The Lost Scroll of the Physician

by Alisha Sevigny

  As we walk up to the large mastaba building, Paser speaks. “There are many rooms and chambers hidden beneath. It can be confusing. Go slow and take note of when you turn.”

  Paser nods at the guard at the front and we enter the main room. It is a small chapel with pictures and statues of the deceased lining the walls. Here people leave offerings and say prayers for their departed friends and family members. There are a few small lanterns lit around the room.

  Paser gestures. “In here.” We walk into another room. This one is brightly illustrated with the traditional scene of a person’s heart being weighed against Osiris’s Feather of Truth. Anubis, Ky’s dog’s namesake and God of the Dead, holds the man’s hand, while Ammit, Devourer of the Dead, waits to see if he will be fed this day. But, alas for Ammit, the scale is balanced, guaranteeing entrance to the afterworld. Thoth, the god of wisdom and patron of scribes, records the verdict. Spells and incantations are painted on the walls, aiding the person in their journey.

  “I believe your parents were the last ones to be buried here. Soon the shaft leading to where their coffins lie will be filled with stone, so that none may pass.”

  “And so that the tombs will not be robbed,” I say. “It does not matter. I can’t imagine they had much left to be buried with.”

  “On the contrary, it was a most spectacular procession,” Paser says. “The mourning women hired to wail at the ceremony put on a most impressive performance.”

  “You watched?”

  “You did not?”

  “I could not bear it.”

  “Sesha.” Paser puts a hand on my shoulder. “You know that for people as good as your parents, death is only the beginning of a great adventure.”

  “But if their bodies were not preserved,” I say, at last voicing my anguish, “how will their spirits survive? How am I to see them again?”

  Paser is silent for a moment. “That is maybe a question for one of the High Priests. As long as their names are inscribed on their coffins, their Ba and Ka should be able to find their way back. And it is said the spirit of a person can animate a statue. Perhaps Ra will accept these in their place and reward them with a new body in the afterlife. After all, the gods can do anything.”

  Paser’s reasoning makes me feel slightly better. “Were statues placed in their coffins?”

  “I do not know. I am sure the pharaoh would have arranged something —”

  “Where are the stairs leading to the burial chambers?” I interrupt, scanning the room. “I need to see for myself.” I notice the false door, where the spirits may leave and enter from, as I exit the room. After walking for a few minutes I come to a small room in the centre of the building. Steps lead steeply down into the subterranean chambers.

  “They must only be entered for performing special ceremonies,” Paser says, coming up behind me.

  “You do not have to accompany me.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Has anyone told you that you are very stubborn?”

  “Two people used to tell me that all the time.” I grab one of the lit torches and, walking over to the stairs, place my foot on the first step leading down underground. “And they are down there.” I look back over my shoulder at Paser. “Coming?”

  21

  THE TORCH FLICKERS AS we descend the shaft; like us, fire needs air to breathe. With hands tracing the painted walls, we go lower and lower at a gradual incline until we come to a large antechamber. Several paths lead off from the central room, each hallway bordered by two large pillars. Lifting my torch higher illuminates the words inscribed above each passageway. My family name is written above the one directly to my right.

  “This way,” I say to Paser. We move down the stone hall until we reach a room on the left and stop. “Here.” We enter the room. The two coffins lie side by side. Despite my fear that my parents would have no possessions to be buried with, a small number of items lie around the room. A few of my father’s surgical instruments, most notably his prized obsidian blade, the volcanic glass having survived the flames. Some pottery of my mother’s, charred but still whole. I touch one of the bowls, and my fingers come away black with soot. The royal family must have had them put here. I am gratified at their thoughtfulness. Perhaps I have been wrong in my suspicions.

  “Help me lift the lid,” I say to Paser, throat dry.

  He looks at me, raising an eyebrow. “What do you expect to find?”

  “I am not sure.” Indeed, I do not actually know the condition of my parents’ bodies. Maybe there are only ashes left. Maybe semi-charred remains. Gulping, I reconsider this course of action.

  Paser echoes my thoughts. “Sesha, I think it best to let them lie in peace.”

  My hand rests on the heavy lid. It will take more than the two of us to put it back on.

  “Maybe you are right.”

  “Why do you not ask Wujat if you really need to know? Was he not your father’s friend?”

  “Yes, he was.” He is also the Grand Vizier and High Priest of all the land.

  “I am sure he will tell you the details if they are so important to you.”

  Wujat will also want a report of how my search for the scroll is going. Glancing around, it strikes me that more than I thought was saved from the fire. Could I be mistaken about the scroll being in the temple? Maybe Father did keep the priceless document at home and it was overlooked in the ruins. Of course, if it was there, it is more likely it burned up in the flames, but I squash that thought.

  “I need to go to my home,” I say to Paser. “Or what is left of it.”

  It still smells like smoke. Most of the rubble has been cleared, but pops of colour peek through disintegrated bricks of mud and clay. A carved toy bird of Ky’s. A broken cosmetic brush of my mother’s. Sifting through the ashy wreckage, I scan the ground for clues.

  “What are you looking for?” Paser asks.

  “I am not sure,” I admit, kicking over a broken chamber pot. “But I hope I will know when I find it.”

  Paser clears his throat. “I wanted to thank you. For saving my life the other night.”

  I look up from my scouring, offering Paser a rueful smile. “As it was I who put you in danger in the first place, you need not mention it.” The wind rises, whipping up a tattered white feather that was once part of my mother’s earring. It circles lazily in the air, then is caught by a stronger gust, flying off before my hand can reach out to catch it.

  “Sesha, your face is white. Are you all right?”

  “This has just been an … eventful day.”

  “Have you even had a chance to properly grieve for your parents?”

  “I have mourned for them every day since their deaths.” But Paser has struck upon something. Though tears have come a few times this past moon, I have never let them spill freely over. Their deaths were such a shock and then it was straight into survival mode, taking care of Ky, trying to see him safe and well and us both fed and …

  Moisture gathers in my eyes. Despite my prickliness, Paser has been a good friend these past few days. He takes another step closer, resting a warm hand on my back. “It is all right to cry.”

  “I am afraid if I start I will not be able to stop.”

  He smiles, a crooked grin. “It is the season of the Inundation, the more water on the ground, the better.”

  I let out a choked sound that is half-laugh, half-sob. Paser wraps his arms around me and gathers me close in a hug. The tears begin in earnest then, streaming down my face; my body shakes with grief as I surrender to the pain of losing my parents, the fear of not finding the scroll in time to save Ky. Oddly, succumbing to the doubt and sadness makes me feel lighter and after a few moments the weeping subsides. I wipe my face, feeling cleansed somehow.

  “Thank you,” I sniffle, sitting down on a blackened brick.

  “You are most welcome,” he says, squatting beside me. “Keeping your emotions bottled up inside is not healthy for the spirit.”

  “My mother used to say that.” My big
toe traces an arc in the thick ashy sand. A flash of copper underfoot catches my eye. Bending down, I pick up a small circular object, covered with dust, and blow on it.

  It is a ring, inscribed with the Eye of Ra. A ring worn by Pharaoh’s personal guards.

  “What did you find?” Paser asks.

  My hand involuntarily curls around the trinket. “A ring.” My mouth is dry.

  Paser nods at my enclosed fist. “Was it your mother’s?”

  “No.” Making up my mind, I inhale deeply, slowly opening my hand to reveal the incriminating band. “I think it belongs to one of the pharaoh’s guards.”

  “What would that be doing here?” He frowns and takes it from me to examine it. My expression must reveal what I am thinking, because as he looks back at me, he gives a sharp intake of breath.

  “Sesha. We may be in some trouble.”

  22

  AFTER I FINISH TELLING PASER everything, he shakes his head.

  “And you have no idea where the scroll is?” he asks, as we approach the palace.

  “None.” I tuck the ring safely away.

  “Is it possible it was in the fire?” he asks.

  “I did wonder that, but now I don’t think so,” I say, shaking my head. “Father would often stay late at the temple; he must have been working on it there. I just have no idea where.”

  “It is a big building with many places to hide.” And with only one room down and many to go, I could use a little reinforcement.

  “I plan to search the more accessible areas before and after classes.” Looking at him under lowered lashes to gauge his reaction, I continue. “The festival should be a good time to explore … harder to reach places.” Father’s old study was a piece of honeycake to get into compared to some of the inner and underground chambers. “The priests will be busy and distracted, along with everyone else.” Despite Nebifu’s mutterings in his chamber, it remains unclear if he is involved or not; it is best to tread carefully.

  Paser nods. “Yes, that is probably our best chance. In the meantime, I will keep my ears open and maybe ask some of the other scribes. Someone might have seen or heard something. And not much escapes Nebifu, though I am sure Wujat and Pharaoh have already spoken with him.”

  “You are going to help me, then?” Relief floods my body.

  “Of course.” Paser looks at me in surprise. “Why would I not?”

  “It might be dangerous. If Pharaoh did have something to do with my parents’ death …”

  “I just cannot fathom why,” Paser muses. “But I am not afraid. I believe he is a good man.”

  “I once thought so, too,” I say as we reach the entrance to the wing where the handmaidens’ quarters are. “Now I am not sure of anything anymore.”

  “Well, you can be sure of my friendship.” Paser smiles at me and warmth filters into the cracks of my heart.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Besides” — Paser smiles as he walks me to the wooden doors — “all these years studying have been very dull. Did I not say how I love a good adventure? And how since you showed up things are a lot more exciting?”

  “I am glad to be of service,” I say, a matching grin spreading across my face.

  “Sesha?”

  I turn in surprise to see Merat standing there. “Yes, Princess?”

  “I have been waiting for you,” she says. But she is looking at Paser.

  “My Princess.” He bows.

  “It is good to see you, Paser,” Merat says. “I hope the gods have been keeping you well.”

  “I wish the same for you, Your Highness.”

  “No need to be so formal,” she says, brushing back a piece of hair. “We were friends once.”

  “We are friends always,” Paser says and a light flush spreads from Merat’s neck up onto her smooth high cheeks.

  I clear my throat. “What is it my lady wishes of me?”

  “I thought we might have another lesson,” she says, looking at Paser, chin high. “Sesha is teaching me to read hieratic script.”

  “I am sure the princess will have no trouble picking it up.” Paser bows again.

  “She is a quick study.” I try to hide my smile. “See you tomorrow, Paser.”

  “Good night, Sesha.” He nods formally at Merat. “Princess.” Then takes his leave, striding away.

  I look at Merat, who for once seems less in command of herself than usual.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “I am to be married.” She sags against the wall.

  “Your parents have found a suitor so soon?” I am astonished. The last one was rejected only a few suns ago.

  “To one of the Hyksos chieftains in the North,” she says, tone as bitter as horehound. “Father’s latest attempt to smooth things over between the warring tribes. He thinks it may turn their attention away from us.”

  My brain works furiously. If Pharaoh is still anticipating war, he cannot have much faith in his daughter’s upcoming marriage. Unless this recent development is his last-minute attempt to buy extra time to find the scroll in preparation for battle and its consequences. The document must be even more important to him than I’d thought if he is sacrificing his own daughter.

  “The princess seemed most pleased to see Paser,” I say, changing the subject to distract Merat from her distress. She gives me a look as sharp as the aloe vera plant and I clap a hand to my mouth. “My apologies, Your Highness. I do not mean to seem overly familiar … I … I only wanted to see a smile, and … and it seems thoughts of him bring it,” I finish lamely.

  Her mouth turns up a fraction. “Am I really that obvious, Sesha?”

  “No, Princess. I have just become very good at reading faces,” I say, voice sincere.

  “Hmmm, come then,” she says, gesturing at me to follow. “Let us have our lesson and then you can tell me all about your day. I imagine it was much more interesting than mine, engagement notwithstanding.”

  I finish telling Merat about the snake and she laughs and shakes her head. Though I feel we are becoming something resembling confidants, I still do not mention my suspicions of her father, or the ring I found in the ashes of my home. Its shape presses against my hip bone.

  “It seems you and Paser have become quite close,” she says, trying, but not succeeding, to keep the dusky blush from creeping into her cheeks again. It completely changes her demeanour, making her seem more approachable.

  “He has been most kind.” I speak frankly, understanding what she is getting at. “But I do not need to be distracted from my studies just now.” Or from my quest to find the scroll. “Paser is a good friend, nothing more.”

  She sighs. “My engagement is to be announced at the Festival of the Inundation.”

  I murmur soothing consolations to her. Poor Merat. And though it is a minor consideration on top of everything else, perhaps if I find the scroll she will not have to marry someone she does not love. Though I know love has little to do with most royal marriages, Merat, surprisingly, seems to possess the heart of a romantic under her cool exterior and I would not wish her to be unhappy.

  The sun is getting low. Merat notices me shifting in my seat. “Do you need to use the chamber pot, Sesha?”

  “I have not supped yet, Your Highness,” I admit. My stomach lets out a loud growl and she looks amused.

  “So I hear.” She waves her hand. “We shall continue tomorrow. After that I am afraid there will be little time. There is much preparation to be done for the festival.”

  I bow and exit her chambers. There is much work for me to do, as well. But first, I must go check on my brother.

  The next morning Sebau announces that we will be seeing patients with mild maladies, and a buzz of excitement runs through our group. Trailing behind the other scribes chattering about the thrill of helping real patients, I think of Ky as we walk to the village. He was in a cheerful mood last evening, playing and laughing with Tutan. I did not want to spoil his happiness by mentioning the soldier’s ring
, an object which may implicate his best friend’s father, and so I said nothing, letting him enjoy the blissfulness that accompanies ignorance.

  I am not sure what it is — maybe a sound, maybe a movement — but something rouses me from my thoughts, the hairs along my body rising in unison, as if caught in one of Set’s angry desert storms. The god of chaos and violence feels close. Again, I get an inkling of being watched, sensing not only the god’s eyes on me but human ones, as well. Glancing around, I notice nothing out of the ordinary and scold myself for being overdramatic, shaking off the unsettling feeling. Paser, who is talking with Reb alongside me, catches my gaze and raises his brows in a questioning look. I give my head a slight shake to show it is nothing and we continue on our way to the village.

  As we reach the centre of town a small crowd is already forming around the physicians’ tent. Each of us is given a satchel full of bandages and ointments, sutures and needles, tweezers, scalpels, probes, and tooth pullers.

  “Welcome,” Ahmes greets us. “These are your medical bags, which you are to take utmost care of. You may treat the minor wounds and injuries. Anything that looks serious, or that you are unsure of, send on to one of the senior doctors. Go and find a place to set up.”

  Square mud bricks are piled waist-high, each with a cloth spread over the top. We walk quickly toward the makeshift tables. I spot one in the shade and increase my pace. The sun will not shine in my eyes as strongly there, and my patients will have some relief from the heat. I get to it first and put my satchel down on the flat surface. Eagerly, I reach my hand into the bag to take out my instruments and medicines.

  My fingers sink into warm spongy tissue. It is wet and soft, yet firm at the same time. An involuntary shudder runs through my body, for I know what I am touching.

  Brains.

  23