Yanhamu forced his way through and found himself swallowed by another crowd worshipping Tefnut, with many imitating lions with their growls and hand movements. They were followed by musicians and then the crowd swept after them clicking bone castanets and singing. He ducked between and through the snake of people only to find another crowd following Khnum, the god responsible for the Nile inundation. Past this procession, he briefly caught sight of the blue of another baker’s gown standing out against the mainly white and ochre colours of the worshipers.
“Laret!”
He pushed his way through more people and found himself swept towards a temple. Inside, the priests were performing a ceremony and guards posted outside stopped people gaining access.
And then he saw the blue gown briefly again and worked his way in her direction, along the temple wall, and reached the front of the crowd. To his horror he realized the soldier was not just a guard. He was the captain. Bile leapt to his throat and he found himself heading for the man, forcing his way against the flow of people. Ahead he could hear the soldier shouting orders to his men, trying to corral the good-natured masses, preventing them from entering the temple. The crowds didn’t seem to care for they sang and clapped and even when one of their number was struck with a stick it seemed to increase the fervour of their celebration.
Then, in the crowd, on the far side of the soldiers, Yanhamu saw his sister again.
“Laret!” he called, but his little voice was lost in the noise of a hundred people. The bodies moved closer, and through a gap his mind momentarily made no sense of what he saw. Weak though she was, Laret was running towards the soldier; raised in her hand was a copper grappling hook. While the soldiers were distracted, she lunged at the man who had brought her to this city, slashing at his face.
In a swift motion, the soldier pulled his short sword, twisted and plunged it deep into her belly. As she fell, the soldier kicked her away and waved to one of his men. Yanhamu forced his legs to move, although no sooner had he taken two steps than a soldier drove him back.
“No entry to the temple!”
Blind with distress, Yanhamu blinked tears from his eyes and pushed forward. His reward was a blow to the head from the soldier’s stick.
He could no longer see her body. “Laret!” he cried and pushed back through the throng, circling the temple entrance to get closer to where she had fallen. When he reached the point, the blood on the ground was already vanishing under trampling feet. The granite-faced soldier was still there, although his bloodied hand was pressed to his cheek, staunching the flow from a gash caused by the grappling hook. Then Yanhamu saw another soldier carrying a body—Laret’s body. The crowd parted to let him pass and then closed ranks as though he had never been.
Yanhamu elbowed his way after the soldier, desperately trying to gauge which way he’d gone. The tears had dried, replaced by a fear for his lovely sister that gripped his throat.
Finally he was through the crowds and found himself on the merchants’ quay. The water had risen almost to the level of the stone blocks. The soldier was at the end by the flooded reeds. He looked at something in the water, adjusted his tunic and turned. Yanhamu shoulder-charged him with the cry of a wild hawk. He felt the impact and then he was spinning, tumbling into the river. When he came up, gasping, the soldier glowered at him from the bank before spitting a curse and hurrying away.
Yanhamu’s sister lay face down in the water. He pulled her towards him and rolled her over. Her eyes had the gaze of the dead and the howl that came up from his stomach scared geese into flight. Shaking, he tried to calm himself. He knew he had to get her out of the water quickly in case her blood attracted a crocodile. He tugged her through the reeds, but the silt beneath his feet made him slip and the reeds seemed to be trying to drag her the other way. He got her to the bank but could not lift her over. He called for help but the handful of people within earshot ignored his pleas. He climbed out and ran to the nearest man.
The man waved him away. The next listened to him briefly but then excused himself. After six more failed attempts, Yanhamu collapsed. When he opened his eyes, he realized he was kneeling beside a shrine to Het. The irony of it made him scream.
He picked up a stone and threw it. With a puff of sand it disintegrated, leaving but a smudge on the red granite shrine.
“No!” he yelled, and with all his might he picked up a larger rock and charged. It thudded against the granite and fell from his hands and struck his shin as it fell. Enraged, he yelled again and struck the shrine with his fists. “It should be me!” he cried. “I’m the one who did wrong. I’m the one you should take!”
He continued to pound and shout at the stone until a hand touched his shoulder.
A kindly voice said, “You’ll damage your hands if you continue much more.”
Yanhamu turned, tears blurring his eyes. The man was an elder, upper class from the look of his tunic.
The man smiled kindly. “What’s wrong?”
“My sister…” Yanhamu’s voice caught, and suddenly the rage he had felt melted into sobs.
“Sit down,” the elder said, and eased the boy to the floor. With his hand still on Yanhamu’s shoulder, he continued to talk softly until the sobbing subsided. “Now tell me what is so terrible that you wish to anger the gods, my child.”
“They are already angry with me, my lord.”
“Perhaps, but why anger them further… unless your life is over and your ba longs for the Devourer.”
Yanhamu studied the noble. He had a white tunic in a style different from the other nobles he had seen. He wore a scarf with gold symbols, the writing of the gods. His hair was shaved except for a ponytail on one side. He told the man his story, that his sister now lay dead in the river, killed by the soldier who had taken her.
The noble didn’t question the story, just said, “I’ll help you. We must be quick.”
Yanhamu hurried back to the reeds by the merchants’ quay with the noble following at a swift pace. When he arrived, Yanhamu’s legs gave way. He sank to his knees and wailed. Through his tears he sobbed, “She’s gone and her soul is lost. Anyone who drowns will not find the Field of Reeds in the afterlife!”
The noble placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Was she beautiful but also good?”
“Yes.” Yanhamu looked up at the man, unsure why he asked. “She was the best sister… looked after me since the plague took our mother.”
“Take a good look. There is no sign of her, no sign her body was taken by a crocodile. No sign an animal has dragged her body out.”
“No…”
“Then I think the gods have taken her. Sometimes it is not only the ba that ascends to Heaven. In special cases, when the gods so choose, the body may also leave this world.”
“You think?” Yanhamu stood. “You really think she is with the gods?”
“What was her name?”
“Laret.”
“Come, I will walk you to a temple and you should talk to her. Tell her you will be all right and that you will think of her every day and attend to her should she need anything.” He steered the boy away from the river, but instead of heading for the main temple—of the god Amun, he led the way to the small temple of Isis.
“What about the soldier?” Yanhamu asked as the noble bid farewell. “What about the man who killed her?”
“You know about the law?”
Yanhamu nodded. “The matriarch of the village taught us about ma-at.”
“Well, there is ma-at, but that is really the harmony and balance of the world. No, I mean the Law of Ra.” He bowed his head in thought and then said, “A good man has nothing to fear of the gods or the law. A man who has spilled Egyptian blood should beware both.” He nodded as though his words meant something more to him.
Before he left Yanhamu to pray, the nobleman handed the boy an amulet. Yanhamu stared in disbelief at the precious metal Eye of Horus inside a circle.
“Is it silver, my lord?”
There was a tear in the noble’s eye and he placed a hand on the boy’s head. In a hoarse whisper, he said, “Your face has been opened. Be true to your heart and the gods will be true to you.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Something else was playing on Alex’s mind. Ellen’s funeral. It was today at 1pm. Could he go? He desperately wanted to. It felt wrong to miss it and yet reporters could be there. If Milwanee still believed he was guilty, linked somehow to another gang—maybe Polish—then surely she wouldn’t forego the chance to corner him?
Of course there was another possibility: the BMW guys with the guns could also be there. If they wanted the Map-Stone, they wouldn’t give up until they got him. And the fake policeman in the brown suit saw him collect the briefcase. That must have looked suspicious: collecting a briefcase on a Sunday. Did they know what the Map-Stone was like? Did they know the size? Maybe they thought the ceremonial block was in his case.
No, no matter how awful he felt, he couldn’t go to the funeral.
“You have to go,” Vanessa said when she rang during the morning. She said she had lectures in the morning and had rung to arrange to meet later.
“I’ll be spotted,” he said despondently. “I can’t risk it.”
“Screw the lectures. I’ll be over within the hour. You are going!”
When she arrived, Vanessa had a bag. She opened it with a flourish and pulled out a wig and make-up kit.
“I’ve an actor friend,” she explained. “We can give you a proper disguise so not even your mother would recognize you.”
Thirty minutes later, Alex had to agree it was an amazing transformation. With a grey hair and beard, he looked like an old man. Vanessa had lightened his skin and made his eyes look sallow.
She transformed her image too and then pulled an old suit and tasteless dress from the bag. “Now we are an old married couple,” she announced. Let’s find you a walking stick and we’ll waltz right in there and out again and no one will be any the wiser.”
Alex noticed Milwanee hanging around outside the Southampton crematorium. He guessed the six other people around her were either part of the team or more reporters. He kept an eye out for the BMW or anyone who looked like a gang member, but saw no one suspicious.
Once inside the east chapel, he could relax. The room was packed and he felt they blended with the crowd without a problem. Ellen’s brother gave the eulogy and included a poem that she had written as a teenager. It was about the wonder of life and that she had her whole life ahead of her. Her brother choked at the end and left the podium with tears flowing freely.
Alex found himself shaking with emotion.
“Thank you,” he said as they came out. “I did need that. I guess it’s what the Americans call closure.”
“Cognitive closure,” Vanessa said, “is a gestalt principle of perceptual organization that explains how humans fill in visual gaps in order to perceive disconnected parts as a whole object.” She shrugged. “Sorry, but we’ve just covered it on my course.”
He nodded, “I have no idea what you said, but I’m sure it’s true. I do feel I’m ready to move on.”
They got into her car, but before pulling off she studied him. “Does this mean you won’t be pursuing Ellen’s research?”
“Of course I will! I’ve not got this close to stop now.”
She laughed. “Phew! OK, let’s get home and solve this thing.”
She drove to the M3, stopped at a service station and removed the wig and used a liquid and pads to ease off the beard. It was a relief to get the itchy things off.
Vanessa put a rock CD on and he sank into the chair and relaxed.
He must have been falling asleep because he jumped when she spoke.
“I got expelled from ballet,” she said.
“Sorry, what?”
“I used to go to ballet lessons, but by eight I was asked not to return. At least, Uncle Seth was asked not to bring me back.”
“What did you do?”
“Ridiculously, it was just because I was a free spirit. A bit too independent.”
“You mean, you didn’t do what you were told.”
“I guess you could see it like that. I just wanted to dance, so they decided it was best that I did it in my own time.”
“And did you?”
“Of course not.”
He stared out of the window for a while until she asked what he was thinking.
He said, “Why did you tell me that?”
“Busted,” she said. “I wanted to rebuild our relationship. I was a bit too blatant, wasn’t I?”
“A bit. So why are you doing a politics and psychology degree now? Didn’t you do a degree after school?”
She sighed, as though this wasn’t a story she’d expected to tell. “I was brought up by Uncle Seth and Aunt Atara. My whole life in Hendon. My whole life pretty controlled and dull. I guess that’s maybe why I rebelled when I could. Well, as soon as I’d passed my A levels I was off to Israel. Like a rite of passage, I suppose. Amazingly, I got accepted into Tel Aviv University. However, I dropped out after the first year. Too much of a free spirit again, I suppose.”
Alex had seen the news about the troubles: the West Bank and Gaza Strip. “Was Tel Aviv safe? What was it like?”
“It’s like California. There are beautiful beaches where people surf all day. Guys go to work in shorts and flip-flops. It’s a chilled place.”
“And the bombs?”
She shook her head. “It’s not like that. Israel is very well protected. There’s a defence system called Iron Dome. While I was there, Hamas fired tonnes of missiles and mortars from Gaza. Not one of them caused any damage. I remember sitting out on a balcony with friends. It was like a firework party. Missiles soared into the night sky only to be met by a defence missile in an explosion of light and colour. Literally.”
“So why leave if it’s such a cool place?”
“Uncle Seth. He came to get me and took me home.”
Alex waited. He could tell there was more to this story and he saw her face flush.
Quietly, she said, “I got into trouble. I was working less and less, drinking more and also some drugs. I was in with the wrong crowd. My aunt and uncle found out—someone they knew in Tel Aviv told them. One minute I was partying in one of the coolest cities in the world and the next I was in Dullsville and grounded. Shit! I was twenty-two and treated like a kid.”
“Must have been tough.”
“It was the right thing though,” she said with half a smile. “Uncle Seth is always right. He made sure I got myself sorted. In Israel I’d worked for a paper—although clerical stuff, not the editorial team—and they didn’t let me write anything. Anyway, the job experience got me into the Evening Standard, and although I’m still officially clerical, they do accept articles I write. I also sell pieces to other publications.”
“So why the degree?”
“Because my boss says it’s the easiest way in to journalism proper. Politics provides a great foundation—and the psychology is just so I don’t go out of my mind with boredom.” She coughed. “Speaking of which, am I boring you?”
Alex had been looking at his phone.
“Oh my God!” he said.
“My story wasn’t that dramatic.”
Alex held up his phone. “I’ve had a reply from Marek, the student from Berlin University. He’s suggested I get a flight out tomorrow. He’s sent a list of flights from Heathrow to Egypt. God, he’s keen. He’s checked out all the details. He’s hoping to meet me tomorrow in Cairo!”
That evening, over a takeaway pizza, Vanessa asked, “Is Egypt safe? It wasn’t long ago that they had riots and forced President Mubarak to resign. They’ve also had hijackings and terrorists blowing up planes.”
“It’s safe enough.” Even as he said it, Alex knew he didn’t sound convincing.
“What does the Foreign Office say?” She was on her phone checking as she spoke.
“High threat from terrorism.”
“Then you can’t go.”
“The tourist areas are fine. Along the Nile and Sharm el-Sheikh aren’t included in the warning.”
They ate their pizza for a while and she continued to check the Internet.
Finally, she said, “So you will only go to the safe areas. Nowhere else.”
“Just the safe areas, I promise.” Her concern made him feel good. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m touched you care.”
“It’s more than that, Alex.” She shook her head. “If you’re going to Egypt, then I’m coming with you.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
1336 BCE, Luxor
On the second day of prayer, clutching the silver-like amulet, Yanhamu thought he heard his sister’s voice. At first it was distant and fragmented, then it became more distinct and he knew it was her ka speaking. She told him she had found her way to the afterlife, that Anubis had weighed her heart and let her pass. They were the seeds of the stars and she was now one of the lights in the night sky. That night, he looked and thought he saw one flash to let him know it was her.
In the morning he decided he would return to his work in the city and find out about this law the kind noble had mentioned. He ran errands and messages and helped with the baker’s carts when needed, but the more he understood how the city lived and breathed, the more frustrated he became, because there was no sign of the Law of Ra and the common folk seemed to think he meant the guards themselves.
Then a week after Laret’s death he ran a message to a scribe at the court. He was told to clean himself up first otherwise he would not be allowed to enter the royal grounds and he was relieved to be waved through when he arrived. When the scribe arrived, Yanhamu’s first thought was that this was the man from the temple, for he wore a similar white tunic and scarf with gold symbols. But this man was much younger. Yanhamu recited the message and was rewarded with a pebble of copper, the highest payment he’d ever received. He thanked the scribe and then handed it back. “Payment if you can tell me about the Law of Ra.”
Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner Page 19
