by Gill Harvey
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Bloomsbury Publishing, London, Berlin and New York
First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY
Text copyright © Gill Harvey 2009
Illustrations copyright © Peter Bailey 2009
The moral right of the author has been asserted
This electronic edition published in July 2010 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
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A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 4088 1250 1
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Also by Gill Harvey
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Egyptian Chronicles series
The Spitting Cobra
The Horned Viper
The Sacred Scarab
The Deathstalker
.
Also available
Orphan of the Sun
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For Mala
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Hopi and Isis can remember the terrible accident on the River Nile when they lost their parents to crocodiles. Hopi still bears crocodile teethmarks on his leg. But five years have passed, and they’ve been lucky: eleven-year-old Isis is a beautiful dancer, and she’s been spotted by a dance and music troupe in the town of Waset. Now they live with the troupe, and Isis performs regularly. Meanwhile, thirteen-year-old Hopi, marked by the gods, pursues his strange connection with dangerous creatures . . .
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Join them in the world of ancient Egypt as they uncover the dark deeds happening around them. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you may find an explanation at the back of the book.
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CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CAST OF CHARACTERS
MAP OF ANCIENT EGYPT
FASCINATING FACT FILE
GODS AND GODDESSES
GLOSSARY
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PROLOGUE
Sweat ran down the men’s backs. It trickled down their foreheads and into their eyes. The ropes chafed their shoulders and hands, cutting into their flesh, so that blood mingled with the sweat.
‘Heave!’ shouted Hat-Neb, the overseer.
The men heaved, and the huge block of stone inched up the ramp.
‘Useless! It’s hardly moved! Heave!’ yelled Hat-Neb. He turned to his deputy. ‘What’s that you’ve got in your hand?’
‘A whip, sir.’ The deputy looked troubled.
‘Then why aren’t you using it?’ Hat-Neb’s face was twisted with fury. ‘These men are useless, lazy good-for-nothings. Whip them!’
The deputy looked uneasy. ‘Sir, they’re doing their best. Five men fell sick yesterday and cannot work. Those that are here haven’t rested since dawn.’
Hat-Neb narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you disobeying me?’
The deputy said nothing. He wiped a hand across his forehead, then, reluctantly, he raised his whip and turned towards the men. The whip whistled through the air, and the men cried out in pain. The block of stone shifted a tiny bit further up the ramp.
The temple was half built. It would be beautiful when it was finished, glistening with white paint overlaid with brilliant colours. Its images and hieroglyphs would all speak of the glory of Horus, the king of the gods.
But the building process wasn’t such a beautiful sight. Things were falling behind, because a nasty sickness was spreading among the men. It made them vomit and sweat, and it left them weak and shaking. They needed to rest for several days before they could work again. But Hat-Neb was cruel and merciless. He had no sympathy. He just worked the other men harder and harder until some of them thought they would die of exhaustion.
The deputy raised his whip again, but he didn’t crack it. He could see that the men were close to breaking. In fact, they were so exhausted that there was a risk they would let go of the rope altogether.
‘Steady, men!’ he shouted. ‘Hold it there!’ He turned to Hat-Neb and spoke urgently, ‘Sir, we need to give them a rest. The stone is unstable – we must secure it –’
He spoke too late. The men had lost control of the rope. Their muscles were too tired to hold on any longer and the massive stone was beginning to slip. They cried out in agony as the rope ripped through their hands, tearing their skin. And the stone moved faster, faster, faster down the slope.
The next few seconds passed in a blur. The stone continued to plummet. The men at the top of the ramp looked down in horror. Meanwhile Ipuy, a young scribe, hurried towards the overseer to deliver a report, his head bent with busy thoughts. He didn’t see the stone. The deputy opened his mouth to shout.
‘Ipuy!’
Ipuy glanced up at the ramp. It was the last thing he would ever see – the ramp, and the massive block of limestone that was about to snuff out his life. He gave a short, final scream. And then he was dead.
For one instant, silence fell as dust settled and the men stood still in shock. It was the deputy who moved first, hurtling towards the great stone and the young man who lay beneath it. His heart was already bursting with grief.
‘No! No, no!’ he cried. ‘Not Ipuy. Please, please not Ipuy . . .’
But all that could be seen of Ipuy was one leg, jutting out from beneath the stone. There was no hope, no hope at all. The deputy sank to the ground, and clutched that one foot and leg, soaking it in tears. Ipuy had been his best friend.
It was some time before the men could tear him away. But the stone had to be lifted, and the body pulled out. The deputy looked up to see Hat-Neb shouting orders.
‘Stop gawping!’ he barked. ‘Anyone would think you’d never seen a corpse before! Form two lines and start lifting!’
The deputy gazed at him through his watery eyes. I hate you, he thought. You have brought nothing but hardship and misery to me and my men. Now you have killed my best friend. I hate you. And if it’s the last thing I do, I will get my revenge.
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CHAPTER ONE
‘I’m afraid that will be quite impossible,’ said Paneb. ‘We have two young children. It would be very difficult to take them on such a trip.’
‘Ah, now that’s a shame. A real shame.’ The visitor stroked his chin. ‘I’d heard that you are the best dance and music troupe in Waset. I only employ the best. And I pay the best prices.’
Isis sat quietly in the corner, holding her breath. What would Paneb say now? The visitor wanted to take the troupe upriver on his new boat, but she really hoped Paneb would say no. She really didn’t want to go. The River Nile filled her with terror.
Paneb exchanged glances with his wife Nef
ert, then smiled politely. ‘I’m glad you’ve heard good things about us,’ he said. ‘If we could stay here in Waset, we would say yes at once. But a long trip like that . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It can’t be done. I’m sorry.’
A flicker of annoyance passed over the visitor’s face. He was a big, fat man. Isis guessed that he was very rich. His clothes and wig were of the finest quality, and the room was full of his heavy perfume. A tall, strong fan-bearer stood just behind him, gently waving an ostrich-feather fan. The man seemed to be thinking.
‘I don’t need the whole troupe,’ he said. ‘You have a number of musicians.’ He nodded at Sheri and Kia, Nefert’s widowed sisters. ‘And you have two dancers.’ He smiled at Isis and her dance partner, Mut.
Isis lowered her gaze in despair. No. Not us. Anyone but us, she thought.
‘Two musicians, two dancers,’ continued the man. ‘That would be perfect! Your dancers are beautiful. I will pay double your usual price. And, of course, their passage back to Waset from Djeba.’
Silence fell. Isis could see what Paneb and Nefert were thinking. It was too good to refuse.
‘Well . . .’ began Paneb. Isis caught his eye, pleading with him to say no. He looked troubled. ‘That is a very attractive offer. But there is another problem.’
The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes? Tell me. I’m sure there’s nothing I can’t resolve.’
‘One of our dancers is afraid of the river. Her parents were taken to the Next World by crocodiles, you see.’
The man looked from Isis to Mut and back again. Isis swallowed in fear as the man sized her up.
‘Does he mean you, little one?’ he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Isis nodded. The man stepped towards her. He placed a hand on her head and gazed deep into her eyes.
‘What is your name?’ he asked.
‘Isis.’ It came out in a whisper.
‘Isis . . . the greatest goddess of them all,’ he murmured. ‘Well, Isis, I hate to hear of anyone living in fear. We must seek the blessing of the gods so that you are freed of it.’ He smiled, and cupped her face in his hands. ‘Believe me. You will be safe on my boat.’
Isis looked up at him, entranced by the power he seemed to exude. To her surprise, she felt her fear melting away.
‘The only question is this: whose blessing must we seek?’ continued the man.
Isis thought about it. There was Hapi, the god of the Nile itself, who brought the blessing of the annual flood. But Sobek, the crocodile god, was the one she feared most.
‘Sobek,’ she managed to say.
‘Very well. Then we shall offer a couple of nice fat lambs to Sobek. And may his protection be upon us all.’
Isis stared in disbelief. Two whole lambs! This man really was rich . . . he could do anything he wanted! She felt almost dizzy. Then, suddenly, she came to her senses. She never went anywhere without her brother Hopi.
‘But I can’t go unless Hopi comes, too,’ she blurted out.
The man looked at her in surprise. ‘And who is Hopi?’
‘He’s my brother,’ Isis said, and pointed to where the slight form of Hopi stood near the doorway, a deep frown on his face.
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Hopi limped along the streets of Waset, feeling fed up. A trip to Djeba was the last thing he wanted to do, especially with that man Hat-Neb and his fan-bearer. He didn’t like the look of either of them. But he didn’t want Isis to go on her own, either. His sister had been terrified of the river ever since that day five years ago, when crocodiles had killed their parents. They had almost killed Hopi, too.
He turned down a little side street and knocked on a door. After a moment, a wizened old man peered out of the whitewashed house.
‘Good afternoon, Menna. May the gods be with you,’ Hopi greeted him.
‘Hopi. May the gods be with you, too. Come in.’ Menna opened the door wider and Hopi stepped inside. The old priest led the way through to a courtyard at the back.
‘Sit down, sit down,’ said Menna, waving his hand at some mats in the shade. ‘Now, what have you brought today?’
Hopi usually arrived with a snake or scorpion that he had caught, but today he shook his head. ‘Nothing but bad news.’
‘Bad news! Why, what has happened? Is someone sick?’
‘Oh, not that bad.’ Hopi felt slightly ashamed. ‘I have to go on a trip, Menna. A rich overseer has a new boat, and he’s hired some of the troupe to entertain him while he travels back to the temple he’s working on at Djeba. So I have to accompany Isis.’
‘And what’s so terrible about that?’
‘I am learning so much from you. I would rather stay here.’
Menna smiled. ‘I am not the only source of knowledge, Hopi,’ he said. ‘It is good to travel. Don’t rely only on an old man like me.’
Hopi tried to feel less dejected, but it was difficult. Becoming Menna’s apprentice had changed his life. It had given him a future. There weren’t many jobs that a cripple could do, especially a cripple with little learning. But now he knew that one day he would become a priest of Serqet, with the authority to treat the bites and stings of dangerous snakes and scorpions.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said reluctantly.
‘Of course I am,’ said Menna. ‘When do you leave?’
‘Tomorrow, I think.’
‘Then what are you doing here?’ exclaimed the old man. ‘Go, Hopi! Make your preparations. Enjoy yourself. When you return, you can come and tell me what you have learned. You might even be able to teach me something.’
‘Impossible,’ said Hopi, smiling a little. ‘Very well, Menna. I will do as you say.’
The old man ushered him out on to the street. Hopi said his farewells and began to walk home. Then he changed his mind. If he was going to embark on this journey, he wanted to take a look at the boat that would carry him.
The riverbank at Waset was busy. Fishing boats dotted the shore; the wooden ferry that carried people over to the west bank was just coming in. In one section of the harbour, there was a little line of pleasure boats owned by the rich men of the town. Among them was one that Hopi had never seen before. It was shaped in a curve, with the prow and stern both high out of the water. Two big rudder-paddles dug into the water at the stern, and strong square sails were furled on its masts. In the middle there was an ornate cabin to provide shelter from the sun, and at the prow there was another open-sided shelter for passengers to sit in.
Hopi stared at it. This boat was bigger and more beautiful than any of the others. For the first time, he began to feel that the trip wouldn’t be too bad after all. There were men on board, and he watched as one of them climbed down a little ladder to the shore.
‘Is this the boat of Hat-Neb?’ Hopi asked, as the man passed by.
‘Why, what do you know about it?’ asked the man sourly.
‘If it is, I’m coming on board tomorrow,’ said Hopi.
The man narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you indeed? And who are you?’
Hopi explained about the dance troupe. ‘I’m Hopi, the brother of one of the dancers, and a trainee priest of Serqet,’ he finished.
‘A priest of Serqet? You deal with snakes and scorpions?’
‘That’s right,’ said Hopi. ‘I’m the apprentice of Menna, the greatest priest in the whole of Waset.’
‘Is that so?’ said the man, and Hopi saw that he was impressed. ‘In that case, I’m sure there are many things we can teach each other. I am Tutmose, one of the doctors of the royal court.’
Hopi’s heart gave a leap. A royal doctor! Menna had been right. Perhaps he would learn many things on this trip. He smiled. ‘That is good news, sir.’
‘Indeed.’ Tutmose nodded briskly. ‘I shall look forward to spending many hours with you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Hopi felt overwhelmed.
Tutmose patted him on the shoulder, then hurried on into the streets of Waset. Hopi watched him go, feeling ten times lighter. Things were definitely looki
ng up.
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The chief priest raised his knife, and Isis saw the flash of the blade in the sunlight. He brought it down and with one clean, smooth movement, he slit the lamb’s throat. There was a brief gurgling, rasping sound as the creature sank to the ground and kicked its legs in its dying throes. Then it was still. Isis felt sick. But as the priest carried out the ritual on the second lamb, she calmed down. It was all so quick, and there was surprisingly little blood.
‘All over.’ Hat-Neb smiled at Isis.
Isis smiled back at him, full of gratitude. Hat-Neb was a man of his word, and had wasted no time in buying the two lambs he had promised to sacrifice. There was no major temple to the god Sobek in Waset, but there was a little shrine on the outskirts of the town, close to the river. With Mut and Hopi, Sheri and Kia, Isis had accompanied Hat-Neb and his fan-bearer to the site of the shrine, where they were watching at a distance. Two whole lambs for her sake! She felt like a princess.
Three other priests set to work on the lamb carcasses, expertly carving them up.
‘Come. We can go to the pool now,’ said Hat-Neb.
He began to walk slowly around the shrine with his fan-bearer one pace behind him. The group followed as Hat-Neb led them along a little path shaded with date palms. Ahead, Isis caught a glimpse of shimmering water, and her heart thudded with fear.
The sacred pool was muddy, its banks a tangle of reeds. The surface of the water was calm, with just a tiny ripple drifting across it when the breeze blew. Isis looked around anxiously for Hopi, but he had turned away and was staring out towards the river.
Why does he still look so cross? Isis wondered.
But now the priests were coming. The chief priest walked ahead, while the three others followed, carrying platters of meat on their heads and chanting prayers.
Hat-Neb drew Isis to his side. ‘Stay close to me,’ he instructed her. ‘I’ll keep you perfectly safe.’
Isis did as he said. With Hat-Neb’s arm around her shoulder and the big fan-bearer just behind, she felt secure – which was just as well, because the surface of the pond was no longer still. Two sets of nostrils appeared, poking out of the water. They were followed by four golden eyes and huge log-like bodies. Isis felt her knees tremble.