Imhotep

by Jerry Dubs

  Tim glanced at the doorway.

  “I shouldn’t stay here much longer. Look, I have a friend, her name is Meryt. I’ll ask her to figure out how we can talk again and how to get a message to you. Meanwhile, try to talk to Diane, tell her what I told you about where we are, I mean in the past. If you can figure out how to get away from here, we’ll get to Ineb-Hedj, that’s the town near the tomb we came through, and we’ll get back to our time.

  “Djefi isn’t a problem, but Siamun is,” Brian said.

  “You said his name before. Who is Siamun?”

  “He’s like Djefi’s enforcer. He’s a heartless bastard. He left me and an old man out in the desert to die. The old man had a broken leg.”

  “I heard a little about what happened. Neswy is telling people that you have the strength of a god, that you carried him through the desert without feeling the heat, that you brought down a charging antelope with the wave of your hand.”

  “I felt the heat. Believe me. Is Neswy OK?”

  “I guess. He's certainly able to talk.”

  Brian nodded. “Good.”

  Tim shook his hand as the match burned close to his fingers. The small flame went out leaving them again in total darkness.

  “Look, I really have to go, Brian. Somebody will talk to you and set up a time for us to meet again, maybe in two days after this ceremony is over. Meanwhile, try to talk to Diane, OK?”

  Brian nodded. “Yeah, I’ll try to find her, maybe Pahket will help me. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  Tim reached over and gripped Brian’s shoulder.

  “We’ll get out of this. Djefi may be a bad guy, but I’ve made some friends. We’ll be OK.”

  “Tim, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks, Tim. I just need a little rest and I’ll be ready. You’re right, we’ll be OK.”

  Tim stayed in Hetephernebti’s camp the next day, passing the time restlessly, waiting for Meryt to return, hoping for news about Diane or Brian.

  In the middle of the afternoon he saw some people run past the camp toward the village. There was a sense of excitement in the air. Tim wanted to follow, to find out what was happening, but now that he had made contact with Brian he felt a responsibility toward him and Diane. He didn’t want to make things difficult for them by being caught by this Siamun.

  When Meryt returned she was bubbling with excitement.

  “Perhaps you are not a netjer,” she teased, “but Brian must be.”

  “What happened?”

  “You know that he saved the old man, well, now he has saved a child.”

  The story of Brian's heroic rescue of Neswy had continued to spread through the village, gaining more details with each retelling. Brian now had the power to chase away by merely staring at them, the ability to fly across impassable dunes and the courage to stare down desert lions.

  “They say that he arrived with Neswy on his back and waited patiently for the villagers to help him. Then, although he could hardly stand, he began to run so fast, faster than anyone had ever seen anyone run. They say Sobek was calling him to the temple. But now, after today, they think he is a god, greater than Sobek.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was standing by the lake, under a tree. It’s a place they say he often stands, just looking over the water. Some children were playing near the water. Suddenly a crocodile, some say it was Sobek himself, others say that no, it was just a crocodile, but even so.

  “The crocodile stood up on its legs. When they do that, Tim, they can run very fast. It started to run at one little girl, her name is Kiya. Brian saw this, but even as fast as he can run, he could not get to Kiya before the crocodile.

  “Then he raised his arm over his head, swung it forward and at the crocodile, so fast, his arm was a blur. This is what people say, Netjer Tim.

  “Suddenly the crocodile stopped. It plopped on its belly, oomph, and it didn’t move. Kiya’s mother ran up and picked up the little girl. Brian went back to looking over the lake.

  “How could he do this, Netjer Tim, if he is not a god. He just points at things and they stop? How? Can you do this, also?”

  Tim shook his head. He had suspected when he first saw Brian from the way that he carried himself that he was an athlete. He could be a baseball pitcher. If he could throw a rock a hundred miles an hour, it could stun a crocodile. That would explain it, but still, Tim thought, that was an incredible throw. He found himself feeling proud of Brian.

  If the people think he’s a god, it might also give him some protection from Siamun.

  “When evil Set defeated Osiris, he cut the god into pieces and scattered them across the Two Lands. Isis, the beautiful wife of Osiris was beyond despair but she was also devoted beyond understanding. She refused to believe that her immortal love was lost. She traveled for many years, gathering together the pieces of her beloved.

  “She found all the parts of Osiris that his evil uncle had spread across the world. Well, not all the parts. She could not find his tongue.

  “She searched, Netjer Tim, she searched everywhere. How can you not know this story?

  “Seeing the great devotion of the beautiful Isis and seeing that she was beginning to fear that she would never find all of her beloved, a hippopotamus told her what had happened.

  “Sobek, who has a great appetite and will eat everything that comes before him, had swallowed the tongue of Osiris by accident. He would never have done it on purpose, what god would? But he had, and now he feared what Isis would do. And well he should.

  “Do you know what happened, Netjer Tim? I think you do. I think you just want to hear the story from my beautiful lips? Are my lips not beautiful? Yes?

  “Isis stalked Sobek. She was fearless and she was powerful.

  “She caught him and she pried open his massive, toothy jaws and she forced him to disgorge the tongue of her beloved. Now Isis had recovered all of her husband. But what of Sobek, that great, sullen god? He had known of the pain Isis felt. He had known she was searching for the tongue that he had swallowed. And he had kept it secret.

  “And so Isis had her revenge. She cut the tongue from Sobek.”

  Tim and Meryt were alone, sitting in the shade of the orchard, away from Hetephernebti’s encampment and away from the villagers at To-She. It was the day after Brian’s miraculous rescue of the child and they had gone there to be alone to talk about how he would meet again with Brian and to find out what Meryt had learned about Diane.

  She had taken his hand as she led him along a worn path and then off onto a winding trail that ended at the edge of the orchard. Tim had carried a small sack that held some bread and a jar of beer. They were sitting on the soft grass, the jar of beer beside them, the sack curled open to show some of the bread cakes.

  “So Djefi will cut out the tongue of a crocodile tomorrow?” he asked.

  “No, Netjer Tim,” she shook her head and rested a small hand on his leg. “That is what happened before the ceremony. I mean, no one cuts out a crocodile’s tongue. They may have done that long ago, but now we don’t do that. We celebrate what happened after the cutting out of Sobek’s tongue.”

  They were both aware of her hand on his leg. She moved her fingers slowly, touching the smoothness of the skin beneath her hand. He reached down and casually took her hand in his, removing it from his thigh.

  “So what does happen?” he asked through a suddenly thick throat.

  “Well, Sobek became very upset. He had lost his tongue after all. And he likes to eat more than anything. He grew quiet and sulky, not like Sobek at all. He didn’t bellow and thrash in the water, he didn’t mount the young maiden crocodiles and ride them, he didn’t chase the young males away from his lake. He just floated in the dirty water near the edge of the lake and brooded.

  “Then a young crocodile was chosen to help Sobek. He was sent to find the Master of Flavors. They thought that if something so tasty and appetizing could be brought to Sobek, perhaps his tongue would
regrow and he would once again be the great and powerful god Sobek.

  “Oh,” she jerked her hand away from his and covered her mouth, “I forgot part. They couldn’t sew his old tongue back on because Isis had it ground up into little pieces. She is a very beautiful goddess and very devoted to Osiris, but very vengeful.”

  Meryt stretched and then smoothly twisted to lie on her back, resting her head on Tim’s lap. She looked up at him and smiled.

  “So the Master of Flavors rode on the back of the young crocodile and came to the place where Sobek was. He brought with him a bag filled with the freshest herbs and the most unusual and tasty spices.

  “He used coriander and mint and sesame and parsley to flavor a roasted leg of lamb. The aroma from the meat was so strong and so delicious that Sobek’s eyes began to water, perhaps in regret, perhaps in longing. But the magic of the food was so great that his tongue began to grow back. Who could resist such a treat?

  “Then the Master of Flavor prepared a sea bass and then a pigeon. Each of them were flavored exactly how they should be flavored. You will see tomorrow. And with each bite, with each inhalation of the fragrance of the food, Sobek’s tongue grew and grew.”

  She nestled her head against his lap and reached up with a slim arm to touch his face.

  “Why do you not desire me, Netjer Tim? Am I displeasing to you?”

  Tim shook his head, unable to speak. He put a hand on her bare shoulder, careful to avoid brushing against her breasts. He softly squeezed her shoulder and then helped her to sit up.

  “Meryt,” he said softly, “you are very beautiful, very pleasing.”

  “Oh,” she said. “You look so sad, Netjer Tim. I have upset you.” She started to rise.

  Quickly he reached out and held her wrist. “No, stay, Meryt. You haven’t upset me. You have been only good to me.”

  She settled back in the grass beside him and looked at him expectantly

  “Are you like Isis? Are you devoted to some goddess?”

  He looked away and felt his eyes brim with tears. Suddenly he found himself crying, quietly and fully.

  Meryt slid close to him and put her arms around him, drawing him to her to comfort him.

  After a few moments, he sighed deeply and using the heels of his hands, wiped his eyes dry.

  “A long time ago, there was a woman named Addy.” He felt strange saying her name aloud to another woman, as if the words he was about to say would form an epilogue to the love he and Addy had created.

  “We were together for only a little while, but we knew it was just the beginning of a long life together. Our lives were stretched out before us and we knew that wherever we went, whatever we did, we would have each other. And then, she died.”

  “Could you not bring her back, Nejter Tim, like Osiris and Isis?”

  He shook his head. Meryt was so innocent and trusting, so filled with the beliefs of her time. It was part of why he cared for her so much.

  “There was an accident. I wasn’t there. Other people were there, but they didn’t help. They didn’t even call for help, they just turned away, afraid to get involved.” As he spoke, he remembered the weeks after her death as he badgered the police for information and recklessly haunted the place she had died.

  The highway exit Addy normally took to get to the restaurant where her friend was stranded was closed by an overturned tractor-trailer. So she entered the city a few blocks away, driving through a part of town she normally would have avoided.

  A week earlier in that neighborhood a fourteen-year-old boy who called himself Master Nation had decided to increase his profits by heavily cutting some coke he was selling. Word got around that his product didn’t deliver. His dealer immediately knew what had happened. Deciding that his reputation had been damaged, he told Master Nation to give up the extra profit he had made. The boy had refused.

  Addy was sitting in her car at a stop light when the dealer drove by and emptied the clip of an automatic pistol at Master Nation before speeding away. The boy managed to get off one shot in return before he fell. That bullet hit Addy in the shoulder and ripped through the subclavian artery, a medical term he never would forget.

  She went into shock.

  There were people on the street and in the houses who had seen or heard the shooting, but no one came near her car. All it would have taken, he learned later, was one person to push against the spurting wound, one person willing to reach through the shattered window.

  She had quietly bled to death, growing colder and weaker with each beat of her heart.

  “She died alone, away from me,” he told Meryt. “I couldn’t help her and now,” he drew in a deep breath, “she is gone from my life forever.”

  He was relieved that Meryt didn’t say anything in response. She accepted his pain and his loss without trying to minimize it. After a moment, he sat up, pulling himself away from her. She looked at him, her expression a mixture of sadness and love.

  Opening his arms, he drew her to him and held her, his arms around her smooth, soft back, her arms encircling and embracing him.

  “They think he’s a god,” Kanakht told Djefi. “Who is he, where did he come from? What is he? Why wasn’t I told about him?”

  Djefi squirmed in his chair. He wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a direct, threatening manner. This was To-She, he was supposed to be in charge here. But Kanakht was vizier, second only to King Djoser, so Djefi tried to compose himself. He knew that his voice would be squeaky if he didn’t calm himself before he spoke.

  Kanakht hadn’t been at Iunu, so he hadn’t seen Diane. Djefi didn’t know if he should keep her presence a secret; he didn’t even know why he wanted to, only that he had found in the past that it was good to know things that others didn’t.

  “We haven’t talked since he arrived.”

  “No, Djefi, we talked just yesterday.”

  “But Hetephernebti arrived and then he broke into the chamber.”

  “Yes, Djefi, I was there,” Kanakht said. He was suddenly tired, tired of the energy it took to deal with Djefi without losing his temper, tired of the traveling he knew was ahead to keep his plan moving toward its fulfillment.

  “I found him in the desert a few weeks ago. He didn't speak our language and seemed confused. I brought him back here and gave him shelter. Siamun took him hunting and they got separated. I thought he was lost in the desert until he arrived yesterday.” Djefi was gaining strength now, bolstered by the logic of his half-truths.

  “I didn’t see any reason to trouble you about a lost stranger.”

  Kanakht paced slowly in front of Djefi. He knew the priest was hiding something, everyone always did. He tried to decide if it mattered, if investigating this Brian was worth the effort. Not today, he thought

  “First Prophet, you and I and Waja-Hur, we each have a role, a destiny. The fate of the Two Lands is something we cannot leave to chance. You understand, don’t you?”

  Djefi nodded his head slightly. It would be unseemly to act too eager, he thought.

  “Yes,” Kanakht continued. “As you know, King Djoser has been preoccupied with his self-elevation to godliness. However, you will be dedicating a new temple at Kom Ombo. That is close enough to Waset that Djoser must attend. I’ll make sure of it. It would be too great an affront if he didn’t.

  “Now, First Prophet, I wonder how the mighty Sobek, Rager of the River, will treat a man who is pretending to be a god. Because, Djefi, this is the heart of the matter. Djoser has offended the gods. We know this because the gods have not sent the great flood ever since Djoser declared himself a god.

  “I am just a man, you are just a man, we know that. We know that we will enjoy eternal life in Khert-Neter. But now, Djefi, now we are just men, mortal men. So is Djoser, despite his pronouncements.

  “So, how will Sobek welcome this impostor?”

  Djefi shook his head without thinking.

  “No, Djefi.” Kanahkt came closer, so close that Djefi could smell the onion
s the vizier had eaten at breakfast. “That will not be good enough, Djefi. Not good enough,” he hissed. “We will not let events rule us, Djefi. We will rule them.

  “The Two Lands are not held together by chance. We are not playing games, Djefi,” he rounded on the priest. “Djoser will be at your dedication. You have an opportunity to let Sobek show the Two Lands what the gods think of Djoser’s posing. You will not let it pass.”

  If you want Djoser dead, just kill him, Djefi thought. But Djoser would have bodyguards, of course. Did Kanakht expect the crocodile to attack and devour the king on the spot? How was he supposed to make that happen? Djefi’s mind was spinning.

  He wanted to talk to Yunet. They had talked a little on the trip to Iunu, but she had been preoccupied with Diane, assuring Djefi that even if the red-haired woman wasn’t a goddess she was something so unusual that she had to be protected.

  Now that he thought of it, Yunet had warned him about Brian. She had said Diane was afraid of him, that he was dangerous.

  I shouldn’t have sent Siamun to Kom Ombo, Djefi thought. He had needed someone to make sure the temple grounds would be prepared for the dedication and no one motivated people like Siamun, so Djefi had sent him south to oversee the work.

  He wondered suddenly if he should tell Kanakht about the other stranger, the one who had approached Diane at Iunu. But no, he caught himself. If I do that, then I have to tell him about Diane and then explain why I didn’t mention her before.

  He sighed. So much to remember.

  “You can sigh all you want, Djefi, but there is work to be done. After Djoser is gone and the balance is restored to Kemet, then there will be time to return to the rhythms of the Two Lands. Everything will return to normal. But first, Djefi, first there is work to be done.”

  “Yes,” Djefi answered.

  “Now, this Brian. Get rid of him. Taking him into the desert didn’t kill him. Find some other way. I don’t like strangers in the Two Lands and I especially don’t like strangers here during this time of unrest.”