Two cats at the foot of the bed jumped down, hurrying over to Mabruke to rub against his ankles, purring loudly.
Queen Sashetah Irene reclined on a divan, comfortably nested among large pillows. Her cats were sleeping around her, over her, and tangled up with each other. She did not rise. She smiled up at Mabruke and Oken and waved them in, marking her place in the book she had been reading with an eagle feather of solid gold. She put the book on the table beside the couch, faceup.
The Queen was a beautiful woman in her own right. The majesty of her royal rank suited her temperament. She wore it well. Her skin was tawny and smooth, her dark eyes large and round, her features strong, with high cheekbones, a broad and intelligent brow. Her slender fingers and narrow palms curved back gracefully as she gestured for them to be seated.
Her purple silk robe had pleated sleeves and she did not wear a wig, rather a closely fitted gauze headpiece of gold and purple stripes. Gold earrings were a spray of stars dangling from a Watch It Eye.
Oken gave her his most dazzling smile as he bowed, touching his forehead to the hand she held up to him. “Your secretary left out the part about being special agents to the fairest queen in both worlds—of course, we won’t mention that beyond these lovely walls, will we, madam?”
She shushed him gently with a slight smile. “Sit down, gentlemen.”
Oken then picked up the cat who had rolled over to paw at him, and cuddled her in his arms, making cooing noises while they rubbed noses. He sat down on the edge of the couch at the Queen’s feet. Two more cats stood up to rub against his shoulders.
Lady Khamanny stepped forward silently, carrying a low-backed chair carved with leopards and gazelles. She placed this beside Mabruke, bowed to the Queen, and withdrew.
Mabruke sat down, placing his feet neatly in front of him and brushing flat a wrinkle in his starched linen kilt. He folded his hands in his lap. “Pharaoh is well, madam?” he said politely.
Sashetah Irene sighed. “Poor old Dozey. Bored to tears with this business in Rusland. We just can’t get the wood anywhere else, it would seem.”
There was a soft ring of chimes, signaling that Khamanny had gone into her office outside the Queen’s quarters. Mabruke relaxed, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms over his chest. Oken sensed a strange reluctance to speak touching Mabruke’s expression.
Oken spoke up. “Khamanny seems put out with me, madam.”
“Khamanny’s daughters are put out with you. You went touring with princesses in Europe.”
“And found not one to match the beauty of women in Egypt, madam. Khamanny’s daughters have nothing to fear.”
“All seven send you their regards.”
“Thank you, madam.” Oken smiled. “Seven daughters, you say?” He leaned forward, whispering into the cat’s ear. “Maybe one or two of them are getting lonely, what do you think?”
“Careful, Scott,” the Queen said. She was smiling. “The three youngest already adore you, and the two eldest have begun serious husband-hunting. You are far too eligible to be safe from them.”
Oken pretended to count on his fingers, to the amusement of the cat, who batted at his hands. “That leaves two lonely lovelies!” he whispered to the cat.
Oken and Sashetah Irene often jested with each other about Khamanny’s many daughters. The Queen clucked at him fondly, then turned back to Mabruke. “We were greatly concerned for you, Mikel. We are quite relieved to see you looking so well, although you seem to have lost some weight.”
“I appreciate the efforts made in my behalf, madam.”
“You have had quite an adventure, we believe, and you with only the one man at your side!”
“Had I but known, madam, as the romancers say, I would have attended that party with a full regiment.”
“We will not underestimate the Red Hand after this.”
“With any luck, madam, this will severely loosen their hold.”
“What did happen, Mik?” Oken broke in. “I’ve been out of the country, remember?”
“Yes, please,” Sashetah Irene said. “We would like to hear how you survived. How did you get there to begin with? The Red Hand isn’t really your jurisdiction.”
Mabruke sat farther back into his chair, as though withdrawing from the memory. He reached up and flicked the plume in his hat, then flashed an embarrassed smile. “I was at a party, actually. In the Wild East sector.”
The Wild East was a broad section of rock and desert on the eastern outskirts of Memphis, a suburb of public housing, for the steady flow of immigrant workers passing through northern Egypt. They gathered briefly at crew agencies, to get training or to find assignments on road crews and engineering projects throughout the Mediterranean, Africa, and Europe, even Central Asia. The Wild East was a place of youthful spirits and restless energy. Dreams collided with great, cultural waves splashing around. People there were educated and skilled for the most part, but they were rootless, unattached to families and past. Relationships shifted, merging and breaking up like bubbles in a wild stream.
Oken himself adored the place.
“I had a bodyguard with me,” Mabruke said. “I did not go there alone.”
“Your bodyguard was nearly killed,” the Queen said in mild rebuke.
“Not at the party, madam.” Mabruke was emphatic. “The dinner party at the Star Osiron went quite well. The trouble came afterwards. The nightclub owner offered us each a complimentary aperitif while we were waiting for our carriage. It was drugged. We passed out right there in the cloakroom. I cannot fathom why I didn’t recognize it. I am supposed to be an alchemist!”
“Never mind,” Sashetah Irene said. “Even that is useful information. It’s a warning.”
“Thank you, madam. I suspect the vanilla shavings must have been strong enough to cover the scent of the drug. I thought it was just an unfortunate garnish. There was also a hint of anise, which might have been a factor, as well.”
“Mikel,” the Queen said, gently interrupting him. “The owner of the Star Osiron and the entire staff have been arrested, and you may question them at your leisure. You were telling us of your terrible ordeal with the Red Hand?”
“Of course, madam.” Mabruke reached up and flicked the white plume. “My apologies. As I was saying, when Wast and I woke up, we were in an unlit cell somewhere underground. They had stripped us of everything but our kilts.”
“They were keeping you alive for the slave market, weren’t they?” Oken said.
“They let us keep our kilts because they were custom-made. Proof to slave traders that we were high-class property.” Mabruke sat, head bowed as though unable to look up from his hands resting across his knees.
“We were tied up with silk scarves.” He shook his head sadly. “I will have to add this to the training program, madam. Knots of almost any other kind we could have untied, even in the dark, but silk! The knots were as solid as if the fabric had fused to itself, and slippery. We had to chew through them, finally, which seemed to take hours. In the silence and dark, though, I don’t really know how long we were at it.”
The cat in Oken’s lap swatted him to express her dis pleasure. His grip had tightened around her as he listened, picturing his friend in that dark place. He let her go, crossing his arms over his chest instead.
“Their accents wereDaad.” Mabruke ignored the cat and went on speaking, his voice steady despite the strain showing in his eyes. “They came to fetch us before we were quite through the bonds. From what I picked up of their patois, the trade ship had docked and we were to be carried onboard for transport to market in Sumatra. They were dragging the first of the captives out when the strands of the silk finally broke and we got free. The others were still unconscious. There was nothing we could do but to escape and bring help.”
“Help was sent,” the Queen said once Mabruke had sat silent for too long, staring helplessly at his hands. “Wast gave the name of the slavers’ ship as soon as he was conscious. The Marine Guard were
sent after them at once.”
“Thank you, madam.” Mabruke looked up to meet her eyes.
“You did escape.”
“I could tell we were deep underground,” Mabruke went on. “I could smell the river, so we did at least have one direction for orientation. We were discovered twice, but Wast is a good bodyguard. He was injured the second time, however, which slowed our progress. We just kept walking, for days, it seemed. There were three, or perhaps four times when we heard men ahead of us. Once they had passed, we took the opposite direction, thinking we could trace back the way they had come by following their stink. Finally, we stumbled onto a staircase going up. I could smell fresh air ahead. We got careless, I suppose. We had been so long in the dark. They heard us. Wast was wounded again, and at that point we stumbled out into the Ibis Road.”
Mabruke fell silent, regarding Oken with a puzzled frown. “How you happened to be there, just at the moment we escaped those tunnels, is quite a striking mystery.”
Oken shrugged, feeling that peculiar tug of destiny’s web. “How it was that you happened to escape at just that spot in just as Mathias and I were passing by.” He felt a different, less pleasant twinge. “Osiris Mathias, I am afraid.”
Oken fell silent, remembering, then said. “I just felt the need to walk.I needed to feel Egypt under my feet, to breathe Egyptian air.”
“You and I are longtime friends,” Mabruke said. “Osiris spoke to you. He whispers his instructions through emotions, with need, with impulse. I’ve known you since you were a child.”
The two men regarded each other solemnly. The Queen was silent, intently observing this exchange.
“Mathias is the mystery, I suppose,” Mabruke said. “I never met the man.”
“Perhaps not such a mystery,” the Queen broke in. “The high priests of Thoth can pray some mighty fine and powerful prayers. We personally instructed them to petition every protection the divine powers could provide. The priests were asked to keep praying until we found you, or had discovered your final fate. We prayed privately to Sutekh to guard you, and to Sakhmet to keep you alive. We prayed to them in every free moment.”
“Madam is very kind,” Mabruke said. “Sutekh is the guardian of our guild for a reason, it is true, but we can’t rely on him. To rely on him is to expect him. To expect him is to mistake his form, and an insult to his nature.”
He was staring down at his hands. The damaged nails had been manicured and repaired. His hands seemed shrunken, older.
“Once Wast has recovered more fully, madam”—Mabruke pulled himself up to a more formal posture—“he will draw a map of our meanderings. Wast is a good memoryman. His map should be accurate enough for us to send troops in, after some planning. The Red Hand have been using this underground network to expand their territory for some time. That much is clear from the extent of their reach.”
“Finding them so close to Thoth’s Manor was shock enough. That’s Caesar’s Ground, the most sacred in Memphis.”
“We will never let them onto the Campus, madam. I may be retired, but I keep my eyes open!”
Queen Sashetah Irene sat up, pulling herself out from under the layer of cats. “On the subject of your retirement from field duty.” She leaned forward to tap the book on her nightstand: Heinrich Brugsch’s My Travels with Carl Richard Lepsius Through the Andean Wilderness and Reports of the Natives There. “Have you read this yet?”
“I have,” Mabruke said.
She held the book out to Oken.
Oken took it, focusing on the details. Then he opened to the first page and flipped through the rest with practiced concentration. He lingered over the photographs, complex drawings, and maps. He took about five minutes to do this, for it was a large volume, with many illustrations.
Queen Sashetah Irene and Mabruke waited, watching Oken as he scanned.
He closed the book at last and returned it to the Queen. “Thank you, madam. I look forward to reading it later.”
“We think you will find it most interesting.” The Queen stroked the cat curled up at her side, looking down at her and not at the men. She was silent, as if reviewing her intention; then she stood up, slipping her feet into the jeweled sandals waiting on their stand.
Both men rose at once. The lush purring of the cat was loud in the still room.
“First, we must go for a stroll in the moonlight, gentlemen. Come with us.” Her purple robe swirled out around her, revealing a flash of a slender ankle and jeweled sandal strap as she strode across the apartment toward the doors at the far side. “Our garden is at its most perfect during the full Moon.”
The only entrance to the Queen’s private garden in the palace was through her apartment. The garden was on a gentle rise of ground five hundred cubits across, skillfully landscaped with bonsai versions of imported trees and plants, creating in miniature a map of the world. Egypt was at the very top of the rise, with the rest of the world arranged around. Bodies of water were represented by solid masses of lush, green moss. The continents and nations were marked by their native trees and plants. An oak from Oken’s Spate of Mercia represented the Greater Britannic Isles. There were ginkgo trees and bamboo from Zhongguo; baobab, jacaranda, and cinnabar from southern Africa; tamarind from Andalusia; ash from Helvetia. There was even a stand of little sugar maples from the Confederations of the Turtle, and Persian oranges. A path of white stones, mapping out the course of the Nile, led to the top of the gently sloping mound.
The dome overhead was closer here and more transparent. The central point of the radial web was just above them. In the full light of the Moon, the garden seemed a place out of time, otherworldly.
Sashetah Irene picked up the cat who had followed them into the garden. “This garden is almost nine hundred years old,” she said with some pride. “The royal families have kept it unchanged. Queen Hathor Boadicea had this place built in 991, to commemorate the first millennium of the Pharoman Empire. The queen spent the rest of her life perfecting it. Egypt has spent the centuries since perfecting the empire around us. I think we have reached a time of something greater than just good gardening.”
“I have great faith in the future of the empire,” Mabruke said softly, with genuine feeling.
Oken was silently impressed with his friend. After such traumatic experiences, a lesser man might have lost that faith.
The Queen led them up the white pathway of the Nile. The feathery tops of shoulder-high palms were sprinkled with starlight lamps. At the top were chairs and couches with leather cushions arranged for comfortable conversation. Each piece was supported on a base of spunglass amber frogs, lit from within.
Oken noted with disappointment that Princess Astrid was not there. He wanted to hear her laugh once more. She had directed the tea service, arranged on low tables among the chairs. Individual teakwood- and-silver teapots steamed lazily amid cups, saucers, and spoons, and platters piled high with pastries and fruit. He could smell her perfume lingering over the tea set.
The Queen spoke as she took her seat. “I felt it would be more appropriate to discuss this here, in the Garden of the Moon. It is more secure here. I can drop that ‘royal we’ formality without incurring Lady Khamanny’s disapproval.”
The two men settled onto the glowing furniture on either side of her.
“I will be celebrating my fiftieth nativity next year,” the Queen went on. “I hope the two of you will be back from this new assignment well before the party. I can hardly imagine entertaining without you to deal with the ladies.”
“Fiftieth, madam, truly?” Mabruke said as the Queen poured out a cup of tea for him.
“The Queen of the world is ageless, madam, now and forever.” Oken was thinkingof another woman of an age with the Queen.
“I like the perspective of this half century,” the Queen said thoughtfully as she filled Oken’s cup. “I can see life as though from a higher tier on the Pyramid, a broader view. Relationships are more interesting than I could have understood at twenty-fi
ve or even thirty. From here, I see the dark shape of the unknown continent of the New World and its peoples. I see not an ominous darkness, rather an intriguing mystery. Our side of the world has been linked so thoroughly by Caesar’s highways. The world, wide as it is, has limits. We meet ourselves on the other side as we go around it. We cannot afford to go on defining that part of the world as the Dark Continent. The Moon may be our way into that dark.”
“The Moon, madam?” There was a note of genuine surprise Mabruke’s voice. He looked at her more closely over the rim of his cup as he sipped.
“Yes. I see the Moon from here more clearly, strange as that sounds. I know why they are reaching up to him.”
“Reaching up to him?” Oken sat up straighter. “Who is reaching up to the Moon?”
“I’m afraid I’m taking you out of retirement, Mikel.”
“Madam, no! Please, you can’t.”
“Something extraordinary has come up. The Throne needs you.”
“Madam!”
Oken was more curious than ever over the royal summons that had returned him to Memphis. Mabruke had retired from field service more than a year before, preferring to use his considerable talents at analyzing field data while teaching the next generation of Pharaoh’s Special Investigators. Mabruke wanted to let his cover as a professor of skin- alchemy become his real life. Oken suspected that the Queen was unaware of the secret pain that had driven Mabruke to change his role in the PSI Guild so drastically.
“Your work at the guild is invaluable,” the Queen said. “This assignment, however, cannot be trusted to anyone else. Now is the time, especially now. There was so much publicity over your rescue. The death and wounding of so many trained hounds was just too big a story. It was on the front page of every newspaper in Egypt, as well as every international page in the empire. I have invoked royal privilege so far as I could. You and Scott appear in their accounts of that night only as ‘foreign noblemen who were attacked by agents of the Red Hand.’ The Britannic and Nubian Embassies have been asked to keep you out of this in their rec ords. I implied to the ambassadors that the Red Hand will want revenge on both of you. Your lives might be in danger.”
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