The Mazes of Magic (Conjurer of Rhodes Book 1)

by Jack Massa

  “Who?—How will we choose?” Mehen asked.

  Harnouphis refilled his cup yet again. “The god’s desires are specific. The sacrifice must be worthy. He demands a bright, intelligent soul, but above all, innocent and pure.”

  * * * * *

  Five nights before the next full moon, Korax rose from his bed at a late hour. He stepped quietly into his sitting room, where a black cloth covered a short table set against the wall.

  Carefully, he lifted the cover, revealing his magical tools and implements: a candle and brass brazier, some lotus petals, papyrus sheets that his ally had led him to find and copy in the House of Life. In the table’s center stood a small wax figure of Thoth that he had fashioned with the best skill he possessed.

  Sitting on his heels, Korax lit the candle from his lamp, then fired a charcoal from the candle. He set the charcoal in the brazier and added a wafer of incense. As the smoke thickened, he stared at the figure and summoned Thoth to his mind.

  “It is time to begin,” Korax whispered.

  “Then begin.”

  “I hope this works as you predicted.”

  “It will not work if you harbor doubts.”

  Korax knew that to be true. He must banish all doubt from his heart.

  “Remember that you speak the Great Word of Ptah,” Thoth told him, “whose sound underlies all creation. You only need to bend the perceptions of two ordinary mortals—and that only briefly. Not a difficult deed for one possessing such power.”

  Korax clenched his lips and nodded. He had studied the sacred arts long and hard. Time at last to put his magic to the test.

  He fanned the brazier with his hand until it glowed bright orange. Speaking a blessing, he dropped three lotus petals into the fire. As they curled and blackened, he unrolled one of the papyruses: The Book of Not Being Halted at the Gates of Khem-Aataat.

  Korax formed in his mind a vision of the two sentries he must pass. Then he read the text aloud, in the portentous voice Thoth had taught him to practice—the same voice Thoth claimed to have taught to Isis, the voice for speaking words of power so that those who heard must obey.

  The spear of Sekhet is in my hand

  The word of Ptah is on my lips

  I am strong, I am mighty, I am not to be resisted

  I come and I go wheresoever I wish

  Setting down the papyrus, Korax rose. He picked up a satchel of coarse linen and a walking stick, which he had made into a wand by carving on it certain words and symbols sacred to Thoth. Leaving the brazier and the candle burning, he left his apartment.

  The gibbous moon rode high, lighting his way as he moved through the gardens and galleries. He passed the House of Records and came to the courtyard where the treasury stood. Just as he had pictured in his mind, two sentries guarded the door in the dancing light of torches. Korax dared not pause for fear his nerve would falter. With a brisk and determined gait, he strode across the courtyard and up the steps.

  “Who are you?”

  The guards crossed their spears in front of the locked door.

  Korax pitched his voice to a note of impatient command. “Imbeciles! Don’t you recognize Harnouphis, chief treasurer of the temple?”

  The two men exchanged glances, baffled and uneasy.

  Korax thrust out his wand to part their spears. “Open the door! There are documents I must retrieve.”

  After a breathless second, the guards stepped aside. One of them took a key from his belt and turned it in the lock.

  Korax pushed past him with an irritated air. “Leave it unlocked. I will only be a few moments.”

  Heart pounding, Korax hurried down the corridor. The door to the counting room was shut, but he had ascertained on his previous visit that the door had no lock. Feeling in the dark, he found the handle and lifted the latch.

  He slipped inside and surveyed the chamber. The barred windows beneath the ceiling admitted narrow shafts of moonlight—enough so he could see the stacks and piles of glimmering coins.

  A twinge of avarice heightened his excitement. Enough money lay here to make him a wealthy man in Rhodos or even Alexandria. But he immediately put down the greedy thought. Keeping to his plan, he moved from table to table, taking only a few copper and silver coins from the uncounted piles. Korax had copied enough financial reports to know the inefficiency of the temple’s accounting practices. The money he stashed in his satchel would be more than adequate for his needs. But, with any luck, its disappearance would go unnoticed or, at worst, result in a cursory and fruitless internal audit.

  He emerged on the porch a short time later. He watched, frowning, while the sentry dutifully locked the door.

  “No need to mention that I was here tonight and that you failed to recognize me,” he said. “We won’t add a black mark for stupidity to your records—this time.”

  The guards looked at each other, faces brightening with relief.

  “No, your Excellency.”

  “Thank you, your Excellency.”

  Korax nodded brusquely and descended the steps. He marched across the courtyard and disappeared into the shadows.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Next day, Korax left the scriptorium in the early afternoon, feigning illness. Returning to his apartment, he dressed in a wig and a plain tunic with his green sash, and slung the satchel over his shoulder. He left the temple through a postern gate and headed for the marketplace in the center of the city.

  In a mood of high elation, he ranged among the stalls, carefully picking out what he needed, haggling over prices, joking with the shopkeepers. His longed-for day of freedom was at last nearly at hand.

  First, he bought a donkey, small but young and fit, a foul-tempered creature that he named Mehen. He loaded Mehen’s back with his other purchases—a blanket, a light cloak with a hood, sacks for storing food, two large water-skins. At a cobbler’s stall he bought a pair of boots suitable for rough ground.

  Any pursuit by the temple police would probably concentrate on the river. So, Korax had decided to go overland, along the fringe of the desert. The disadvantage of this way—aside from the length and discomfort of the journey—would be the risk of meeting bandits. Korax purchased a short sword, dagger, and a hefty staff of tamarisk wood. He trusted that these weapons, along with the magic inspired by Thoth, would provide sufficient protection.

  He stabled the donkey and stowed his gear at a caravansary near the Saqqarah gate. He instructed the proprietor to have the beast loaded with provisions and ready to travel in the afternoon three days hence. He promised the man an extra drachma to guarantee these arrangements.

  With the preparations complete, Korax returned to the temple. He changed into his scribe’s kilt and took supper at the dining hall. Then he retired to his quarters and lit his reading lamps.

  Tonight, and the three nights after, he had more spells to weave—enchantments to conceal his escape, to protect him on the journey, to guard against recapture.

  He had just lit the first candles when a knock sounded on his front door. He snuffed the wicks with his fingers, jumped up, and pulled the black covering over the table. Opening the door, he sighed with relief to find Itaji. Since acquiring his magical ally, he had started sleeping with the dancer again. But he had completely forgotten her visit tonight.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

  “Actually, no. Tonight it is not convenient.”

  “What? Don’t tell me you’re abstaining again.”

  “Not exactly. But I am deeply engrossed in my studies.”

  “Oh, you study too much.” She slipped under his arm and into the narrow foyer. She twirled to face him, then playfully dropped her veil. “Don’t you like me anymore?”

  “Of course.” He gripped her shoulders to prevent her undressing further. “But I really cannot see you tonight. In fact, I’m going to be very busy till after the full moon.”

  She frowned petulantly. “Do you have another girl?”
<
br />   “No! I promise. Darling, Itaji, you are the only one. But my studies are in a critical phase.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “You are doing magic? Show me!”

  “No.”

  She crossed her arms defiantly. “I won’t leave unless you at least show me what you are doing.”

  Her stubbornness made him suspicious. Quietly, he asked, “Why are you so insistent?”

  She averted her gaze. “Oh … I am just curious.”

  Suddenly Korax knew the truth, and his belly twisted. “No. It is more than that.” He grabbed her arm, dragged her over to the shelf before the figure of Isis.

  “Ow, you are hurting me!”

  He loosened his grip. “I want you to swear before the goddess that you are not spying on me.”

  She gaped at him, shocked. She began to protest, then swallowed the words. Casting down her eyes, she said: “I-I cannot.”

  The betrayal enraged him, but he kept his composure. “For Harnouphis,” he stated coldly.

  “Yes, I suppose. I only speak with his pet vulture, Mehen.” She looked at him, wincing, eyes watering. “I never wanted to! At first he just paid me to visit you. But then he insisted I come to his apartment and tell him how you were. It seemed harmless at first. Oh, Seshsetem, I am sorry. I am so ashamed.”

  She covered her face and sobbed. Her abject tears touched him, and the rage vanished, replaced by pity. She too was a victim of the evil machinations of Harnouphis and Mehen. He took her in his arms, his tone soothing. “I understand, Itaji. You are not to blame. They are cruel and cunning men. But now you see why I cannot show you what I am doing. That way, you can honestly tell Mehen that you do not know.”

  She sniffled, nodded. “Yes. I will go now.”

  Korax walked her to the foyer. “Wait a moment.” He went to the satchel and took a silver drachma from his purse. He showed her the coin, and pressed it into her hand.

  “To thank you for your honesty. And to show I am not angry with you.”

  “What?” Itaji scrutinized the drachma, then tested it with her small white teeth. “But it is real.”

  “Of course.” Korax laughed as he opened the door. He let the tone of subtle command enter his voice. “Remember, you will say honestly that you were unable to learn anything about my studies.”

  Itaji nodded, started to leave, then stiffened and faced him. “I know I must not ask. But I have a feeling I will not see you again.”

  Korax stared at her, refusing to answer, refusing to look away.

  She searched his eyes, her expression thoughtful. Then she smiled sadly, stood on her toes and kissed him.

  “Goodbye, Seshsetem.”

  * * * * *

  In a corner of the scriptorium, Korax scrutinized an inventory report. A stack of similar documents lay beside his mat. As the authority on Greek, he commonly reviewed the writing of his fellow scribes. With the harvest about to begin, the number of reports and correspondences was already mounting.

  He glanced out at the garden to check the angle of the sun. This day could not pass quickly enough. If all went according to plan, it was the next-to-last day he would ever spend in the House of Records.

  The past two nights he had woven magic spells to aid his escape. The first rite was entitled On Making the Walker Invisible to His Enemies. The second night, he had cast a charm called Protecting One on His Passage Through the Twelve Halls of Annu. Tonight, he had one more ritual to perform: On Changing into a Falcon and Flying Forth by Day.

  Tomorrow, the day of the full moon, he would leave the scriptorium in the afternoon. He would pick up his donkey and gear and be out the Saqqarah gate before sunset. Most likely, his disappearance would go unnoticed until at least the following morning. By then, he planned to be many miles north of Memphis.

  For now, he studiously fixed his will on his work, cautious to avoid any unusual behavior, any hint of his inner excitement. He had nearly finished reviewing the stack of documents when an urgent whisper interrupted him.

  “Seshsetem, I must speak with you.”

  “Katep.” Korax’s quick smile immediately drooped. Katep appeared pale, his normally jolly face tortured. “What is wrong?”

  “We’ll speak outside. Please.”

  Korax followed him across the colonnade and down into the garden. They sat at the edge of the lotus pool, Katep glancing about to verify their privacy.

  “What is troubling you so?” Korax demanded.

  “It concerns Baufre.” Katep’s voice trembled. “You know he has been working with some of the other apprentices, under Chief Scribe Mehen.”

  “I heard something of it,” Korax acknowledged. Lately he hadn’t paid much attention to events in the scriptorium outside of his own assignments.

  “I thought it a bit unusual,” Katep said, “but saw nothing wrong until ... Two days ago, Baufre told me he had to work late, that Mehen had assigned him special duties. He seemed thrilled and delighted. But that night, he never came home. Nor did he appear in the scriptorium the next morning. I asked Mehen where my son was, and he told me Baufre was working for his Excellency Harnouphis, and would be for several more days. That was yesterday. Baufre did not come home again last night. My wife is almost mad with worry. Today, Mehen was not in his office, so I went to look for Harnouphis. I finally found my way to his residence. Mehen and Harnouphis both were there. They informed me that Baufre was within, but that he was doing important work for the first servants, that I must not interfere. I insisted on seeing my son, and finally they allowed him to come to the door. But he seemed changed, distant. He hardly knew me, his own father. He claimed he had been promoted to an important post, that I must not stand in his way. He reminded me that he is of age now and can do as he wishes. Then Mehen ordered me back to work and shut the door.”

  Katep’s eyes shone moist, his jaw quivering. “I know this sounds mad, Seshsetem, but I think they have bewitched my son.”

  “Not mad,” Korax muttered. “I fear it could be true.”

  Katep gripped his bald scalp with both hands. “But a first servant of Ptah ... It sounds fantastic, like a tale from Hetepher’s imagination. But if you could have seen him, the coldness in his eyes ...”

  “I believe you,” Korax said. He knew Harnouphis capable of pernicious magic. Lately, more and more evil fragments had surfaced in his memory. But what could Harnouphis want with young Baufre?

  “What am I to do?” Katep cried. “I have no lawful complaint. Baufre is of age. Besides, Harnouphis is a high priest, and I am only a scribe. You’re the only friend I have who has even initiated in the House of Life. I have no one else to turn to, Seshsetem. What am I do?”

  Korax gripped the scribe’s forearm. “Give me tonight to investigate. Go home to your wife, and try not to worry. Come to the scriptorium tomorrow as usual. I will hope to have news for you then.”

  “Thank you, my friend!” Katep seized Korax’s hand and kissed it, fighting to hold back his tears.

  * * * * *

  Korax’s first impulse was to take the problem to Amasis. If a high priest of Ptah was performing evil sorcery, it seemed proper that the master of the House of Life should handle the matter. But these days Amasis seldom emerged from the mortuary vaults. The months-long embalming rites for the two deceased first servants approached their culmination. As Korax understood it, the rituals now required the chief lector priest’s presence almost constantly. Even if Korax dared disturb the rituals, the stairways to the underground lay behind secret doors whose locations he did not know. Instead, he hastened to his own apartment and summoned his ally.

  “A new problem has appeared,” he told Thoth. “An emergency, I think.”

  “I can ascertain the matter from your thoughts.”

  “Can you tell what Harnouphis wants with the boy?”

  “I can. But better to allow you to see for yourself. This only requires that certain submerged memories be restored to you. This is happening gradually already, but I can accelerate the proces
s. Be warned, however, breaking the barriers all at once will engender distress.”

  “Proceed,” Korax said. “Whatever Harnouphis stole from me, I want returned.”

  A jolt dropped him to his knees. He sank in blackness for a moment, then visions rushed into his mind: his hand bloodied on the game piece of a black-headed god; a piglet hacked to pieces on the altar of that same god, in a cave beside a stygian pool; a black leopard tasting the blood of a dying priest at dusk on the desert plain ...

  Slowly, Korax regained his senses. As he rose to his feet, another dire image came to him: That same underground altar would soon run with Baufre’s blood.

  “The god is Set,” Thoth informed him. “To the people of the Land, he is the Father of All Evil.”

  Pain throbbed in Korax’s skull. “Does Harnouphis’ villainy run so deep?”

  Thoth allowed the images to speak for themselves.

  “What can be done?” Korax asked.

  Again, his ally remained silent.

  “You mean, I must stop him?”

  “That is for you to decide. I am your ally, not your master.”

  Korax recalled how Harnouphis’ power had made him convulse in agony on the floor. True, his own abilities had blossomed since then. But at best he was a talented neophyte, hardly capable of challenging both his master and his master’s god.

  He grimaced, rubbing the back of his head. He planned to depart tomorrow—his longed-for escape. But how could he go now, abandoning Baufre to death, Katep and Hetepher to inconsolable grief?

  “You are not without allies of your own,” Thoth reminded him.

  At that, Korax thought of Isis and felt her benefic presence. Long ago, she had set a path before him, and a question: Was he willing to serve the gods?

  Now, at last, the test had come.

  He gazed steadfastly at the figure of Thoth on his altar. “I will rescue Baufre. Kindly advise me how best to proceed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Late that night, Korax crept across the temple grounds. He carried the wand of Thoth in his hand and words of power on his lips.