Baker Street Irregulars

by Michael A. Ventrella

  As I entered, I saw that the evening meal was already in progress. Tables and benches in orderly rows hosted men, and even a few women, being served by bustling servants carrying platters of meat, fish, and roasted vegetables. A woman with a basket of new-baked bread made the rounds, as did a young boy with a pitcher of beer. I was searching for an open seat when a woman with a collar of turquoise and carnelian approached me.

  “You are the Physician Raneb?”

  “I am,” I said.

  “Please come with me.”

  We threaded our way through the crowd, past the central pillars carved into the likeness of lotus flowers, to the eastern end of the hall. There, a brick dais held a table set with linen. Men clad in the spotless white of scribes sat in individual, carved chairs. Near one end, Seshet was accepting a bowl of lentil stew and a small loaf from a server.

  “Come, Physician, please sit here,” she said. A servant hurried to bring a chair, and I wedged myself between Seshet and a man in a heavy wig, eating roast goose.

  “Allow me to introduce you to Nahkte, subpriest of Anubis, and Waret, son of Nehem.”

  Nahkte ignored me and concentrated on his soup, but Waret nodded regally. “Welcome to the Palace,” he said with a resonant voice. “Even in these sad times, we are always glad to hear news. You are from the south?”

  I said I was, and we fell into the kind of idle news exchange travelers often indulge in. I discovered in Waret a man well-educated in the wines of the south, and we were discussing the virtues of different vintages when I became aware of Seshet’s raised voice.

  “…Scroll of Henen in my office,” she was saying to a heavyset man further down the table. She leaned forward to look past Nahkte. As she did so, she let fall a pigeon leg, which splashed down the front of her gown. “You should see this,” she said. “Badly written, the glyphs so smeared one can hardly make them out. And I have to go into the Archives for the city’s original grant, just to disprove it. What kind of scribes are they training in Upper Egypt? You there, bring more wine!”

  “Odd,” said Waret. “I have never seen her drunk before.”

  Indeed, Seshet appeared to be weaving slightly. Down the table, the heavyset man was frowning at her. “This is unusual,” he said. “What kind of document did you say this was? Is it something the Magistrate should hear about?”

  “Oh, no, it is only—” Seshet hiccuped and waved her goblet at him, sloshing wine over her neighbor.

  Waret jumped up, dabbing on the purple stain spreading across his white overskirt. “What is the matter with you!” he cried. Throwing down his napkin, he glared at Seshet before stalking out.

  Seshet watched him go with a bewildered expression on her face. “Oh my.”

  The heavyset man scooted over to take his chair. “Tell me of this scroll, Chief Librarian.”

  “It was brought to me today,” she said loudly, leaning forward. Her elbow slipped off the table, but she recovered quickly. She drank deeply of her wine cup. “Some silly idea that the Temple of Set now claims some land in a dusty little provincial town. It’s on my desk.” She waved her wine cup, and the dark man leaned back out of her way. “These scribes in the South, they are very poorly trained. Someone should look into this. Perhaps you, Kanofer,” she said. “Oh, wait, you haven’t met.” She turned to me. “Physician Raneb, this is Kanofer, the Overseer of Royal Scribes. He is head of the royal college of scribes.”

  We bowed to one another, murmuring politely. Kanofer turned back to Seshet. “Librarian, you alarm me. I assure you that all the chief scribes of the districts have the most rigorous training. I would be alarmed if any of them were to cause trouble in the court of Pharaoh (Life! Health! Prosperity!).”

  “Perhaps you trained them badly,” Seshet said loudly. She was now visibly weaving, slurring her words. “They don’t know the law! If this scroll contradicts another royal charter, we shall have hot words in the Court of Two Truths very soon.”

  Nahkte leaned forward around Kanofer. “What are you saying there? What’s this?”

  Conversations died as other diners stared at the high table, overhearing Seshet’s loud words. “I don’t understand,” I said. “Wouldn’t one charter supersede another?”

  “Hah,” sneered Nahkte. “Country bumpkin knows nothing of the law!”

  “That is not possible,” said Kanofer solemnly. “As Pharaoh speaks for the gods, what he speaks is inviolable. One king cannot undo the work of another. The decree of an earlier king cannot be superseded. It is a law of Ma’at.”

  “Nonsense,” muttered Nahkte. He rose to his feet. “All this for some country land disagreement? I have better things to listen to.” He threw down his half-eaten bread and stalked out of the hall. Wide-eyed diners watched him go and whispered together.

  “There is more here than you think,” Seshet muttered, staring into her wine cup.

  “Seshet, you see more here than there is,” Kanofer said. “This is just a minor legal squabble. It can wait, indeed, it must wait until after the Coronation, when Pharaoh takes up his scepter and flail. Until then, I bid you both good evening.” He stood and bowed. “May Ma’at’s truth be with you,” he said, and departed.

  I nodded at the name of the Goddess of Truth, whose sole function was to maintain the balance and harmony of the world. “I see. So I have nothing to fear, then? Since the earlier decree cannot be countermanded?” I sighed with relief. “Doubtless this will be cleared up first thing in the morning, when we visit the Archives.”

  Seshet sat up and put her cup down. She didn’t look in the least intoxicated. “You are forgetting: the King will be buried tomorrow. No Royal offices will be open. All of us will be in the mourning procession across the River. No, I tell you, we must act quickly.”

  I stared at her, amazed as much by her transformation from a drunk as by her words. “But what…how…”

  “There is more here than a minor squabble over land.”

  “But Kanofer said—”

  Seshet rose slowly to her feet. “Still you do not see, Physician. The Throne itself may be at stake. This is but the opening move in the game, and your scroll is but the first cast of the dice. Come, it is afoot.”

  She turned and strode out of the hall, her step purposeful and strong. I realized she had been feigning drunkenness, but to what end? I hurried out of the hall after her.

  • • •

  The sun was long since beyond the horizon, and the night air had grown chill. Torches lit the hallway as I followed Seshet back towards her office. Now and then I glimpsed a priest hurrying through the hallway with a basket of offerings, on his way to some rite. But for the most part it was a darker, quieter palace we walked through.

  Seshet stepped quickly through a curtained door on the left, disappearing so fast I hardly had time to react. Her arm shot out, and her hand grabbed mine, pulling me in. It was pitch black, and I was jammed up against a shelf; apparently this was some storage area for cleaners, as I smelled natron and vinegar used to clean floors.

  “What—”

  Seshet’s hand covered my mouth, cutting off my question. “Be quiet!” she whispered.

  I held my temper and my voice, and heard footsteps outside in the hallway, approaching from the direction we had come from. The footsteps slowed as the neared our location, stopped, then started up again more slowly. Seshet waited until the sounds had died away, then for a count of twenty, before she released me.

  I sneezed. “What was that all about?” I hissed.

  Seshet peered out between the curtains. “I knew we would be followed. He will soon realize he has missed us and will double back. There is no time to lose!”

  “Who? Who followed us?” I thought of how many listeners had been in that dining hall.

  Seshet held her finger to her lips for silence. She slipped out between the curtains, and I followed. But then she ducked back into the storage area and reappeared holding a water bucket and a bundle of rags. She thrust them at me. “Take these,
and come with me. We must be quick and quiet!”

  Completely at a loss, I hurried quietly after her. She retraced our earlier steps until we came to a side corridor. She turned into it, then turned one corner, another, and another. I was quickly lost in the maze of corridors. Unlike the public spaces of the Palace, these walls were not decorated with colorful murals or lit with bright torches. We passed curtained doors with titles like “Inventory of Mon-Khut” and “Office of Under-Supervisor of Public Works” scratched on the walls beside them. We were deep in the bowels of the bureaucracy that ran Egypt, and I was completely lost.

  We came to a turn, and Seshet stopped, holding up a hand to stop me. She peered carefully around the corner and drew her head back.

  “Be sure that your dagger is ready to hand,” she whispered. “If I am not mistaken, it is strapped to your right calf, under your gown.”

  I was beginning to realize that nothing was hidden from Seshet. I bent down and drew the blade from its leather scabbard. The torchlight gleamed on the blade.

  “Do you know how to use that?” Seshet hissed.

  “I was attached as a medical officer to a squad of spearmen during the late King’s expedition to Punt.”

  She nodded. “I suspected as much, from that old wound in your shoulder.”

  “Sometime you must tell me how you knew I was wounded,” I whispered. “No one else has ever noticed it.”

  Just then, we heard a noise ahead and flattened ourselves against the wall. After a few heartbeats, Seshet cautiously peered around the corner again. Then she led me back down the corridor.

  “The side door of the Royal Archives is directly ahead of us,” she said. “The main door is guarded, but this one has a lock that renders a guard unnecessary. That’s why I knew he would come here.”

  “He? Who?”

  As I watched, Seshet stripped off her collar, rings, and bracelets, all symbols of rank. “Quickly, take off your insignia and wrap it in these rags.” I did so, and she wrapped up the jewels. “Now throw this tunic over your clothes.”

  I did this, fighting the urge to retch at the reek of the tattered garment. At the same time, Seshet transformed herself: Where a moment ago I had seen a tall, confident woman of noble aspect, I now saw a hunched-over crone with a round face, straggling hair, and a vacant stare. Her spotless linen was covered with a tunic as old and smelly as my own. Seshet thrust the water bucket at me and put a finger to her lips.

  “We are now floor cleaners, going about our duties. Do not look up or meet the gaze of anyone who passes. Say nothing, but stay alert.”

  I felt excitement building as I followed her around the corner, despite the fact that I had no idea what we were doing. The hall we entered was broad, floored in polished granite and lined with stately murals of processions and ceremonies. Small doors with exquisite wooden carvings lined the hall.

  At the far end I saw the glow of torches. A shadow of a man carrying a spear passed in front of one. I heard a routine challenge of the guard and a response, and then the guard turned and walked back around a corner. Seshet, meanwhile, had put the bucket on the floor and dipped a rag into it. The bucket was empty, but she carefully wrung out the rag and began wiping the floor near one wall.

  I followed her example, kneeling on the hard stone. We wiped imaginary grime off the floor, working our way slowly along the hall. Footsteps approached and I tensed, gripping my dagger handle under the filthy tunic. But the footsteps belonged to a heavyset older man who trod wearily along, passed us without a glance, and turned the corner. I heard his greeting to the guard as he passed.

  I dipped and wiped, feeling foolish and excited at the same time. A pair of young priests passed along the corridor, nearly stepping on me as they chatted. They never even saw Seshet as they, too, rounded the corridor and disappeared.

  I suspected we were watching for someone, but did not want to speak for fear of attracting unwanted attention. The night grew darker and colder, and I heard the guard change. Still we pretended to clean the corridor, backing until we entered the shadow of a huge granite pillar carved with hieroglyphics.

  There came a whisper of cloth, a muffled step. I froze, hoping the darkness hid me well enough. Seshet had faded back into a corner, head down, hunched over the bucket. Another stealthy footfall, and a veiled figure stepped into the hallway, wearing so many layers that it was hard to define their height or appearance. It stopped a long time, listening, while I held my breath.

  Finally, he bent to the small door, fiddling with the lock. It was wooden and gave way with a rasping sound, and then he was inside and the door was shutting behind him.

  I sprang up, wielding my dagger. “We have him!” I said. “Come, we can catch him while he is inside!”

  “Quiet!” Seshet pulled me back down to the floor by tugging on the tunic. “You will alert the guards!”

  I crouched down. “I do not understand,” I whispered. “Clearly you came here to catch someone stealing into the Royal Archives. Do you not want to detain him?”

  Seshet shook her head. “Not until he leaves, Physician. If we surprise him inside, he will drop the land grant or claim to be looking for some other scroll. We must wait.”

  “But if we catch him inside, is that not alone proof of his guilt?”

  “No,” said Seshet grimly. “Not if he has a right to be there.”

  I considered the implications of this statement as the minutes ticked by; somewhere far away an owl hooted. Now and then a servant hurried past, hardly glancing at us as we continued to swab a perfectly clean floor. My knees were beginning to ache, and I wondered if I would be able to spring to my feet if needed. A hundred terrible scenarios played out in my head in which the unknown lurker destroyed or hid the document that would save my city. I itched to burst into that room and confront him in the act, but I held back due to a grudging admiration for my companion’s quick wit.

  A hiss from Seshet drew my attention back to the door of the Archives as it slowly opened. “Prepare yourself!” Seshet whispered. I retreated deeper into the shadow as the cloaked figure emerged, glanced about, and then turned to re-lock the door.

  “Now!” cried Seshet. “Stop him before he can lock the door!”

  I sprang forward, crossed the distance in a heartbeat, and threw my arms around his shoulders. A muffled cry, and then a punch in the ribs. In no mood for niceties, I slammed the handle of my dagger against his head. The cloth wound around his head took most of the blow, but he turned, and the pommel of my dagger scraped across his face. “Let me go!”

  I heard Seshet shouting, and then the pounding of sandaled feet, as I struggled with my prisoner. Then a blow to my midsection sent me reeling, and I fell backwards to the floor. At the last moment, I grabbed a handful of my assailant’s robe and it tore away from his face. The Overseer of Royal Scribes stared down at me, his face pale in the dim light, and then turned to run. As he did so, he crammed something into his mouth.

  “Stop him! Don’t let him destroy it!” Seshet cried, and I caught his legs in my arms. Overbalanced, he fell, and I grabbed a crumpled sheet of papyrus, half-chewed, out of his mouth.

  Seshet took it from me. “No, Kanofer,” she said. “To destroy a royal document means death. Surrender and keep your dignity, if not your life.”

  The guards ran up, panting, and pointed spears at me, Kanofer, and Seshet. “In the name of Pharaoh, halt!”

  “Yes,” Seshet said. “In the name of Pharaoh.”

  • • •

  Akhethotep, Chief Magistrate of the Court of Two Truths, rubbed his eyes sleepily. “What’s this?” He yawned and hitched up the kilt flung carelessly around his ample hips. Behind him, an equally sleepy servant held a lamp. The captain of the guard, over Kanofer’s protest, had sent one of his men to summon the judge. Now he stood grumpily with us in the main room of the Royal Archives. “Can this not wait until after the funeral?”

  Seshet pointed to another scroll lying on a low shelf. “Many lives and fortune
s depend on your examination, Your Honor. Compare this scroll to the other.”

  Akhethotep took the scroll from the shelf and began to unroll it. Kanofer blanched and seemed to fold inward.

  “Have a care,” said Seshet. “The ink on it may still be wet.”

  Akhethotep drew a finger across the bottom of the writing. He held it up, revealing the black smear across his finger. “How did you know?” He scanned the writing quickly, then laid the open papyrus down on the shelf. “Kanofer, explain this.”

  Kanofer wiped his brow. “It is sorcery,” he stammered. “It must be. It is some kind of plot.”

  “It is indeed a plot,” Seshet said. “May I explain?”

  “For the love of Ma’at, please do,” Akhethotep said fiercely.

  She stepped forward and picked up the scroll found in the Archives. “First of all, this scroll is worthless. Are you familiar with the making of papyrus?”

  Akhethotep shrugged. “Papyrus reeds are beaten into thin strips, then laid across one another and pressed under heavy stones. They fix themselves together in a layer, and we write on it.”

  “Correct, up to a point,” Seshet said. “Hold the scroll to the light, if you please.”

  Akhethotep did so. I remembered how Seshet had held my scroll up to the light, turning it this way and that even as the Magistrate did now. “I see nothing out of the ordinary.” He shrugged.

  “Do you see the way the strips of reed are laid? Papyrus strips are set at right angles to one another, to make the surface firm and even. You will see that this scroll is written on ‘papyrus’ that has strips running at different angles. Moreover, papyrus does not have that fine green tint running through it, parallel to the edge.”

  “So? Make your point, Librarian.”

  “That is not royal papyrus, Your Honor. It is some imitation, made from the hemp plant. I am not even sure what to call it, but it is not used in the Royal Archives.”

  I nodded. “Papyrus does not grow in my city,” I said. “We write our documents on hemp, which we grow to make rope. True papyrus is very expensive.”