by Jerry Dubs
Tim had stayed and worked with Paneb for a few days, asking questions about the artwork, the meanings behind the symbols. He had been a quick student, hampered only by his inability to speak Egyptian. But in a few days that had improved.
Although he tried to hide it, Tim had been especially interested in one of the false doors. Paneb hadn’t given away that he noticed Tim’s interest, but after he had returned from the Festival of Re in His Barge, Paneb had studied the false door closely.
The invocation above the door panel was different. Paneb had shaken his head, trying to remember if the priest who drew them had said anything about them being different.
As he studied them, the light entering the tomb from the brass reflecting disks shifted and a thin echo of the light bounced away from something above the lintel. Reaching up he came away with a smooth tiny stick that had been wedged in a crack between the stones. With a thrill, Paneb guessed that the gods had passed through this doorway and marked it with the smooth stick.
He had looked more closely at the false doorway’s inscription. He was sure it looked different than in previous tombs. He would ask the priest when he returned. Until then he would leave these inscriptions unpainted.
Now Paneb stood before Djefi outside the tomb, trying to control his fear. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ahmes standing uncomfortably beside the man who had brought them out to the tomb. The man’s hand was resting on the back of Ahmes’ neck. From the way his stepson was squirming, Paneb knew the man was gripping Ahmes’ neck tightly.
“Paneb,” Djefi said, “You remember the last time we spoke. The two strangers emerged from the tomb.”
“Yes, First Prophet,” he answered.
“Excellent. And then a third came out.”
“Yes, First Prophet.”
“They came from another land.”
“Yes, First Prophet.”
“Show me how they got here.”
Paneb pointed to the tomb entrance. “Through there,” he said. He spun around when he heard a sudden smacking sound and a yelp. Ahmes was holding the side of his face. The man beside him was smirking.
“I was here when they walked out of the tomb, Paneb,” Djefi said, his squeaky voice rising as he became impatient. “I want to know how they got into the tomb.” He snapped his fingers in front of Paneb’s face to draw his attention away from Ahmes and Siamun.
“Don’t hurt him,” Paneb pleaded. “He hasn’t done anything.”
Djefi nodded at Siamun who hit Ahmes again, harder this time.
“You don’t understand, do you? I ask the questions. I give the orders,” Djefi told Paneb.
Paneb was not used to being treated this way. He was chief artist of the necropolis, and he had never treated the men who worked for him with such arrogance and disrespect.
“I will answer your questions,” he told Djefi. “But please, First Prophet, do not hurt my son.”
“Then answer better. How did they arrive here in The Two Lands?”
Paneb turned to the tomb entrance. “I will show you what I know,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at Ahmes as he entered the tomb.
Together Paneb and Djefi walked down the hallway, the light failing as they went farther. Paneb stopped in front of the false door. “I believe they came through here,” he said, pointing to a false door in the tomb wall.
“How?”
Paneb shook his head. “I do not know, First Prophet.”
Djefi studied Paneb. There was something the man wasn’t saying. He was sure. “You know something,” he said. He turned and walked toward the tomb entrance.
“Wait!” Paneb shouted.
Djefi turned and waddled back to him, coming so close, the artist could smell the stink of the priest’s own fear.
“Do not waste my time, Paneb. If you hold your son’s life dear, you will not waste my time.”
Paneb gulped and nodded. “I am sorry, First Prophet. I truly do not know how they came through this tomb,” he said, and then added quickly as Djefi’s eyes grew small, “but I will tell you everything I know and perhaps you can understand what I do not.
“When the last god came through. . .”
“They are not gods!” Djefi interrupted.
“Yes, First Prophet. When the last one came through, he stayed with me a few days. He also is an artist. I showed him the drawings and the plans for the tomb. He had a book with a very smooth papyrus that he used to make his drawings. They were wonderful, so life-like that they seemed to float over the pages. There was one. . .”
He stopped as Djefi snapped his fingers in front of his face. “I don’t care about his drawings,” he said. “Tell me about this door.”
“Yes, First Prophet. Understand that I am chief artist, not a priest. I am responsible for the paintings, the sky, and the representations of the gods. Sobek, for example. A priest trained at the temple of Thoth, by, oh, I can’t remember his name, the very old priest.”
Djefi felt a chill, as if Waja-Hur’s ka had entered the tomb with them. He snapped his fingers at the artist again. “The door, the door,” he said.
“Yes, First Prophet,” Paneb said nervously. He was trying to tell the priest everything he knew, to show that he was cooperating, that there was no reason to hurt Ahmes.
“The paintings on the false door show Hathor welcoming Kanakht into Khert-Neter. I drew those,” he said pointing to the paintings that were barely visible this far into the tomb. “The old priest drew the hieroglyphics on the lintel above it.” He pointed to the symbols. “I painted them black, following his outlines. They were not yet painted when the three gods, I mean three strangers came through. If they indeed came through here.”
Djefi was so exasperated his voice came out as a tiny squeak. “That is all you can tell me. They are painted now, but then they weren’t? That is meaningless!”
Paneb almost touched the fat priest, trying to stop him from turning. Djefi looked at the man’s outstretched hand in distaste. Paneb slowly withdrew it and bowed his head. “No, First Prophet. What I mean to tell you is that they are different now.
“I have painted other tombs and I have never seen the inscription written the way it was here. I pointed it out to the old priest when he came to check on the progress, before I painted them, of course. He shook his head and said he didn’t know how those symbols came to be on the wall. Even though he had drawn them himself! I swear. He rubbed them out and drew in the proper symbols - the ones that are on the wall now.”
Djefi studied the symbols closely. He had never learned to read them, that’s what scribes were for. There was a secret here, he thought. Some powerful incantation, some magic that had made this false door real and opened it to a different world.
He needed to get to that world, to escape this one where the king was bound to kill him.
“What did the other inscription say?” Djefi asked.
“I do not know, First Prophet. I only paint over the lines the priest draws. I noticed that they looked different and in a different order, but I didn’t know their meaning.”
Djefi wanted to pound his fists against the wall. He was so close. His escape was just on the other side of this stone wall. He knew it. Only a few inches of stone stood between his certain death and freedom.
He had to get through it.
“Do you remember what the symbols looked like? Can you paint them over these?”
Paneb nodded. “I can try. I have sketches of all the symbols at my home. I keep them so I can compare them to what is drawn on the tombs. Sometimes the priests get sloppy in the drawing, a hand turned so instead of this way. A head at the wrong tilt. These are little things, but they are important. They are the symbols of eternal life and they . . .” He stopped as Djefi snapped his fingers at his face again.
“Siamun will take you back to your home. Get the drawings and return here. You will recreate the inscriptions for me.”
“Ahmes?”
“He will stay here, Paneb. It will help
you to focus on your work if you know Ahmes is under my protection.”
At the Tomb of Kanakht
Imhotep ran through the small courtyard to Taki, who looked pale and worried. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
He felt a wave of relief as she shook her head. “No, Lord Tim,” she said, addressing him as she had so many months ago when he was a guest in her home.
Imhotep embraced her and then held her at arm’s length. “You look troubled,” he said. “Are the girls healthy? Has little Hapu been playing with scorpions again?” he asked with a smile.
As she shook her head, Imhotep saw her eyes stray past him to look at Brian and Bata.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “These are my friends. Brian is one of my countrymen and Bata is a friend I’ve made here.”
Taki hugged each of them and then offered them food.
“No, Taki, not now, thank you. I’ve brought Brian here to show him the tomb where I met your husband. Is Paneb here?”
“He is out at the site. He and Ahmes. A man came by unexpectedly and told him First Prophet Djefi was there and needed to see him.” She looked out at the courtyard gate as she spoke and missed Imhotep’s frown.
“He was rude,” she said.
“He stood at the gate over there and just shouted for Paneb to come with him. What has happened to manners? And he looked so rough.”
“Rough?” Imhotep said.
She squinted as she remembered. “He was dirty, but perhaps it was only because he was working. But there was something about his face.”
“His ear?” Imhotep prompted.
“It was Siamun,” Neswy said. “He is here.”
“Siamun?” Taki repeated.
She turned to Imhotep. “Do you know him?”
“I haven’t met him, but I know who he is,” Imhotep said, trying to keep the concern from his voice. He didn’t want to worry Taki. “When did they leave?” he asked.
“It was just after noon. I was ill last night and Paneb stayed with me this morning. He was eager to go to the tomb, but he stayed until he was sure I was feeling better. Then this man came by, so they left.”
Imhotep looked up at the sky. The sun was midway to the western horizon; there were probably four hours of daylight left.
“Brian,” he said, “what do you think? We can be there in less than an hour. If Siamun is there, it’s possible he caught up with Diane and Yunet and they will be there, too.” He left unspoken his fears that Siamun could have found them and killed them.
“We ood oh,” he said, nodding his head toward the street.
Bata shook his head. “We should get help. If Djefi is here, then he has decided to live outside the law. Your word as vizier will carry no weight.”
“Lord Tim, what has happened?” Taki asked, picking up on the concern in their voices. “Who are Diane and Yunet and Siamun? Are Paneb and Ahmes in danger?”
Imhotep shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he told her. “Siamun is trying to find Diane, she came here with Brian. Did Siamun say anything about a woman?”
Taki started to answer and then pointed toward the gate that opened between the head-high walls that surrounded the courtyard. “We can ask him,” she said. “There they are now.”
They all turned to look toward the gate. Brian recognized Paneb as the man who had drawn the camel outlines in the sand outside the tomb so long ago. He also recognized the man who was standing just behind him.
“Iamun!” he shouted and began to run across the courtyard.
Siamun was shocked to see Brian, alive and looking leaner and stronger than before. He had a brief thought of staying and finally killing him, but then he saw Bata draw his knife and join the chase with Brian.
Turning, Siamun ran back down the street as Brian reached the gate.
Paneb grabbed at Brian as he pushed past him, trying to stop him. “No, stop, they have Ahmes,” he said.
Brian jerked away from him, his mind filled only with catching Siamun. When he looked back up the street, he saw Siamun turn onto a side path. Quickly he ran after him. Bata pushed through the gate a second later and raced after Brian.
Worried that Ahmes would be in danger if Siamun were hurt, Paneb turned to join in the chase when he felt a hand grip his arm.
“Paneb,” Imhotep said. “You will just endanger yourself if you chase them. Tell me what Djefi is doing at the tomb.”
Paneb looked at Imhotep. He had changed so much from the young man who had emerged from the tomb, uncertain where he was, drowning in an unnamed sorrow, dressed in strange clothes and unable to talk the language of The Two Lands.
Now he spoke with confidence and authority, he was wearing a beautiful linen kilt its hem embroidered with the spread wings of a vulture, divine protector of the king. A wide beaded strand wrapped around his neck. With wonder, Paneb recognized it as a menat.
Imhotep saw the confusion in his friend’s eyes.
“We have a lot to talk about, Paneb.” He touched his fingers to the beaded strands of the menat. “Life has been very good to me here,” he said with a smile. Then he looked past Paneb to watch Bata turn down the alley where Siamun and Brian had run. He knew that he couldn’t catch them and that he wouldn’t be able to stop Brian from trying to kill Siamun even if he did reach them in time. After what Brian had suffered at Siamun’s hands, he wasn’t sure he would try to stop him.
He looked back at Paneb and gave him a tight smile.
“You said something about Ahmes?”
After hearing what had happened at the tomb, Imhotep said, “I speak with King Djoser’s authority, Paneb. Take me to the governor’s home and I will ask him for help. Then we can go to the tomb. Don’t worry,” he said, resting a hand on Paneb’s arm. “Ahmes will be safe.”
Paneb nodded agreement, although he knew he wouldn’t relax until they had secured help from the governor. He hugged Taki good-by and led Imhotep through the town toward the governor’s home, which overlooked the river.
They walked quickly, not noticing the man who was watching them from the shadows of the alley beside Paneb’s house. As they crossed the dirt street, Siamun, who had doubled back after losing Brian and Bata, stepped out of the shadows. He jogged into a parallel alleyway and ran to get ahead of them.
Brian stood at the edge of town, staring down the path that led into the desert. He heard Bata’s heavy breathing as the guard joined him.
He knew it was useless to try to talk to Bata. No one but Imhotep understood his slurred English. He waited until Bata caught his breath, then he pointed into the desert and shrugged.
“He was going this way, I know,” Bata said. He looked around at the edge of the village. There were some huts here, marking the edge of the village’s intrusion into the desert. There were a few palm trees, but no tethered animals or pens of geese.
“We’ve lost him. He must be hiding someplace back in the village, waiting for us to leave.”
Brian shook his head. He knelt in the sand and made a furrow, then made his fingers walk through it.
“Yes, of course,” Bata said. “The desert here isn’t flat. If the path ahead leads into a wadi, then Siamun could be there out of sight.” He looked at Brian. “We should wait for Imhotep. Then we can go to the governor and get more help.”
Brian shook his head, thinking of Diane. He patted his chest and pointed into the desert, his face set with determination. He touched Bata’s chest and pointed back to town.
Bata had been ordered to guard Imhotep, not Brian. He looked at the giant man and nodded his head.
“I will look for Imhotep and find help from the governor, as we had planned. You should come with me, but you won’t.” He squeezed Brian’s tight bicep. “Be careful in the desert.”
Brian nodded, but he was thinking that it was Siamun who would need to be careful.
Bata hadn’t jogged far when he heard Imhotep’s voice.
He stopped and ducked between two buildings as he realized that Imhotep should not
be coming this way, toward the desert. Imhotep had planned to ask Paneb to take him to the governor and seek help. It was impossible for him to have gone to the river and returned this far already.
Bata heard a strange man’s voice say “Shut up.”
“You should listen to me, Siamun,” Imhotep said. “The king knows Djefi was part of the plot, he’s just letting him live to draw out the other conspirators. If you go with me to the governor, then I can . . .”
“I said, ‘shut up!’ “ Siamun growled. He slapped the back of Imhotep’s head.
Imhotep kept his composure. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Siamun. I can help you. Turn around, take us to the governor.”
There was another slap.
They walked past Bata’s hiding place. Siamun had tied a rope around each of their necks and was walking close behind them, holding the ropes in one hand. His other hand held a knife pressed against Imhotep’s back.
Bata knew that if he tried to surprise him, Siamun would simply pull on the ropes and as Imhotep fell back to relieve the pressure, Siamun could stab him. There would be no way for Bata to stop it. Even if he were able to throw his knife, it wouldn’t guarantee Imhotep’s safety.
He waited until they disappeared past him, then he took to the street and ran as fast as he could toward the river. Once he reached it, he would find the governor’s house and get help.
Prince Teti stepped on shore and stretched. He turned and watched as the other two boats came to a stop and the king’s guards disembarked, the men swinging their arms and twisting their aching backs.
After learning about Waja-Hur’s murder at Khmunu, Prince Teti had continued down river, putting in at each town to see if King Djoser had sent any change of orders. When there had been no word at Tehna, the men had bent harder at the oars, pulling with the current, racing each other as they flew down the river. There was no word at Medum nor at Tarchan, so they had pulled even harder, racing for Ineb-Hedj, where the king surely would have sent a message.