by Scott Peters
"He’d never see you."
"He would if he saw my work. And he’d realize there’s no need for this silly examination."
"What, are you worried about failing?"
"Don’t be daft." His eyes fastened on to hers; they were dark and amused. "Let me finish talking, girl."
Neferet glanced uphill. Where was that sentry when she needed him?
"I merely want to make sure I get my chance, that’s all. I know how these things work—the Chief Scribe will stop when he comes to the first one that pleases him, and the ‘exam’ will be over."
Neferet snorted. "If that’s what you think, then come early. I can’t help you."
"Don’t you think it would be better if we started out as friends?" He reached into his tunic and pulled out a scroll of papyrus. "Take this."
Neferet turned away. She could hear him unrolling it.
"Look, girl. See that I’m no fool."
She tried not to look, but he grabbed her chin and forced her face around. Whatever he’d drawn, she was determined to hate it.
To her disgust, instead, she felt a grudging awe.
His drawing was gruesome, but powerful. He’d sketched out in gory detail the myth of Seth and Osiris: jealous Seth stood over what remained of his brother Osiris after having hacked him to pieces.
Neferet gulped. What if this horrible boy was chosen instead of Ramses?
Her untrained eye was uncertain—could this boy be better?
"You have no idea how gifted I am, but your Chief Scribe will. I’m exceptional." He rolled up the papyrus. "Take it. I’ll come to the village gates tomorrow to wait for your message. My name’s Akil. What’s yours?"
"None of your business. And don’t bother."
Akil’s pupils constricted. "You don’t know who you’re dealing with."
"Yes, I do. A stuck-up fool."
He laughed. "Oh yes. I am stuck-up. You know why? Because that apprenticeship is mine."
"I think not."
A gleam came into his face. "Do you believe in curses?"
She laughed, but her throat was dry.
"You know, one can learn many useful arts in the alleys of Thebes. And I’m not talking about drawing."
The sun beat hot upon her head.
"Tell me this. Did an apprentice run away from here? Is that why there’s room, so to speak?" He watched her face and smiled. "I thought so. And now a craftsman is sick. Isn't that right? Isn’t that why you're picking these?"
"That’s none of your business!"
"It’s more than my business." He tore a handful of plants from Neferet’s basket and crushed them until green juices ran down his wrist. "It’s my doing."
Sweat trickled down her ribs. "That’s impossible."
"Oh, you’ll believe me when your craftsman starts to recover. I’ll lift the curse as soon as the Chief Scribe agrees to see my drawings."
"Where are you, girl?" Denger shouted, "Are you done? Neferet!"
"Here!" she cried. "Hurry! Over here!"
"Neferet." Akil said her name as if, like a sorcerer, he’d gained power over her by knowing it. "I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t forget."
"You can come every day. I won’t help you."
Akil squeezed her arm. "I like you, Neferet. So for your sake, please just do as I say." A searing pain shot from his fingers. It felt like he’d lit her on fire.
She fell back, gasping, as he tossed his papyrus into her basket. Rubbing her wrist, she watched him lope away at a run. When Denger reached the top of the hill, Akil was just a shadow in the distance.
"What’s going on?" the sentry asked.
"Nothing, forget it."
"Girls," he spat. "Then hurry up." Sour-faced, he turned his back and assumed a post toward the village.
Her legs shook. Could Akil really have that kind of power? Her wrist throbbed but showed no real injury beyond a slight redness. Before she climbed the hill, she took the boy’s papyrus from her basket; the container seemed soiled by its presence. After quickly tearing his drawing to shreds, she buried them under a clump of dirt.
For once, she felt glad the guard was with her. All the way home, she sensed eyes watching. Akil would be back; that she knew.
She only prayed fate would not carry him through the village gates and into her life.
Chapter Thirty-Two
"Wake up!" Ramses told the farmhand sleeping behind a pile of cuttings. "It’s not lunch."
The man buried his face in his elbow. "Call me when it is," came his muffled voice.
The day was hot. Stifling. Dust hung in the air, rising to the sky in a soft brown haze. In the distance, the mountains hugged the horizon like the clouds of an approaching sandstorm.
"Fine," Ramses said. "But just so you know, Sobek’s on his way."
The farmhand leapt up. "Well why didn’t you say so?" With scythe in hand, he elbowed past Ramses and marched off to attack the wheat.
Ramses grinned. He might not have Sobek’s muscle, but according to the reaction of the last five workers, the threat worked almost as well. Still, it would only work so long—he needed to steal Sobek from the kitchen and get him out here.
He edged around the field and made for the house. The baked earth soon gave way to the soft, wet ground that bordered the pond. Geese rustled inside the barn. The acacia tree drooped over the house’s southern wall; it cast lacy shadows across the paving stones.
"Ramses!" Sepi called from his window.
Ramses drew up short, his eyes peeled for Aunt Zalika. "Shhh!"
"Come here, come meet my tutor!"
"Not so loud!" Ramses whispered.
"Who are you talking to, young man?" asked a deep voice inside.
Sepi turned. "My cousin, you need to meet him. He’s an artist."
"Is he now? Tell him to come in."
"I can’t come in there," Ramses whispered. "Your parents will kill me!"
"They’re at the tailor. Mother says Father’s old clothes are embarrassing. They won’t be back until dinner."
"Now you tell me? I’ll be right there. I just need a minute."
"Hurry."
Nervous energy surged through him at the thought of meeting Weris. Mind buzzing, he slammed into the kitchen. Hebony knelt over a bucket of laundry, scrubbing at it with a clump of cleaning natron. Beside her, Bastet cleaned her whiskers with a regal twitch of her paw.
Hebony jolted upright. "Oh, I wasn’t expecting you!" she said in a funny voice.
"Didn’t mean to scare you."
"Not at all!" She dazzled him with one of the biggest smiles he’d ever seen.
"Um, is Sobek here?"
"He’s in the cellar."
"Great, thanks—"
"Stop, I’ll get him! Wait here." She turned and ran off shouting, "Sobek!"
Ramses stared after her, baffled. Not that Hebony didn’t get excited. But this was odd. It sounded like she was dancing down the cellar steps. When she reappeared with Sobek they were whispering, and Sobek wore a lopsided smile.
"What’s going on?" Ramses said.
"You tell him." Hebony said.
"No you."
Ramses cut in. "You’re killing me. Come on!"
"It’s your story," Sobek said to her.
"Oh all right . . . but you’re so much better at telling stories. Anyway, here goes. Well, this morning, I snuck away to Thebes, and . . ." She glanced at Sobek and giggled. "I don’t think I can tell it, I’m too excited."
"You went to Thebes," Ramses said. "And then what?"
Sobek snorted with laughter. "Forget the story. Just show him."
"That’s an excellent idea. Are your hands clean?" Hebony asked Ramses, but didn’t wait to hear. She grabbed a blade, crouched and shoved the pile of laundry clear. Then she did something extraordinary—using the blade, she started to pry up one of the large floor tiles. "Keep an eye on the door, husband."
"I’ve got you covered."
Ramses was at her side in a flash. "What in the nam
e of upper Egypt?" Although the tile fit seamlessly into the floor, this one had edges much smoother than the rest.
"Let me help." Ramses took hold of the blade and pried the stone high enough to get his fingers underneath. The flat stone scraped as it slid across the others. A hole as deep as a man’s forearm appeared. In it lay two bundles wrapped in coarse linen. One was tubular, the other round and lumpy.
Hebony lifted out the tubular one. "It’s the only one I could get."
"The only . . ." And then he knew. Papyrus. But it couldn’t be. She’d snuck into Thebes to get him papyrus? His mouth was dry. "But I thought you said—"
"Forget what I said." Her gaze flicked to his bandages. "You deserve the same chance as every boy in Egypt."
"Open it," Sobek said. "Let’s have a look!"
"There’s only one sheet," she warned.
"That’s plenty! I only need one. Show me, I don’t want to mess it up."
Her slender fingers shook as they unwrapped the bundle. Together they bent close. The pristine sheet couldn’t have been worth more if it were made of solid gold.
Ramses’ heart hammered. "It’s a miracle."
"There’s also a brush, a cake of ink, and one of those burnishing stones they use to smooth down the papyrus. At least, that’s what I’m told it’s for. You know how to use these things, right?"
"Sepi’s used it before, he can show me . . ." He broke off, looking at his two friends, suddenly overwhelmed. "I never would’ve been able to get this. Never. Thank you."
"Just seeing that smile makes it all worthwhile," she said.
"Tell Ramses how you got it," Sobek urged.
"Was it hard?" Ramses asked.
"Hard? The whole of Egypt wants this apprenticeship. They’ve stripped the papyrus vendors bare. And you're asking me if it was hard? I almost gave up. But then a miracle happened. A little girl appeared and offered to help me."
"Who wouldn’t want to help my lovely wife?" Sobek said.
Hebony blushed, laughing. "Well, she was the funniest thing, tiny and dirty faced, but wearing a feather in her braids. You know, the way some people do to honor the goddess Maat."
Maat? Ramses shivered, feeling the amulet at his waist. Just a coincidence.
"What did the girl say to you?" he asked.
"Not much!" Hebony replied, laughing. "We’d barely exchanged two words when she grabbed my hand and took off running.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Hebony told Ramses about how the girl led her across the noisy boat landing. Ramses could just picture the crowded water-steps. The city’s streets overflowed with people going this way and that, and vendors selling everything one could imagine.
Apparently the girl dragged her down alleys, through maze after maze of streets.
"By the time she pulled me through a crumbling temple door," Hebony said, "I was completely lost. She ordered me to kneel before a blind old beggar. I did as she told me. The man touched my cheek, and asked my name. Then he blessed me and put these two packages into my hands."
"He was happy to find a buyer," Ramses said.
"Yes, that's what I thought. But then he refused my six pieces of deben."
"You’re sure it wasn’t a misunderstanding?" Sobek asked.
Hebony frowned, as if going it over again in her mind. "I don’t know. Anyway, I left the coins on the ground. I wanted to pay the girl but she’d disappeared." Hebony laughed. "I would’ve paid well to get back out. It took forever!"
A gust of wind sent the door slamming open. All three of them glanced outside. Hebony quickly resealed the supplies beneath the stone.
"The workers," Ramses said. "I left them alone in the field!"
"Is everything all right out there?" Sobek said.
"Yes—except I need a favor." Ramses explained the situation.
The farm manager grinned and cracked his knuckles. "I’d be happy to."
"Could I catch up?" Ramses said. "Sepi invited me to meet his tutor."
At the mention of Weris, Hebony wrinkled her nose.
"What's wrong?" he asked her.
She gestured at the enormous pile of laundry. "See that? The man has changed his clothes five times since yesterday. Five times! And he wants fresh bed linens every evening. My skin’s going to dissolve if he keeps this up."
"Maybe he doesn’t know the trouble he’s making. Maybe he has a lot of servants back home?"
"Not even Pharaoh, may he live forever, has that many servants," Sobek joked. He was grinning as if the prospect of an errand to visit the field crew was the best thing that had happened in days. "See you out there."
Hot sunlight burst into the room and disappeared again as the door banged shut.
"I’m off, too," Ramses said.
A moment later, he stood alone in the dark, silent hall.
The air outside Sepi’s door was stifling. For a moment, he wished he could forget meeting the famous tutor. His chest felt tight; he took a deep breath.
It was stupid to be nervous. Right now, he was the luckiest boy in Egypt. He was about to meet a highly skilled artist who knew exactly how to win the apprenticeship.
Quietly, he nudged open the door. Inside, the curtains were half drawn. Sepi sat at the desk. In one hand he held a brush, in the other, a pottery shard. He was trying hard to paint something on it. The tip of his tongue jutted from the corner of his mouth and his pale cheeks were flushed and damp.
Weris sat at his elbow, murmuring encouragement in a low, cultured voice.
"Let the brush become an extension of your mind. You’re not writing a letter here! Let the image flow. There you go, you have it." He looked like he could be one of Pharaoh’s own advisors. As if to confirm his scholarly rank, a jeweled neckpiece patterned with papyrus reeds glittered across his broad shoulders.
Meeting Weris, having this chance to learn from a master, was more important than anything Ramses could imagine.
Ramses was suddenly aware of how grimy his legs and arms must look. He glanced down at his kilt. Even in the shadows, he could see that the fabric was the color of dirt. Of course, that's what came of working hard. But he wanted Weris to think of him as an artist, not a farmer. This was no way to make a first impression; Weris would never take him seriously, let alone trust him to hold a paintbrush.
He should come back later. When he was clean.
He decided to bolt.
Just as he pulled the door closed, the tutor snapped around. "Hello?"
He squinted at Ramses, whose face was now the only thing visible. The man’s irises were of the palest gold. "What are you doing, hiding there behind the door? Come in."
"I'll come back when you’re not busy."
"Busy? We’ve been waiting for you."
"Yes. Get in here," Sepi said.
The tutor laughed. "Don’t be shy." He waved a shard of pottery. "Have a go! You never know what hidden talents you might have."
The offer was too tempting. "All right." He pushed the door open and stepped forward to grab the shard.
At the sight of him, however, Weris recoiled. "What in the name of . . ." He wrenched the shard away. "Stop right there." He shot Sepi a look. "What is this? You think you can pull a joke on me? You think this is funny? Inviting a lice-infested slave into my presence? I’m not one of your little local tutors."
"There’s no joke, I told you, he’s—"
"I’m shocked. I'll have none of this. Out," he told Ramses.
"I’m not the one who can draw," Sepi said.
"Then I suggest you pay attention to your lessons instead of playing silly games. Your mother will be unhappy to hear of this."
Sepi put down his brush. "No. Don’t tell her." The brush rolled across the table, making a trail of black ink.
"How much did you pay your whipping boy here to play this little joke on me?"
"Whipping boy?" Sepi said. His face turned a livid shade of red. Gripping the table, he rose to his feet.
Ramses felt his own pulse building at h
is temples. "Don’t bother, Sepi." He made for the door.
"Wait for your dismissal," Weris said.
Ramses slowed. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Wait for your dismissal."
Months of frustration churned to the surface. His father’s strong back had built this house. His father’s strong hands had created this bedroom. He no longer cared who this snobby, overdressed tutor was. Blind with rage, Ramses prepared to lunge.
Chapter Thirty-Four
"Stop," Sepi shouted. "Both of you!"
Ramses had made it halfway across the room. Weris might be twice his size and muscular, but it would be worth it to try and get a punch in, just to flatten those conceited, flaring nostrils. Weris hadn't moved. Instead, he eyed Ramses as if daring him to try.
"Stop!" Sepi hissed at Ramses.
Ramses paused. He seethed all over.
A breezed fluttered the window shade.
Sepi turned to Weris. "My mother is paying you well. So I'll ask you once more. Give my friend a chance."
"It's a waste of time," Weris said.
Stillness settled in the room.
"I bet he’ll amaze you," Sepi said.
A fat beetle bumbled past the sill and dawdled through the air. It landed heavily on the table. Weris smacked it dead.
"Fine." He gestured at the pottery shards and rolled his eyes. "Well, go on. Amaze me."
"Why should I?" Ramses said. "Sepi, I’m leaving."
"One drawing," Sepi said. "That’s all I’m asking. Please?"
"Why?" Ramses met his cousin’s pleading eyes. He let his breath out through his nose. "All right. You want me to draw something, I’ll draw something."
A bucket held the pile of pottery shards. Curved ones and flat ones; worn ones with rough water-stains, and smooth ones with clean surfaces. He plucked out the largest, smoothest piece he could find.
Snatching Sepi’s brush from the floor, he dipped it in the ink. He was too angry to care that he’d never used ink before, or that his bandaged hands were stiff as old bread. In a rage, he drew a long slash across the shard. And paused.
The ink had an intense quality that reminded him of how the charcoal had looked on the plaster wall. This was even cleaner, even more precise.