Close Up the Sky

by James L. Ferrell

  Taylor squeezed her hands together hard enough to whiten her fingertips. "Four of us were sent to find the stone. One of the men, someone very dear to me, became separated from the rest of us during a storm in the desert. He is the brother of the man to whom the pharaoh gave the Eye of Amen. There is a possibility that he may have died in the storm, but I believe he is alive and is trying to find us. I am not a person of great wealth or possessions, Your Majesty, but I would gladly give everything I own to find him."

  Nefertari could read the pain in Taylor's eyes. The love she felt for this man showed plainly in her face. She smiled and said, "I will see that searchers are sent immediately to the Valley of the Kings and along the Nile in both directions. The city guards will also be alerted. If he lives, and it is within my power, we will find him. Now let us dine together. I would like to know more about who your people really are.” She smiled knowingly and added, “Especially this lost man you seek."

  The two women embraced and sat down to the food Tuahla had brought.

  Matt sat with his back against the wall where the soldier had deposited him. As soon as they had entered the compound he knew he was in the holding area of some kind of prison. The soldier had spoken briefly to some officials about the charges against him, and then departed. Other than the harsh treatment they had accorded him during his arrest, he was unharmed. The compound was roughly square, about two hundred feet to a side, with a dirt floor. There was no roof, so the sun was free to bake the brains of anyone whose head was unprotected. His own brain fit uncomfortably into that category. A couple of dozen other men either lounged against the walls dozing, or walked aimlessly around the dismal confines of the prison. Most of them had a rough and disheveled appearance as though they had been here for some time. It was not difficult to perceive that they were petty criminals either serving sentences for their crimes or awaiting trial.

  He looked again at the heavy doors through which he and his guard had entered the jail. As they were closing, he had caught a glimpse of Williams and Summerhour standing a few yards away in the shadow of a building. At least they knew he was alive and where he was. He hoped they were not wasting any time working on a plan to get him out. He was beginning to feel dejected. It seemed as though everything he had tried to do lately had turned sour, and he reasoned that it must be his Irish blood. He concluded that there was some truth in the old saying about unfortunate things being the luck of the Irish. He remembered asking his mom once what that saying meant, and she had told him that it was part of something called Murphy's Law. Since he had become a man he had grown to understand and appreciate that piece of Irish wisdom. But Murphy's theory went straight out the window when it came to Taylor. In that regard, he considered himself to be the luckiest man alive. It would not be long now before she learned that he was alive and where he was.

  He also thought of Nessif. So the Morruk chief had somehow survived the massacre and followed him to Thebes. But what possible motive could he have? He and his men had already stolen the gun and left him for dead. Nessif knew that he did not possess anything else of value, yet he was here. Whatever the case, Matt was certain that Nessif would make his reasons known at the most advantageous moment.

  He had been so deep in thought that he did not notice the prisoner that had approached him until the man's shadow fell across his face. He looked up, but said nothing. The man wore a decorative brown robe and head cloth. For a criminal, he seemed surprisingly clean. He grinned at Matt, exposing yellow teeth, though he appeared to be only in his late twenties.

  "I am called Setari," he said in a jovial tone. "Who are you?"

  Matt noticed out the corner of his eye that two other men who had been sitting a few yards away had gotten up and were coming in his direction.

  "What do you want?" he answered.

  "I want nothing," Setari replied. "We are all prisoners here. I saw the soldier bring you in. I only wish to make conversation."

  Matt got to his feet and stood facing the other man. He was about six inches taller than Setari and a good forty pounds heavier. If trouble started, he intended to take out this little runt first. Moreover, the soldiers had not searched him and he still had the knife Tarel had given him.

  "You are not Egyptian," observed Setari. "Where do you come from?"

  Even though he was speaking Egyptian, Matt noticed that he had a heavy accent; almost as bad as his own. "I answered that very question a couple of hours ago and it landed me in here. Why should I answer it again?” The other men, slightly taller and heavier, arrived and stood behind Setari. "I meant no harm, sir." He turned to the other men and introduced them. "This is Zimi and Matuo, my friends." Both were as well kept and about the same age as Setari.

  Matt clinched his fists and balanced his weight on the balls of his feet. From past experience he expected an attack, and was surprised when the two men smiled and nodded. He relaxed slightly but remained alert. He saw that the flesh around Matuo’s left eye was purple and his bottom lip was swollen. The man had apparently been in a recent fight.

  Setari saw Matt looking at Matuo’s injuries. "We were here for two days before we saw the magistrate. We heard just recently that we have been granted a reprieve during the feast of Amen, and that our sentences will not be carried out until tomorrow. Most of the men here are Egyptians, but we are Libyans. We have already learned that it is unwise for foreigners to remain alone for too long among the other prisoners. Since you are not Egyptian, we thought you might wish to join us and share our food and wine."

  Matt was shocked. "You have wine in prison?"

  Setari laughed. "It is not an ordinary practice, I assure you. I am not that familiar with Egyptian customs, but it seems that during the feast of Amen everyone is fed and provided with wine each day in late afternoon. The rations were distributed just before you arrived, so it will be a long time before another meal is provided. Will you join us?"

  "I have nothing to offer in return," Matt warned. "I was robbed before the soldiers arrested me."

  "We do not expect anything in return. Come, there is a spot of shade near the west wall."

  "Why are you being kind to me?" Matt questioned. "I’ve found it to be an unusual practice in this country."

  "As I said, we are strangers here ourselves, and there is safety in numbers."

  Matt saw the wisdom of the remark, and allowed himself to loosen up a little as he followed them to the shady area along the far wall. After they sat down, Setari produced a small wine skin and some bread and dates. Matt took the skin and drank a small swallow of the spicy liquid. There was no doubt it was wine, and the taste was not at all unpleasant. He felt its warmth spread down his throat and into his stomach. He passed it to Zimi and took some of the bread. He tore off a piece and popped it into his mouth. It was relatively fresh and had a gritty texture. He knew this was because the Egyptians used stones to grind the grain, and some of the sandy particles came off in the flour. He chewed for a while then took the wine skin and washed it down. This time he took a larger swallow.

  "Where is your home?" asked Setari for the second time.

  "America," Matt answered. He knew Setari would have no knowledge of such a place, so it was safe to use it. He took another sip from the skin.

  "America," Setari pondered the name. "I do not know it. It must be from beyond the great sea to the north. I have heard tales of men with hair the color of yours who come from the north where there is something called ice on the mountaintops. Does America lie in that region?"

  "Yes, but further west." Matt was beginning to feel the wine. It was like balm to his sore body. "Do you know where Ireland is?"

  Setari considered that for a few seconds before he answered. "I am afraid that I do not know that country either," he finally said.

  "Too bad. It's a nice place. America is just west of there."

  "Well, it is of no consequence at the moment. Perhaps I shall visit there someday, but for the foreseeable future none of us are going anywhere."
<
br />   "You said you were sentenced after two days?"

  "Yes, all of us were taken before the magistrate at the same time. That was three days ago."

  "What was your crime?"

  "We were accused of stealing."

  "Accused?"

  "We journeyed here from Libya to sell fine cloth during the festival. Our booth was one of many along the Avenue of the Sphinxes. One afternoon an Egyptian noble and his lady came to our booth. They were accompanied by a number of slaves. After bargaining with us, he and his lady purchased several bolts of our cloth for an agreed upon price. His slaves took the cloth and immediately departed with it. After they were gone he claimed he was overcharged and attempted to pay us less. When we objected and demanded the balance of the money, he called the city guards and had us arrested. We were charged with attempting to swindle an Egyptian official and brought here for trial. Though we explained to the magistrate what had happened, he still found us guilty and sentenced us to two years in the quarries. It seems that foreigners can expect very little fairness in Egypt.”

  "Yes. I've seen a little of that myself," Matt sympathized. "Your problem is that you don’t belong to the local country club."

  "Country club?"

  "Never mind. It just means you don’t know the right people."

  "What are you charged with?" asked Zimi.

  "Spying, I think."

  "That is a very serious charge. In our country spies are put to death if they are found guilty."

  "I don't intend to be here for the trial."

  Setari shook his head and looked glum. "I am afraid there is no way out. But even if there were, you would be recaptured before you could leave the city."

  "I'm not talking about escaping. I hope to make bail before too much longer."

  "You speak very strangely. What is bail?"

  "It doesn’t matter. I doubt you'd understand the concept anyway."

  They ate and drank in silence for a while. The sun dropped below the horizon and long shadows began to form inside the compound. Some of the prisoners were already stretching out on piles of straw or rough mats preparing for sleep. Matt felt the same himself, but was too keyed up to think of anything but getting out of the prison. It had been over two hours since he had been arrested, and he wondered what Summerhour and Williams were doing. He was uncertain about Summerhour, but was confident that Williams would not abandon him. Moreover, by now Taylor probably knew about his imprisonment and would be doing everything possible to have him released. The thought brought a smile to his face. If everything else failed, he knew she was not beyond using force.

  He scanned the walls for the tenth time in the last hour looking for an escape route in case it became necessary. The heavy doors through which he had entered were the only break in the walls. The walls themselves were at least twenty feet high on all four sides and made of smooth limestone, so climbing was not an option. Inside the main walls, a smaller wall about five feet high crossed the compound on the north side. There were two gates in it, both guarded by men armed with swords and spears. The guards stood on a long catwalk just behind it so they would have a clear view of anyone coming near the gates. Behind the wall was a row of one-story buildings that he guessed were the guards’ quarters and courtrooms. He decided that in an emergency his best chance would be to jump the low wall and make for the buildings. Once inside, he would have to play it by ear. It was likely that he would be hit by some of the spears while jumping the wall. He would have to depend on the L-suit to protect him, but was unsure about how well it could withstand pointed weapons. He knew from experience that police body armor was ineffective against knives, but the L-suit was far superior to the material from which bulletproof vests were made. If it became necessary he would just have to take the risk. He would also need a diversion to distract the guards. The two magazines loaded with nine millimeter ammo were still in his pocket. When the time came it might be possible to explode some of the ammo. The noise had frightened the Morruks, so maybe it would work again here. The memory made him think of Nessif. This was the second time he had been imprisoned through the work of the Morruk. If Nessif was still in the city, and an opportunity presented itself after his release, he resolved that there would not be a third time.

  Setari and the other men had stretched out on the ground, preparing for sleep. Matt realized that the wine was going to his head, so he decided to do the same. He lay down on his back and put one arm behind his head. The first stars of twilight were beginning to gleam, but not as strongly as they had in the desert. He could hear the sound of voices coming from the street beyond the walls. The laughter of women and the calls of men shouting to each other filled the night. The festival of Amen seemed to be well underway. He closed his eyes, listening to the muted chatter. Strange but beautiful music was coming from somewhere far off. In his mind he relived the few precious days he and Taylor had spent together at Apache Point. He had no doubt that he would soon be with her again, but the waiting was almost unbearable. He felt her soft hand stroke his face and smelled the subtle perfume she wore. He was about to drift off to sleep when someone kicked the sole of his sandal.

  "Get up, you. It's time to see the magistrate."

  A burly guard stood over him holding a torch. Matt got to his feet and dusted the dirt from his robe. The commotion caused Setari to sit up and take notice. The other two men were also awake but remained lying down.

  "Will I be coming back here?" he asked the guard.

  "Back here?" the guard scoffed. "You'll be lucky if you live through the night. Now get moving."

  "May the gods go with you, my friend," Setari called out as they turned to go.

  "Shut your mouth, worm," the guard spat. "Your holiday will soon be over, too." He shoved Matt roughly on the shoulder to get him moving.

  As they passed through one of the gates in the small wall, Matt noted that there was a number of other guards sitting around at tables inside the inner compound eating and drinking. Another group was visible inside a building that apparently served as their squad room. He began to realize that his earlier plan of escape by going over the little wall would have met with certain disaster. There were four times as many guards milling around inside the enclosure as there were on the catwalk.

  His escort guided him to the far end of the complex and into a building with a small holding room. The room was empty except for a wooden bench. Wall-mounted oil lamps provided just enough flickering light to see by.

  "Sit down and wait here," said the guard. "But let me warn you. If you stick your head outside that door you'll get a spear in the face." He pointed to the door through which they had entered. With that, he disappeared through another door on the opposite side of the room. Matt believed him about the spear, so he sat down and leaned against the wall. He could still feel the wine, but it was wearing off fast. The guard was back in less than a minute. He stepped into the room and beckoned to Matt with a jerk of his head. "Let's go."

  They went through the door into a corridor, and after a few paces came to another door. The guard knocked on it with the haft of his spear and someone opened it from inside. He pushed Matt through, then followed him. This room was much larger than the last one and had more oil lamps. Benches and chairs were arranged in rows along both sides of a center aisle, and a couple of man sized statues of humans with animal heads stood in niches cut into the walls. A small man dressed in a white smock sat behind a table at the head of the room. The magistrate appeared to be in his early fifties and was completely bald. His robe was unadorned except for a red collar. Two guards stood directly behind him, one at each end of the table. Unlike the spearmen in the compound, these men carried only swords. A few feet to the magistrate’s right was a set of double doors leading to another room. The doors were open and Matt could see someone sitting on a bench just inside, but his face and torso were in shadow.

  "Come forward," the magistrate directed. The guard took Matt's arm and ushered him up to the table. "You have been
accused of spying. Is this true?"

  Matt looked directly into the judge's eyes and said, "No, my lord. I am only guilty of being a stranger in your land."

  The judge gazed steadily at him for several seconds. "You may address me as Memhotep," he said. "What is your country?"

  Matt decided to stick with a limited version of the truth, regardless of the consequences. He did not know enough about the ancient world to lie convincingly, and considered it dangerous to try.

  "I am from America, Memhotep. It is a land beyond the great sea to the west."

  Memhotep considered the answer for a while. His eyes dropped to Matt’s sandals and slowly worked their way back to his face. Matt felt as though the magistrate's gaze could penetrate the dirty robe he wore. He became conscious of the L-suit, and wished he had disposed of it when he tossed the pack into the river.

  “There is nothing beyond the western sea,” Memhotep replied. “I advise you not to lie to me again.” He stared at Matt for a moment, as though studying him. "What is your business in Thebes?" he finally asked.

  "I am searching for my friends. We were separated during a sandstorm in the desert that lies west of the city. I walked two days to reach the Nile, and then came by boat to the place where I was arrested. When I...."

  "You have been west of the river?" Memhotep interrupted him. His eyes narrowed and he regarded the prisoner suspiciously.

  "Yes." Matt felt alarm rising, and knew he had to be very careful about how he answered. He saw the guards glance at each other.

  "Except for a few villagers who live along the banks, only the dead inhabit the land west of the river," Memhotep replied in a solemn tone. “Are you a grave robber?"

  "I swear to you I am not, Memhotep. I cannot explain how I arrived in your land because I do not know the words. But I am neither a spy, nor a grave robber." He felt a knot forming in his stomach.

  "Let me see your hands," Memhotep ordered.

  Matt stepped forward and held them out. Memhotep reached out and turned the palms up. He examined them for a moment then inspected the fingers. When he released his hands, Matt stepped back to his place in front of the table.