by Kevin Ashman
‘Wow,’ said Becky, ‘what happened here?’
‘Like I said,’ said Amy, ‘I wanted to surprise you. I had a word with maintenance and they helped me drag everything out so that I could give it a lick of paint. I nicked the filing cabinet from Admin and had a good tidy up.’
‘Oh, Amy that’s very nice of you,’ said Becky.
‘Well, it wasn’t just me,’ said Amy, ‘the boys helped as well. We thought it would be nice for you to come back to after…well, you know.’
‘And the pictures?’ she asked, glancing up at the bare-chested actor peering down from the walls.
‘Oh yes, those,’ said Amy. ‘I did ask the art department for some Rembrandts, but they weren’t too keen.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Becky, ‘but still, sparkly vampires?’
‘Yeah, I know. I brought the posters in from home. They were on my bedroom wall.’
‘Thank you,’ said Becky. ‘Not my cup of tea, but I still really appreciate it. One thing though, you didn’t throw my notes away, did you?’
‘Nope,’ said Amy, ‘they are all alphabetically filed in the filing cabinet. If it didn’t have a heading, it was filed under miscellaneous. There’s quite a lot in miscellaneous.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Becky, ‘except thank you.’
‘No problem,’ said Amy. ‘Just don’t start blubbering. That would be so un-cool.’
‘I promise, no blubbering,’ said Becky. ‘Now, let’s start with a nice cup of coffee, shall we?’
‘It’s already done,’ said Amy, ‘and on your desk. Welcome back.’
Amy sat at her clear desk and picked up her coffee. A couple of biscuits were on a side plate, as well as a copy of the weekly museum journal.
‘I could get used to this, Amy,’ she said between sips.
‘Whatever,’ said Amy blankly as she stared at her own computer screen, and though Becky couldn’t see what she was looking at, she guessed she was networking.
‘Some things never change,’ she thought to herself, and opened the page of the journal on her own desk. The day went relatively quickly for Becky, and though she knew they were well meaning, she didn’t want to run the gauntlet of her colleague’s condolences. So, when Amy offered to bring her a sandwich from the canteen, she gratefully accepted.
‘Cheese and pickle, please,’ she said, ‘and an apple. Oh, while you’re up there, could you go to admin and pick up any mail?’
‘I already have,’ said Amy.
‘Where is it?’ asked Becky, looking at the expanse of clear space on her desk.
‘In the filing cabinet, filed under U for unopened mail,’ said Amy.
Becky held her breath until Amy had left the room, and for the first time in two weeks, allowed herself to laugh. This new Amy was going to take some getting used to.
She retrieved the pile of mail sitting in the bottom of the drawer and placed it on her desk, discarding the elastic bands that held them together. For the next hour or so, she filtered them out into three piles, junk, work and urgent. The junk mail went into the recycling bin, and the urgent pile was placed on the top of the work pile. By the time home time came, she was up to speed on e-mails, letters and memos, though she had seen nothing from her father.
‘Is there anything anywhere else, Amy?’ she asked as the girl pulled on her ankle-length black coat.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Amy. ‘Why, have you lost something?’
‘No, just expecting a personal letter, that’s all.’
‘Perhaps it will come later in the week,’ said Amy. ‘The post office is crap, these days.’
‘It probably will,’ sighed Becky, ‘hang on; I’ll walk out with you.’ Within a few minutes, they were walking arm in arm from the museum.
‘See you tomorrow,’ said Becky as they reached the tube station.
‘Yeah, okay,’ said Amy, and carried on to her bus stop.
‘Amy,’ called Becky as the girl walked away.
Amy turned around.
‘Yeah?’
‘Can I have chocolate biscuits tomorrow?’
‘Now you’re pushing your luck,’ laughed Amy, and waved goodbye as she got on her bus.
Becky waited until she was on the tube before ringing John Deacon.
‘Hello, John,’ she said, ‘Becky Ryan, here.’
‘Hello, Becky,’ came the answer,’ how are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Becky, ‘I’m just ringing to say I haven’t seen a letter yet, but it may arrive later in the week.’
‘Okay,’ said John, ‘no problem, I still have some things to organise up here, so there’s no rush.’
‘I just thought I would let you know,’ said Becky.
‘That’s great,’ said John, ‘see you soon.’
‘Yes, okay. Bye.’
‘Bye, Becky,’ said John and the phone went dead.
Half an hour later, she was back in her flat, being greeted by a hungry Smokey. All in all, it was as if over the last two weeks, nothing had happened.
----
Chapter Four
Itjawi Village
1245 BC
Normally Yafeu was fast asleep at this time of night. The hard graft in the quarries of Ramesses saw to that. Yafeu was a chiseller and had the calloused hands to prove it. Every day he would turn up at the quarries and work alongside his friend, Serapis. Each would take a turn holding a the chisel over a marked piece of stone, while the other smote it with a mallet to form a hole in the granite When it was deep enough, and they had a row of similar holes, they would drive in wooden wedges before soaking them with water so they would expand. The wedges would be driven in regularly and kept wet, and as they swelled, the strains in the rock became unbearable until a crack appeared. More wedges were added and ultimately, the rock would split right through, and fall away, providing the architects with one more building block for whatever project was in the king’s favour at the time.
Yafeu would toil from dawn to dusk in return for food, beer and a tiny allowance for his family. Though there was no physical money in his world, the worth of his labour would be calculated by the overseer, and he would be issued with a similar worth from the rows of goods provided by the king’s merchants. Food, clothing, leather or even tiny statuettes of the gods were available as payment, but despite being a fairly high-grade worker, Yafeu was in financial difficulty due to the debts racked up by his son. One of his neighbours had threatened to report him to the officials if he did not pay the debt, and if that happened, there was a high probability of his son being sold into slavery to pay the man off.
Yafeu knew that if that happened, his son would lead a life of hell, and probably be transported to the desert quarries where all the criminals of the country were sent. His lifespan would be measured in months, not years, and though he was admittedly a rogue, Yafeu would not see his son die alongside murderers, rapists and Hittite filth.
----
In his world it wasn’t in anyone’s interest to be walking the streets of Itjawi during the dark hours, but tonight was different. His chisel partner, Serapis, had told him of an opportunity too great to be missed and Yafeu was getting desperate.
‘It’s simple,’ said Serapis in the privacy of Yafeu’s hut days earlier, ‘every month, the trader passes through the village of Nepum. Rumour has it his pack bags are full of jewels and spices, but he is so disliked, and such an ungodly person that no priest will offer him shelter on his travels. He stays in a peasant’s hut on the edge of the desert and thinks that nobody knows of his location. But my cousin knows the farmer, and he said that he lies unguarded once a month. He is due again in three nights.’
‘I don’t know,’ Yafeu had said, ‘it sounds too easy.’
‘That’s because it is,’ said Serapis. ‘We could get in there, kill him and trade his goods in the next village over the next few months.’
‘What if we are caught?’
‘How can we be caught? All we have to do is
leave his body out for the Jackals. As long as we keep our mouths shut, he will soon be forgotten. There will certainly be no tears shed for him.’
‘I am not getting any younger, Serapis,’ said Yafeu. ‘How do I know I will be able to overcome this man?’
‘Leave that to me,’ said his friend, and together they had hatched a plan to ease their combined debts as well as set them up for a life far away from the quarries.
----
The night was particularly dark when the time came, and Yafeu was glad of it. Though there were often gangs of youths abroad in the hours of darkness, Yafeu had grown up in the streets and knew them well enough to remain hidden from prying eyes. He kept close against the walls as he hurried through the town, keeping in the deepest shadows of the darkest alleyways. Within an hour he had reached the outskirts of Nepum and circled around to where Serapis had told him he would find the hut. A break in the clouds allowed enough moonlight to show Yafeu the two donkeys tethered outside the hut; a sure sign that someone was indeed located inside.
Yafeu waited for Serapis. They had agreed to travel separately, so they would not arouse suspicion, and had made a solemn vow that if either was caught, neither would reveal the other’s name, even on pain of death. Making the vow was one thing, but should that happen; Yafeu doubted his pain threshold would allow him to keep silent.
An hour later Yafeu was at the point of giving up, when at last a whisper from behind made him jump and he spun around in fright.
‘Serapis, in the name of the gods, don’t do that,’ he snapped, ‘you frightened me to death.’
‘What’s the matter?’ laughed his partner quietly. ‘Scared of ghosts or something?’
‘Look,’ said Yafeu, ‘I’ve had time to think and I’m not happy about this. I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Serapis, ‘we are here now, let’s get on with it.’
‘Serapis, you are not listening to me, I can’t do it.’
An awkward silence fell before Serapis grabbed Yafeu’s arm.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I haven’t come all this way to give up now. I’ll go in and use this,’ he pulled an axe from beneath his robe. ‘You stay here and keep watch. If anyone comes, just shout and I’ll get out of there.’
‘I’m not sure…’ started Yafeu.
‘Think about your son, Yafeu,’ hissed Serapis. Before his friend could argue any more, Serapis ran down the slope and toward the hut at the edge of the cornfield.
Yafeu waited for what seemed an age, and he was about to go down to call his friend, when movement from the cornfield on the far side of the hut caught his eye. From his slightly elevated position, he could see a trail appearing, as if someone was walking through the crops. However, as the corn was so high, he couldn’t see who or what was leaving it.
He looked across the cornfield in confusion. The clouds had now cleared away and the moon lit up the scene as if illuminated by hundreds of torches. He could see more trails now and counted more than a dozen, each coming from a different direction and converging on the hut.
Yafeu’s first instinct was to call out, but he knew it was too late and nothing he could do would save his friend. He wanted to run, but curiosity kept him transfixed, so he awaited the outcome of the strange phenomenon with bated breath. He wasn’t sure what he expected to emerge from the corn, perhaps robbers or even cattle but the last thing he expected to see, were women.
His heart missed a beat, as one by one, several white robed women seemed to glide from the corn, forming a semi-circle around the front of the hut. Some approached the two donkeys and calmed them down, while others peered through the slats of the shuttered windows. Finally, one individual entered the hut and a dread silence seemed to fall over the entire scene.
Yafeu refocused on the ones comforting the donkeys. They seemed to be very tactile, smoothing their heads and running their manes through their fingers as they caressed the animal’s necks. Yafeu looked again; the soothing nature of the women’s attention seemed very unnatural. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, they seemed to be kissing their necks.
Yafeu felt a rush of revulsion and barely contained a gasp of disgust. He didn’t know what was happening here but whatever it was, it wasn’t natural. Just as he contemplated leaving, a sickening scream of unparalleled terror echoed from the hut and across the fields of corn, chilling his heart to the core. It was as if the remaining women had been waiting for this spine-chilling signal and without a sound, those attending the donkeys, sliced the animals’ throats wide open and stepped back as the donkeys struggled to escape their tethers. Within seconds, the animals collapsed and the rest of the women fell upon the dying animals in a frenzy of aggression, tearing at the wounds with their bare hands and immersing their faces in the fountains of blood, fighting amongst each other for the prime positions.
Despite his revulsion, Yafeu was transfixed and watched the frenzied women tearing at the poor animals with blades and teeth, causing fresh streams of blood on every free area of flesh they could find. Even when the blood had stopped flowing, they ripped chunks of raw meat from the bodies and chewed ferociously at their bloody prizes, with raw animal juices running down their faces.
Yafeu came to his senses and rose from his hiding place. He had to get out of there and realised that now was the best time, while their attention was diverted. Just as he was about to turn, his eyes were drawn to the doorway of the hut and his eyes opened wide in fright when he realised the woman who had initially entered the building, had now emerged and stood in the doorway, staring right up at him. For a second, he paused, staring in horror at the blood that surrounded her mouth and fell from her chin, staining the white gown she was wearing. Yafeu realised with a sinking heart that the blood about her face had to be human, and more than likely, belonged to Serapis.
For what seemed an age they stared at each other, each with different intentions, but as she started to walk toward him, Yafeu came to his senses and fled in terror back the way he had come.
----
Ramesses moaned in his sleep, the subject of nightmares fuelled by his life of violence. The harem girls had been dismissed and had left him fast asleep beneath the silken covers of his sleeping Dias. Outside his chambers two of his trusted soldiers stood on guard, willing to lay down their lives to protect their beloved king. Throughout the palace soldiers talked quietly amongst themselves, disappointed that the extra duty meant they had to forego the brothels that every city boasted.
Officers strolled around the luxurious corridors, making sure that everyone was where they were supposed to be, and despite not knowing why the extra guards had been requested, each knew that their own fates relied on the safety of the king. If anything should happen to him on their watch, then every officer, soldier and household servant would be put to death, irrespective of the severity of assault. It was a blunt consequence, but one that ensured every member of the king’s staff went out of their way to ensure his safety.
Midnight had long passed and the time crept toward the deepest part of the night. The time when the land fell into silence and even animals held their breath in anticipation of the coming dawn.
Ramesses opened his eyes, momentarily confused as to his whereabouts. His confusion was quickly overtaken by revulsion as the smell of death assaulted his senses. He sat up quickly and pushed himself back against the wall in fear as his eyes became accustomed to the dark. That smell could only mean one thing, the presence of Sekhmet.
He looked around the room frightened. Despite her age, Ramesses had seen Sekhmet kill men larger than him, before they could even draw sword. Her speed of movement at close range was astonishing, and no matter how strong the victim, without a throat, they were usually unconscious before they could retaliate. Ramesses did not intend to underestimate her and though he held a knife beneath his sheets, he spoke calmly and clearly.
‘I know you are here, Sekhmet,’ he said, ‘show yourself.’
‘Is that a tremble of f
ear I hear in your voice, great King?’ asked a gentle voice from the darkness.
‘I have no fear, Sekhmet. It is caution you hear.’
‘You are right to show caution, Ramesses, but it is a mistake not to fear me. You of all people should know this.’
‘How did you get in here, Sekhmet?’ he asked.
‘I have my ways,’ the answer came.
The king’s eyes followed the hint of something moving across the dark room and his hand closed on the grip of the knife. Except for his death, he could imagine no other purpose for the woman’s visit.
‘If you dare try to take my life,’ said the king, ‘you and your kind will be wiped from the face of this world forever.’
‘Ramesses,’ said the voice, ‘I tire of your empty threats. If I wanted to take your meaningless life, then you would already be dead.’
‘You dare to threaten Pharaoh?’
‘I have killed many men in my time, Ramesses, and amongst them were many kings. Do not presume favour from me. I allow your grandiose ramblings for no other reason, than you amuse me.’
‘Then why are you here?’ he asked.
Gradually the woman appeared from the darkest corner of the room, seemingly gliding over the luxurious carpet that covered the marble floor.
‘I have spoken to many kings, Ramesses, and you alone stand out. All have cowered in fear before me, overwhelmed in the presence of an immortal, yet you alone dare to question me. Nobody has even dared hold such discourse, but simply accept my majesty without thought. You, however, question my very existence, my claim to immortality and even veil threats beneath clever words. I have often thought about snuffing out that tiny light you call a soul and move on to the next. Yet there is an arrogance about you that draws me like a moth to a candle. Why is this, Ramesses? What is this magic you hold that has spared my wrath on more than one occasion?’
Ramesses swallowed hard. The fact that she had considered killing him brought him to a cold sweat, for the reach of her retribution knew no limits.
