Maat frowned, “This readiness to kill is dangerous in you—especially combined with a healer’s skills. You claim to feel justified in your action, yet I sense the guilt within you. Guilt combined with the ability to provide justification for killing is very dangerous. How long would it take to cross the boundary between healing and killing—first, perhaps, for mercy but, later… ?”
Jenny heard her own death sentence in those words. She wanted to pretend she didn’t understand, but she understood all too well. She’d helped her father patch up rough men, bad men, men who would doubtless go out once they were strong, and harm the weak. She’d wondered even then at the wisdom of helping such men, and had asked Papa why he did it, but he’d only said, “The Hippocratic Oath forbids doing harm, Genevieve,” and she’d known that for him harm extended even to inaction.
Was she as good a woman as Pierre Benet had been a good man? She doubted it, and knew in her own doubt that she understood why Maat would condemn her, why she would fail in any appeal.
There were no more questions. Neferankhotep looked stern and slightly sad. Maat seemed pale and ill. The Forty-Two Judges muttered to each other, while Thoth took notes and Anubis stood ready. Only Ammit looked pleased, and Jenny could hardly blame her.
“Step onto the scales, Genevieve Benet,” Neferankhotep said, “and be weighed against Maat.”
Almost blindly, Jenny turned to obey. Either she’d gotten smaller or the scales had gotten larger, because she had no trouble fitting into the polished bronze pan. Maat fluttered across the room, settling into the other pan. Jenny rose slightly, but still the level of her side of the scales remained fair heavier than Maat. “Anubis,” Neferankhotep said, “Genevieve Benet has been weighed against Maat and found wanting. Treat her according to our ancient protocols.”
Anubis stepped forward, and Jenny pressed her lips together, determined at least not to scream. The jackal-headed god laid a cool, almost leathery hand on her shoulder, pulling Jenny to her feet. Ammit snapped her jaws eagerly, and the Forty-Two Judges crowded forward to better see the execution.
A single mew halted the purposeful progress. Anubis stopped, his hand still resting on Jenny’s shoulder. Mozelle leapt up onto Neferankhotep’s lap.
The pharaoh lifted the kitten in his wide green hands, and held her before his face. He appeared to be listening to whatever it was the kitten told him with tiny mews and lashings of her small, bristly tail. He listened, and then he set the kitten on the floor where she ran to Jenny and clawed her way into the young woman’s lap.
“Oh, sir, will you watch her for me?” Jenny said, finally giving way to tears. “I may be wrong in how I think about things, but I don’t want any harm to come to Mozelle.”
Neferankhotep rose from his throne and his dark green lips frowned. Hestood stiffly, and Jenny noticed that his feet were bound like those of a mummy.
“Maat,” he said, turning to address the winged woman, “I have received a plea from this little cat that we spare her human. Mozelle says that the girl is not murderous by nature—only that the challenges Genevieve faces are such that there is no way one can live in the world she has known and not both desire the idea of peaceful coexistence and recognize the reality of violence. Can we act in accord with this appeal?”
Maat bent her lovely face into her hands, folding her wings around her as if making a physical curtain for her thoughts. Jenny held her breath, stroking Mozelle, and taking comfort in the tremendous force of the tiny kitten’s purr. If so little a thing could make so big a rumble… If a kitten could also be a lioness who could carry off the head of a sun-swallowing serpent… If all of these things were possible, then maybe…
Maat unfolded her wings, her features serene, and, just possibly, a touch amused. She addressed her words to the pharaoh.
“I recognize that justice is not unchanging,” she said, “nor is truth the same to all peoples. However,” and here she turned her gaze solemnly upon Jenny, “I cannot ignore that this girl is capable of creating great harm. We might spare her life, but do the world a great favor by keeping her here with us. Failing that, her death might save others.”
Jenny bit back an urge to beg, to promise to be good. Live or die, she wanted to do it with dignity. But what was this mention of keeping her here? They hadn’t said anything like this before. Had they?
Neferankhotep replied to Maat, “I acknowledge that you put yourself in the balance in all cases, oh Maat. You feel the lightness of right thinking and the weight of wrong action. Gods and men alike can only try to abide by truth and justice. You are these things. Being so, can you grant this girl her life and her freedom?”
Slowly, as if still not certain she was doing the absolutely correct thing, Maat nodded.
“I will do so, being guided by the wisdom of this small cat who, after all, is an aspect of Sekmet, who is a goddess of both peace and war, and of Bastet, who both battles demons and guards women in their time of greatest vulnerability. May she guide Genevieve to right action.”
“Then,” Jenny asked, poised on her knees in the scale, “I can go?”
Neferankhotep raised one arm, parting the air to make a doorway into a light and pleasant room.
“Go, and Mozelle with you. Remember always what you have learned here, even when you have forgotten all else.”
Jenny bowed. Her knees were shaking too hard for her to even attempt a curtsey. It had been close, so close. She clutched a still purring Mozelle to her, and stepped through the doorway into a room that offered hints of the promise of paradise. There were pools of cool water, palm trees casting dappled shade, and furnishings worthy of a king. Set upon the tables were beaten brass trays piled high with delicacies.
A winsome young woman clad in little more than a jeweled belt was sitting on Stephen’s lap, dabbing oil onto the fair-haired young man’s sun-ravaged skin. Uncle Neville was seated in an elaborately carved and gilded chair. His trouser leg was pulled up to expose his injured ankle, and a long-jawed, long-nosed physician knelt before him, inspecting the swollen flesh and making tut-tutting sounds.
Had it not been for their rather awkward positions, both men would have leapt to their feet when Jenny arrived. Their first reaction was joy and relief, but that faded when they saw no answering happiness. She knew she looked as if she had barely staggered away intact from some horrible ordeal.
When a handsome, muscular young man—ideal counterpart in every way to Stephen’s attendant—came to assist her to a place of honor, she waved him away. She was weary to her bones, and even knowing that Stephen and Uncle Neville were safe gave her only the faintest hint of pleasure.
“Jenny, come and enjoy the rewards of virtue,” Stephen said happily. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve passed the judgment of Maat. Come and let the good pharaoh’s people treat you like a queen.”
Jenny sank down onto a cushion beside the pool, and set Mozelle down. The kitten ignored her black mood, and immediately set about a violent assault on the trailing length of the physician’s sash.
“I feel,” Jenny said, “like I should be hauled off to some penal colony, not treated like a queen. I didn’t pass Maat. I failed. My life was redeemed by the trust of a kitten.”
Both Neville and Stephen looked inclined toward disbelief, but neither of them commented. No doubt both of them had seen too much to easily doubt anything. However, Jenny had to admit that Mozelle, now lying on her side and vigorously attacking the tip of her own tail, made an unlikely savior.
The physician turned from his inspection of Neville’s ankle.
“Pardon, sweet lady,” he said, “but if you are here, you have passed Maat, and are vindicated before the gods. If you have not succeeded solely through your own merits, then this is all the more reason to be grateful. Good Neferankhotep has commanded that you be entertained and soothed from the pain of your wounds. Do not, in your pride, defy him.”
The man’s eyes were kind, his face lined from many smiles. Even the girl who had been anointi
ng Stephen paused in her labors, but her expression held concern, not the contempt Jenny dreaded.
“I guess I am a mite on the proud side,” Jenny admitted, “and I guess that’s one of the things I need to learn to put aside.”
She rose and stretched. “I’m not too banged up, but I could use a wash.”
Her attendant advanced again, clearly pleased. He pointed toward a small pool she hadn’t noticed before, discreetly screened from the larger room by flowering papyrus. Jenny looked at the young man and felt a blush climbing straight up to her hairline.
“I don’t figure I need someone to bathe me.”
Neville and Stephen both shifted uncomfortably. For the first time since Jenny’s entrance, Stephen seemed aware of the state of undress of his own attendant. He shrugged, then smiled sheepishly.
“Bath attendants do seem to be the custom of the country,” he said at last. “I’m not sure we should violate it.”
“What about my much-vaunted reputation?” Jenny sputtered. “I’ve been guarded and chaperoned since I got to Boston, and now you’re telling me to go off with some man?”
“I won’t say anything,” Stephen promised. “Especially if you promise not to tell my mother about me.”
Jenny looked over at Uncle Neville.
“My doctor tells me I need to soak this ankle,” he said, “and I’m going to soak all the rest of me while I do it. Jenny, you’re old enough that if you’re not going to guard your modesty, public and private, there’s not much I can do about it short of locking you up, and I’m not doing that. If that handsome shabti there makes you uncomfortable, then I’m sure one of the young ladies would assist.”
He indicated a new arrival whose linen gown was, if possible, more revealing than the other girl’s jeweled belt.
“Shabti?” Jenny asked.
“So the physician informs me,” Neville said. “In paradise, only those who wish to labor need do so. For all other things, there are shabti.”
Jenny rubbed her temples, then began to laugh. At first her laughter bore an edge of hysteria, but gradually it transformed into something healthy and healing.
“Why not accept what’s given?” she said, and followed her shabti to the indicated pool. It was filled with perfumed waters, neither too hot nor too cold, and did wonderful things for her aching muscles—so did the probing fingers of the shabti.
In truth, Neville wasn’t much worried about Jenny. Ever since he had left the judgment hall, he’d been shrouded in a feeling of perfect contentment, a contentment the ministrations of the shabti did nothing to interrupt.
Clean and gowned in something vaguely Egyptian, though far less revealing than what was worn by the shabti girls, Jenny rejoined them. The tensions had washed from her along with the grime, and she sat tickling a length of reed along the edge of the pool for the delighted Mozelle to chase.
A gust of wind carried Rashid to them, and he smiled warm greeting before he was taken off to be ministered to by his own lovely attendants—one of whom carried the happily chattering Mischief. The Arab youth could not, of course, comment about his ordeal, but the peace on his face seemed to argue that everything had gone well.
As more time passed, Neville’s own thoughts destroyed his tranquility. Where were the others? He had thought that Neferankhotep was dealing with the rival groups separately. However, if that were so, Eddie would have joined them by now. Rashid’s arrival seemed to argue that Neville’s assumption was incorrect. Or was it? Jenny had nearly failed. What about Eddie?
“I wonder,” he said to the general air, trying to keep a note of concern out of his voice, “what criteria Neferankhotep uses to select the order of his interviews?”
“You mean alphabetical order, or by age or, perhaps, like a seating arrangement at a dinner party,” Stephen said, getting into the idea, “alternating male and female. Or perhaps by social rank or level of education…”
“Or maybe,” Jenny interrupted, much more serious, “by how hard it’s going to be to pass. I understand Stephen was here first, then you, Uncle, then me, then Rashid.”
“None of the orders I’ve suggested work then,” Stephen said. “I’m older than you, Jenny, but both of your names come before mine in the alphabet. Socially, all of you but Rashid outrank me…”
“Rashid might be an Arab prince for all we know,” Jenny said.
“Right. In any case,” Stephen said, “if they were working from the bottom of the social ladder then I would certainly be toward the bottom. Where would Eddie fit in? In England he’s not ranked very high, but by religious standing in an Islamic country he outranks all of us nonbelievers.”
“It’s Eddie I’m worried about,” Neville said bluntly. “Maat seems fairly absolute. How would those beings who interviewed us view a religious convert?”
“Eddie’s wonderful!” Jenny said passionately. “He’s stood by you even when you’ve been difficult, warning you even when he knew you wouldn’t listen.”
Neville nodded. “However, what if his conversion to Islam was less sincere than he believed? What if there is a gap between his innermost beliefs and what he is living? Maat might not be very understanding then.”
A gust of wind disturbed the tranquil surfaces of the bathing pools and Mrs. Syms emerged apparently from nowhere. She walked with her head high, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes were dreamy and unfocused, and she seemed completely unaware of the rather decadent pleasures surrounding her.
Two burly male shabti came to assist her, and she addressed them as Tom and Ralph, asking after their families, and the success of a church choir outing. The physician rose from where he had been listening to their conversation, and directed the shabti to escort Mrs. Syms to a newly created oasis. He followed, and as from a great distance they could hear Mrs. Syms addressing him as “Doctor” and thanking him for making a house call at such an inconvenient hour.
“She’s still crazy,” Jenny said with gentle pity. “I wonder why? Couldn’t the gods—or whatever they are—couldn’t they fix the damage?”
“One would think so,” Stephen said. “Thoth is a god of both knowledge and healing. Curing delusions should be easy for him.”
“Maybe,” Neville said slowly, feeling his way to the answer, “curing her would bring her into violation of Maat. As deeply as it pains me to admit it, Lady Cheshire did intend to sabotage our expedition, and Mrs. Syms was her ally in a way Rashid was not. Perhaps as long as she remains insane, and thus ignorant of what she agreed to do, she is innocent.”
“But if she remembers,” Stephen said, “she is not.”
The pity in Jenny’s eyes was for Neville now, and he found it hard to bear.
“So you have little hope for Lady Cheshire,” she said.
“None.”
“And yet Audrey did show good qualities at the end,” Jenny admitted. “She was courageous and creative in her magical innovations, nor did she try to pretend she had been pushed into her course by another—say by Captain Brentworth. He would not have been able to gainsay her. I don’t like what she did, but I was beginning to respect her… at least a little.”
“I cannot pretend that my initial admiration for the lady,” Neville said, “did not have more to do with the color of her eyes and the luster of her hair, but I, too, began to see her other qualities. Unhappily, I also began to see that some of them were less than what I desired.”
“But you wouldn’t wish her damned,” Stephen said. “None of us would. It simply isn’t Christian.”
Neville’s response was cut short when a fresh gust of wind announced the arrival of Eddie Bryce. The other man looked thoughtful, but not particularly somber. He broke into a wide grin at the noisy welcome that greeted him.
The physician claimed Eddie first, replying to their questions with reassurances that Mrs. Syms was resting well, but should not be disturbed. Then Eddie accepted the ministrations of several shabti handmaidens, noting that it might be best if Miriam didn’t hear of this part of their
adventure.
“Six of us through then,” he said, “and perhaps that is all. I suspect we will not see Lady Cheshire again.”
“You speak as from a certainty,” Neville said.
“I understood that I had been kept for last,” Eddie explained, “since Neferankhotep knew I was a religious convert, and wanted to do his best to understand the faiths that have come into the world since his leaving it. I must admit that proving the depth and sincerity of my conversion was a bit of a sticky wicket, but once that was done, there were lots of questions, especially from Neferankhotep and Thoth.”
“We were worried,” Jenny admitted.
“So was I,” Eddie said. “It was not an easy examination—in fact, I’m lucky that the mullahs gave me the benefit of a doubt. I think they liked that I was willing to take Miriam’s faith rather than forcing her to adopt mine. Thoth and Neferankhotep had no such bias.”
“So we have lost Lady Cheshire,” Jenny said softly. “Audrey did us a great wrong, but I’m wondering—shouldn’t we try to plead mercy for her?”
“She deserves what she got,” Eddie Bryce said firmly. “She intended robbery and perhaps even murder. If Rashid could speak, I’m certain he could confirm what I say.”
Rashid, who had rejoined them while the physician was looking at Eddie’s arm, looked deliberately blank.
“I don’t think he’ll testify against those who were, to at least some extent, kind to him,” Neville guessed. “Jenny, I was thinking much the same thing. Stephen said it isn’t Christian to wish such a fate on someone, and he’s right—forgive me, Eddie.”
“I was raised Christian,” Eddie said, “and maybe I can see your point. Still, Audrey Cheshire’s not going to become an angel just for your wishing it.”
“Even so,” Neville persisted, “even if I knew the lady would never speak to me again, I would like to try.”
“What if it’s too late?” Jenny said dubiously. “Isn’t the sinner supposed to be instantly thrown to Ammit?”
The Buried Pyramid Page 46