Look!’ said Kamose. ‘We cannot afford to fall out. The only way we can survive is by standing together. There will be no problem if we do that.’
‘Huy is harmless. And what harm can Heby do us?’
‘You know my servant followed Huy to his former wife’s house. You know what he reported.’
‘If Heby was seen in the city, where is he? Why hasn’t he shown his face?’
‘Perhaps he’s waiting for something.’
‘My arse! There’s nothing he could do to us. Nothing!’
‘He was a great friend of Senofer and Meten.’
‘I never heard yet of a man who found profit in friendship with snakes.’
‘Your plain-dealing is laudable, but it will lead you into traps,’ said Kamose.
‘Userhet left plain-dealing behind when he joined us,’ sneered Atirma.
Userhet wanted to hit him, to break that pudgy nose, but he held his peace, clasping and unclasping his fists. If he had still been able to give active service, he would never have fallen a prey to this, he thought. He was still only thirty. That was not old. He still had a career ahead of him. If he could find a way of saving it. There was still the protection of General Horemheb. If they could count on it. If it would be enough.