“I’m Pharaoh’s Cat,” I meowed indignantly. Not that it did any good.
“Go on, shoo!” The Scribe brandished his inky staff at me, narrowly missing my tail. I yowled.
“My lord, stop! That’s Pharaoh’s Cat.” Kenamon rushed up to my side.
Relieved to have a defender, I turned back to the Scribe. So there!
“Don’t be ridiculous, boy,” the Scribe sneered. “Pharaoh’s Cat went back with the Vizier.”
“But this is the one I was drawing, my lord. I’m sure of it. He’s even got a beetle on his head—”
“And probably bugs all over the rest of him, too,” the Scribe interrupted. “He’s a stray, boy. Look at him.”
“But—”
“Don’t waste my time, Kenamon. I’ve had enough trouble from you and your family today. Can’t you see Huya and I have important matters to attend to?” The Scribe turned to his brawny companion. “Huya, wait out here, and I’ll bring you, er…” He flashed a glance at Kenamon and lowered his voice. “Well, just wait here,” he went on to Huya. “And don’t let that filthy beast in. I don’t want him mucking up the place and bothering Menwi.”
“Yes, my lord Scribe.” Huya elbowed Kenamon out of the way and planted himself in front of me.
“Who does the Scribe think he is, calling me filthy?” I protested to Khepri. “He’s the one with the inky fingers.”
“Yes,” Khepri said uncertainly. “But…”
“But what?”
“Well, the trip out to the tomb didn’t do you any favors, Ra. I hate to say it, but you’re not quite the same cat.”
For the first time since we’d gotten back, I took a close look at myself. My hind end was covered with dust. My tail was matted. My paws were mottled with clay. And those were just the bits I could see.
“This isn’t good.” A chill went through me. “Even if the Vizier does come back, he’ll never recognize me.”
“Of course he will,” Khepri said, a shade too heartily. “We need to clean you up, that’s all.”
As the Scribe vanished into his house, Huya aimed a kick right at my hindquarters. “Scoot, you dirty stray!”
I scooted before I was booted.
Kenamon followed after me, and when we reached a safe place, he bent down and held a hand out. He didn’t seem to mind how dirty I was. “Sorry, Pharaoh’s Cat. The Scribe shouldn’t have done that to you, and neither should Huya. But they’re awful to almost everybody. In fact, I think they might be up to—”
“Kenamon, who are you talking to?” Pentu the painter rounded the corner. His hands had flecks of rusty paint on them, and his gaunt face was winched tight with worry. “Oh, it’s just a cat.”
Kenamon stood, his feet arranged as if to guard me. “It’s Pharaoh’s Cat, Father.”
“Pharaoh’s Cat?” Pentu didn’t look past my dusty fur. “You have quite an imagination, Kenamon.”
“He got left behind somehow,” Kenamon insisted. “He needs water and food.”
“Kenamon, you know we can’t afford to feed a cat. Not even Pharaoh’s Cat. Which I doubt this is.”
“But I thought you said that things were going to change—”
Pentu looked alarmed again. “Hush.”
Some cat wisdom: when people say “hush,” it’s time to listen up. I swiveled my ears, determined to catch every word of what came next.
Secrets and Surprises
“We’re not going to talk about that again.” Pentu’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Do you understand?”
“I don’t see why we have to keep so quiet about everything,” Kenamon mumbled.
“Silence is golden.”
“But you spoke out this morning. Loud and clear, right to the Vizier.”
“And look at the trouble that caused.” Pentu sighed. “Kenamon, you need to leave that cat alone and come with me. Neferhotep wants to see you about painting one of the walls of his tomb.”
Neferhotep again? I bared my teeth as I saw the goldsmith approach us.
Kenamon looked at his father in surprise. “I thought you said he couldn’t afford our prices.”
Neferhotep overheard. He knotted his fingers together as he stopped in front of Kenamon. “Your father and I have come to an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?” Kenamon looked uncertainly at his father. “What are the terms?”
Pentu didn’t meet his eyes.
“Never mind,” said Neferhotep. His fingers were twitching again, so rapidly that I could hear a constant clinking as his rings tapped against each other. I sidled closer, trying to get a good look at those rings. Did one of them belong to Setnakht? “The point is that your father and I have agreed that you will paint a portrait of me on the wall of my tomb. Come with me, and I’ll tell you exactly what I want.”
He turned and motioned for Kenamon and his father to join him. As Pentu followed, a narrow reed brush dropped from his waistband.
Scooping it up, Kenamon sighed, then bent low and whispered to me. “I have to go with them, but wait here. I’ll bring you some water as soon as I can. And a snack, if I can find one.”
He ran off, leaving me alone with Khepri.
“Did you catch that?” Khepri asked.
“About the snacks? Of course.” I never miss anything about snacks.
“Not that, Ra. Did you hear how Pentu told Kenamon they were going to have more money soon? He even said that he’s not supposed to talk about it. And he’s clearly done some kind of funny deal with Neferhotep. Looks suspicious, doesn’t it?”
“Not really,” I said, but I was uneasy. “You can’t possibly suspect that nice boy of being a criminal.”
“It was the father I was wondering about,” Khepri said. “Maybe Neferhotep knows he’s the tomb robber, and he’s blackmailing him. Though maybe the boy is involved, too. He did behave rather strangely in the tomb. He was watching us so closely, and he seemed to notice everything, but—”
“He’s an artist,” I said. “He’s supposed to notice things. That doesn’t make him guilty. And remember, he offered me snacks.”
Khepri dropped down onto my nose, looking cross. “Snacks don’t mean anything, Ra.”
I stared at him aghast. “Khepri, snacks mean everything.”
Khepri sighed and climbed back between my ears. “I suppose we can’t really build a solid case against anyone until we have more evidence.”
“Well, after Kenamon brings me my snack, we can go look for more clues,” I said.
“Kenamon only said he’d try to come back. It doesn’t mean he will. Anyway, we can’t just sit around and wait for Kenamon. We’re Great Detectives, and we’ve got a case to pursue.”
He was right. But that didn’t mean I had to be happy about it.
“So where were we?” Khepri drummed his feet on my fur. “Oh, yes. You wanted to go interview Menwi, the Scribe’s pet. And I agree that might be useful. I vote we try the Scribe’s back door.”
Pharaoh’s Cat doesn’t normally do back doors, but Great Detectives can’t afford to be fussy. With Khepri guiding me, I darted down alleys and squeezed through gaps until we reached a small courtyard behind the Scribe’s house.
“See that shed?” Khepri murmured as we balanced on the wall. “Maybe Menwi lives there.”
“In a shed off the kitchen? Be serious, Khepri. No highborn cat—”
The Scribe bounded out the back door, a pot in his hand. “Menwi, darling, it’s lunchtime!”
With grunts and squeals, an enormous pinky-white mountain rushed out of the shed. A mountain with a curly tail and a snout.
I looked at Khepri in shock. “Menwi is a pig?”
“The biggest pig I ever saw,” said Khepri in awe.
“But everyone knows that swine are allied with the forces of chaos,” I said. “No one keeps them
as pets.”
“The Scribe does,” Khepri said. “Just listen to him!”
“Who’s the cleverest creature in Egypt?” The Scribe blew a kiss to Menwi. “That’s right. It’s you, darling.” He dumped the contents of his pot into a trough. “Spiced goose for you, my sweet. And some other goodies.”
“Spiced goose?” Khepri whispered in my ear. “What do you want to bet the spices are cinnamon and cumin?”
My thoughts exactly.
Menwi snuffled at the trough.
The Scribe scratched behind her ears. “I wish I could stay, beloved, but I need to keep one step ahead of the Vizier.” He blew her more kisses as he left. “See you soon, my darling.”
“He blows kisses to a pig, but he won’t let Pharaoh’s Cat into the house?” I couldn’t get over the injustice. “That’s it. I’m going home.”
Then I remembered I didn’t have a home. Some other cat had taken my place. All I had was this.
Khepri hopped off my head, the better to observe the pig. “I think we should talk to her, Ra. If she really is the cleverest creature in Egypt, she might be able to help us.”
“She doesn’t look that smart to me,” I said.
“She’s certainly worked out how to get plenty of food,” Khepri noted.
Point taken.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll talk to her.”
“Good. You know, I really like how it smells here—”
“But we’re not staying long,” I added.
“Then let’s get going.” Khepri meant to hop up on me, but in his excitement, he overshot. When I reached out to catch him, we both went tumbling down into the courtyard.
We landed in something soft.
And smelly.
And squishy.
“Dung!” Khepri cried in delight.
“Dung!” I cried in horror.
I jumped up, reeking, and found myself muzzle-to-snout with Menwi.
Menwi
“Goodness gracious, what have we here?” Menwi had the accent of a highborn lady—well-bred, cultured, and just the faintest bit amused.
Bedraggled and stinky though I was, I pulled together what dignity I had left, assuming the time-honored pose of Bastet. “Lady Menwi, may I introduce myself? Pharaoh’s Cat, Ra the Mighty, Lord of the Powerful Paw, at your service.”
(I didn’t mean the “at your service” bit. It’s just what we aristocrats say.)
Menwi’s beady eyes looked me up and down. “Well, whoever you are, you certainly do sound like royalty. I’ve never seen a cat with such elegant bearing—or so covered with mud. Why, you could almost be a royal piglet.”
Khepri sprang to my side. “Oh, he’s Pharaoh’s Cat all right. He’s just having a bad day.”
“The worst ever,” I confided. “I’ve had to crawl through tombs and walk through deserts. I’ve had jackals chasing me and people kicking me. And I haven’t had a thing to eat since I left the palace.”
“You’re hungry?” Menwi looked horrified. “Why, that’s dreadful.” She swung her snout toward her trough. “There’s not much left, but you’re very welcome to it. And…er…your companion as well.”
“Thanks,” Khepri said cheerily, “but I’ve already eaten.”
“I’m not even going to think about that,” I told him. Nodding politely to Menwi, I said, “I’m honored, but I wouldn’t dream of taking a lady’s food.”
“How polite.” Menwi regarded me with approval. “But really, it’s more than I can manage. The Scribe is so generous. It’s there for the taking, if you change your mind.”
“No, no,” I murmured. “You’re too kind.” I didn’t want to offend her, not when we were trying to get on her good side, but I wasn’t about to lower myself by eating a pig’s leftovers. I sidled past the trough. If there was any spiced goose in there, I couldn’t tell, given what a reeking jumble it was.
Wait a minute. Was there duck in that mess?
Hmmm, I thought. I do love a bit of roast duck.
“Well, maybe I will have just a taste…” I plunged my head into the trough.
A big mistake. There was roast duck, all right—well past its prime. But it was mixed with moldy melon and rancid gravy. And now that gravy was clinging to my fur.
Choking, I retreated to Menwi’s water dish.
“Such a dainty appetite,” Menwi said in concern. “Are you sure you’ve had enough?”
“Urgggh…yes. Thank you.” I hacked up a bit of duck and batted it away with my paw, hoping she wouldn’t see.
“Well, now that you’ve eaten, do please tell me more about yourself, Ra the Mighty. What brings a royal cat like you to Set Ma’at?”
“I’m here to serve justice,” I told her.
“We both are,” Khepri put in.
Together we told Menwi about the tomb robbery.
“So the thieves come from this village?” With a squelch, Menwi lowered herself to the ground next to me. “It’s shocking that Set Ma’at would be involved in something so disgraceful. But I can’t deny that standards have slipped here. And now tomb robbery…well! It just shows what this world is coming to.”
“So you’d be willing to help us?” I said.
She opened her pale lashes wide. “Of course.”
“Then tell me everything you know against Neferhotep,” I said.
“Ra,” Khepri warned, “that’s not the way a Great Detective solves—”
“Neferhotep the goldsmith?” Menwi interrupted. “He’s a thief if there ever was one.”
“A thief!” I repeated. “Did you hear that, Khepri?”
“Why, he charged the Scribe an absolute fortune for repairing the clasp of a gold collar,” Menwi went on. “And when the Scribe refused to pay anything but a reasonable fee, Neferhotep said he would get the money out of the Scribe one way or another. He sounded quite threatening.” She tutted. “I’m afraid he’s not a nice man at all. He actually said”—she lowered her voice—“that I smelled. I’ve heard he has connections with a gang of some sort, too.”
“Does he?” I said, excited. “A gang of tomb robbers, maybe?”
Menwi’s small eyes gleamed. “Quite possibly.”
“Hmmm.” Khepri sounded less enthusiastic. “Could I ask if you have any actual evidence, Lady Menwi? Maybe you saw Neferhotep sneaking out of the village last night?”
“Oh, goodness me, nothing like that,” Menwi said. “I never pay much attention to the comings and goings of common workers. And I’m always in bed at a reasonable hour.” With a delicate snort, she added, “A lady needs her beauty sleep, you know.”
“Of course,” said Khepri gallantly, but I could see he was disappointed. So was I. There was nothing to prove Neferhotep’s guilt.
“The trouble is, that leaves the field wide open,” Khepri explained to Menwi. “Anyone from Set Ma’at could have been the robber.” He began pacing around Menwi’s water trough. “All we know for sure is that someone got into Setnakht’s tomb through the stonework in Thutmose the Second’s abandoned tomb next door. There’s no other way in. And we know it was someone from the village because of the clues we found there.”
“The spiced goose,” I murmured wisely.
“So I guess that means it’s most likely to be a tomb worker,” Khepri went on to Menwi, “since they could have explored the place during their breaks.”
“No, they couldn’t,” Menwi contradicted him. “The Scribe is careful about that. He has the guards watch the workers very closely. They’re accompanied everywhere—on the path up to the tombs, inside the tombs, everywhere in that whole area. The men aren’t allowed to take breaks alone, and they’re searched every time they leave the building site. Then they’re searched again before they come home to Set Ma’at.”
I nodded. This much I knew. “It’s a high-security operation, Khepri.
”
“If they’re watched so closely, then how did anyone discover the way into Setnakht’s tomb?” Khepri wondered. “Because somebody did discover it. We know that for a fact.”
“What about the thieves who robbed Thutmose the Second’s tomb a few years ago?” I suggested. “Maybe they found the way in—and came back for more.”
“No,” Menwi said slowly, her curly tail spiraling. “That robbery happened two years ago, and I remember the Scribe telling me about it. The thieves were caught that night, with the loot still in their bags, and they only had treasures from Thutmose the Second’s tomb. Nothing else. Besides, they were executed.”
“Not much chance of them being involved, then,” Khepri murmured.
“What if Anubis brought them back from the dead?” My whiskers trembled as the full force of the idea hit me. “Don’t you see? It fits. Dead tomb robbers could slip through anywhere—”
“Don’t be silly, Ra,” Khepri said. “The tomb was robbed by living people. The scraps we found were fresh, remember? And I’m sure those blocks had been moved.” He sighed. “We just don’t know who did it. I’m afraid we’re stuck.”
“Not quite,” Menwi said.
A Charming Model
“Not quite?” Khepri repeated.
“Well, the robbers weren’t the only ones who went into Thutmose the Second’s tomb,” Menwi explained. “The Scribe told me there was a hole in the roof where the thieves got in, so they couldn’t seal it up again. It had to be abandoned. But even though the robbers had tried to burn it to cinders, there were a few bits and pieces that survived the fire. So the Scribe sent a handful of men to retrieve what they could. And since we don’t have extra guards to spare, I suppose it’s possible they weren’t watched as closely as usual.”
“Aha!” I was getting excited again. “Who were the men on the clearance crew?”
Menwi wriggled her snout, as if to jog her memory. “Let me see. The Scribe told me he sent Huya the carpenter and Neferhotep the goldsmith, because there wasn’t much work for them that day on the site. Oh, and Pentu the painter was there, too.”
The Great Tomb Robbery Page 6
