Scepter of Flint

by N. L. Holmes

Hani bowed respectfully. I should do this for my own reverend father, I suppose, he thought with amusement. “My lady, my name is Hani son of Mery-ra. I am the king’s investigator in the robbery of your husband’s tomb.”

  “And I am Mery-ra, his father. I was close to our dear departed Ah-mes.” Mery-ra sighed dramatically. “How we all miss him,” he said, hands piously folded over his broad belly.

  The little lady’s face grew bright. “Oh, bless you. Only a few people have bothered to come by since the funeral. They don’t seem to realize how hard it is on those who survive—those who are left with nothing but memories. We were married for fifty-two years, my lords. Do you think it’s easy finding myself alone?” Her eyes grew misty, but she took Mery-ra’s hands in delight. “Tell me about him, Lord Mery-ra. You knew him. How was he at work? Did people like him?”

  Mery-ra shot his son an uncomfortable look, but he said gamely and with feeling, “We all loved him, my lady. Loved and admired. He was a... a beacon to us.” He cleared his throat as if to purge himself of the lie.

  Hani suppressed a laugh.

  “Oh, how happy that makes me. Because sometimes Ah-mes felt he wasn’t appreciated.” She searched both their faces for comprehension. “Under the new king, I mean—life, prosperity, and health to him, of course.”

  “It’s hard for us of the old guard, I know,” said Mery-ra, nodding.

  The woman’s voice dropped. “His heart was here in Waset, Lord Mery-ra. You understand what I mean. The young were willing to be buried in that new place, but Ah-mes wanted to be laid to rest near his ancestors. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Indeed, we would,” said Hani. “Our tomb is not far from your husband’s.”

  She took Mery-ra’s hand and then Hani’s and squeezed them, as if to form a bond among the three of them. “The moment I saw you, I knew you were good men. True friends.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Hani said in his kindliest voice. “And so, as a friend and an investigator, my lady, let me ask you a few questions, if you will. We want to know if the three men whose tombs have been robbed lately had anything in common. If they were targeted or were simply random victims.”

  Ah-mes’s widow gestured for them to be seated and took her own seat upon a splendid chair that barely let her toes touch the ground. Mery-ra bounded up and gallantly slid a footstool under her little sandals. She had to lift her left leg with both hands.

  “Ask me anything, my dear friends.”

  “You said your husband felt unappreciated. Did he have any enemies? Rivals or political opponents?”

  She gave a tinkling little laugh, brushed ever so lightly with bitterness. “Hani, my dear, he was master of the Judgment Hall. Of course he had enemies. But anyone who would do this terrible thing to him? I can’t imagine, can you?”

  Alas, thought Hani, I can imagine only too well. Some people would rob their own mother’s tomb for gold.

  “Did Ah-mes have anything to do with Naharin, my lady?”

  She looked confused. “Naharin? Why, no. Why would he?”

  “A Mitannian seems to be involved with the robberies,” Hani said in a confidential tone.

  Henut-tawy put a shocked hand over her mouth. “You know, now that I think of it, there was that nice young man who came to see him immediately before he died. I’m not sure he was a Mitannian, but he was a foreigner for sure. It was the very evening Ah-mes died. He never told me why the man was here, because within hours, he had an apoplectic fit.” Her voice trembled, and she lowered her head.

  “Might Ah-mes have refused to lend him gold or something?” Mery-ra asked. “Our dear old Ah-mes was so well loved for his generosity that I can easily imagine someone coming for a loan.”

  “Yes, he had a heart of gold, although the face he showed to the world was often gruff,” Ah-mes’s widow said, the tender memories flitting across her withered little face. “It’s altogether possible the man came for gold.”

  “Could you describe the Mitannian for me, my lady?” Hani asked gently.

  But she shook her head. “Oh, I don’t remember much. He was tall and nice looking. A beard, like a collar around his jaw. Very courtly.”

  “By any chance, a mole on his lip?”

  Henut-tawy laughed ruefully. “I don’t see that well, my lord. He may have had, at that. But I can’t tell you for sure.”

  Hani rose, and Mery-ra heaved himself up too. He bent and took the little mistress of the house’s hands and bowed over them. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady. Dear Ah-mes always spoke of you with such affection that we all felt we knew you.”

  “You’re too kind, dear friend. It makes me so happy to hear that. Do come back any time. I would love to hear some of your stories about Ah-mes.” She smiled at them with sorrowful sweetness.

  Hani thanked her for both of them, and the two men made their exit. Once out in the street, Hani threw back his head and laughed. “‘Our dear old Ah-mes’! He was probably a despicable curmudgeon who beat his poor little wife!”

  “How could you say that about my friend, Hani?” Mery-ra said in mock horror. “You never knew him like I did.”

  “Which is to say not at all, you old fraud!” Hani shook his head, chuckling. The two men set off down the street, elbow to elbow. “What I can see is that you’re the one who needs to be interviewing the widows. You could make a rock weep.”

  “That’s a good idea, son. Pipi and I can approach the families of the victims of this fellow while you look into Djau’s killer—who is almost certainly the same person. You see how your Mitannian was involved in the first victim’s life?”

  But Hani had lost him with the first sentence. He stopped and gaped at his father. “Pipi?” he demanded suspiciously.

  “He’s coming home for the long holiday, of course, and he’s very eager to help you.”

  “Father, Pipi—for all that I love him—is the last person in the Two Lands I would want on a sensitive case. He can’t hold his tongue any more than Neferet can.” Hani rolled his eyes, feeling trapped. “I hope you haven’t said anything to him about it.”

  Mery-ra shrugged. “Nothing definitive,” he said vaguely.

  “I thought Maya or Pa-kiki might help me.”

  “Pipi’s not stupid, you know, Hani. He told you about that conversation he overheard between Ay and a soldier, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, Father. And I have absolutely no idea if there was anything sinister in it,” Hani said glumly. “Am I supposed to go to Lord Ay’s wife and pretend to be his friend?” The talk of friends reminded Hani of Ptah-mes. I ought to go see him. He needs to be filled in on what is going on, if he has recovered enough. “Let’s go home and drop you off, then I’m heading for Ptah-mes’s house.”

  But to Hani’s amazement, when they reached his home, A’a told him in a whisper, “Lord Ptah-mes is in your garden, my lord.”

  Mery-ra faded discreetly into the doorway while Hani made his way through the garden to the pavilion, where the family often ate on summer nights. In the shade of the vine-covered porch, he could see the gleam of white linen. He increased his pace and knocked tentatively on a column. “Lord Ptah-mes?”

  The high commissioner rose from Hani’s chair, slim and tall and elegantly attired in his usual fashion except for the mourning scarf around his head. Hani tried not to remember him as he’d last seen him, wigless and undone.

  “Hani, my friend,” Path-mes said in a low voice. “I apologize to you for the spectacle the other day. I wasn’t myself.”

  “No apologies needed, my lord,” said Hani kindly. “I compassionate your grief, believe me. If anything were to happen to Nub-nefer, I’m sure I would react just the same.”

  The two men seated themselves. Ptah-mes looked brittle and ravaged, his eyes circled with black. Hani had the feeling it wouldn’t take much to make him lose control again.

  “Can I offer you beer?”

  Ptah-mes nodded, a forced smile on his lips, and Hani called out to a servant girl to bring them a pot or two of the h
erb-flavored brew of which Nub-nefer was the master.

  The beer arrived. The two men sucked on their straws and then sat in silence. Ptah-mes stared into space, his mouth drawn down.

  He looks less alive than his ka statue, Hani thought in pity. “I need to fill you in on what has been happening on our tomb robbery case, my lord. Whenever you feel...”

  But Ptah-mes’s eyes snapped back from their distant reverie, and he said acidly, “Tell me, Hani. The king’s business can’t wait for my feeble spine to stiffen up.”

  He hates himself, Hani realized with a pang. He may never be all right again. He told his superior what they’d learned about the arrow, Talpu-sharri’s sudden appearance and disappearance and the botched arrest, and Pipi’s overheard conversation. “At the moment, my lord, my father and I are interviewing the families of the victims to see if they had anything to do with each other or with Naharin. And it turns out Lord Ah-mes received a tall foreigner the very evening he died of an apoplexy. He was, as well, I think, dissatisfied with the regime. His wife was careful about what she said, but that was the sense I took.”

  Ptah-mes glanced at him sharply. “Well done, my friend. It will be interesting to see how the others are implicated.”

  “I’ve been unable to reach the vizier. He must be at home in Men-nefer for the holidays.”

  “I don’t know,” said Ptah-mes, who usually knew everything about everyone. He lapsed once more into silence then finally rose and brushed down his kilt, which hung as neatly as if he’d never sat. “I leave you, Hani. Your support is appreciated.”

  Hani clasped his superior’s arm in a gesture of solidarity. Ptah-mes started down the gravel path, his fashionable sandals with their curled-back toes crunching on the stones. Hani accompanied him to the gate and waited until he’d mounted his litter. As the bearers set off, Hani waved, sorrow a leaden lump in his belly.

  ⸎

  Maya had found that, as much as he loved the company of his family, the quiet life of the country suited him little. The whole time he’d spent in the overcrowded quarters at Hani’s modest farm, he’d been thinking longingly of all the avenues of investigation that remained to be pursued in the tomb-robbing case. And so he’d returned to Waset.

  A’a admitted him to Lord Hani’s garden, where voices from beyond the bushes told him that Hani and Mery-ra and Hani’s brother, Pipi, were talking and laughing there somewhere. He called out, “Lord Hani?” and emerged onto the porch of the garden pavilion, where the three men sat—remarkably similar in appearance, all broad and thickset to the point of squatness with jovial square-jowled faces and humorous little eyes.

  “Ah, Maya, my friend,” Hani said. “Have you given up on country life?”

  “I’m afraid so, my lord. Things were pretty crowded.” Maya, who was an only child, had a low tolerance for familial chaos.

  Hani laughed. “Well, you’ll be useful here, no question. Here are the things I want to look into—”

  “Interview the two remaining families—that’s my job,” Lord Mery-ra interposed. He put on a look of martyrdom. “It’s been sad, losing so many of my friends at one time.”

  His two sons snickered.

  Hani said, “Maya, you can go talk to Ankh-reshet, the overseer of the workmen in the Place of Truth. Find out what he saw regarding Djau’s death. Pursue any leads he might give you. And I... I’ll check around the cavalry for more information about that arrow.”

  “What about me?” asked Pipi, an edge of hurt in his cheerful face.

  Hani tried to look encouraging. “Well, you can try to find out who that officer was. But do not, Pipi, do not sniff around Lord Ay. We can’t afford to draw his wrath down on us, or the king will shut down the case. At the moment, I have a certain amount of cachet in his eyes because I helped his daughter become coregent or whatever she is. We can’t squander that.” He took them all in with a look. “Everyone, keep your eyes open for our mysterious Talpu-sharri. If he didn’t leave the country, it’s for a reason.”

  Maya nodded solemnly. This was his sacred commission in company with these three highborn men. He was one of them—not just a secretary but an investigator. A peer. “I’ll head over to the West immediately, my lord,” he said with a touch of self-satisfaction.

  They dispersed then, and Maya set out toward the quay in search of a ferry. A brief while later, he found himself on the arid banks of the City of the Dead. The last time he had been there, it had been in the cool of the season of growth. Now the sun beat down even in midmorning, so that walking across the baked, stony sand was like sticking his head into the goldsmiths’ forge in his childhood home. The heat radiated up through the soles of his sandals. It was hard to breathe, and sweat began to prickle on his back and dribble from beneath his round wig. He cast a squinting glance around him at the whitewashed, pyramid-roofed burial chapels of the artisan class that surrounded him. Over there somewhere was his father’s tomb. Maya cast a little prayer in the direction of this father whom he barely knew.

  He trudged upward and to the south, flanking the cliffs of the Western Mountains. At last, the white wall of the workman’s village gleamed against the dun of the surrounding landscape. Maya wished that he’d thought to bring a gourd full of water.

  The gate was open, and people thronged the streets. Perhaps it’s market day. Certainly, all the workmen would be home and not up in their remote weekday work camp.

  He followed the streets he remembered from his first visit with Lord Hani. The crowd jostled him heedlessly, an elbow in the face here, a hip in the back there. But he was used to it. He adjusted the writing case on his shoulder to remind the world that he was a royal scribe on a mission. One will do all you say if you are versed in writing, he reminded himself in the words of one of Lord Hani’s aphorisms.

  At Ankh-reshet’s red gate, he rapped and was admitted. He had forgotten how prosperously decorated the garden was, despite the absence of wells. The woman who answered the gate led him into the vestibule and called, “Ankh-reshet! There’s a dwarf here to see you.”

  Maya forced down a wave of annoyance and managed to greet Ankh-reshet with a cool, official expression. “I am Lord Hani’s secretary,” he said frostily. “I’m here to interrogate you about the death of your draftsman Djau.”

  “Ah, most unfortunate.” Ankh-reshet gestured Maya into the salon, where the two men seated themselves on the floor.

  Maya took out his scribal tools and prepared to write.

  “He was a superb draftsman. I haven’t found anyone who can really replace him.” Ankh-reshet settled his angular frame and leaned toward Maya with an eager gleam in his eye. “Have you found out anything?”

  “The investigation is proceeding,” Maya said blandly. “Tell me how you found him.”

  “He didn’t show up for work, and the men were waiting for him. The fellows finally said we ought to go look for him. So I did. He was lying on the trail with an arrow sticking up out of his back.” Ankh-reshet shook his head. “Waste of an arrow, if you ask me. He couldn’t have lived long anyway.” He looked up. “Bad lungs, you know.”

  “In the back, you say? Straight in or from the side?” Maya was picturing the terrain and realized that if the man had been shot from the cliffs or some cleft in the rocks, the arrow would have gone in from above and to the right.

  “Straight in, I’d say. Standing straight up out of his back.” Ankh-reshet blew out his breath and mopped his forehead. “I hope I never have to see anything like that again.”

  “Hmm,” Maya murmured. The shooter must have been on the trail behind him, although an arrow, even a short-range one like this, can be shot from some distance. How is it Djau didn’t see or hear him?

  “What were the conditions? Weather? Where you found him? Time of day?”

  The overseer pushed back his wig and scratched his head. “It was midmorning, right about this hour. Hot, but not as hot as it is now. There was a lot of wind blowing, I remember. I had to cover my eyes to see where I was
going, the sand was so bad. It was in that rocky bit just before the trail begins to get steep, where you can start to see people’s mortuary chapels against the cliff front.”

  Maya eyed him skeptically. “Within sight of the tombs? And no guards saw what was going on?”

  “That’s a good point. I hadn’t thought of that. In fact, I don’t remember seeing any guards. That’s been a problem lately, hasn’t it? Those tombs wouldn’t likely have been robbed if there had been guards on duty, would they?” Ankh-reshet looked surprised at this revelation.

  We’ve learned something that may be important, Maya told himself, elated.

  After the overseer had assured him he could think of no other details, Maya struck off down the street, beaming with satisfaction. Lord Hani would surely find this information useful. He’d gotten as far as the gate when it occurred to him he should talk to the tomb guards. They might be defensive, of course, if they’d been derelict in their duties, but maybe one would rat out the others. He turned uphill instead of downhill and proceeded to trudge up the rattling scree of the trail while the midday sun crushed him. He could feel it burning like a flame on the back of his neck. A parched wind hissed past and caught up its skirts in a swirling little cyclone full of ocher dust.

  By the time he reached the now-empty workers’ camp, he was crackling with thirst and his face was sand scoured. And the noble tombs were yet higher up the foothills. He saw the looming cliffs. Somewhere in there was the Great Place, where kings were buried. Were the tomb robbers really working up to a royal tomb?

  He blew out a breath, and again, he wished he’d thought to ask Ankh-reshet for a gourd of water. Then he began his dogged climb. How did Djau manage this every day?

  At that hour, the shadow of the cliffs had just begun to creep toward the River, and it was not until he was very close that he found himself in the shade at last. He saw Lord Ptah-mes’s tomb, where a guard and other men scurried about. No doubt, it was being prepared to receive Lady Apeny’s khat—her embalmed mortal remains. He saw guards elsewhere, too, sitting on a rock or wandering back and forth to keep from falling asleep with boredom.