He must be a priest, Billy guessed.
The priest went to the door and pulled a big metal ring. By the amount of force he applied, Billy could tell that the door was quite heavy. The priest pulled it open just enough for a boy to get through. He turned around and looked at Billy.
“Okay,” muttered Billy and stepped inside.
The room was wide and had very limited furniture. In the middle was a stone table with bowls full of all kinds of fruits. Beside the table were a few stone benches covered with rugs.
“But, Father, please, I’m begging you. He’s my friend.”
Billy turned his head to the voice. There was another room separated by a curtain made of strings of golden beads. Though the people having a conversation kept their voices down, Billy recognized one of them. His heart raced.
“You cannot let your emotions cloud your judgment,” said the man’s voice. “He met Rohan.”
“No, Rohan met him.”
“Even worse,” the man replied. “Rohan doesn’t do anything accidentally. He does things for a reason. He is dangerous.”
The door behind Billy closed with a heavy thud.
“He’s here,” said the man’s voice.
The next moment the curtain opened and a man entered the room. He was as bald as the priest by the door, only he didn’t look that old. He had a sharp nose and thin lips. His wide eyes sat deeply in his skull. He wore a golden robe and had gold rings on his fingers. Behind the man stood Anna-Maria. She looked stunning in her light Egyptian dress with bare shoulders. She wore a golden amulet around her neck and golden bracelets on her wrists.
What’s with that obsession with gold? Billy thought. Even though Anna-Maria was the reason that Billy was here, he was glad to see a friendly face in this foreign world.
The man stepped closer to Billy and studied him. Billy cast his eyes down—he couldn’t stand the man’s piercing gaze.
“I am going to ask you a few questions,” the man finally pronounced. “Your future will depend on your answers.”
Billy nodded to show he understood.
“How did you meet Rohan?” the man asked.
“Who’s Rohan?” asked Billy. Anna-Maria’s presence gave him bravery. He didn’t feel as scared as before.
“The person who told you about the chapters.”
“He never told me his name,” Billy said. “Maybe we’re talking about different people?”
“Is this him?” The man held a photograph out to Billy.
“Wow, I didn’t know you had printers in Ancient Egypt.”
The man’s face turned red.
“Yes, it’s him. It’s definitely him,” Billy hurried to confirm.
“Talk,” ordered the man.
Billy told him everything that happened to him from the day he found the hourglass. He told about the bowling alley, his escape from the runners, and the conversation in the library. After all, Rohan—or whatever his name was—never asked him to keep it a secret.
“Did he give you anything?” asked the man.
“No.”
“Did he ask you for any favors?”
“No.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“I’d be crazy to lie to you,” Billy said.
The man turned to Anna-Maria.
“This meeting wasn’t an accident,” he said. “Rohan always plans three moves ahead. He is up to something.”
“One more reason to keep him alive,” Anna-Maria said.
What? Billy thought. To keep who alive? What are they talking about?
The man went to the door, lifted the ring, and knocked. The massive door slowly opened and the priest appeared. The man told him something in the foreign language. The priest nodded and looked at Billy.
“You may go,” said the man.
Billy moved towards the door. Just before leaving the room, he turned around and glanced at Anna-Maria. She couldn’t look back at Billy. Her eyes stared down. Billy sighed and left the room.
* * *
Chapter Sixteen
Predicament
They escorted Billy back the same way they had brought him here. The priest led the way with the two soldiers behind Billy closing the convoy. When they stepped out to the courtyard, the guard with the whip was waiting. The priest told him a few words then turned around and went back inside.
The guard looked at Billy. “Let’s go.”
They walked across the sandy courtyard, passed the well, and kept on going.
Thank God! Billy thought. They are letting me go.
On the other side of the courtyard were a number of workshop huts. They were built of mud bricks with roofs thatched with straws.
The guard nudged Billy to enter the first one, which appeared to be a blacksmith’s. The heat inside was agonizing. A half-naked man with big muscles was hammering a hot metal rod against the anvil. By the wall behind him was a forge with burning coal in it.
The blacksmith paid no attention to the visitors.
“Take off your clothes,” the guard commanded to Billy, “and put this on.”
He threw Billy some dusty fabrics.
“I thought I was going home,” said Billy, hesitating.
“You are,” said the guard.
Billy obeyed. The guard took his old clothes and threw them into the fire. Then he turned to Billy. “Let’s go.”
They went between some other huts. The people inside were quietly doing their work. They wore the same grey and dusty robes as Billy. Everyone was looking down; none of them dared to look at Billy or the guard.
After a while, they got to a small door in the courtyard wall. The guard lifted a heavy wooden bar that was locking the door, and set it down. He was about to push the door open when he paused and looked at Billy.
“A piece of advice, boy, and you better listen to this carefully ’cause these may be the last words you hear in this language. Keep your head down, your mouth shut, and do what others do—this way you may live another day.”
“You know, your English is pretty good for an Ancient Egyptian.”
The guard only grinned back. Then he opened the door and pushed Billy out.
“Welcome to your new home,” the guard said and shut the door.
Billy turned around and grew numb; there were people as far as the eye could see— hundreds, maybe thousands of them. They moved like they were in a giant human hive. Everybody worked; some were digging sand, others were carving stones, and those closest to Billy were carrying buckets with dirty water from a nearby river. Among the workers, Billy recognized guards. They looked the same as his guard from the palace, except that these ones didn’t hesitate to use their whips. From time to time, some worker would stumble and fall—the whip would immediately crack down on the poor fellow.
They’re not workers, Billy realized, they are slaves. And I am wearing the same clothes.
Far away in the hazy distance he could see another palace being constructed. Hundreds of slaves were building a road of stone blocks between the two palaces.
The whole place was a huge construction site. The view was deplorable.
Somebody shouted at Billy, then the whizzing sound of a whip made Billy duck. If he hadn’t, the whip would surely have gone around his neck. Billy rolled down into the trench, grabbed the first bucket he saw, and rushed into the line of workers moving towards the river.
I am a slave in Ancient Egypt, Billy thought. What a great day.
When they got to the river, everybody started to fill their buckets with muddy water. Billy did the same, but when he tried to lift it, he couldn’t—the bucket was way too heavy. He had no choice but to fill it only halfway. After that, he went back to his line, which this time was moving back to the road.
Slaves from his line noticed his half-empty bucket and stared at him. Next, something extraordinary happened, something that Billy would never have expected. The slaves encircled Billy so the guards wouldn’t see his half-empty bucket. Maybe they saw Billy’s sof
t pale skin untouched by the sun, wind and hard labor, and maybe they felt sorry for the kid who was probably captured recently in one of the foreign caravans and brought here to work. In any case, Billy was sincerely touched by this pure manifestation of humanity by people who themselves were treated like animals—people with no future.
“Thank you, thank you,” he muttered, but nobody answered. Billy said a few more words hoping to find someone who spoke English, but everyone walked silently looking down. Eventually he stopped trying. He walked slowly and quietly like everybody else, with his head down, trying to blend in.
His thoughts, on the contrary, raced in his head. It was Saturday, the first day of the weekend. He had woken up normally, looking forward to having a great day. He ate breakfast, said “good-bye” to his mom and left. Never would he have suspected the string of fateful events that had actually occurred: meeting the professor, running from the Librarians, being saved by Rohan, and getting trapped by Anna-Maria . . . Oh yeah, A.M. is a Librarian! And he had known her since kindergarten.
I wonder if she was already a Librarian, that little girl, thought Billy and smiled at his own thought. It meant that she had lied to him all these years. How could she? On the other hand, he had never asked her a direct question, “A.M., are you a Librarian?”
Besides, even when he told her about the hourglass, she remained his friend: she knew where he lived; she could have sent somebody to his house, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to take away the hourglass; she wanted him to return it by himself. And that’s what he told her he was going to do.
That was until he spoke about Rohan. Now, when Billy looked back, he remembered how A.M.’s face changed when he first mentioned the chapters; it was like a heavy cloud covered the sun. Now, when she saw how much he knew, she had to bring him in. But why would Rohan tell Billy all this? It wasn’t likely that he got tired of keeping the secret all to himself and decided to share it with someone else.
Rohan doesn’t do anything accidentally, Billy remembered. He always thinks three steps ahead.
What game are you playing, Rohan? Billy wondered.
Then his thoughts went back to Anna-Maria and the conversation he had overheard: Father, please, I beg you. He’s my friend. And after that: Another reason to keep him alive.
Was she talking about me? Was she trying to protect me?
After these thoughts, Billy felt better. He didn’t feel as if he were alone anymore. Somewhere behind these walls, in that palace, there was a person who cared about him. Eventually she would come for him. He just had to hold on until then. This thought gave Billy strength he never thought he had. He had a purpose now.
Billy’s line of water carriers was not the only one. There were many more lines of slaves just like it, moving in both directions, like ants in a single-file formation. As the slaves in one line moved away from the river with their buckets full of water, others were moving back to the river with empty buckets. It was a good sign, though, Billy thought. At least he would have to carry a full bucket only half the time.
As he got closer to the road connecting the two castles, Billy noticed a slight incline in the trail. At the top of the dune was a big water reservoir. From there, via aqueducts, water was going into smaller reservoirs all the way to both castles.
I hope it’s not for drinking, Billy thought, emptying his bucket into the big reservoir like everybody else and turning back to the river.
After several hours of this monotonous routine under the burning sun, Billy felt completely exhausted. The murky water in his bucket didn’t look so bad now. He had bloody blisters on his hands, his body was shaking, and his feet felt like he was walking on broken glass. If it weren’t for the support from the other slaves, he would have become an easy target for the guards’ whips.
The sun had finally crossed the sky and was slowly sinking behind the castle walls. The pipers on the walls blew into long tubes that appeared to be some sort of ancient wind instruments. A low and deep sound cut through the thick air and lingered over the valley for a long time. Everyone started to move faster. Billy could barely catch up with them. When the slaves emptied their last buckets of water, they left them by the reservoir and headed to the second castle.
Farther away from Anna-Maria, Billy thought with sadness, away from the only possible help.
As Billy and other slaves were passing through the castle gates, soldiers on the wall and guards on the ground were closely watching them. It was as if they were looking for something or someone. Billy had learned his lesson—he walked with his head down, blending in as much as possible with the others, which wasn’t that difficult after all. His clothes, face, and body were as dusty and dirty as everybody else’s.
Only when Billy passed the gates did he dare to look up. The courtyard was the size of a football field with the second palace on the opposite side of it. The palace was halfway complete and surrounded by scaffolding. Mixed with the crowd, Billy walked along the castle walls, passing on the way a row of huts similar to those that he saw earlier that day. From one hut came the sound of metal clanking, and another had a pile of clothes in front of it.
In a little while, Billy noticed some increase in the pace. People around him looked more animated. Behind their backs Billy couldn’t see where they were going, so he simply followed the human stream.
Soon the crowd brought him to the big hut that appeared to be a kitchen, or more likely a food dispenser. Like everybody else, Billy was given flat bread, which reminded him of pita bread, and a bowl of murky, fatty liquid.
This must be soup, Billy thought. It didn’t look at all like Mom’s dinner, but Billy was glad to have at least something.
He found himself a shady spot by the wall and sat right down on the sand. He leaned against the wall and took a bite of his bread. Only now did Billy realize how drained he was. He could barely chew his bread, and as he did, he could hear the crispy sound of the sand grinding on his teeth. Billy sipped from his bowl. The soup was tasteless, yet satisfying. A warm wave spread from his stomach through his entire body, comforting him and at last making him feel relaxed.
Billy sat like this on the sand by the castle wall, slowly chewing his food and watching the other slaves do the same. His thoughts, however, were thousands of years and thousands of miles away from here. He thought of his mom and dad. Where are they? What are they doing now? Do they worry about him? Are they looking for him? Billy’s eyelids became heavy. Slowly but surely he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
Chapter Seventeen
The Bright Side
Billy woke up when something fell on his lap. He opened his eyes. It was getting dark. The sky above was clear; only a few bright stars shone down their light. The guards lit the torches on the walls. Apparently, Billy had been asleep for a very short time, yet he felt refreshed as if he had slept for hours. On his lap lay a folded blanket made of the same rough fabric as his clothes. A slave beside Billy was making his bed on the sand. The blanket must have come from him.
“Thanks,” mumbled Billy.
“Don’t mention it.”
Billy unfolded the blanket and covered himself with it, then turned to the side and rested his head on his arm ready to go back to sleep. Then his eyes widened.
Huh? Impossible!
He rose on his elbows and looked at the slave.
“It’s you!”
“Why? Did you expect someone else?” asked Rohan.
“Well, kind of,” answered Billy thinking for a moment of Anna-Maria. “How did you find me here?”
“I put a tracking device in your pocket.”
“A tracking device? When?”
“In the bowling alley.”
“So, you knew?”
“From the moment you activated the hourglass the first time,” answered Rohan. ”It was only a matter of who found you first—the Librarians or me.” Rohan’s face was serious, but his eyes were smiling. “Why so grumpy? Not happy to see me?”
“I see that you’ve met some of our mutual friends. Nice to have you acquainted,” Rohan remarked, smiling.
Billy was shocked. “How can you be so calm? Do you know that you are the reason I am here?”
“Is that so?” asked Rohan, still busy with his bed.
“Of course! If I hadn’t mentioned you and what you told me about the chapters, I wouldn’t be here, so far away from home!”
“Well, you may want to lower your voice if you don’t want to be even farther,” Rohan said, gazing around. “On the other hand,” he continued, tucking himself into his blanket, “look at the bright side; you got to travel through time, see a different world . . .”
“. . . become a slave in Ancient Egypt. I wouldn’t exactly call it a bright side. I mean, look at this.” Billy showed Rohan the bloody blisters on his hands.
“I’m sorry, kid,” said Rohan, “but it had to be done.”
“What do you mean ‘had to’? Did you actually plan it?”
“Not precisely. Let’s say, I had a hunch.”
Billy kept staring angrily at Rohan, waiting for an explanation.
“Well,” Rohan said reluctantly, “knowing you, I had a feeling you’d say everything to your friend. Knowing her, I had a feeling she’d have to bring you in to the High Priest for a . . .” He paused, looking for the right word. “. . . questionnaire.”
“You mean interrogation.”
“Look, I said I’m sorry. That was the only way for me to track him—by following you.”
“Or setting me up.”
It was Rohan’s turn to stare at Billy without saying a word.
“Okay, what do you need him for, anyway, the main priest?” asked Billy trying to calm down.
“I’ve got my reasons. I will tell you later. Now, try to get some more sleep. We have to leave soon.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the main palace.”
“But the gates are closed and the guards are everywhere.”
“Don’t worry about the guards. Sleep now,” said Rohan, pulling Billy’s blanket over his shoulders.
Billy lay like that for some time, thinking. “Rohan,” he asked after a while, “did you come all the way here for me?”
Chapters and the Hourglass of Time Page 7