The Crocodile Makes No Sound

by N. L. Holmes

Hani made a pained noise, and his distress wasn’t solely for the man before him but for Kemet as well, whose faithful and talented servants were treated so poorly.

  “This put me on a very delicate footing once the new regime began. I’m sorry I haven’t done more for you, my friend. Once, I could have advanced you, but I have to be extremely careful now. I’m suspect at every level. My patronage is the kiss of death.”

  “Please, Lord Ptah-mes. You’ve done more for me than you can imagine by relieving me of overseas assignments.”

  Ptah-mes gazed sadly into his lap, then he took a deep breath and looked up, smiling. “Can I offer you some more of this fine vintage, my friend?”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  “And if I may ask, Hani, why were you at Djehuty-mes’s workshop? Are you commissioning a statue as well?”

  “Yahya! There’s a story! My niece wants to marry our Kha-em-sekhem.”

  Ptah-mes looked astonished. “A sculptor? Are her parents favorable?”

  No doubt, the idea of marrying an artisan was completely unimaginable for a grandee like Ptah-mes. Hani shook his head. “They’re very uneasy about it. His social class, for one thing. But even more, the man seems to have a shady past where the ladies are concerned. My brother wanted me to investigate him.” He grinned. “Pipi is conflicted, because our sculptor has offered him a handsome bride price.”

  “How strange. It sounds quite louche. I advise caution.”

  Suddenly, Hani thought about Lady Kiya’s connection with the sculptor. He wondered if he should tell Ptah-mes that the Beloved Royal Wife had compromised herself and was vulnerable to blackmail. How he would welcome sharing that terrible secret with someone—especially someone with the connections and experience of the court that Lord Ptah-mes possessed. Ptah-mes certainly wasn’t the gossiping type. But perhaps he would consider that his oath to the king required him to make known such a revelation. In the end, Hani said nothing about it. The two men sat in silence, sipping their wine.

  “With my lord’s permission, I have a few tasks to perform while I’m in the capital,” Hani said finally, with a tentative scooting forward in his chair.

  Ptah-mes understood immediately and rose, freeing Hani to do so as well. “Of course. I need to get back to the Hall of the Royal Correspondence anyway. I’ve indulged myself long enough.” He shot Hani his bone-dry smile. “Thank you for your company. I find it appalling that two men can work together for nearly twenty years without ever knowing the first thing about one another.”

  “You’re right, my lord. I’m afraid we live in times of suspicion and secrecy.” Hani and Ptah-mes clasped forearms in an amicable gesture, and the grandee made his way toward the gate, calling for his litter.

  Hani followed and stood in the street, orienting himself. At last, he set off away from the River, heading for the workshop of Djehuty-mes. In the noisy, dust-filled court, he sought out the master sculptor, who left the statue upon which he was chiseling with not so much as a grimace of annoyance and cheerfully accompanied Hani to the door that led into his house.

  “Ineni, dear. Lord Hani is here to talk to Rekhet-ra,” Djehuty-mes called.

  A comfortably plump middle-aged woman emerged from the back of the house and nodded a bow, all smiles. “I’ll get her, my love.”

  What a sweet-natured couple, Hani thought.

  A moment later, Ineni returned with an attractive younger woman, soft of face and form, her fuzzy brown hair twisted into rolls that gave it the shape of a layered round wig. “Papa said you wanted to ask me about Kha-em-sekhem,” she said, her nose wrinkling. “He said your niece wanted to marry him. Take my advice and warn her away from that dog.”

  “Now, dear...” said her mother mildly.

  “Worse than a dog. We were married for five years, my lord, and he must have betrayed me with as many women. Every time, he’d swear that he loved only me and that he’d change if I gave him another chance. But he never changed.” Her face had grown red, and her mouth hardened and turned down.

  Hani could see that she was very bitter. “I’m amazed your parents don’t seem any angrier at him.” He smiled at the young woman and her mother.

  Rekhet-ra cast a reproachful sideways look at Ineni. “Me too. But they always loved him. And I guess Papa needs his skill.” Her voice rose aggrievedly. “But imagine, my lord. There he is every day in the courtyard. I can’t even go out there. And if he ever got hold of the children, he’d take them away. He was that upset when I kept the boys. It’s so hard on me! We’re like prisoners!” She took a big sniff in righteous victimhood. “I can’t wait to remarry and get away from here.”

  Her mother laid a sorrowful hand on her arm. “Oh, my lamb, I know it’s not easy. But your father thinks of Kha-em-sekhem as a son. We can’t just drive him away.”

  Hani looked at the two women with sympathy. Clearly, Kha-em-sekhem had a weakness, but neither did he seem to be a bad man. These two dear older people wouldn’t love him so much if he were truly malicious. He remembered, with an ironic inner smile, that he’d asked Djehuty-mes, “If my niece were your daughter, would you want her to marry him?”

  Thinking of the mysterious bride price, Hani asked, “Is Kha-em-sekhem well off financially?”

  “That’s another thing. Papa pays him well, no question. But he was always throwing wealth around as if he were some great lord. Don’t ask me where he got it, but he didn’t keep it long. He seemed to feel he had to buy people’s respect.” Rekhet-ra was angry, but Hani could see sorrow, too, as if she pitied her former husband as much as she resented him. “So we never had enough. He said I was always harping at him, but I ask you, when you see your children hungry and their father is throwing bread at perfect strangers...?” She waved her hands in frustration. “He’d go to a beer house and buy everyone there a pot of the best. He’d hand a beggar a heqat of grain or a bronze bracelet. He’d come home with a big piece of jewelry for me when we didn’t have enough to eat. What was going on? He was always trying to buy me, to prove something, when all I wanted was for him to be faithful and to stop being so profligate. Now, he’s after your girl, but I’ll bet he thinks he has to buy her. He’s sick in the head, my lord. Does a man that talented have to buy respect?”

  Hani listened sadly, starting to feel sorry for the sculptor. Generosity seemed like more of a virtue than a vice—but to deprive his family in order to play the bountiful benefactor? Kha-em-sekhem sounded like a complicated man, and Hani could imagine that being married to him had been difficult.

  “I thank you, ladies, for your time and your frankness,” he said sincerely and took his leave, pensive.

  That the sculptor was insecure and was always trying to prove himself was one issue. Still, where did he get all that bronze, grain, and jewelry? Hani thought about Kha-em-sekhem’s foolish indiscretion with Kiya. Perhaps he was the one blackmailing her. But Kiya’s case seemed to be about political influence, not gold. And why would a man from Men-nefer care about the Mitannian treaty?

  Hani heaved a sigh. He thought he knew enough about Kha-em-sekhem’s flaws to report back to Pipi, but he wasn’t sure what he needed to do to follow up on the Beloved Royal Wife’s charge. Perhaps he should speak to the sculptor himself. If Kha-em-sekhem had turned out to be a hardened, misogynistic kind of person, there would have been no point. But he seemed to be a weak man with goodness at the core. Perhaps he could be moved to tell the truth.

  Hani retreated to the Hall of Correspondence and busied himself for a while, but shortly before twilight, he headed back to the sculptor’s workshop, where he waited outside the gate until the workmen began to trickle out. He wasn’t sure he would even recognize Kha-em-sekhem in his natural colors. But sure enough, after a few minutes, a long-faced, wiry man with the lighter skin of the Men-nefer region emerged, and Hani knew him from his shape. He wore a round wig now and was clean and younger looking than Hani remembered, without white dust accentuating the lines in his mobile face. He carried a hempen sack of tools, cla
nking together, over his shoulder.

  “Kha-em-sekhem,” Hani called out, hurrying toward him in case the fellow should bolt.

  The sculptor froze then made a move to take off, but Hani laid a hand on his neck and guided him out of the stream of departing workmen. “Hello, my friend. I have a few things to ask you. Let’s go have a beer.”

  “I don’t have anything else to say to you,” Kha-em-sekhem said, his voice tinny with fear.

  Hani could feel the tightness in the muscles under his hand, and he hoped that didn’t mean the fellow was tensing up to hit him. “I’m not your enemy, Kha-em-sekhem. I just need your help to get to the bottom of something. Where’s the nearest beer house?”

  “There are few enough in this city of prune-faced mystics,” the man grumbled. But he led the way, still secured by Hani’s hand on his neck.

  It was nearly dark, and the crickets had begun their rhythmic night song by the time Hani and Kha-em-sekhem had made their way into the central city and found the little beer house. The door was open, and lamplight streamed out along with the laughter and conversation and clinking of crockery. A homey neighborhood place, Hani thought approvingly. Not the sort of dive where lowlifes hang out—just workmen on their way home. He even saw a few women sitting with their husbands, laughing familiarly, as if they were all known to one another.

  Everyone looked up when they entered, and someone cried out, “Here’s Kha-em-sekhem! Come sit with us, friend.” Hani observed with interest the change in the sculptor’s manner. He immediately grew loose and expansive; a smile that crinkled his eyes stretched across his face. Even his body relaxed. He waved genially to his friends.

  “Don’t pay for a round. I want to talk to you unnoticed in some corner,” Hani said under his breath. He steered the man toward a dark nook where there were still a few stools unoccupied, and they sat down side by side, looking out over the small room. The low ceiling was made of reeds over the palm-log beams; the floor was of packed earth. Someone had scribbled a game board on the whitewashed wall above the red dado, and Hani saw other graffiti, some of it quite skillful. No doubt, the royal artists patronized the place. Smells of cooking mingled with the yeasty bouquet of the brewer’s product, and beside every other person or so sat a big pot of beer on its stand, two or even more straws hanging out.

  “Want anything to eat?” Hani asked his companion.

  Kha-em-sekhem shrugged. “Sure. But sharing a meal with you doesn’t obligate me to anything.”

  Hani laughed and placed an order with the scrawny boy who sidled up to them. When the lad had left, he turned toward the sculptor and said with a frank smile, “I talked to your wife. She actually described to me a man I would say is good-hearted.”

  “She did?” Kha-em-sekhem seemed surprised.

  “I’m still not sure I want to see my niece married to you, but that’s not really what I want to talk about.”

  Kha-em-sekhem stiffened, his face expressionlessly aimed at the room. His powerful long hands, laid on his knees, grew white knuckled. Hani fell silent as the serving boy laid a plate of endives, a pot-shaped loaf of bread, and a dish of little fried fish before them. A moment later, the lad positioned between them a beer jar, which they were evidently to share, and disappeared.

  Hani resumed talking. “No, I want to talk about the King’s Beloved Wife.” He watched the color drain from the sculptor’s face and his throat convulse with the effort to swallow. “That was a superb portrait you did of her. You’re a very talented man.”

  Kha-em-sekhem’s eyes twitched toward Hani, and his mouth quirked skeptically. “I think that’s not what you want to talk about.” He was starting to breathe rather hard.

  “Who’s paying you?”

  “For the portrait? The king.” He laughed sarcastically. “Life, prosperity, and health, and all that.”-

  “No, to blackmail her. Because you’re in a really dangerous position. You’re going to be caught and tortured and killed, while they’ll get away free.” Hani was venturing out into completely hypothetical waters, hoping to draw the man into some sort of revelation of what was really happening.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the sculptor said tersely. He bit angrily into an endive and wiped the dressing from his lips with the back of a hand.

  Hani said nothing, just dropped a fish into his mouth, watching Kha-em-sekhem.

  “Who are you, anyway?” the man whispered. Sweat had beaded on his face. Under the angry surface, fear lurked like a crocodile.

  Hani shrugged amiably. “One of the officials who brought the Beloved Royal Wife back from Naharin years ago. I feel rather protective toward her. She’s suffering. I didn’t think you were the kind of man who would use a woman like that.”

  Kha-em-sekhem hung his head, his mouth slack. “All you gods...”

  “In my opinion, you’re both being used. Someone knew your weakness for beautiful girls and saw a useful tool. You’re the chisel in his fist, my friend. And at some point, he’ll throw you away.”

  The sculptor put his face in his hands and let out a groan.

  Hani leaned toward him and said quietly, “I’ll do all I can to help you stay out of trouble if you’ll help me identify the one who’s behind this. If it blows up, it’ll drag us into war and pull you and Kiya down with it.”

  Kha-em-sekhem stared up at the ceiling, agonized, but said nothing. Hani could see by the flickering light of the lamps that his eyes were wet. Finally, the man whispered, “Why should I trust you? Maybe you’re the king’s man, and the Mut-nodjmet business was just a front.”

  Hani smiled gently. “No on both counts. I’m really her uncle.”

  The sculptor stared sightlessly out at the merrymakers in the room, his face wrung by misery, and Hani resumed eating. At last, Kha-em-sekhem said, “I’m not admitting to anything.”

  “Understood. You’re a victim,” Hani said through a mouthful of endive.

  Another silence stretched out. “You’re not going to threaten to break my fingers or something if I don’t talk?”

  His lips around his straw, Hani grunted and shook his head. The man was finally softening up. “It isn’t very private here,” Hani said when he had swallowed. “I propose we meet at the house where I’m staying when I’m in the capital. Do you know a man named Ptah-mes? Of course you do—you’ve carved his likeness.”

  “He’s a vizier or something, isn’t he?”

  “Used to be. Do you know where he lives?”

  Kha-em-sekhem nodded, looking defeated.

  “We can either go together right now, or you can join me tomorrow after work. I need to leave for Waset after that.”

  “Let’s do it now.”

  They headed back through the dark streets lit only by a quarter moon and the milky light of the stars. Although the sculptor was young and in good shape, his breathing was as heavy as if he were climbing stairs for block after block. Their sandaled footsteps clopping on the packed earth was the only other sound. Suddenly, something large and light colored flashed silently overhead.

  Kha-em-sekhem flinched, and Hani smiled. “An owl.”

  They arrived at Ptah-mes’s gate, and the doorkeeper admitted them, since Ptah-mes’s servants had orders to let Hani come and go as if it were his own home. Hani saw lights in the house through the treetops. “Let’s sit in the garden.” The white graveled path still glowed with the last of the day’s drowning light, and Hani groped his way to a bench with Kha-em-sekhem at his heels. “Now, my friend. Anything you can tell me will help us to save you.”

  Kha-em-sekhem sat silently in the darkness for so long that Hani began to wonder if he had sneaked away, but at last he spoke. “It must have been about a year ago now. The person who spoke to me was a servant, although probably a high-level one. He only ever referred to his master as ‘the star in my sky.’ I had just started working on the plaster bust of the Great Royal Wife. He said wouldn’t I like to enjoy the beauties of Lady Kiya from closer up, or something
like that. That I should figure out how to do so and then anonymously blackmail her to get her to influence the king’s foreign policy. I said I couldn’t write—how was I going to send a note? He said the star in his sky would take care of that. I only had to slip the note someplace where Kiya’d find it when I was there working on the sculpture.”

  “How long did it take you to finish the plaster likeness?”

  Kha-em-sekhem gave a cough of a laugh. “Less than a month. But she started thinking of things she wanted me to do—other views, other headdresses, a relief. It went on for about three months. I was getting really nervous. There were priests and guards and handmaids everywhere, and the chamberlain of her household was always prowling around.” His voice broke. His hands clenched and unclenched nervously. “Sometimes, we’d keep talking while we were doing it so no one would get suspicious. I’d say, ‘Lift your nose a little’ or ‘Do you want this to be the same color?’ I must have been crazy. The danger...”

  “This was at the palace harem?”

  “Only the first time. Iy, that place was guarded like the Double House of Silver and Gold. No, we usually met at Pa-maru-en-pa-aten.”

  Ah, the place where the Aten shows what he’s capable of. “And then, at some point, you left the note demanding action or else. Do you know what it said?” Hani asked.

  “No idea. I can’t read. My contact just said it had to do with political influence.”

  “I suppose he paid you, though. After all, you were taking an enormous risk.” Hani kept his voice neutral and nonjudgmental.

  “He paid me well. In silver, often, or jewelry. I thought Rekhet-ra would be pleased with that, but she wasn’t. Nothing I did ever made her think better of me.” Kha-em-sekhem heaved a sigh as if he needed air. Suddenly, he groaned. “I’ve never been so miserable in my life as since this has been hanging over me. I feel like the medjay are going to be coming after me at every corner I turn.”

  In the shadows, Hani made out Kha-em-sekhem lifting his hands to his face. He felt a genuine surge of compassion for the man. No hardened spy but a simple artisan, Kha-em-sekhem was into some nefarious business way over his head. Hani reached out and laid a hand on the sculptor’s knee. “Help me to find the person behind this, Kha-em-sekhem, and I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”