Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner

by Murray Bailey

  The highborn waved the copper away. “You are cute,” he laughed effeminately. “Has anyone told you, you look like Tutankhamen when he was your age? What, you are about three summers younger, I think?”

  Yanhamu shook his head. “The Law of Ra, please, my lord.”

  “It’s an old expression. I can’t imagine where you heard it. The city magistrate is the man who executes the law. We call it the Law of the Two Lands these days. Run me a message tomorrow and I will tell you more.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled girlishly. “No charge.”

  Yanhamu thanked him and scurried out of the royal enclosure. He didn’t need the scribe to tell him more, he knew exactly who the magistrate was: the man with the shaven head and purple sash who sat under an awning. A crowd always gathered when the magistrate was sitting and Yanhamu had assumed he was just another priest telling his news from the gods or from far-flung cities.

  Yanhamu spotted the magistrate’s flag amidst a crowd close to the wharf. He squeezed through until he was able to squat at the front of the semicircle. The magistrate squinted over his hooked nose at two men who stood before him. Two soldiers stood either side of the magistrate and a slave with an ostrich feather fan stood behind.

  Yanhamu tried to make sense of what was being said. First one man spoke, and he seemed to be the manager of a grain store. He accused the other man of stealing from the store. He called for a boy who passed a papyrus roll to the magistrate.

  “See,” the manager said, “the records are thorough. It shows all the grain recorded both in and out. And yet two sacks are missing. Nekbhet has taken those sacks for his personal use.”

  The other man shook his head violently but didn’t speak until the magistrate pointed a golden rod towards him.

  “I am Nekbhet. I am the record keeper of the grain store. I swear, my lord, that I did not take the sacks. I was the one who discovered the discrepancy.”

  The manager indicated he wanted to speak and the rod was waved towards him. “Nekbhet is the only one with access to the store, the only one with opportunity to remove the sacks.”

  The magistrate asked, “And what would his motive be?”

  Yanhamu noticed the manager started to scoff but managed to suppress it. “Either for food or to sell, my lord.”

  The rod swung to the other man. Nekbhet said, “I did not take them. If I planned to steal the grain, I would have falsified the records!”

  The crowd took a collective intake of breath and began to mutter. Someone close to Yanhamu said, “An admission of guilt.”

  The magistrate stood, “Falsification of documents is a capital offence!”

  Nekbhet quaked and started to speak. One of the soldiers lunged forward, his spear levelled at the accused’s chest.

  “Halt!” The magistrate raised the golden rod. “I have yet to rule on this!” When everyone quieted, he waved at the soldiers and had them part the crowd. “I want to see the grain store.” He began to stride away from his chair and porch.

  Yanhamu was swept along by the enthusiastic mob. They stopped suddenly by a circular wall with spiral steps which descended into the dark and Yanhamu saw the manager lead the way into the depths. In his effort to see, Yanhamu leaned over the side. A sudden surge from behind sent him over the wall. He landed heavily on the steps, rolled and found himself at the feet of the magistrate. A spear immediately prodded his side and a soldier shouted.

  As he stood, his eyes met the magistrate’s and he saw a kindly man. He’d planned to speak about his sister’s death as soon as he could, but face-to-face with the noble, he blurted something that also troubled him.

  “The accused is innocent.”

  The soldier with the spear prodded him again. “Get out, urchin!”

  “No!” The magistrate raised his hand and bent so that his ear was close to Yanhamu’s mouth. “What do you know?”

  “That the accused didn’t do it, my lord,” Yanhamu whispered.

  “How?”

  “I read it in his face, my lord.”

  The magistrate gripped the boy’s shoulders and stared into his face. “And what do you read in mine?” he said menacingly.

  Yanhamu smiled. “An honest man, who would rather listen to me than see me harmed.”

  “That is true.” The magistrate beckoned him close and turned his head again. “Now, whisper, what you have seen in the other man’s face.”

  “My lord, the manager is hiding something. I think perhaps he knows where the grain sacks are.”

  The magistrate stood and motioned to the guards. “Take us to the manager’s house.”

  They remounted the steps and the crowd once more hushed as the magistrate was led to a large house nearby. The accused and the manager were told to kneel while one soldier entered. After a few minutes, the magistrate also entered. There was no shelter in the courtyard at the front of the grain manager’s house but no one moved away, too desperate to see the outcome of the case. After ten minutes, the magistrate emerged, followed by the soldier carrying a sack under each arm.

  The manager and worker were told to stand. To Nekbhet, the magistrate said, “You will take these sacks back to the store. You have been negligent in your duties allowing goods entrusted to your care to have been removed. For this you will pay the price of two chickens.”

  Nekbhet bowed and Yanhamu thought he saw the man smile with relief.

  To magistrate pointed his rod at the manager. “You have been found guilty of both the theft of the grain and perjury. The penalty for this is death.”

  The crowd cheered and applauded. As one soldier bound the manager’s hands ready to escort him away, the magistrate beckoned to Yanhamu. “I should give you something for your service.”

  “I would like to learn about the law.”

  The magistrate was momentarily taken aback. Then he smiled and said, “Come with me.”

  He strode away followed by the slave, who tried to use the fan as a sun shield. Yanhamu hurried after them. The magistrate passed through a wooden door to a courtyard and told the boy to wait. Shortly after, another man, wearing the hair and clothes of a high-class slave, stepped through the doorway and snatched the amulet from Yanhamu’s neck.

  “What’s this?”

  Yanhamu explained. “It’s not real silver,” he added.

  “No, it is electrum and very expensive. Who did you steal it from?”

  Yanhamu repeated his story about the noble at the temple. In response, the slave scoffed and placed the amulet in his robe.

  “Prove yourself and it shall be returned.”

  “Do I have your word?”

  “My word is all I have.” The slave looked cross for a moment. Then he smiled. “Now, remove your dirty excuse for sandals before you cross this threshold.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Uncle Seth took them to Heathrow in his Bentley. The car smelled of new leather and old cigars.

  When he dropped them off he hugged his niece and said something to her in what Alex guessed was Yiddish. Then he shook Alex’s hand. His face was a mask of concern.

  “Take good care of her, young man. She’s my only niece and means the world to me.”

  Only when Alex promised that he would, did Uncle Seth break eye contact and let go of his hand.

  “I have a confession,” Alex said after they had checked in. “Your uncle scares me a little.”

  Vanessa laughed. “Don’t be silly. He’s just worried for me. And it took hours for me to persuade him last night that he’d even let me come.”

  They made their way through security with Vanessa still talking about her uncle.

  “You know,” Alex said, “It’s funny he should be called Seth because Seth was an Egyptian god.”

  “Really?”

  “He was mostly known as Seth but also Set and other names. He was the second son of Ra, the sun god.” Alex paused until they were together again air-side. “Did you know that a lot of religious stories were taken from ancient Egyptian myths?”

&n
bsp; “Like what?”

  “Cain and Abel.”

  She gave him a look of disbelief.

  “Cain killed Abel, right? Remember I told you the story about Osiris, the first mummy and sometimes being shown with an erect penis?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Osiris was the first son of Ra. Seth was jealous of his brother and wanted the throne for himself. So he killed Osiris. And, just like Cain, Seth used a knife.”

  Vanessa laughed lightly. “Seriously, that’s your argument? Throughout history there must have been many people killed by a brother. It doesn’t make their stories the same. And Abel wasn’t wrapped up like a mummy so that he could come back to life.”

  “Well how about this: Lucifer was cast out of Heaven because he was jealous of Michael, wasn’t he? Lucifer wanted to be God’s successor. Sound familiar? It’s Seth again. Lucifer is Seth, the original Satan.”

  “Thank goodness,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Thank goodness you didn’t say that in front of my uncle or he’d never have let me come with you.”

  The British Airways Boeing 787 waited on the tarmac for half an hour before getting clearance and pushed off from the stand just after 7:30 in the evening.

  As they taxied down the runway, Vanessa said, “I hate flying. But I deal with it by knocking myself out with sleeping pills and diazepam. I took the diazepam half an hour ago, otherwise I wouldn’t be calmly sitting here.”

  “Afraid of flying?”

  “No, it’s the old joke.”

  “What?”

  “I’m afraid of crashing.”

  “I don’t suppose it helps to know that at any one time there are a million people in the air. The odds of crashing are infinitesimal.”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “It doesn’t help.”

  Alex held her hand and she gripped so hard his knuckles whitened. The wheels left the tarmac and the plane pulled up sharply. Vanessa sucked in air.

  Hoping to distract her, he said, “And the sleeping pills, how long before you’re out?”

  She swallowed to help her speak. “About forty minutes. I’ll just about make it through dinner and then sleep the rest of the way.” And then they were through the clouds and levelling out. She breathed again and held out a strip of miniature blue pills. “Join me?” she asked, as though offering something more exotic and dangerous than a sleeping pill.

  Alex declined.

  “There’s something else I want to give you,” she said mysteriously. She hesitated before handing him a piece of paper.

  “What is it?”

  “Like a contract. Well, actually it’s exactly that, a contract.”

  Alex started to read it.

  She said, “I wanted to make it legal that I won’t publish anything unless I have your full agreement. I thought it was the best way to prove you can trust me.”

  “I trust you,” he said handing it back.

  “No.” She took out a pen, dated and signed the bottom. Then she handed it back to him. “Now you sign it.”

  Alex made to protest but acquiesced and signed.

  “Good,” she said. “Now talk to me. You told me the other night that I didn’t know you.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Tell me about your dad.”

  “He was from Aberdeen and an avid football supporter. It was a disappointment to him that I never showed any interest in football.”

  “Fond memories?”

  Alex thought for a moment. “Giving me shoulder-carries. He used to make me put my arms in the air. He’d hold on tight to my legs and run really fast.”

  She smiled. “That’s a trust thing.”

  Alex was remembering now and something he had forgotten popped into his mind. “One birthday I got a bike. I’d wanted a new bike for ages and had been shown the second-hand one I was going to get. But on my birthday I was amazed to see a brand new one. It had front and back suspension. I was beside myself with joy. Dad also had a thing for castles and we liked nothing more than finding a new castle to explore. Of course, his interest was historical whereas I used to play at being Highlander: Alex MacLure of the clan MacLure!”

  “So you were close, you and your dad?”

  “Not really. Shortly after that we moved to Surrey. Dad was the accountant for a firm whose head office was in London. They needed him there so we moved. It was a tough time. Money was short. Dad worked long hours and seemed to get more and more uptight. I didn’t understand it at the time, how the stress can change you. I just remember him going from a fun dad to a grumpy old man with no time for his family. I was eleven. I went from a small, friendly school in Aberdeen to a huge comprehensive in Woking.”

  When the meal arrived it included quails’ eggs, and the stewardess informed them that it was a traditional Egyptian meal: quail meat and eggs were as common as chicken in the UK.

  As they ate, Vanessa said, “You felt lost and alone.”

  He looked at her as though she could read his mind. Then he realized. Of course she’d understand. She was a student of psychology.

  He said, “And then Andrew was born.”

  “With muscular dystrophy, right?”

  “Right. Unplanned too, of course.” He took a sip of wine from the tiny plastic wine glass. “It was a bad time. It just got worse and worse. Mum and Dad started to argue. I remember waking up, hearing them shouting at each other downstairs. Looking back, I can see they needed help. They were both exhausted.”

  Vanessa said, “And we hurt the ones we love the most.” Her voice sounded a bit far away. Maybe the sleeping pills were kicking in.

  “I was almost fifteen when Dad killed himself.” Alex went on to explain how the company had had problems for years but the previous financial controller had hidden it. His dad had tried to sort it out without causing a crash in confidence: correct the accounting policies, find the hidden debt, remove unjustified provisions, uncover malpractice and malfeasance. And all the time trying to protect those who had caused the problems.

  “And then, after everything he had done, they pointed the finger at him, accused him of being the cause.” He took a long breath. “He was an honest man. There is not a chance in hell that he did what they said, and the anguish broke him. Maybe it was on top of everything else but he couldn’t cope.” He breathed again. “And so that’s when he hanged himself.”

  He took a slug of wine and looked at Vanessa. She was fast asleep.

  Vanessa was instantly awake when the landing announcement came on the Tannoy. He held her hand and watched as his knuckles turned white again. The pilot had made up a little time and it was after 1am when they stepped out into the pleasantly warm night air in Cairo.

  They were shuttled to the terminal building and were soon inside. People milled around kiosks with unfamiliar bank names above them. Alex needed currency so he queued and quickly realized people were also buying visas here. Armed with cash and two labels that looked like big postage stamps, he joined a queue for passport control. This queue moved quickly as people were sent away because they hadn’t purchased visas. The stamp turned out to be almost literally that. It was peeled from a backing paper and stuck into the passport.

  Immediately beyond passport control were the baggage carousels. Alex’s bag arrived fairly quickly but there was another long delay before Vanessa’s appeared and they could head for the exit. They emerged into the dimly lit arrivals area with the usual confusion of tired tourists in a strange town, greeted by a wall of foreign faces and booths with signs in Arabic. They were approached by locals, who pestered them with: “Where are you from? Do you need a taxi? Do you need a hotel?”

  Alex waved each one away and scanned the crowd for someone who might be Marek. Then he saw it: a sign with his name, held by a wiry man with quick eyes. As they approached, he grinned, held out his hand.

  “I am Marek, your friend.”

  Alex hesitated as he took the
man in. He’d pictured someone more Germanic or Eastern European, perhaps taller with pale skin. Marek could have easily passed for a local. Alex shook his head and patted Marek on the arm.

  “Great to meet you.”

  “You are smiling,” Marek said. “You had a good flight?”

  “Not really. I was just thinking how funny it is that we have an image in our heads before we meet someone but the reality can be totally different. It must happen a lot with Internet dating.”

  Marek looked mortified for a second. He said, “I do not Internet date.”

  Vanessa gave Alex a nudge and held out her hand. “Very wise. My name is Vanessa.”

  After shaking her hand a little awkwardly, Marek picked up Vanessa’s case and led them through to a car park and an old brown Hyundai. Opening the car boot he looked apologetic. “I am sorry for the car. At least it’s free transportation to your hotel!”

  Vanessa said, “Don’t worry, we’re too tired to notice or care…” Her voice choked off. “Alex, what’s up?”

  “There’s a man by the exit. He just ducked back inside as our eyes met.” He looked at Vanessa. “Quick, in the car!”

  They jumped in the rear and Marek jolted the car out of the space and sped around towards the barriers. To get there they had to pass the airport exit.

  Alex instinctively ducked down. “He’s still there, watching!”

  “Who is he?” Marek asked.

  “I don’t know. There’s something familiar.” Alex paused in thought and then looked at Vanessa. “My God, I think it’s the man from the BMW!”

  Vanessa stared back at the exit. “I think I see who you mean. Are you sure it’s him?”

  “No, but there’s something—”

  Doubt crossed her face. “OK, maybe you’re right, but if he’s watching then he’s not following us.”

  “And I’ll drive us very fast,” Marek said rather too cheerfully for Alex’s liking.