The Book of the Dead

by Paul Davis

  ‘I don’t see how,’ said Sergius. ‘But that’s for you to answer. Enough for tonight. You look as if you’re about to drop. I’ll let myself out.’

  He stood and made for the door. Turning, he saw Kaires still looking fixedly at his drawing.

  ‘Take Hotepet’s advice and go to bed, Kaires,’ he said. ‘You’re going to need all your wits about you tomorrow.’

  Saying goodnight, he left Kaires to himself.

  -0-

  It was just past dawn when there came a gentle scraping at Kaires’s bedroom door, which was Hotepet’s way of waking him. Damn, he thought. How long had it been since he finally got to bed? A couple of hours? He hadn’t had a wink of sleep, his head was aching, and he had a busy day before him, not to mention preparing to leave on this wretched boat trip. And first of all, he had to see Zeno’s wife.

  He quickly washed and dressed. He needed a shave. Firstly, though, he was hungry. His father and Hotepet were still at breakfast in the dining room, so he joined them.

  ‘Hotepet has been telling me about last night’s adventures,’ said Merisu. ‘Although she knows few of the details.’

  He held out a plate of boiled eggs for Kaires to help himself. He looked at his father with affection. Obviously interested, but not demanding a reply if Kaires didn’t want to.

  Merisu was still an attractive man. Kaires sometimes wondered why he had never remarried after their mother’s death, but Merisu seemed content as he was. The occasional widow (or sometimes, married woman) who tried to engage his interest always left politely disappointed. Now in his mid-forties, he had largely given up his medical practice, retaining only a few special clients whom he treated for nothing. He was always on hand to advise if asked, but mostly he let Kaires deal with his patients in his own way. He claimed he had already taught him everything he could. Kaires knew that this wasn’t true, but he appreciated his father’s confidence.

  He explained the events of the previous night as succinctly as he could. Both Hotepet and Merisu were excited about the prospect of the trip up the Nile.

  ‘You must look up our old friend Hesy-Re at Naucratis,’ said Merisu. ‘Ask him if he’s found an effective remedy –‘

  Hotepet clapped her hands. ‘I’ll expect a souvenir from everywhere you visit,’ she said, ‘and some new perfumes. Oh, and –‘

  ‘- for marsh fever. And there’s Terenuthis. No better place to learn about snakebites –‘

  ‘- some baskets from Canopus. Will you get as far as the pyramids? Imagine! Aren’t they meant to be bigger than the Pharos?’ She made a shape with her hands.

  Kaires finally managed to get a word in. ‘We’re meant to be going as far as Philae. But that means being away for at least a couple of months. Hopefully I’ll be able to get away sooner.’

  ‘No need to hurry back,’ said Merisu. ‘I can look after your patients in the meantime. It’s too good an opportunity to miss. So much to see.’

  ‘It’s not a holiday. I need to get to the bottom of this murder. Not to mention the reason why a royal ring should be involved. I think Gallus is concerned it may be something of national significance. It may even have something to do with Gallus himself.’

  ‘Gallus thinks that anything to do with him is of national significance,’ said Hotepet.

  -0-

  Kaires walked briskly along the Canopic Way towards the Gate of the Sun. One hundred feet wide and stretching the entire length of the city from East to West, it always made him feel proud to be an Alexandrian, as well as being the quickest way to get around. He could already feel the heat building up, promising another searing day of sweat and discomfort. There was almost no breeze to cool the baking stretch of road, and he sought the shady refuge of the porticoes that lined either side. The road was always noisy and busy, but particularly so at this hour; crowds of people going about their business, horse drawn carts arguing with the donkey boys at every turning, and the cries of the shopkeepers selling their wares. Every language of Alexandria could be heard at once – Egyptian, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. Clouds of incense wafted from the open door of a small temple to Serapis, a welcome change from the constant background scent of unwashed and overheated humanity, dung and slops that characterised Alexandria as much as any other city; so familiar that it was no longer noticed by anyone other than a newcomer from the fresher air of the country.

  Some way along he turned off into a street that led in to the heart of the Greek district. Spying a barber’s shop, he went in and asked for a shave. Settled in the chair, he allowed his mind to wander as the barber got to work, massaging oil into his stubble.

  It was clear that this was not going to be easy for Kaires. He turned over the night’s events.

  Somehow, someone had got in to Zeno’s room, brutally stabbed him, and escaped, without having been seen by any of the other occupants of the court. True, he hadn’t spoken to all of them yet, but the people with the best view, Aristeon and Dexios, were sure no one had gone in. Could he have been stabbed through the shuttered window? People had passed close by. Possible, he supposed, but Zeno would have to have been looking out at just the right moment, eye right up against the shutter at just the right angle, and how likely was that? Even then someone would surely have seen it happen. You couldn’t stab someone with such force without bringing attention to yourself. Also, the position of his body suggested he had fallen while looking into the room, not out, although he supposed Zeno could have twisted round. No, thought Kaires. That won’t wash. How had the killer accomplished it? And why did someone want to kill him anyway?

  Kaires would have to have another good look at the room. Alexandria was famous for its inventions and contraptions, and the cleverness of some of these devices was astounding. Mechanisms for opening doors of temples by boiling water, making statues of the gods move with magnets – all conceived and perfected in this very place – who was to say whether or not there was some sort of death trap in the room? If so, could he find it? And what if it got him? There had been no sign of the knife that killed Zeno. Had it slid back into some secret recess after doing its deadly work?

  The barber finished his work. Feeling better at the smoothness of his skin, Kaires walked back out into the sun.

  It was difficult to get lost in Alexandria. The whole city was laid out in a grid pattern so favoured by the Greeks, so it was almost impossible to lose your sense of direction, even if you had only just arrived. It only took him a couple of minutes to locate the doorway, between a baker’s and Clito’s wine shop, that belonged to Zeno’s apartment.

  He was admitted by a grumpy doorman, who had been sleeping in his niche in the hallway, and resented being woken to do his duty. Kaires was quite surprised to find him there at all. The apartments couldn’t have come cheap; at first glance they appeared well maintained, and this was one of the better neighbourhoods. Zeno’s allowance from the Museum could hardly have stretched to this. He must have had a private income, or perhaps his wife’s family was wealthy. The doorman told Kaires to go to the second floor, but didn’t bother to accompany him up the stairs.

  The door was opened almost as soon as he knocked. The girl who answered – slim, dark, with beautiful almond eyes – must have been on the way out as he arrived, but she elected to stay when she heard who he was. The apartment was divided into three rooms; a tiny kitchen area, a small but pleasantly airy sitting room that also contained a neatly made-up bed, and a third room to which the door was closed but presumably functioned as the main bedroom.

  Zeno’s wife, Myrine, rose as Kaires entered. He saw immediately that she could not have been the subject of the carnelian cameo Zeno had kept in his purse. The facial features were quite different. As he introduced himself she welcomed him with a slightly forced smile. Her eyes were reddened and puffy now, but he saw that she must have been really lovely when they were clear and her smile was natural. He supposed she must have been in her mid thirties. Her daughter, who was introduced as Iola, was perhaps seventeen. She di
sappeared off to the kitchen to heat a little wine. After formal condolences, which she gracefully accepted, Kaires commented on how delightful the apartment was.

  'It is, and I have loved staying here. We only moved in a couple of months ago, and I’ve never been so happy. So much room! It hasn’t taken the landlord long, though, to come round and tell us to get out.' She gave a resigned shrug. 'Zeno hasn’t yet paid him for this month. So we’re out straight after the funeral. At least he’s let us stay until then.'

  'Where will you go?'

  'My sister has a very understanding husband. We have had to stay there before. That will do for a while. Then – who knows? I have two brothers who run a farm in the Delta, not far from Busiris. Perhaps a complete change of scene is what we need. But whatever we do, we shall manage.'

  ‘What about Zeno’s family? Can they help you?’

  ‘He had no one here in Alexandria. There is a sister and some cousins back in Greece, but we’ve never met any of them. I don’t think they’d appreciate us turning up, nor would we want to.’

  'Surely your husband must have been quite comfortably off to afford a place like this?'

  'Comfortable, I suppose, but I still didn’t see how we were going to be able to stay here for long. He was always too optimistic. Always saying how things would get better and better… and now he’s gone.'

  'Was there any reason for his hopes?’ After all, thought Kaires, Zeno had had a regular occupation, but it could hardly have been said to have paid that well.

  Iola came back in from the kitchen with a cup of hot wine and placed it beside Kaires. It smelt delicious, sweet, with honey. She seated herself by her mother.

  ‘I don’t know. He was probably next in line for the Directorship - he'd been practically promised it by the present Director, who is retiring to Rhodes. But as I say, he could be a bit foolish. I loved that in him. Confident in the future. It made me feel good, even if I didn’t wholly believe him. But he really seemed to be sure of himself this time. He came home one evening and seemed so excited and happy, babbling about making Iola a princess in a palace on the Nile, and giving us anything we wanted.' She laughed, and was suddenly beautiful. 'That’s when we moved in here. Isn’t it true? Whom the gods mean to destroy they first make happy?'

  Kaires brought out the carnelian cameo and placed it on the table before Myrine.

  ‘Have you seen this before? Do you know who it represents?’

  Myrine looked closely and reddened slightly. ‘No. At least...’

  ‘At least what?

  But Myrine‘s face had set firmly. She looked up. ‘No. I don’t know who it is.’

  Kaires wasn’t convinced, but decided not to press the point.

  'Do you have any idea who killed him? Or who might want to?'

  ‘I don't even really know what happened. The messenger who came last night to tell us he was dead couldn't really tell us much. They’re bringing him here soon. Perhaps you...?'

  Kaires told them as much as he could, sparing the details of the wounds that had been inflicted on Zeno. They would see the body soon enough, but the soldiers would have closed the eyes and straightened the limbs. No point in causing unnecessary suffering. He repeated his question.

  'I can't imagine why anyone would have wanted to kill him. Not a soul. He got on well with everyone. He was a gentle soul. A good father to Iola here, and a good husband to me. The other scholars liked him. He was always ready to help. I think his expectations of becoming the next Director caused a little friction with some of the other hopefuls, but hardly enough to want him dead.'

  'What was he working on at the moment?'

  'He was organising the archives. It was quite a job. They had no system of cataloguing there at all. Everything was just stored here there and everywhere. I think he was also copying some text or other for Adonis, the bookseller. He did quite a lot of work for him. Either him or ...' She suddenly looked tired. 'I’m sorry, but can we talk again later? We need to get things ready for his funeral tomorrow.'

  Kaires finished his wine. 'I'm sorry. I should have thought. Of course I'll go. But I’m leaving in a few days on the trip that Zeno was meant to be going on. It will be a while before I’m back. But I’m going to try and find out what happened for you. Who killed your husband, and why. Let the Museum know where you can be found, and I’ll be in touch.'

  He got up to leave. Mother and daughter looked up at him. He didn’t know what they were thinking. He let himself out.

  Kaires reached the street again and gathered his thoughts. He would have to go home and get things ready for the trip, but the room at the Museum still bothered him for some reason. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he wanted to have another look before he left. First of all, though, he had another visit to pay.

  The shop of Adonis the bookseller was situated near the Museum Quarter, on one of the roads that ran down to the harbour off the Canopic Way. It was familiar to all the learned of Alexandria, professors and students alike; not only did he stock all the usual classics, but he also provided the ink, pens and papyrus with which many of them had been created. The bar opposite was a popular place to await the Muse, and was often full of hopeful budding writers crouched over their Great Work. And if the Muse was being a bit elusive, there was always the wine.

  Kaires didn’t know what Adonis had looked like as a young man, but even then he couldn’t imagine him tempting many goddesses. Now he was a bad tempered, wizened old man with a face like a walnut. He looked as if he had always been ancient and decrepit. It was almost impossible to imagine him in any other way.

  Adonis looked up as Kaires entered the shop and gave him one of his best scowls. They went back a long way. Some while back Adonis had had a thriving little sideline, selling rare and sought after manuscripts to the Museum’s Library; the only problem was that the manuscripts were from the Library already. Adonis had had quite a little team of scholars keen to supplement their meagre income by doing a little light-fingered work for him. He had never forgiven Kaires for uncovering this lucrative business, which he had persuaded himself to look upon as an almost charitable occupation. After all, he had only done it for the poor scholars. His ninety per cent of the profit was perfectly justified in view of the trouble and risks he took. But it had ended up costing him a lot more, both in terms of cash and the loss of most of his best stock as a 'gift' to the Library, in order to save his neck and persuade the authorities to keep it quiet. Well, he had deserved it.

  Although Adonis had never divulged which of the scholars had been supplying him, several good things had come out of this squalid little episode. Firstly there had been a grand cataloguing of all the Library’s collections, which had taken almost a year so far but eventually would result in a complete list of every item held. Secondly the security at the Museum had been vastly increased, and there was now as much chance of stealing a manuscript as of stealing Horus’s other eye. Finally, the collection had been enhanced by several genuinely superb manuscripts that the library had previously lacked, courtesy of Adonis. So it was perhaps no wonder that his scowl lacked warmth.

  'What do you want?' he barked. 'I’m afraid all my best stock has already been taken. But I might still have a copy of The Great Betrayal somewhere.'

  'Very interesting. I might have a glance at it sometime, when I have finished reading The Philosophy of Good Citizenship. But actually at the moment I am more interested in Egyptian literature. Do you have any copies of the Maxims of Amenhotep?'

  He narrowed his eyes still further. 'Why the sudden interest?'

  'I believe it has become more popular of late, and I thought I’d renew my acquaintance with it.'

  He looked down. 'Well I don’t have it at the moment. I suppose I could get it copied if you really wanted it. But I wouldn’t exactly say it was popular. I’ve only had one other request for it this year.'

  'And who was that?'

  'Why?'

  Kaires had been too keen, and Adonis had seen it. 'I jus
t wondered who shared my remarkably good taste.'

  'A lady.' He paused.

  'Well, you could have asked Zeno to make an extra copy. Shame he won’t be able to do any now.'

  His surprise was genuine. 'What do you mean? And how do you know he is making a copy for me?'

  'Was. He’s dead, killed last night in the Museum. I just assumed you had something to do with the copies he was making. So who were they for?'

  'Copy, not copies. Just the one. Assia Alexia. She often requests copies and pays well. Don’t go upsetting her. Hades! I shall have to get someone else to do it quickly; she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.' Almost as an afterthought, he added, 'What happened to Zeno?'

  'That’s what I’m trying to find out. When did you last see him?'

  'A couple of days ago, when I gave him the commission.'

  'What was he like then?'

  'What do you mean, what was he like? The same as he always was. Actually, he seemed in good spirits, certainly not worried. If anything, just the opposite. You know he did quite a bit of work for me. He was busy with the Library archives, but he was a fast worker and he had a good hand. Easy to read. I could always get a good price for his copies.'

  'Any idea why someone might want to kill him?'

  'Of course not. I only knew him as a copyist. I have no idea what he got up to outside work. Nor did I care. And if you don’t mind, I have work to do myself, if I’m to scratch a living after the recent grave miscarriage of justice.'

  Kaires saw that a customer had entered the shop, and Adonis had obviously had enough of his presence. There were a couple of things he’d have to get back to him on, but they’d just have to wait. Still, he couldn’t resist…

  'May I ask what you were doing yesterday afternoon?'

  If it were possible, Adonis’s scowl deepened.

  'I was in my shop, of course.'

  'Anyone see you?'