by Jerry Dubs
Several of the stalls were empty and none of the farmers were here, there was no wheat for sale, no flax, no geese or goats.
There was a sense of urgency in the air, a mood that vibrated with the fear that lingered from Bata’s nightmare. Soon he found himself running, looking at each side of the road, counting the empty stalls and worrying that the jewelers would be gone.
“Djati!” he called as he reached the edge of the market and saw one of the jewelers hurrying away.
The jeweler stopped and Bata saw that two young men beside him stopped as well, turning with the jeweler. An old man, but still straight-backed and energetic, Djati frowned when he saw Bata.
“I thought that you and Lord Imhotep had fled,” he said.
“Fled?” Bata said.
“Yes, fled,” Djati said. He was holding a small wooden box in his arms, his most valuable treasures, Bata knew. The two men crowded near him, their hands holding thick cudgels.
Djati shook his head. “It’s just Bata, he isn’t a threat,” he said.
“Why would we flee? And why do you have guards? Has something happened, Djati?”
Djati shrugged. “Who knows, Bata. There are rumors and whispers. I’ve heard that King Huni was killed. I heard that he won a great victory against the bowmen of Ta-Seti. I heard that his army was lost in a sandstorm in the desert beyond the Great Green. I heard that the lower nomes are in revolt ... ”
Bata interrupted him. “I just came from Iunu. There is no revolt.”
Djati shrugged. “I know, I know, Bata. Rumors and whispers. They aren’t true, but they are like the quiet winds in the red land. They blow a little sand in your face and you wipe it away. But then one of the winds turns on itself and picks up an entire dune and the next thing you know, you’re buried in sand.”
He looked around at the anxious, dwindling crowd. “Look at them, Bata. They don’t know why they are afraid. They are like a flock of geese. But once a fear enters their heads, they won’t let go of it. Some have already stopped working. Soon they’ll start fighting each other for food. The smart ones will leave now.
“When I heard that you and Lord Imhotep had left, I was sure it was time for me to leave.”
Bata looked at the crowd. Some of the people had stopped and were staring at him.
“There is no revolt!” he shouted. “I’ve just come from Iunu, there is no fighting!”
The shoppers who had stopped, turned to each other and spoke hurriedly. Then they turned and began to run away.
“You can’t destroy beliefs with facts, Bata,” Djati said. “People like a good story, they like to be afraid and they want to believe that the gods are taking an interest in their lives.”
Bata stared at the people jostling and hurrying about the street. Some of their faces were locked in fierce determination, focusing on gathering what they needed. Others looked bewildered and lost.
He shook his head and turned back to Djati. “Do you have any sky stones or any jewelry made from them?”
Djati backed a step away as if Bata had slapped him. “Sky stones? I don’t have any sky stones,” he said quickly.
Bata put a hand on Djati’s arm. One of the guards moved to swat it away, but Djati raised his free hand and stopped him.
“I’m sorry, Bata, everyone is nervous.” The old man licked his lips, then wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “I’ve known you for many years, Bata, and you’ve never asked about sky stones,” he said.
Bata shrugged. “I’ve bought stones from you for many years, Djati, and you’ve never asked me about my interest. You only wondered what I had to trade.”
The old man laughed and then, making up his mind, he pointed his head to a nearby palm tree and said to his bodyguards, “Wait over there.”
As the men walked away, Djati sidled closer to Bata. “We don’t speak of sky stones, Bata,” he said quietly. “Governor Threshen has ears everywhere.”
Bata waited quietly. He had learned from Imhotep that waiting quietly was often the best way to ask a question because the speaker often answered their own fears.
“All sky stones belong to Governor Threshen. If I acquire any I have to give them to him. No one in Ineb-Hedj is allowed to sell them. That is his law.”
- 0 -
Stepping ashore in Ineb-Hedj two days later, Imhotep and Akila paused as Imhotep leaned on his staff and blinked.
A couple walking past them leaned their heads close together and talked in whispers. The men working on the docks were younger and moved with hurried eagerness. There were more boats docked at the town than usual, not as many as during a festival, but more than usual.
Imhotep stopped for a moment and listened. Beside him Akila waited, curious about what he was doing.
Shaking his head, Imhotep said, “My hearing might be getting dull, but I don’t hear the marketplace.” He looked down the river path. “It’s quiet.”
As the sailors secured the boat, Kewab walked up to Imhotep and said, “I’m worried that we didn’t go to Waset first, Imhotep. King Huni is eager to know what you’ve found.”
Imhotep nodded. “Yes, Kewab, I share your worry. But I first must talk with Bata. He stayed in Iunu to, uh, investigate more. Until he returns I have nothing to tell King Huni. I’d rather give him a full answer than half a guess.”
He reached out and patted Kewab’s shoulder. “Don’t you agree?”
During the trip to the mortuary temples, he had been careful to treat the soldier with respect and in return, Kewab had begun treating Imhotep as his superior and not his captive.
“We’re all eager to discover what happened to Hetephernebti,” Imhotep continued. “Come to my house for breakfast tomorrow. Perhaps Bata has already returned and we can settle this so you can take word to King Huni.”
Kewab nodded agreement and motioned for the sailors to leave with him.
“Thank you for the safe journey, Kewab,” Imhotep said as the soldier turned away.
“Of course, Lord Imhotep.”
Akila waited until the men had disappeared down the street and then she said, “The market?”
Imhotep nodded. “Yes,” he said, his eyes squinting in puzzlement. “I don’t hear the market.” Then, shaking his head as he turned away from the river path he said, “Let’s go home, Akila. The market can wait.”
They walked in silence for a moment, Imhotep leaning heavily on his staff and Akila wrestling with her thoughts. Finally she said, “Hapu and I are going to leave for a bit.”
Imhotep stopped and looked at her. “Why? Where?”
Akila smiled placatingly. “She has an aunt in Qesy, she said the village is just a day upriver. Before you and I left for Waset, Hapu heard that her aunt, who is pregnant, was near her time to deliver. I told her that after you returned that she and I could visit her aunt and stay there to help with the birth.”
Imhotep looked at the ground for a moment. He knew that he had been monopolizing Akila’s time and he was happy to hear that she had been making plans without him, but he worried about her traveling alone.
“I think that is a wonderful idea, Akila,” he said, smiling at her and wondering how he could delay the trip.
Brewing
Approaching his house, Imhotep heard men arguing beyond the back wall. He leaned forward to hurry and then he recognized one of the voices as Bata’s and a moment later he heard a long, drawn belch and a loud guffaw.
“Bata is probably with Didia and Kanefer,” he said in relief to Akila. He chuckled and said, “They are Bata’s beer-brewing friends. Didia is a potter. He and Bata are always trying to find the best shape for the crocks Bata uses to ferment beer. And Kanefer is a baker. He and Bata experiment with different flavorings.”
Imhotep paused by the doorway and listened to the men laugh. “My contribution was to suggest to Kanefer that he bake with grain that has started to sprout. I had an uncle who used to brew his own beer,” Imhotep added by way of explanation.
He poked his head in
side the doorway and knew immediately by the silence that no one was home.
“I’ll slip around back and ask Bata where Meryt went,” he said.
- 0 -
“Lord Imhotep,” Kanefer said when he saw Imhotep turn the corner at the back of the house.
In his fifties, Kanefer had a red face with no eyebrows and loose jowls that gave his face a bell shape, not unlike the loaves of bread he baked. He had told Imhotep that his eyebrows had been singed off when he had leaned too far into his oven and he had decided to pluck the remaining hairs to prevent future fires.
Sitting by Kanefer’s feet were two baskets of bread loaves. Some of the loaves were darker and had been torn into quarters, the first step in Bata’s process of making the mash for beer.
“I roasted the barley a bit before having it ground,” Kanefer said, nodding to the darker bread. He picked up one of the torn loaves and offered it to Imhotep, who tore off a small piece and gingerly chewed it. Although Kanefer was a careful baker, it was impossible, Imhotep knew from experience, to bake without sand getting into the bread.
“It’s delicious,” Imhotep said as he chewed delicately.
Kanefer nodded fiercely. “It’s the roasting. I tried it with some figs and it brings out the flavor better.”
“Enough to make Sobek regrow his tongue,” Didia said admiringly, toasting the crocodile god with a jug of beer before taking a long drink from it.
Imhotep grinned and looked at Bata. Usually relaxed and playful when with his friends, Bata’s face looked anxious, Imhotep thought.
“Bata,” Imhotep said, “could you walk with me a minute? I’m sure Kanefer and Didia will look after your beer.”
“Here, take a jar with you,” Didia said, offering Imhotep his jar.
Imhotep took it as Bata approached him. Together the two friends walked across the sand beneath the palms that grew behind Imhotep’s home.
“Governor Threshen collects sky stones,” Bata whispered excitedly. “He has a bracelet made of them. And,” he said, his voice growing softer, “he had the bracelet repaired recently.”
“Threshen?” Imhotep said.
Bata nodded.
“He’s just a boy,” Imhotep said.
“He has seen twenty floods and he is governor,” Bata said. “And, he has been secretly visiting Iunu.”
“Very good, Bata,” Imhotep said, “I’ll visit him tomorrow.”
“I haven’t heard anything about Tarset,” Bata added.
“I’m sorry,” Imhotep said. “Perhaps she ran off to return to her family.” Bata shook his head fiercely. “Or she has a boyfriend,” Imhotep continued.
“No,” Bata insisted. “She did not go home. If you knew her mother, you would flee as quickly as you could and never return. And the temple girls said she had no boyfriend.”
“I’m sorry,” Imhotep repeated. “But, Bata, if Threshen does have a bracelet of sky stones … ”
“He does,” Bata interrupted.
“I believe you, Bata. So I must go see him. I’ll check for the bracelet and I’ll ask about his travels.” He stared off into the distance as he thought. If Governor Threshen wore rings as Imhotep remembered they could account for the cuts on Hetephernebti’s face. And if Imhotep could get Threshen to admit traveling to Iunu, then Imhotep would order Kewab to take Threshen to Waset for King Huni to question.
Nodding to himself, he looked back at Bata. “As soon as I’m finished with Governor Threshen, we’ll focus on finding Tarset. I promise.”
“We should hurry,” Bata said. “There are rumors of unrest and ... ” he paused.
“Yes?” Imhotep asked.
“I had a dream. Seth was walking the land.”
- 0 -
Leaving Bata and his friends, Imhotep went into the house to find Akila.
“Bata said Meryt and Maya are visiting Dedi. And Hapu is along the riverfront at your clinic,” Imhotep told Akila. “Let’s take a walk, I’d like to check the market and it isn’t too far out of the way.”
Together they turned to retrace their steps to the river. The sun bore down on them, its heat direct and powerful. It was midafternoon and a tired quiet had settled over the town. Goats and cats were hiding in the shade. Birds were either along the river’s edge or hiding in the heavy canopy of the trees lining the cooling water. The streets were empty of children – where are the children? Imhotep wondered.
Akila interrupted his reverie. “You don’t want me to leave with Hapu.”
Imhotep paused and leaned on his walking staff, a habit he was annoyed to find himself developing. “No,” he agreed. “It’s just that I worry.”
Akila folded her arms and said, “Back in Helwan whenever we talked about ancient Egypt you always said how wonderful it was. Simple, honest, safe, back to basics. Remember?”
“I know,” Imhotep agreed. He looked at his bare legs, the blue edge of his kilt, the polished wood of his staff. “Something is different for me now. I’m seeing it differently, like an outsider, not a participant. Everything feels, I don’t know, a little disjointed, like I’m out of step. Does that make sense?”
She nodded, her thoughts racing ahead, then asked, “There isn’t any way to return to our time, is there?”
“No. I mean, not reliably. I don’t understand how it works,” he admitted.
“See, what happened back when I first came here, Waja-Hur made a mistake when he painted the hieroglyphs over a false door in Kanakht’s tomb. Waja-Hur was very old and the little I saw of him it seemed to me that he was suffering from Alzheimer’s.
“Anyhow, the hieroglyphs are supposed to invite the dead person’s ka to pass through the door to the Field of Reeds for eternity. Instead of eternity, Waja-Hur painted the symbols for a hundred lifetimes.
“But, the thing is, I think that my actions here make small changes in what a hundred lifetimes means. When I drew the same symbols to re-create the time portal to take Maya to the modern world when she was ill, I got there at a different time than I expected to. There was a five-year difference.”
She crossed her hands as she digested what he said.
“And there's more,” he said. “We can't use just any false door. It has to be one that survived intact from now until the future. I know that the one in the Tomb of Ipy did because that's how I got here the first time. And we know about the one in the tunnel beneath the Step Pyramid. If you want to return, we can go there.”
“And you?” she asked.
“I don't know,” he said. “I don't feel like I belong here and I don't feel like I belong back in your world ... my old world. The future ... the now ... I don't know what is real. I feel like I'm outside all of it.”
Akila studied him for a moment. She felt much the same way, lost in time, a stranger in her own skin.
“Look,” Imhotep said, taking her hand. “Let me get this investigation behind me. I'll go talk with Governor Threshen tomorrow and then I'll tell Kewab what we know. You keep your promise and go with Hapu to help her aunt.”
Akila squeezed his hand as she studied him. He had never been comfortable in Helwan, always searching for a way to return to ancient Egypt. Now he seemed equally lost. Another day, another week, another month, she didn't think it would matter.
He was, she thought, being pulled between two worlds – the ancient world and his life with Meryt and the modern world where she and he had been lovers. She didn't see an intersection of the two worlds where they would all be happy.
She nodded at him now, accepting his proposal to delay a decision that neither wanted to make. As they turned to continue their walk to the market, she wondered if she could find another life here in the ancient world.
Imhotep, holding his new staff in one hand and Akila's hand in his other, walked with his head down, feeling as if he were watching himself from afar. He felt the perspective change and now he imagined the two of them walking the dusty, desert road along a still river; the village was empty, the homes abandoned, all the boats cu
t loose and drifting while at the edge of the red desert, a storm began to rise.
Governor Threshen
At breakfast the next morning Bata told Imhotep, “Kanefer told me last night that his niece is married to one of the palace guards. He said that she told his wife that there is a girl hidden in the palace.”
“Hidden?” Imhotep asked, tearing a piece of bread from one of the loaves Kanefer had left behind. He dipped the bread into a pot of honey and, waiting until the golden syrup had stopped dripping, popped it into his mouth.
“Why would Governor Threshen hide a girl?” Meryt asked.
Bata started to answer, then paused and looked to Imhotep.
Meryt, who was peeling the outer skin from an onion, looked from Bata to Imhotep. “Beloved husband,” she said in a sugary voice, “why would Governor Threshen hide a girl? Everyone knows he likes girls, they compete to find a way into his bed.”
“Bata is searching for a particular girl,” Imhotep began.
“Tarset?” Meryt asked. She put a hand on Imhotep’s arm and said, “Bata told me.” She looked at Bata and said, “But he didn’t say why he was looking for her or why she should be hiding in the palace.”
“I’ve told everyone I am looking for Tarset,” Bata told Imhotep. “I don’t know how to find someone if no one knows I am looking.”
“Tell Kanefer that this bread is very good,” Imhotep said, tearing off another piece as he collected his thoughts. He dipped the bread and then said, “So you think that Governor Threshen is also involved in Tarset’s disappearance?”
“Also?” Meryt said, brushing the last of the brown peels from the onion.
“We should wait, Bata,” Imhotep said quickly before Bata could answer, “until we have more information before we say more.” Bata looked puzzled.
Imhotep swallowed and then said, “Let’s say that I tell you something and then I tell Meryt the same thing. Later Meryt tells you. From your point of view you would have heard it from two different people – from me and from Meryt. But, really, you would only have heard it from one person – me, because I was the one who told Meryt.”
