Imhotep

by Jerry Dubs

  While there had been no news from the king, neither had there been word of Imhotep.

  Because Hetephernebti and Tama said he was heading for To-She to find Diane, Prince Teti had debated making a side-trip there to make sure Imhotep was safe. But his father’s orders were to go to Ineb-Hedj, so Prince Teti’s three-boat fleet had sailed past the canal without pause.

  Now they had reached Ineb-Hedj, capital of Men-Nefer, gateway to the delta.

  When they had left Khmunu they were three days behind Imhotep. Prince Teti looked over at his men, sore and tired, but young and strong. They had rowed without break, churning the river’s water so hard the boat seemed to skim above it. Prince Teti wouldn’t have been surprised if they had passed Imhotep on the river.

  Looking at the other boats in the harbor, he spotting one decorated with a golden disk, the emblem of Re. It looked like the boat Hetephernebti had given Imhotep, which meant that Imhotep had come here instead of going to To-She.

  Prince Teti smiled; it would be good to see the strange physician who had captured his father’s trust. He was so full of mystery, yet so open.

  The men had finished stretching and kicking their legs and were gathering their weapons from the boats, when Prince Teti saw a familiar figure running along the water front.

  “That’s Bata,” he heard Meryptah say.

  “Go catch him,” Prince Teti told him. “Find out where Imhotep is.”

  As Meryptah ran off, Prince Teti turned to his men. “Follow Meryptah. I want to find out where Imhotep is and then go see the governor.”

  “Is there a tavern along the way?” one of the men said.

  “Forget a tavern,” another answered. “I want a woman.”

  “You want a bath.”

  Prince Teti listened to their banter, wishing he could join in. This was his first real command and he felt more distant from these men than from his personal bodyguard. These were older, more seasoned men. He knew that if he began to joke with them, their view of him would begin to change and he would become one of them and not their leader.

  And so he listened and tried not to smile.

  Pleasant memories tugged at his mind as Imhotep walked through the familiar wadi toward Saqqara. He had traveled this pathway with Paneb and Ahmes, when he was first learning about their world.

  He was a different person now, walking in a land that he felt was his, although now there was a noose around his neck and a knife at his back.

  They cleared the narrow throat of the wadi and emerged into the clearing by the tomb entrance.

  Four of Djefi’s guards were standing to one side, near the palm branch canopy where Paneb and Ahmes had eaten their lunches. Imhotep saw another figure, sitting in the sand in the shade. Seeing a flash of dull red hair, he realized it was Diane.

  As he turned to start toward her, Siamun yanked on the rope around his neck and nodded toward the tomb entrance. Djefi was sitting just inside the tomb.

  “First Prophet,” Imhotep called. “King Djoser banished you to To-She, not Saqqara.”

  Siamun yanked on the rope again, almost pulling Imhotep off his feet.

  “You forget where you are, Tim,” Djefi called from the shadows. “Look around you. Do you see King Djoser? No. Do you see your precious Hetephernebti? No. Are you in a position to give orders? No, I don’t think so.

  “I am First Prophet of the god Sobek, not some peasant who will take orders from you, or from the king, for that matter.”

  He looked at Paneb. “Where are the drawings?”

  “I took him away from his house before he could get them,” Imhotep said. “I asked him to take me to the governor’s house to get soldiers so we could arrest...” Siamun yanked on the rope again, choking Imhotep before he could finish speaking.

  “Bring him over here,” Djefi said to Siamun.

  “Paneb said you were very interested in one of the false doors in the tomb,” Djefi said to Imhotep. “He said you are an artist.”

  Imhotep waited, feeling the rope tight around his neck.

  Finally Djefi stood and held out his hand. “Give me the rope,” he said to Siamun. “Show me the door you came through,” he told Imhotep. “And tell me how to open it.”

  He yanked on the rope and Imhotep stumbled after him into the tomb.

  With the sun moving lower on the horizon it was nearly too dark to see inside the tomb.

  “A minute, Djefi,” he said. “We need Paneb to shine light in here.”

  He turned back to the entrance, feeling Djefi move to his side. The tension on the rope around his neck decreased as the priest came close.

  He knew that if he turned quickly and grabbed at the rope he could free himself. Looking out into the clearing he saw the four guards standing by Paneb, Ahmes and Diane who were sitting in the sand under the small palm shelter. Siamun was pacing by them.

  His shoulders sagged as he realized that even if he was able to pull from Djefi there was no way he could rescue the others. “Paneb,” he called. “Can you and Ahmes set up the reflectors?”

  Getting to their feet, they went to the sand bank and each picked up one of the large polished brass plates that they used to bounce sunlight into the tomb. Paneb handled his easily, but Ahmes still struggled to lift the two-foot wide circle of metal. The reflecting surface was slightly concave to help focus the light. The edges of the disks had grown thin and sharp from repeated polishing.

  Father and son glanced at the sun and then Paneb pointed to a spot near the northern wall of the wadi. After Ahmes was positioned there, Paneb took a position at the entrance of the tomb. It took only a few second for Ahmes to aim a shaft of light at Paneb, who angled his plate to focus the light into the tomb.

  As Imhotep turned to go back into the tomb he saw a flash of movement along the top of the wadi. He thought it was Brian, but he had caught only a glimpse. He hadn’t seen Brian or Bata since they ran off chasing Siamun.

  Siamun hadn’t bragged about killing them, so Imhotep knew they were out there somewhere.

  Turning back to the tomb, he felt an unreasonable surge of hope.

  He gasped with surprise when he saw the brightly lit interior.

  The walls were fully painted now, the colors vibrant and alive. Along one side of the wall a procession of servants brought food to Kanakht, who was seated in a banquet chair. Three of them were butchering a spotted ox that was lying on its back, while a fourth carried one of its severed forelegs. Others carried woven baskets filled with fruit and grain. Platters of fish and jars of beer and wine were carried toward Kanakht. Still other servants led small deer, captured in the desert.

  On the left wall were scenes of Kanakht enjoying himself hunting. In one he was standing on a small reed boat, a throwing stick raised as the boat nudged into a stand of reeds from which geese were flying.

  Imhotep wondered how Paneb had drawn Kanakht. He knew the vizier had been busy traveling in the months before his death at Kom Ombo. He hadn’t come to visit the tomb to pose, yet the images Paneb had drawn definitely were of Kanakht, a much younger Kanakht, full of life and energy. He had done a wonderful job of capturing Kanakht’s features in the flat style of the time and making them younger.

  A tug on the rope around his neck brought Imhotep up short. In his amazement at Paneb’s work he had forgotten about Djefi.

  “Yes, it’s all very nice,” Djefi said. “But Kanakht won’t be enjoying it, will he? Now, show me the doorway to your land.”

  He pulled on the short rope, leading Imhotep down the hallway.

  Imhotep had no idea what he could do. If he opened the panel and let Djefi through and returned to the clearing without him, there would be no one to stop Siamun and his men from killing all of them. If he refused to help him, then Djefi would have them all killed.

  If the panel opened, if it opened, he might be able to squeeze through it ahead of Djefi, race through the tomb to the spiral stairs and call for help. Then he pictured the sleepy, unarmed guards at the tomb and he k
new they would be no match for Siamun’s ruthlessness.

  “I was here when Diane and Brian came out of the tomb. I saw them with my own eyes. I know there is a pathway from here to your land,” Djefi was saying as they walked.

  “Diane does not know where it is or what secrets you use to open it. Paneb believes there was a secret enchantment contained in the hieroglyphics. You came through here alone, unlike Diane. So I know that you understand.”

  “I will try,” Imhotep answered.

  Djefi followed, watching him closely, holding the rope in his hand. He didn’t think Imhotep would try to attack him; he had a reputation as a healer, not a fighter. Still, Djefi carried a knife in his other hand, ready to protect himself if Imhotep did turn on him.

  Imhotep remembered turning to his right after he came through the panel, but was that after he had turned and pushed the panel shut? He couldn’t remember.

  But he did remember marking the entrance with the toothpick from his Swiss army knife. He wished he had the knife with him now, but it was in his backpack, which he had left behind at Khmunu when he had left there in a rush. His small spray bottle of Mace was there, too.

  When it felt like he had walked far enough into the tomb, he turned back to see how distant the entrance was. Looking back at the wall, he reached above the lintel, feeling for the toothpick.

  There was nothing there.

  He stepped back and studied the drawings, but he couldn’t remember what had been sketched there before. The hieroglyphics at the top looked almost the same as he remembered, but not quite.

  He checked the next panel, and the next. Still no toothpick. He realized he had begun to sweat. He turned to the other wall and felt along the tops of the panel then another panel and another.

  Djefi started to say something, but suddenly the light disappeared, leaving them in darkness, and they heard Diane scream.

  Brian had watched Siamun marching Imhotep and Paneb through the wadi, but he knew that Imhotep would be hurt or killed if he attacked then. Cautiously he had crawled along the top of the sandbank that rose from the clearing at the tomb’s entrance, watching Diane and the guards.

  Peering over the crest of the sand, he saw Diane’s battered face, the scratches on her arms and the rope burn on her neck. He felt adrenaline surge through him, but he tamped it down, waiting for the right moment.

  There were four guards. He recognized one of them as Bakr. If Bakr stopped the other guards from attacking him, then he would have a chance against Siamun.

  A chance was all he wanted.

  He lay back away from the edge and listened. He jerked his head up when he heard Djefi’s squeaky voice coming from the tomb. He hadn’t seen him in the shadows. Are there other guards with Djefi?

  Rolling back to the edge he looked down and watched Imhotep enter the tomb. Siamun pushed Paneb toward the small shelter, where Diane and a boy were being guarded. Then he walked to the edge of the wadi across from Brian and turned his back to piss.

  Now!

  Brian vaulted over the edge and landed soundlessly on the soft sand. Ahmes saw him and gasped quietly, but not quietly enough. The guard nearest to Ahmes looked up and saw Brian as he recovered his balance and began to run across the sand.

  Shouting a warning to Siamun, the guard threw his short spear at Brian.

  Brian saw the throw and stutter stepped to avoid it, but the hesitation gave Siamun time to turn. He saw Brian charging off balance from dodging the spear.

  Ducking low, Siamun pulled his knife in one practiced motion.

  Twisting his body, Brian dropped to his side and slid toward Siamun as if going into second base.

  Siamun rose from his crouch, preparing to jump over Brian, but Brian dug his lead heel in. He let his momentum bring him to his feet and suddenly he was face to face with Siamun.

  Brian twisted his right shoulder forward and slammed an elbow at Siamun’s head. He felt it connect with a satisfying jolt and Siamun fell back against the wall of sand. Brian danced backward, took a quick glance at the other guards and then turned back to see that Siamun was still conscious and had held on to his knife.

  The Egyptian pushed himself away from the wall, shaking his head to clear it. Blood trickled from his lip.

  They began to circle each other warily. Out of the corner of his eye, Brian saw two of the guards move away from the palm shelter to get behind him. He heard Diane shout at Bakr to help him.

  “If you help him, you will die next,” Siamun said to Bakr without looking over at him.

  Siamun made occasional feints with his knife as they circled each other.

  Brian knew he couldn’t continue this; sooner or later the other guards would intervene. He felt them circling behind him, waiting for Siamun to give the signal.

  As Brian twitched his head to find the other guards Siamun took a step toward him, tossing the knife to his other hand as he lunged, swiping with it as Brian dodged. He heard Diane shout a warning as the two guards charged from behind. Brian twisted away from them, but felt his feet tangle with the shaft of a spear one of them had poked at his feet. He fell and Siamun leaped on him, driving a knee into Brian’s stomach.

  Brian felt Siamun’s rough hand grab his throat and the tip of his knife press against his stomach. He tried to roll away, but Siamun’s iron grip tightened on his throat and he felt the knife cut into his skin.

  He looked to his left and saw that one of the guards who had been circling behind him had gone to stand beside Paneb, the other was standing by Ahmes who was only a few feet away, his eyes wide with fear. Across the clearing he saw Bakr and another guard watching over Diane who had pushed herself up into a crouch.

  Diane felt a hand push down on her shoulder as she raised herself to her feet. Looking back she saw the strange guard restraining her. Then Bakr reached over and pulled the man’s arm away. He nodded to Diane.

  She grabbed the handle of Paneb’s stone hammer that was sticking up from the sand near her feet. Gripping it she charged across the sand, dragging the heavy hammer with both hands.

  Siamun panted and laughed.

  “I tried to kill you twice before. This time, I will cut your body into pieces as Seth did to Osiris. But there will be no gathering of your parts. This will be a final death.”

  Brian saw Diane moving out of corner of his eyes, but he kept his face turned toward Siamun so he wouldn’t look Diane’s way. He felt the tip of the knife cut into his stomach.

  “Fahk ou,” he shouted at Siamun and then he arched his back, pushing his stomach toward the blade, surprising Siamun as the knife plunged deep into Brian’s stomach.

  With a desperate effort Brian brought his hand up to hit the inside of Siamun’s arm that held his throat. He whipped his head forward hard at the same time. His forehead slammed against Siamun’s nose and Brian heard a satisfying crunch as Siamun’s blood began to gush from his broken nose and fall on Brian’s chest.

  Through the sharp, surprising pain, Siamun heard Diane start to scream as she swung the hammer with a two-handed tennis backhand.

  He turned his bloody face toward the scream as Diane swung the hammer forward, turning her shoulders and keeping her eyes on his face. Siamun tried to roll away, but Brian held his arms in a death grip.

  Siamun’s eyes grew large with fear as the stone hammer sliced through the air in front of him. There was a crackling sound as it hit his face, driving his broken nose deep into his skull and splattering teeth down his throat and across the clearing.

  His lifeless body jerked away from the blow and fell away from Brian, landing heavily in the sand.

  The two guards who had been guarding Ahmes and Paneb rushed toward Diane, but Bakr shouted at them to stop. Looking at him they saw him pointing to the rim of the sand bank where Prince Teti and his soldiers were standing.

  The rope slipped from Djefi's hand as Imhotep ran to the tomb entrance. He stopped there in shock at what he saw in the clearing.

  Siamun’s body, his face crushed in
to his skull, lay on the sand in a puddle of blood. Brian was lying nearby, a pool of blood gathering under his belly where the hilt of Siamun’s knife wobbled in the air. Diane knelt beside him weeping. Two of the guards stood near her, the others stood with Ahmes under the canopy. No one was speaking.

  Sensing other people, Imhotep looked up at the rim of the clearing to see Prince Teti and his men. He was about to talk to them when he felt a knife prick against his side and the rope drew tight around his neck.

  “Tell Prince Teti that you and I must return to the tomb,” Djefi said to Imhotep, pressing the knife against him.

  “He doesn’t have to speak, Djefi. I have young ears. I can hear you. Release him now,” Prince Teti called.

  “So you can kill me?” Djefi squeaked. He turned Imhotep toward Prince Teti, using him as a shield. With his back turned, he didn’t see Brian drag himself across the sand, his eyes full of pain, but focused on the sharp edged reflecting disk that Ahmes had dropped.

  The men who were at the tomb that day would boast about what they had witnessed, telling the story in the hushed voice one uses when talking about the gods.

  They would say that they saw the god Ipy, magical protector of The Two Lands, slain and lifeless, a knife stuck in his gut. Yet he brought himself back to life. Moving slowly as a shadow, the god crawled behind the evil priest Djefi and with a sweep of his mighty arm, hurled the sun at the priest. The sun sliced into the priest’s fat back and then flew away, returning to the sky.

  And as the evil priest fell to the sand, unable to control his now lifeless legs, the god Ipy uttered a long, howling roar and collapsed, his great ka leaving his lifeless body for the green fields of Khert-Neter.

  Imhotep felt a sudden yank on the rope around his neck. He fell backwards and landed on Djefi who was surprised to find himself abruptly lying on his side in the sand. Rolling away from the fat priest, Imhotep saw a brass reflecting disk roll through the sand leaving a trail of blood.