The Crocodile Makes No Sound

by N. L. Holmes

  “I don’t know, Pipi. Horse breeding is a royal monopoly.”

  “You mean it’s illegal to own a mare?” Pipi’s eyes widened in horror.

  “No, no. Well, I don’t know. Lots of things are illegal these days that I never would have believed.”

  One of the horses lifted her tail and deposited a big gob of manure in the path. Maya suppressed a snicker that threatened to overwhelm him.

  Hani, maintaining his aplomb with remarkable success, asked, “So, do we in fact owe twice what you named?”

  “No, no. That was for both of them. It wasn’t a bad price for two, was it?”

  “I’m not sure Father’s friend will be interested in two mares,” Hani said with a sigh.

  Pipi brightened. “What about that rich friend of yours—the one with the yacht?

  “No, Pipi. We can’t ask him. He’s done too much for us already.” Hani turned to the doorkeeper, who stood marveling on the path well up toward the house, and bellowed, “A’a, call Lord Mery-ra.”

  A’a disappeared into the doorway. Maya’s efforts to control his laughter had become painful. A ripping snort finally escaped him. He closed his eyes and shook his head, but hilarity was a rising tide inside him that had reached Flood stage. He managed to get out, “I’d better go, my lord,” and lurched for the gate. Once outside, he started to laugh so hard he nearly fell down in the street.

  ⸎

  Pipi and Mut-nodjmet went up to the farm with Maya the next day while Mery-ra set off in Hani’s litter to ask his colleague whether he wanted two mares. Aziru and his men had taken the ferry for Akhet-aten. Thus, Hani alone remained in Waset, trying feverishly to think of a way to identify the master of the two Mitannian mercenaries. He wondered if they were actually staying at the beer house or if they had simply come to meet Aziru. It occurred to him that the best way to find out was to ask.

  Winter had given them a fine crisp morning and a flaming eastern sky, and Hani wondered what the bloody glow presaged. Through the quiet streets he strode, with a cloak knotted around his shoulders, taking pleasure in the solitude and the satisfying effort of walking. A few merchants had started to set up their stalls in the marketplace, but it was still a holiday, and a holiday without celebration. Most people would be sleeping late, he supposed. He saw beggars at the edge of the open space who had never been there before. Probably most of them were hard-working employees of the temples or their properties just a few years ago. His ebullient mood began to dim.

  Hani found the beer house open. Led by a group of dark-skinned men from the south, a caravan of pack donkeys was emerging from the wicket gate, eager to be off before the day grew older. Hani saluted with a friendly hand as he threaded through them and made his way into the common room. Warmth immediately surrounded him, although no braziers were lit. He shrugged out of his cloak and seated himself at the same corner location that he and his father had occupied before. No one else seemed to be around, and in fact, he had to knock on the table to attract the attention of the potbellied servant who emerged sleepily from the kitchen.

  Hani said quietly, “A jar of beer, my friend. And”—he laid a copper bangle on the tabletop and pushed it toward the man—“some information.”

  His eyes round and all at once wide-awake, the servant reached out a hand and snatched up the bracelet. “How can I help you, my lord?”

  “I’m looking for two Mitannian men. Soldierly types, tall. One of them bearded, the other not. Hair down to their shoulders. They’re wearing short tunics and boots. Does that say anything to you?”

  The man looked around him furtively. “I’m not supposed to talk about our guests, my lord, but... yes. That says something I understand.”

  “Are they still here?”

  More and more uneasy, the servant nodded. He was on the upper edge of middle age, slack looking rather than fat, his shaved gray-stubbled head bare. No doubt, he was weighing how much it was worth to lose his post at such a point in his life.

  “I’m in the king’s foreign service,” Hani said reassuringly. “Sit down. You needn’t be afraid. The government wants to keep track of foreigners in the country, that’s all.”

  Somewhat appeased, the servant edged himself onto a stool. “They’re here, my lord. They could come down any minute.”

  “Excellent.” Hani smiled, although he had no idea what he would do if the men entered and saw him there. Assuredly, they would recognize him if they had been the ones who’d shot at him in the Mountains of the West.

  “Have they met with anyone here, do you know?”

  Casting his eyes at the staircase, the servant nodded nervously. “Three other foreigners with beards. They’ve met several times. The other people stayed the night here recently.”

  Hani nodded. “I’m aware of that. Anyone else?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. I’m not always on duty in the common room.”

  “How long have the two men been here?”

  “They come and go. This last time... maybe six months. Since well before the Flood. But then they left for a while, even though they continued to hold their rooms. Now they’re back.”

  Hani wondered why the men were holed up in Waset rather than the capital if their business had been with the queen. Increasingly, he was convinced it had not been. Aziru was in Waset. But surely, he had nothing to do with the plot to ruin Kiya. “Anything else of interest?” he asked.

  The man seemed distinctly twitchy at this point. He shook his head. “Nothing, my lord.”

  Hani rose and said quietly, with his friendliest smile, “If you think of anything, I’ll be in from time to time. Pass me word, all right?”

  With a bobbing of the head, the servant assured him he would.

  “Forget the beer. We’ll talk later.” Hani cast an uneasy glance at the stairs. Thinking he heard footsteps on the treads, he made his way quickly to the exit.

  In the street once more, he narrowed his eyes, threw his cloak over one shoulder, and glanced all around him. He hadn’t learned much he didn’t already know, except that the Mitannians had been in Kemet for a long time, coming and going. They might well have made a trip to Kheta and back.

  But what are they really involved in—some defection of Aziru? The plot against Kiya? Both? And were they the ones who shot at me? If so, why—and why only once? Perhaps it was a warning and not an attempt on my life. I’d just spoken to Kha-em-sekhem and Kiya. Somehow, that provoked the attack. They must have been afraid I was getting close to something.

  His mind wrapped in these thoughts, Hani drifted through the back streets, between crumbling blocks of empty houses and small workshops with gates hanging and courtyards silent. There were beggars here, too—more than he’d ever seen—sullen looking and importunate. He thought of In-hapy, forced to sell her ancestral home and move to the soulless City of the Horizon. Little by little, his outrage mounted in a tide of cold bile. It occurred to him that Amen-em-hut might have the right idea. Surely, a ruler who could do this to his own people had forfeited the benevolence of the gods.

  The world suddenly tilted as a weight hit Hani’s back. One of the beggars had leaped on him and locked his arms across his throat. Hani staggered, choked by the man’s mass. Another beggar rose up out of the shadows of an alley, his grimy rags camouflaged against the grimy wall. The second man ran at Hani from the front, a stout stave raised in his hands.

  Hani gasped in terror. Where did they come from? I didn’t even see them, I was so engrossed in my thoughts.

  A thought flashed through his mind in a panic: If he hits me in the head with that, I’m dead. He tried desperately to cry out, but the man behind him was cutting off his air. Nothing emerged but an inhuman noise of fear. Hani summoned a burst of strength. Folding in half, he dragged the man over his back like a cloak. The oncoming attacker dared not strike for fear of hitting his companion. Once the pressure from his throat was relieved, Hani threw the man over his head. He fell on top of the fellow, who let go in an effort to protect
himself from the ground. Now the other beggar was upon him, snarling with effort. The staff whistled through the air as he slashed back and forth. Hani dodged by rolling to the side. He scrambled to his feet and threw his cloak at the man on the ground, entangling him.

  Hani backed out of range with the agility of the desperate. He was panting, his heart hammering. He and the man with the staff circled one another watchfully, but Hani was aware that the companion might attack him from behind. Two against one were bad odds. Realizing this might be his last moment, he yelled, “Help! Watchman!”

  Beside him, he was conscious of a streak of olive brown, and out of nowhere, a furry body the size of a large dog with a thin tail hurled itself silently upon the man with the stave, latching onto his leg with all four agile paws. The fellow began to scream as the animal sank its fangs into his calf. The man on the ground scrambled to his feet and took off running with the baboon at his heels. Hani could hear his shrieks—whether of fear or pain, he couldn’t say. The wounded man collapsed to the ground with a moan, hugging his shin, and Hani, his chest heaving, turned to look at his savior.

  It was the young policeman from the boat, the one who’d kept the baboon on a leash. He came jogging up, the leash over his shoulder, a bronze rod in his hand, and knocked the wounded attacker sprawling. He bound his wrists and ankles then he gave him a few more blows for good measure. Hani grinned at him, panting, as he picked up his wig. “I never thought I’d be glad to see you people again!”

  The policeman chuckled. “Thank Cub. He knew you were in trouble and made me hurry after you. He’ll immobilize the other fellow.” He started off after his animal to arrest the second attacker.

  Hani called after him, “You were following me?”

  The young man nodded, smiling. “Aren’t you glad?”

  CHAPTER 12

  At least his attackers had not been the two Mitannians—if they’d been trained killers, Hani would have been dead. But the men were cleaner and better fed than the beggars they were posing as. Some unemployed workmen, eager for any chance to earn a loaf of bread, Hani thought, not altogether unsympathetically. Cub had put them in a bad way with his massive fangs more than half as long as a man’s finger. The fellows would think twice about a life of crime.

  While the policeman chased down the second man, Hani squatted at the side of the first one, who rocked and moaned in anguish. He wasn’t young. “Did someone pay you to attack me in particular, or were you just looking to rob anyone who passed?”

  “You’re the one who just left the beer house? It was you we was supposed to put out of action.”

  “To kill me?”

  “Just to rough you up. To scare you.” The man’s face was screwed up in pain.

  A likely story. That staff was a serious weapon. “Who paid you?” he asked in a gentler voice.

  The man’s eyes flicked to the side, where Hani saw the policeman and Cub approaching with the second man, hands tied and feet trammeled. He was limping badly, and blood ran down his calf. “Some man. A foreigner.”

  Hani knew he didn’t have much time. “Where was he from, do you know?”

  “I don’t know. He spoke good Egyptian.”

  Ammit devour him. Hani had only a few more minutes before the policeman arrived and took his interlocutor from him. “Did he have a beard? A mustache or not? Clean-shaven? Quick—what did he look like? Young or old?”

  “Light skin. Beard with mustache. Youngish. Good-looking. Not real tall.”

  Cub walked up to Hani with dignified steps and sat in front of him, fixing him with his close-set, melancholy eyes, his hands hanging over his knees. Hani, suspecting he’d gotten all he was going to get from his attacker, greeted the animal gravely. “Thank you, son of Djehuty. You’re a worthy addition to the forces of order.”

  The young policeman laughed. “He likes you, all right. I’ve got to take these characters in to the station now. You want to come and accuse them formally?”

  “No,” said Hani, surprising even himself. “They’re not hardened criminals, and Cub has already punished them. No need to cut off their noses or ears too. Would your fellow officer object if I touched him? My daughter wants to know what his fur feels like.”

  “Just move slow and talk to him, like you did. Here. I’ll put his collar back on.”

  Once the animal had been secured, Hani reached out gently and stroked the frizzy, unexpectedly coarse fur of the baboon’s mane. Cub, in turn, extended a hand and laid it on Hani’s shoulder. They looked into each other’s eyes in a moment of understanding that almost brought Hani to tears; he felt so honored.

  He got to his feet slowly. “How much longer are you going to be following me around?” he asked with a friendly smile.

  The policeman shrugged. “Until I’m ordered to stop, my lord. But unless you show signs of being up to something interesting, probably not much longer.”

  Hani drew off one of his faience rings and passed it discreetly to the officer. “Buy some treat for Cub. You two saved my life.”

  The man accepted it with gratitude, and Hani set off for home. He told himself, marveling, I think Aziru just tried to have me killed.

  ⸎

  Since, for a brief while at least, Hani could be sure he wasn’t being followed, he headed for Ptah-mes’s house to report what new things he’d found out—or suspected—about Aziru.

  Lord Ptah-mes was sitting in his salon, reading a beautifully illustrated scroll. As usual, he was dressed as if he were prepared for a royal reception. He looked up, seeming pleased to see Hani. “How’s it going, my friend?” he asked amiably.

  “Well enough, my lord. I’ve learned a few more things that might interest the vizier.” After reminding his superior about the meeting he’d overheard between the king of Amurru and the Mitannian mercenaries, he recounted what the servant had told him on his second visit to the beer house—the comings and goings of the two sell swords—and the subsequent attack in the street.

  Ptah-mes’s arched black eyebrow dropped pensively. “Ungrateful bastard. What’s that all about, I wonder?”

  “It may not have been Aziru, of course. But I wonder if he didn’t recognize me in the beer house after all. The Mitannians could see me over his shoulder. Maybe they said something about a man watching them too closely. Aziru doesn’t have much longer to pull off his transfer of allegiance and get out of here. It would have looked as if I’d simply been attacked by some of the violent disaffected of the city.”

  “Do you think it was he the first time, then?”

  Hani pondered that idea. “No. He would have had no reason then. That has me confused. I assumed it was the queen, but now I don’t know whose hire these Mitannians are in.”

  “Let me say to you what I’ve said so often before, Hani. Be careful.” Ptah-mes looked serious, his lips pursed in thought.

  Hani pondered this, equally troubled by the harm someone seemed to wish him. Then he brightened. “Ah, I must tell you, my daughter has given birth to a son. I need to make the offerings, but I’m not sure how anymore. Someone said we could just leave them at the gate of the Ipet-isut.”

  “People seem to be doing that. We can ask my wife before you go. But congratulations, Hani. Your secretary is the father?”

  “Yes, my lord. And then my brother has returned with two horses he’s trying to sell. Even with Aziru leaving, it’s never boring.”

  Hani chuckled, and Ptah-mes smiled, an expression that warmed his severe face and made it attractive. “Perhaps I could look at your horses—”

  “Oh, Lord Ptah-mes, don’t feel any obligation. You’ve done so much.”

  “No obligation, but one never knows. They might be something I’m interested in.”

  “As you wish. They’re at my house for the moment.”

  “Let’s call Apeny and see what she says about offerings.” Ptah-mes rose and moved elegantly to the inner door, where he called out, “Apeny, my dear. Are you there?” Hani was unable to interpret his tone, which
was neither rancorous nor affectionate. The “dear” seemed to have only neutral meaning.

  The mistress of the house emerged, as perfect as a figure from a tomb painting. “Hani, how delightful. Has Ptah-mes offered you anything to drink?”

  “It was a business meeting, my lady. And I’m on my way out, but thank you,” Hani said with a bow.

  Ptah-mes said, “His daughter just bore a son, and Hani wants to know how one goes about making the offerings these days.”

  “Why, congratulations!” she cried, taking Hani by the hand in that perfect blend of warmth and reserve that seemed to be the mark of the household. “May Mut the mother of us all smile upon her and her child.” She laid a reflective finger to her cheek. “I can let you into the courtyard of the temple. That would be safer. One never knows who’s going to take something sitting outside the wall.”

  Ptah-mes’s face grew sharp, his eyebrows taut. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, my dear. The police are following him.”

  “Although at the moment, they’ve let me go. I have a few hours at least before they put the tail back on me,” Hani said mildly, not wanting to seem to side against his friend. Then he remembered. “Wait, I have no offerings with me.” He wouldn’t have time to go home before the police detail was back at work.

  But Apeny said smoothly, “We can take care of that. I’ll get some grain or a haunch of meat from the pantry. Ptah-mes, let him pick some of your flowers, won’t you?”

  Hani could sense the tension rising between Ptah-mes and his wife like the shimmering of the air over the desert. He shot Ptah-mes a look that tried to say, I don’t have to do this if you don’t want me to, but the high commissioner’s face had taken on a mien of neutrality that was no more expressive than a cucumber. He led Hani to the garden and directed one of the gardeners to cut an armload of anything that was blooming or fruiting in the winter season. They filled a basket, and Lady Apeny joined them in the garden with a jar of wheat.

  “You’re too kind,” Hani said, looking from one to the other. “I’ll pay you back for this.”