“Can I help?”
“You do enough by caring for Ky.” Walking quickly, I keep my head down. I do not wish to endanger another person because of their connection to me. Bebi hurries to keep up.
“There must be something I can do,” she insists, and I remember the reason I came to the palace in the first place. Food.
I stop and look at her. “Can you find me something to eat? Something that will travel well?”
“Yes,” she says.
I hand her the waterskin. “See if you can fill this as well.”
No one will question her. People might not question me either, but it is best not to take any more chances. Shai may be growing weary of accommodating me.
I follow her through the hallways toward the kitchen. She slips inside and returns moments later with a fresh loaf of bread, some dried fruit, cheese, and dates, which I add to the satchel. The waterskin is heavy, and she helps me adjust the strap so it rests against my left hip, the satchel on my right.
There is a rumble of voices down the hallway. Soldiers.
“I must go now,” I say, keeping my voice and my head down. “Many thanks to you, my friend.”
“Stay safe, Sesha. May the gods be with you.” I hear a loud bark of laughter and I hunch my shoulders up higher. Soldiers stumble in, looking for food. A discreet look assures me that Crooked Nose is not among them, but it is time I am on my way.
“Take care, Bebi,” I whisper, turning to leave. Then I remember something. Unclasping the scarab necklace, I take it from around my neck and fasten the protective amulet around hers. “Please give this to Ky.”
“I will,” she says. And because I have already said goodbye more times than I can bear, I turn and walk out into the first light of morning.
7
I MEET UP WITH THE OTHERS on the bank of the Nile, close to where some of the fishermen’s boats are tied, bobbing on the dark waters.
“Were you able to find food and drink?” Reb asks eagerly.
“Yes,” I say, holding up the bag and full waterskin. The Hyksos holds his hands out for the liquid, swallowing hard.
“Wait,” Paser says as I move to pass him the barley drink. “Sesha, give me your scarf.” Confused, I place the satchel and waterskin on the ground before unwrapping the scarf from around my head and passing it to him. “Hold out your hands,” he says to the spy, who gives him a wry look of acknowledgement. “I am sorry, but we cannot take any chances.” Desperate for a drink, the Hyksos reluctantly does as he asks, and Paser binds the spy’s wrists together in front of him.
I split the bread into four equal portions, noticing my own hands are shaking a little. Well, it is no wonder after the night you’ve had, a familiar voice chides gently.
A wave of relief sweeps over my body, like the sand across the dunes. My mother is still with me. Even after I defiled — as Reb called it — my parents’ tomb and abandoned my brother, though I do so to go after our friend.
Now that the ancient scroll my father was transcribing has been found — though it and the copy we made lie with Pharaoh and the queen — and Ky’s life-saving operation is done, Father’s spirit must feel he can rest for a bit. My mother’s, however, seems to be taking issue with her eldest child wandering off in the company of a stranger whose only established quality is a talent for treachery.
I suppose we are no slugs in that area, either, I think, glancing at the Hyksos’s tied hands while distributing the food to the boys. Paser lifts the waterskin to the spy’s mouth and the Hyksos drinks deeply. He then offers him some food, which the spy is able to bring awkwardly to his mouth despite his bound wrists. I feel a pinch of guilt as the spy clumsily pops a date into his mouth, not bothering to chew before swallowing it whole, but Paser is smart to be cautious.
“Is the plan still to travel by boat?” Reb asks, mouth full.
“We should go as far as we can by the river,” the Hyksos says. “It will not be long before they discover I am gone — which will be as soon as the morning duty guard comes by to pelt me with scraps. Or to urinate in my pit.” He cups his palms for another date and Paser obliges. The eye-watering scent of ammonia wafting from his thin frame suggests the guard relieving himself happened more often than the tossed scraps. I swallow. By the end of the journey my bones will likely be as prominent as his.
No matter. One can survive for some time without food, as evidenced by our new companion. Our bigger problem will be finding fresh water. We will survive only days without it. Less, in direct sunlight. We pass around the waterskin again. It will not last long with the four of us sharing. The plan to stay on the Nile is a sound one, not only for a swift escape, but for access to water, which is not as safe to drink as beer, but something at least. Away from the river, things get very dry, very fast. Not far from the Nile’s banks lies the Red Land, Deshret, endless unforgiving desert.
“I wonder how far we will get before we are caught,” Reb says. He swallows a piece of cheese as Paser passes him the waterskin.
“Look on the bright side of the pyramid, my friend.” Paser grins.
“Which is?” Reb takes a drink, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before passing the waterskin to me next. Bebi filled it to the brim with the barley drink, which tastes delicious as it slides down my parched throat. I put it to the Hyksos’s mouth, who drinks thirstily, then give it back to Paser.
“What comes next will be an adventure. We scribes are the ones who record the great stories on temple walls. But this time, we will be the ones to live it firsthand.” Paser claps Reb on the back, shoulders the waterskin, and stands tall. It is easy to see the training his grandfather, a respected soldier of the previous pharaoh’s army, instilled in him. Erect posture and a strong build are not qualities scribes are known for, making Paser’s bearing stand out even more. These attributes will serve him well in his new career as traitor and fleer from the queen’s army, as we all are now.
No, my mother corrects me. Not traitors. Survivors.
“Which one are we taking?” I whisper, looking down at the boats. They range in size, many of them simple but well made.
“That one.” Reb nods at a large wooden craft that looks recently built.
“No.” The Hyksos shakes his head. “The sail is down.” He points to a beaten skiff with a small sail and two sets of oars; its ends curve up out of the water.
“We will take that one.”
“At least the current will be on our side.” Paser strides over to the boat, followed by the Hyksos, who seems much improved after having something to eat and drink. He is resilient, I will give him that. “One advantage of travelling north.”
“The only one,” Reb mutters.
“That, and we will see the princess soon,” I say, giving him a gentle nudge toward the craft that we mean to … borrow. The sun is almost fully up, roaring like fire in the sky, red-orange streaks slicing through gold.
It is beautiful.
Despite the urgent need to depart, we take a few moments, holding our hands up to the warmth, acknowledging and praising the deity that delivers us from darkness each day.
The spy, too, drops to his knees, staring up in reverence at Ra in his glory — though I doubt that is what the Hyksos people call him. I suppose a sun by any other name is just as warm.
“I never thought I would see it again,” he says, voice soft. “Thank you for my life.”
I look at Paser, unsure if the Hyksos’s sincerity is a trick. Paser shrugs one articulate shoulder to indicate that, sincere or not, we are in this together, for now.
Paser climbs into the boat, followed by Reb and the Hyksos, who doesn’t seem to need his hands to balance. I step onto the rickety craft after him. Paser uses Ahmes’s knife to saw at the knotted rope, which would take an eternity to untie. I join in with my father’s obsidian blade. Every fisherman has his own secret combination of knots to deter thieves, but it is nothing crystallized volcanic glass cannot handle. Luckily for fishermen, this rare item is n
ot normally in the general public’s possession.
“And we are sure this boat is sound?” Reb eyes the rickety wooden planks held together by worn ropes.
There is an angry shout in the distance. “It will have to be,” the Hyksos says, looking over his shoulder, “as the owner is on his way to express his disapproval over its abduction.”
We look up to see an agitated form running toward us, shouting and calling for help. Unfortunately, his loud cries attract some attention and three figures run up over a small hill in the distance.
Soldiers.
8
“HURRY!” I URGE PASER, who gives the rope a final saw with the blade. It breaks at last. I sit on a wooden board behind the Hyksos and grab the oar on my left; Reb is beside me, grabbing the one on his right. Paser gives the craft a hard push off the dock and plunks down in front of Reb, reaching over the Hyksos to take an oar in each hand.
We pull away just in time. The man reaches the dock and shouts for the soldiers who are coming to see what all the commotion is about.
“Thieves!” the man shouts, shaking his fist at us.
“Apologies,” I shout back over my shoulder, paddling even harder.
“If you untie me, I can help row,” the Hyksos offers.
We ignore him, paddling in earnest away from the infuriated man, who is now yelling at the soldiers to do something about his stolen boat. I see one of them hold a hand up to his eyes and squint into the sun, as if to memorize our faces, taking in the Hyksos’s bound hands. It will not be long before they put things together and realize who we are and what we are doing. Meaning it will not be long before more soldiers are after us.
As we row frantically downriver, I notice the water is much lower than usual. On the banks beside us, I can see the stark line where dark grey sediment meets light grey, marking the ideal level for this time of year. Last night’s rains were nowhere near enough to reduce the threat of famine.
The river is mostly quiet as we move, the normal traffic lessened by the celebrations. Only after an hour of exhausting effort do I somewhat relax. By then my arms are burning and my clothes are soaked with sweat, as if I’ve jumped into the river.
“I need a few minutes,” I say finally, ashamed of my weakness.
“Thank Ra,” Reb groans, arms flopping to his sides. Paser, too, pauses, catching his breath, and we let the boat drift on its own accord. “I cannot feel my arms.”
“You will feel them tomorrow.” The Hyksos gives us a grin that is surprisingly full of good cheer for someone who’s bound as a hostage and smells strongly of urine.
Paser shields his eyes from the morning sun as we approach a bend in the river. “There is a boat ahead,” he says. “A big one.”
“It looks like a cargo ship, probably coming with more supplies for the festival,” I say, scanning the river. “We have nothing to worry about. Word cannot have spread that quickly.”
Resuming our paddling, we keep our heads down as the cargo boat approaches. It is much larger than ours. As it passes, our little craft bobs in its wake.
“Greetings, Sewedt!” a voice shouts. “How are the fish biting this morning? I see you have some friends with you.”
We freeze mid-stroke. I lower my head, gazing at the bottom of the boat. Paser raises a hand in friendly greeting, and I can almost feel the crew member of the cargo ship squinting his eyes.
Another shout: “You there! Where is Sewedt?”
“You mean my brother?” the Hyksos shouts back, keeping his bound hands between his knees. “He is enjoying himself, letting us collect his catch to repay him for his hospitality while we visit for the festival.”
Paser, Reb, and I exchange looks. I hope the sailor does not know the fisherman well.
“Sewedt has no brother!”
The Hyksos shrugs. “It was worth an attempt.”
“Thieves!”
We begin paddling again, freshly motivated in our efforts.
Thunk.
A large arrow sticks up from the bottom of the boat, its stem quivering like my exhausted arms. We gape at it in shock.
“Untie me!” the Hyksos shouts, holding his wrists out, breaking the spell. “Untie me now!” Paser hesitates for half a second, looking at me. I give a quick nod and he grabs Ahmes’s thin blade, lying beside him. A few forceful saws at the linen frees the spy, just as another arrow hits the deck.
“Jump!” I shout and the four of us dive overboard.
The water is cool and refreshing after our frenzied paddling. And whatever else happens, I am thankful Paser cut the Hyksos’s bindings.
I kick to the surface and gulp down a deep breath of air, blinking water from my eyes. Spinning in circles, I frantically look around for the others.
There.
Paser and the Hyksos are off to my right, the big boat sailing on placidly behind them. Despite the outrage of Sewedt’s sailor friend, a cargo ship destined for the palace will not stop for a fisherman’s nicked craft. But Reb still has not surfaced. I shout his name. Paser and the Hyksos both dive under the bluish-green water. I also sink down, my arms pushing water upward as I let my body be heavy. Keeping my eyes open, I try to see something, anything, that looks like Reb.
Nothing. I come back up, but I do not see Paser or the spy. I let myself sink back under. Many Thebans can swim, but, of course, there are exceptions.
No. Reb can swim. I recall the beer-vat incident on my first day at temple. Is there any way an arrow could have found its mark before we dived into the water? I need air, so I surface again, scared of what I might see — or worse, what I might not see.
Thank Ra.
The spy has Reb. Paser surfaces as well and splashes over to the pair. Reb appears dazed, but whole. There is a lump on his head I can make out from here.
“Can you make it?” I shout. Reb nods. The Hyksos releases him and they swim over to the boat, which fortunately did not capsize when we jumped off. I climb aboard first and lean over the edge to help hoist Reb over. Paser and the spy push him up from below.
We collapse on the floor of the boat, panting from our exertions. Lying on my back, I look over at Reb. “Are you well?” I ask. He is pale, and the lump is an angry purple welt, knotting up like the fisherman’s rope.
“Yes … I hit my head on one of the oars … when I jumped,” he says, gasping for air. Paser and the Hyksos clamber over the edge of the boat and join Reb and me in coughing up enough of the Nile to fill a shaduf bucket.
“You saved me,” Reb sputters to the Hyksos. “My blessings to you.”
“It is I who am blessed,” the Hyksos says, still coughing. “Without you three, I would have been tortured and killed. I spent hours in that hole fearing I might never again see my people. But you have given me back my hope. As long as I am alive, I will be reunited with them.” He grins, water running off him in rivulets. “I also appreciate the bath.”
Reb snorts, and a giant glob of mucous lands on the deck. Laughter intersperses the coughing as we try to get our breath back. Hope. What a thing to carry around with you. If a Hyksos spy can feel hope among his enemies, then I, too, can hold on to the hope we will find Merat and I will one day see my brother again. Overwhelmed with gratitude at being alive and intact on the fishy-smelling, snot-covered boards of a boat, I turn to the spy once in control of myself. “You have our thanks, uh …” I stop, realizing we do not even know his name.
“You may call me Pepi,” the Hyksos says, rapping his chest twice over his heart.
I nod. “Thank you … Pepi.” Speaking his name, it is the first time I think of him as something other than a spy. He is a person, with a family, like me.
“If we are to travel together, we must be able to trust each other,” Pepi says, pushing the dark hair out of his now serious eyes. “Or we will be dead within a day or two.”
I nod again, though Paser and Reb exchange a wary look as they resume their positions at the oars, Paser sliding Ahmes’s knife through his belt. My eyes fall on the scrap
s of linen that were once my mother’s scarf, now lying tattered and wet, stained with dirt. I pick up the sorry remains of the garment and put them in my satchel. Nothing should go unused.
The sun rises higher and higher. Its reflection bounces off the water’s rippling surface as we paddle the great river in the company of a Hyksos spy, unsure of our final destination or if we will indeed reach it, knowing only that we go to save our friend.
9
BY MIDDAY IT IS TOO HOT TO PADDLE. We pull over to the bank for a rest, making our way carefully through the reeds. After a hasty look around for any dangers hiding in the tall grasses, we pull the small boat onto shore. I am exhausted and need to rest, having not slept since … I cannot remember. The night before the festival and Ky’s surgery? I flop down under some of the trees, eyelids heavy.
Paser walks over to me, looking just as tired. “Rest, Sesha. Reb and I will watch the Hyksos, to make sure he does not escape.”
“We should take turns,” I mumble.
“We will. But there should always be two of us, should he decide to run. We have nothing to bind his hands with, nor do I think I could do so after he saved Reb in the river.”
“He did swear on his family he would guide us north,” I say, eyes closing despite my efforts to keep them open. Paser says something in a low voice but I do not catch it, falling asleep before he finishes his sentence.
I wake groggy. Hungry, thirsty. Sensations I have not felt with such intensity since our month on the streets, when my brother and I had to scrounge for food and drink. The other three are asleep under the shade of a few scraggly palms. Paser and Reb must have nodded off after the spy did. I stand up and look around, but all is quiet. Walking to the boat, I grab my satchel, which I stashed under an oar. There are a few shrivelled raisins and I savour my share, longing to shove them all in my mouth, but saving some for the others.
The sun is slowly sinking as Ra begins his descent to the underworld. We have slept away most of the afternoon, our worn bodies soaking up sleep like the land soaks up the quick rains. I scan the horizon, looking for clouds, but the skies are clear. The too-brief shower the night before has been the only rain in weeks. Isis’s tears seem to have dried up. Another sensation I am familiar with.
The Desert Prince Page 3
