by Scott Peters
Right?
But Zet wasn't stupid. He was just determined to save his best friend.
He took a step out of the shadows when the barbed gate to the Kemet workshop slammed open. Zet ducked back. Snaggletooth and an equally large thug stepped out.
Frantic that he'd been seen, Zet tried the door handle behind him. It turned, and he opened the door a fraction and slipped inside. Heart thumping, he waited, expecting Snaggletooth to barge in and strangle him.
A moment passed. He risked a peek and saw Snaggletooth and the other man pass by. Zet sagged against the door in relief. He glanced around the room he was in. There were shelves full of what appeared to be woven sandal soles. A table held tools, and half a dozen sandals midway through construction.
He heard the sound of someone whistling in the adjoining room.
With a quick glance to make sure the coast was clear, Zet hurried back out into the street.
A moment later, he was standing in the warm front room of the bakery. The most delicious scents filled the air. Cinnamon and dates and the yeasty smell of rising dough.
The reception room was really just a small cubicle with a counter down the middle. Behind the counter, a rack with various breads on display rose to the ceiling. Next to the rack, a curtained doorway led to an area beyond.
On the counter sat a little bell. It was beautifully made, and he wondered if they'd got it from the Kemet workshop next door.
Zet picked it up and rang it.
A moment later, a woman thrust the curtain aside and stepped out. She was stooped and wrinkled, her skin dark from the sun. A puckered scar ruined whatever beauty she may have once had.
Before the curtain closed, Zet caught a glimpse of the baking courtyard beyond. The roof was open to the sky and on the ground were several pits loaded with hot coals. He'd seen bread being baked before, and knew bakers did it by placing lidded clay pots full of dough directly into the coals. He sold bread-baking pots himself. He wondered if they used his pots here.
"Can I help you?" the scarred woman said in a warbling voice.
"Yes. At least I hope so."
She wiped her hands on a spotless towel that hung from her waist. "What can I get you? A bread round, like this? Or something sweet perhaps?"
Zet fumbled in a small pouch. He'd brought a few deben to barter for bread, sure that he'd get better information if he bought something. "Two sweet rolls, please."
She smiled and fetched two plump buns from a basket. Zet handed over the deben, and she gave him several copper kite in return.
"I was wondering if I could ask you some questions?" Zet said.
At this, she stiffened. "What sort of questions?"
"About the workshop, next door. The Kemet Workshop?"
Her face hardened. "I don't have time."
"It would only take a minute! I have a friend over there. He's an apprentice, and I'm worried that—"
The curtain was thrust aside, and a second woman stepped out. She had no disfiguring scar, but apart from that, she looked identical to the first. Zet realized they were twins.
"What do you want, boy?" the second woman asked. "What's going on, Kissa?"
"Nothing," said Kissa, shooting Zet a warning glance. "He's just leaving. Aren't you, young man."
"No. Wait, listen, please! I think my friend wanted me to talk to you! He gave me some bread and . . ." Some sense of caution made him stop talking. Maybe this wasn't what Hui wanted him to do.
Kissa had her hands around the towel, and her knuckles were white with tension. "And what? He gave you some bread and what did he say?"
"Just—" He looked from one dark, wrinkled face to the other. Several months ago, he would have trusted these women without question. But he'd begun to learn that people weren't always what they seemed. Still, why had Hui sent him the bread to begin with?
The baker-twins were waiting.
"Just," Zet began, "My friend said I should ask you if you have a message for me."
"A message? Why would we have a message?" Kissa said, her hand going to her old scar.
"We wouldn't!" snapped her sister. "We don't carry messages. If he had a message, he should have told you himself!" Her voice had risen, and her eyes flashed.
"You have your bread," said Kissa in a gentler tone. She glanced out the door, and back at Zet again. "Now quick. Go."
"Maybe we shouldn't let him."
"Don't be a fool, Kakra," Kissa said. "I smell bread burning. Please, go back inside."
Kakra looked furious, but the fear of burned bread won out. She left.
Turning to Zet, Kissa said, "Now go, run, and keep away. Understand?"
"No, I don't!" Zet said.
She was trembling. "We don't like nosy children. Please don't make me force you to leave."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Home Silent Home
Zet was more confused that ever as he headed back to his market stall. He hurried there, almost in a daze, barely noticing the people around him. Crowds bumped him this way and that. All he could think about was getting back to Kat and telling her about the strange reactions of the women.
What could have made them act that way? Were they afraid of Kemet? Had something happened to put them on guard? Had they, perhaps, witnessed the murders somehow, and now they were terrified to speak in case Kemet set his henchmen on them? Finally, he reached the square. He saw Kat up ahead, haggling with a pair of men over a large clay urn, used to store wine.
Zet waited until the men left, and then told her all about the strange sisters.
She looked completely baffled. "That is so strange. I was sure Hui wanted you to go there. What else could the bread mean?"
"I have no idea." Zet handed over a sweet bun. They munched in silence.
The bakery had been a dead end.
Their only lead now was Khonsu Street. He desperately hoped they'd find a winner for the bowl soon. They were running out of time.
The festival was in two days!
That left only tomorrow. Because the following day, the shipment had to be stopped. According to Hui, it was the only way to help him escape alive.
Until Zet could figure out a better plan, there was nothing left but to focus on work. He moved about, polishing plates and vases. He helped customers sort through all the beautiful choices to find just the right thing. He wrapped packages, and did his best to smile and say all the right things. Kat was also going through the motions, but it was clear that her mind, like his, was elsewhere.
The day inched forward. No one from Khonsu Street entered to win the bowl. Zet and Kat headed home in silence.
The thought of seeing his mother and baby brother, however, lifted his mood somewhat. Zet could hardly wait to see them.
When they reached their street, however, Zet frowned.
The windows were dark.
He ran up the steps and pushed open the door.
"Hello?" he called.
Nothing.
Kat wrapped her arms around herself. "Where are they?"
"I don't know! She should have been back, hours ago!"
Kat looked frightened.
"I'm going to the boat dock," Zet said.
"I'm coming with you."
But when they reached the boat dock, it was deserted. Finally, they found a familiar looking man who'd helped them unload goods in the past.
"Nope," the man said, "I haven't seen your mother. Or the potters' boat for that matter. I've been here all day. Now don't look so worried, children," he added. "She probably just got held up. She'll be here tomorrow. Go on home and have your dinner."
They wandered away from the man.
The river lapped gently against the water's edge. The night air felt humid and heavy, pressing down, making it hard to breathe.
"I'm sure she's fine," Kat burst out, but didn't sound sure.
"You're right," Zet said. "I'm sure she is."
Three men sat in a circle of lamplight, two of them playing a game of Senet. One s
tarted to shout that the other was cheating. The other man leapt up, balling his fists. Kat watched in horror as they shouted at each other, and Zet was sure they were going to start a fistfight.
"Let's get out of here," he said. He walked quickly, his own anger bubbling up. Nothing in his life was working right. He felt trapped. He had to do something! He turned to Kat. "I'm going to Kemet's mansion to look around."
"When?" Kat asked. This time, she didn't say she wanted to come along. She didn't argue that it was dangerous, either. Clearly, she knew they were running out of choices as well as he did.
"I'm going tonight. I'll walk you home first."
"I can walk home by myself," she said.
And so, Zet set off at a run for the edge of town.
Kemet's mansion was just as Merimose had described it. Huge and looming, and surrounded by high, white walls. A pair of towering statues presided over the front entry, with bodies of giants and faces molded to look like Kemet himself. Music drifted from somewhere inside, along with the burble of chatter and laughter.
It sounded like Kemet was hosting a large dinner party.
This could be good. It could provide the cover Zet needed.
He searched the wall for a spot to climb in. A cluster of date palms towered over the rear of the complex, leaned up against the walls. He made it quickly up the trunks, and dropped down onto the manicured grounds on the other side.
A dog snarled.
Zet's head snapped up. Three large hounds crouched at the open door to the house. The snarling dog bared its teeth. Then it shot toward Zet, barking. In a flash of fur, the other two dogs followed. They bore down on him in a flash of teeth and fur.
Zet turned and threw himself at the wall. There were no toeholds! Frantic, he made for a birdbath, jumped onto it, and leapt for the top of the wall. He missed. The dogs were nearly on him. And men were shouting now, too. Desperate, he leapt onto the birdbath a second time.
Teeth caught hold of his ankle.
He felt skin tear.
He wrenched his leg free. Threw himself at the wall. His fingers latched onto the top of it. Holding on in a death grip, he pushed off with his toes and cartwheeled over. He landed on all fours.
Then he sprinted.
Fast.
The doors were opening, and the dogs were shooting out.
Zet found a palm grove near the river, climbed the nearest tree, and stayed there until the coast was clear.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A Winner!
A strange mood gripped the little market square the next morning.
Sales were up at Akar's stall; the line to buy magical devices wound out and down one of the side alleys. Some people were terrified of the demon army.
Others, in contrast, spoke in excited voices about the Opet Festival opening ceremonies on the following day. There was to be a chariot race down the Avenue of the Sphinxes.
"I heard the Royal sons organized it," a man told Geb.
The herb-seller said, "I heard that, too. And I heard the sons will be racing, with Pharaoh, the Royal wife, and Pharaoh's royal mother in attendance."
Zet was listening to this discussion, but his mind was elsewhere. All he could think of was that the clock was ticking down. He only had today left. Tomorrow morning, the shipment would be leaving the Kemet workshop. And he was no closer to stopping it. Maybe he should talk to Merimose. And say what?
Suddenly, Kat jolted him back to the present.
"Zet!" she gasped, grabbing his arm. Her face was alight. "We have a winner for the serving bowl!"
His heart seemed to stop. "You mean we have an entry from Khonsu Street?"
Kat nodded furiously, her cheeks red with excitement. "I told the woman you'd bring it to her house later today. She seemed happy, and she said that servants manned the house all day, and that they would accept the bowl for her if she hadn't returned."
He leaped into the air with a shout.
Geb and his customer turned in surprise.
"Er, just excited about the chariot race!" Zet said.
He ran after Kat, who had disappeared into the back to wrap it.
"Don't bother, there's no time!" he said, taking the bowl. "What's the address?"
Kat took out a scrap of old broken pottery, on which she'd written it down. "Okay. Her house is on the corner of Khonsu and Temple Way. The delivery entrance is a wooden double-door, with a brass knocker in the shape of a cow's head."
"I'm there," Zet said.
"You should try to beat her home," Kat said. "It'll be a lot easier to talk to her servants. I bet every servant in Khonsu Street has gossiped about it, since they're probably friends with the man who was attacked. I bet they know more than anyone."
Zet grinned. "I can't believe the contest worked! For once, little sister, you really used those smarts of yours."
"For once?" she cried.
"Gotta go," he said with a grin. Then he gave her braids a tug and took off with the bowl through the crowds for Khonsu Street.
The further Zet got from the market district, the quieter the streets became. Large walls hid expensive homes. Shade trees, heavy with fruits, hung over the wall tops. The scent of hidden flower gardens filled the air. Someone had swept the streets, and the stones felt smooth, hot and dry under Zet's bare feet.
He found his way to Temple Street, and followed it west a few blocks. The sound of voices carried to him from the distance. It sounded like a crowd had gathered, with many people talking at once. Several voices rose in excitement, and were lost in the chatter.
Zet turned into Khonsu Street and saw that it was full of people.
Gripping the bowl tightly in both arms, he slowed his walk and approached.
To his right, he spotted a pair of double doors with a knocker in the shape of a cow's head. Instead of stopping, however, he kept walking toward the crowd.
He could see several men dressed in medjay uniforms. One turned, as if sensing Zet's eyes on him. Zet saw it was his friend, Merimose.
Zet grinned, but the head medjay looked less than pleased to see him. The big man excused himself from the two men he was speaking with, and broke away from the crowd.
"What's going on?" Zet asked.
"A better question might be, what are you doing here?" Merimose said.
Zet indicated the bowl. "Bringing the winner their prize. We held a contest. Someone from Khonsu Street won it."
"Uh huh." Merimose looked skeptical. "Funny coincidence, someone winning the bowl from this area."
Zet rubbed his neck.
The big medjay crossed his arms over his polished chest-plate. "I don't suppose this contest has anything to do with you coming to investigate?"
"Why would you say that?" Zet asked, trying to look innocent.
"Zet, I told you to stay out of it. People have been attacked. It's not a game."
Zet shuffled his feet. He indicated the crowd. "Has someone else been mugged?"
With a snort, Merimose looked skyward. "Do you ever give up?"
"Look, the only reason I care is because I'm worried about my best friend. I'm sure you can understand that!"
Sighing, Merimose met Zet's eyes. He nodded. "I can. But you're not a trained fighter. And these people are dangerous."
"So what happened? Why are all those people standing in the street?"
"A house was robbed."
"Oh."
"They stole a casket of jewels."
"Scarabs?"
"Must have been looking for them, that's my guess." Merimose glanced over his shoulder at the crowd. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this, but we found the casket abandoned on the next block over. Nothing was taken. It's all still in there."
Zet let out a frustrated breath. "I don't get it. Why do they only want scarabs?"
"That's the puzzle, isn't it?" Merimose said. "And since I know you're going to ask, the owner has never purchased services from the Kemet Workshop."
"Oh." Zet wondered if he should tell Me
rimose about the half clay, half golden scarab Hui had given him. But it wasn't proof of any kind.
"Merimose!" shouted a uniformed man. He looked hot and irritated, as did the two wealthy looking people standing with him.
"Be right there," Merimose called back. To Zet he said, "Deliver your bowl, but don't let me catch you hanging around. Got it?"
"Why would I hang around?"
Merimose gave him a dark look. "Really, my friend. I mean it."
"All right, all right," Zet said.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Khonsu Street
Delivering the bowl turned out to be harder than Zet had hoped. No one answered the door, despite his repeated banging. He was starting to grow worried, when a slim young girl detached from the crowd and approached at a fast walk.
She was dressed simply in a long, white dress, and her feet were bare. But she had the prettiest face Zet had ever seen.
"You are looking for someone?" she asked.
"The bowl. I mean, I'm bringing this bowl. To the house," Zet said. For some reason, his face was turning hot and he was having trouble getting his words out.
"I can take it," she said with a smirk.
"Who are you?" Zet asked, annoyed by her self-satisfied expression.
"I work here. That's who. And who are you?"
Zet drew himself up to his full height. "I own the stall that raffled this bowl off to the winner. And your owner won it. That's who."
If she was impressed, she didn't show it. "Then I shall give it to my owner. Hand it over." She held out her slender arms to receive it.
Zet stood there a moment, unsure why this pretty girl was so unsettling. Finally, still holding the bowl, he said, "Do you know anything about what's going on over there?"
"Of course," she scoffed. "Some box of jewelry was stolen, and the thief didn't like any of it, so they tossed it on the next street over."
"But the jewelry must have been worth something."
