The Celestial Conspiracies

by Talhi Briones

  “Your majesty?” she tried again without hope.

  Naími looked at the girl once again and swore. She was too slim and too tall, and her posture was not arrogant enough. She was wearing a ceremonial dress and many jewels, things that Soromeh only wore under duress.

  “Can I keep the dress?” asked the girl.

  A man, tall and armed, appeared from the shadow of a column. Naími looked nervously around. Twenty men were now standing between her and the exit.

  “I know we agreed on the payment,” said the young girl, “but I had a lot of trouble stealing all this from the princess’s quarters without my matron noticing.”

  Naími put a hand to her belt. She only had her ceremonial dagger, heavy, ornamented, and difficult to use in a fight. Her dress was cumbersome and her sandals too delicate for running.

  “That’s her? You’re sure?” asked the man to the servant.

  “That’s her,” she insisted. “The new oracle.”

  “I hope so because the last time we brought in the wrong head and didn’t get paid.”

  “You said you wouldn’t kill her!” said the girl.

  In a single gesture, the man grabbed her by the hair and sliced her throat. He let the body fall heavily, blood pooling on the floor.

  The man calmly wiped his sword on the white dress before pointing it towards Naími.

  “Bring me her head.”

  * * *

  Soromeh had isolated herself on the terrace of her quarters. Curled on a lounging chair, in the shade of a palm tree, she was slowly coming back to herself. She missed Misha like one would miss a limb. That void, on top of the loneliness of being neglected by Sethy, Damon, and Kamilah, was slowly crushing her.

  She clenched a fist. When she closed her eyes, she could feel the warmth of Iram’s hand in hers.

  Her attention was caught by the sound of someone running. Down in the gardens, one of her own soldiers was climbing the steps to the back entrance.

  “Oi there, Guard Dewei, are you fleeing from a crocodile?” she called, bending over the stone balustrade.

  “Your majesty! Are the guards Silas and Harouk with you?”

  “The tall skinny one and the one shaped like a bull?”

  “Yes, them! Please, tell them to come down. It’s an emergency!”

  She ran back inside and opened the main door to her quarters. Both guards were caught having an intense whispered conversation. They stopped and stood at attention.

  “Soldier Dewei is downstairs and wants to see you two. He says it’s an emergency.”

  Harouk left.

  “We can’t leave our post,” shouted Silas after him.

  Harouk was already at the end of the corridor. “Naími might be in danger!” he called back.

  Soromeh ran after him, and Silas had no other choice but to follow her. The palace inhabitants did not pay attention to them, used as they were to seeing their princess run, chased by guards. They caught up to Dewei, who hurried them towards the docks.

  Soromeh, the fastest, got there first and found a skinny scribe being interrogated by an angry man wearing a stuffy cloak marked with the symbol of the palace administration.

  “I’m sorry,” blurted the scribe, “I can’t tell you. I have orders—”

  “No one gives orders on my docks besides me!” shouted the superintendent. “Two feluccas are missing, and you’re the only one found on the scene! Speak! Tell me where you took my boats!”

  “But I’m still here—”

  Soromeh walked up to them, brimming with authority. “I thought these boats belonged to the crown.”

  The superintendent groveled and asked for forgiveness, but the scribe was frozen with surprise.

  “Your… your highness? I thought I saw you leave—Lady Naími went to get you!”

  “Evidently, she fell head-first into a trap,” said Dewei, striding past him. “I hope one of you knows how to sail.”

  “I do,” said Soromeh, putting on the cloak she requisitioned from the superintendent. “I used to go with my brother and Damon to their lessons, but the professors asked that I don’t return after I pushed Sethy in the water.”

  “Your majesty, you can’t come with us,” snapped Dewei, undoing the ropes. “Go back to the palace.”

  “Good idea. Then I can find the king and tell him how three of my guards left their posts to run after the oracle,” she said, climbing aboard.

  Harouk pushed the felucca and climbed with them. The sail was quickly filled with the evening wind.

  “How are you going to find her?” asked the princess, searching the opposite shore from the bow. “The eastern part of the city is huge!”

  “There are two palace feluccas near the temple,” pointed out Silas. “And soldiers shouting.”

  Soromeh made a face. “Soldiers in red? That’s the sacred guard. They watch over religious sites and have absolutely no sense of humor.”

  “Naími’s probably there,” said Dewei. “Harouk, get us closer to the shore. Let’s hide near those trees.”

  “You, stay here,” said Harouk to Soromeh while mooring the boat to a large root.

  All three of them climbed the hill towards the noise and quickly disappeared behind the front courtyard palm trees. Soromeh stretched her neck, trying to see, but she was too far. She sat back, thought for a moment about leaving to explore the eastern part of the city, and quickly abandoned the idea. Her last escapade had left a sour taste.

  Something moved at the other end of the temple. Three men left the shadows of the construction site. They were carrying something long and heavy, rolled in a delicate fabric, and were arguing in hushed tones.

  Soromeh could see that it was a body. She was filled with a sudden and indefinable rage.

  She caught the first thing she could find, a paddle, and jumped in the water. It came up to her waist, the tall papyrus plants hiding her. She waddled closer, silently, to better hear their conversation.

  “And what do we do now?” said one of them with impatience.

  “We should have cut her head, like the chief ordered,” said the other one.

  “She killed the chief,” said the last man.

  “We stay here, and we cut her head. It’s easier to carry! That was the deal, right? The oracle’s head?”

  “The last time we brought a head, we didn’t get paid. We might as well sell her as a slave. We’ll get more money.”

  “The last time we got fooled into thinking that servant was the princess! That’s why the guy didn’t want to pay. A servant’s head is worth nothing. But the head of an oracle is certainly worth something!”

  Soromeh felt like someone had punched her. She dropped the paddle. There was a splash, and all three men turned in her direction.

  “You think it’s the soldiers?”

  “No, they’re busy with the rest of the guys.”

  “Look, a fisherman’s felucca. He must be around.”

  “Then let’s find him, slit his throat, and take the boat. You two, keep the oracle. I’ll go check.”

  He approached, sword in hand, and searched the tall weeds. Soromeh was frozen in anger and fear. She grabbed the paddle again, her hands trembling. She would soon be found and decapitated, like Misha had been.

  The man pushed the plants and saw her. He laughed in relief.

  “It’s just a tiny desert rat,” he told the others. “Come, we’re taking her boat.”

  Soromeh swung with all her strength. He stopped the hit with his forearm and grabbed the oar. She stumbled, swallowed water, and came back out coughing. The man grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head backwards.

  “Dirty vermin. No one’s going to miss a drowned rat.”

  “No!” shouted Soromeh. “Let me go!”

  She was pushed under the water without a moment to breathe in. She fought back, clawing at the arm holding her, trying to get her feet on the river floor. Her air was leaving in huge bubbles, blurring the surface. She could only see the man’s shape, the s
ky, and then—

  She was pulled out of the water by the back of her dress. Strong arms carried her to the rocks.

  “Stay hidden,” ordered Dewei. “I need to find Naími.”

  She coughed again and pointed at the two other men, further away, who were still holding the oracle’s body. Dewei threw himself at them, screaming in rage.

  They dropped Naími and ran, Dewei after them. Soromeh took a single moment to remove the water from her eyes, and when she opened them, Harouk and Silas were in front of her.

  “We just can’t leave you alone,” reproached Harouk, taking her in his arms.

  He carried her to the felucca. Silas did the same with Naími before going back to the temple.

  “Stay right there, this time!” said Harouk, pushing the boat from the shore. “Take care of her!”

  He left too to join the rest of the sacred guard. A dozen brigands were trying to flee. The soldiers caught them and killed them, one after the other, letting their bodies hit the dirty floor.

  Soromeh turned to Naími, still wrapped in an altar shroud. She uncovered the oracle’s face and recoiled in surprise. Naími’s stern features were covered in bruises, a long gash marring her cheek.

  Soromeh removed the rest of the shroud and gagged. There was blood coming from Naími’s belly and thigh.

  “Misha, you would know what to do,” she whispered, teeth chattering.

  She ripped the delicate fabric into shreds, tied one to the leg, and pressed another to the abdomen. The blood kept flowing, reddening the water at the bottom of the boat.

  Suddenly, Dewei appeared from thin air, as if he had always been there. Soromeh yelled in surprise.

  “Move. Let me see her wounds.”

  He cleaned the main one, on her abdomen, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “It’s not very deep,” he said, washing the fabric in the river. “She’ll live. The one on her leg is more serious. She’s going to limp for a while.”

  He shook Naími and methodically cleaned her face. She eventually opened her eyes.

  “Idiot,” he said, then turned to Soromeh. “This also applies to you.”

  The princess yelped in indignation and caught Naími’s attention.

  “What is she doing here?” she asked in horror.

  “She didn’t give us a choice!”

  Naími made to sit up but grimaced in pain and lay back in the reddish puddle. Dewei kept ranting at her while he put pressure on her wound. Soromeh came closer and put the oracle’s head on her lap.

  “I didn’t want to lose another lady-in-waiting,” muttered the princess.

  Naími nodded. After a while, she tried to speak again, pale and breathless.

  “Harouk? Silas?”

  “On the shore,” grunted Dewei. “They’re trying to find witnesses. We need to figure out who put a price on your head.”

  Soromeh grimaced. “The sacred guard is there to stop anyone from profaning the temple. They’re going to execute every single person they catch in there. Your friends will not be able to persuade them to keep one or two alive.”

  Naími and Dewei exchanged a glance. He shrugged.

  “Your majesty,” said the oracle, slowly, “it’s all probably scheming from some people in the court who want to see me disgraced—”

  “I saw him appear out of thin air, right next to me,” she said, pointing at Dewei.

  Naími turned to him, aghast. “What—why would you do that?”

  “You were in danger!” shouted Dewei.

  “Don’t be mad at him. Be mad at all of them,” said Soromeh. “The other two did the same.”

  Naími groaned, exasperated.

  “Your majesty,” she said, “if you want the truth, you have to promise me your silence.”

  “If you want my silence, you owe me the truth.”

  A moment stretched between them. Naími nodded. Soromeh started cleaning the wound on her cheek.

  “It’s a secret that was always kept from mortals,” breathed Naími. “The gods painted on your walls are waging a war against my people…”

  * * *

  The night was quick to come, and the sky, ink black, was covered in thousands of stars. The desert stretched in every direction, vast and unchanging. On the surrounding hills, black dogs made of smoke observed, in silence, their master’s suffering.

  Anubis lay among them, catching his breath from the pain that had just left him. He had suffered each of the temple’s deaths.

  A woman approached him. She had the head of a cat and wore a dress of greens and golds. Her eyes shone in the dark. She looked at him, without saying a word.

  “Bastet,” muttered Anubis. “Are you here to hand me over to our clan?”

  “I have thought about it.” She walked around him, observing, calculating. “I saw you talk with an angel.”

  Anubis just stared at the sky. He could still feel a blade slit his throat.

  “I don’t understand, Anubis. We were close, once. I thought I knew you. Why did you turn your back on our clan?”

  “I asked them something, just one thing,” he said, tearing up. “I didn’t want to suffer the deaths that their plan would bring. Thousands of Hebrew children. Their sufferings, their deaths, all reverberated through me. Thousands.”

  Bastet kneeled next to him and caressed his cheek. For the first time in several centuries, he sobbed.

  Chapter 8

  Desert Rats

  The same night, Senedjet, chief of the city police, left the palace. He walked north, through the wealthy neighborhoods, markets, and well-lit streets of the Egyptian section, and then through the labyrinth that was Hebrew side, to finally reach the poorest part of the capital. Remains of buildings, empty and dirty, had been abandoned for decades.

  Only his knowledge of the place allowed him to keep moving in the darkness. He could feel people nearby, hear them in the parallel streets, breathing in the night, watching his every move.

  He approached two shapes lit by the moon.

  “Who’s there?” asked a young voice.

  “It’s Senedjet,” he muttered. “She’s waiting for me.”

  They opened the door. There were stairs dug in the dirt and faint light at the bottom. Senedjet climbed down carefully. The air became cooler with each step.

  Behind a cow skin was an old meat preservation room, large and badly lit, with metal hooks still hanging from the ceiling. The place was filled wall to wall with children of all ages, who stopped talking at his entrance.

  “Let him through!” shouted a voice from the other end of the cold room.

  Senedjet had to walk over the smallest children, making sure not to step on any hands. He reached a stack of crates and furs that vaguely looked like a throne. A teenage girl was sitting on it.

  “I was expecting you earlier in the day,” she said.

  Senedjet forced himself to look at her face. Her dark skin was completely disfigured by deep scars. She was missing her left eye, a great part of her hair, and half of her upper lip, which gave her a permanent yellowed and sinister smile. She was wearing a necklace made of teeth. Senedjet knew she had taken them from her first and final master, the last person who raised a hand to hurt her.

  “Please forgive me, oh mighty Queen of the Rats,” he said, bowing low.

  “You’re forgiven. I have what you came for. Did you fulfill your part of the deal?”

  “I spread the new orders, your highness. I changed the patrolling schedule so you’ll be left alone for the next few days. I also left the payment at our usual place.”

  She nodded, satisfied.

  “It’s always nice to do business with you, Senedjet,” she said. “I have the one you’re looking for. Barak! Get up!”

  A teenage boy stood. Senedjet estimated that he couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen years old. His clothes were dirty, and a dark mop of hair hid half of his face.

  “He’s hideous,” sneered Senedjet. “The servants are going to need a whole day to m
ake him look decent.”

  “That’s your problem,” snapped the Queen of the Rats. “You asked me to find Barak, son of Levannah. There he is. You can do whatever you want with him.”

  “Is he marked?”

  “All the rats are marked.”