No one moved. Sounds of the house search reached them, but no others. Finally Labarnas gave a sharp bark of laughter.
“Did I not say pharaoh’s people worshiped the god of deceit? You’ve just proved me right, Egyptian.”
“Then you understand that these murders were the work of this one man. Remember the thief, the tavern woman, and the farmer.”
Labarnas bent and touched the crocodile mask on the snout, then rose and eyed Meren. “When I tell the great king, I’ll still blame pharaoh for not providing safe lodging for the emissary.”
“Of course.”
“I want to leave at once.”
“I will beg pharaoh, may he have life, health, and prosperity, for permission.”
“Hmmmph. For an Egyptian, you’re almost tolerable. I would have killed you, had I been successful in escaping with you that night.”
“I know,” Meren said.
“But now,” Labarnas said as he turned to leave, “I think I would have paid dearly for it.”
“May Amun protect you on your journey.”
“And may the storm god bless your fate, Egyptian. The next time we meet won’t be in some gold-encrusted audience chamber but on a battlefield.”
“You sound certain.”
“I am, Egyptian. I am.”
The moment Labarnas was gone, Meren turned to Abu. “Still no sign of the cook and her husband?”
“No, lord. We found the man who rented this house to them. He’s a priest of Ptah, holder of the office of keeper of the cattle of Ptah, which means he knows little except that he assigned the managing of the property to one of his servants. The actual owner lives in another town.”
“Find the real owner, Abu.”
“It will take time, lord.”
“Find him, and find out how the cook came to rent this place from him. Curse Reshep a thousand times. Seeing him has addled Satet’s wits so that I fear she’ll never regain them.”
“Lord, she had little left in any case.”
“She could make sense on occasion, if she really desired it.” Meren glanced around the kitchen. “Someone has cleaned this house recently.”
“Satet, lord.”
“Perhaps. But the couple’s possessions are still here. They should be here.”
“Aye, lord.”
Meren watched Reia free Beauty from her cage and toss scraps of bread to her. “Abu, it would be well to discover if there is or was any connection between Reshep and the cook or her husband. There probably isn’t, but thoroughness is a virtue.”
“Yes, lord, but it’s almost dawn.”
Meren glanced up at the diffuse light coming through windows. Abu was reminding him that his duty demanded that he report the discovery of Eater of Souls to pharaoh.
“What am I to say to the living god, Abu? That Reshep killed people who interfered with his desires? That anyone who irritated him got his heart cut out? What monstrous fiend infested his ka?”
“He was possessed by a demon, lord.”
“And by the ghost of a mother who raised Reshep to believe in his own perfection and a father who drank and failed to attend to his son’s raising.”
The light coming through the windows grew brighter. “I must go to pharaoh with my report.”
Officially, Meren’s task was to guard against anything that might threaten pharaoh or Maat in Egypt. He, and others like him, used their unique blend of clandestine knowledge-gathering and overt intimidation against the myriad threats to the divine order. Yet Tutankhamun seemed most enthralled with the more mundane aspects of Meren’s duties.
Bound by rigid royal tradition and duty, he fed his desire for freedom and release from unending ceremony by listening to tales of the struggles and extraordinary behavior Meren encountered. This, as well as Tutankhamun’s personal trust, was why Meren was one of the few in all the world who could ask for admittance to the presence of the living god at any time.
Such a privilege meant nothing if he couldn’t find the king. Finding a living god wasn’t usually a problem, since he was bound by dusty, creaking tradition that worked against deviations from the set royal schedule adhered to by noble servitors, ministers, and everyone else around him. Wherever he went, Tutankhamun moved in a cumbersome swarm of people—bodyguards, high-ranking priests, royal servants, courtiers, family, government ministers, and a host of slaves. But Tutankhamun had developed the ability to elude this suffocating hindrance.
Sometimes he simply rose before anyone else and left the palace with his bodyguards. Sometimes he ended an audience and vanished before his courtiers could come after him. At other times he waited until the middle of the night and stole out of the palace with only Karoya for protection.
Thus, when Meren went to the palace, he sought the king in the royal chapel, not knowing for certain if he would find the living god in his appointed duties or off on some unexpected excursion with the court in a frenzy of alarm. Luckily, he arrived just as Tutankhamun emerged from the dark inner chamber that held the altar and the sacred shrine in which the image of the king of the gods, Amun, was kept. Only the king and priests of the highest rank were allowed in this chapel.
Tutankhamun walked into the light of dozens of alabaster lamps. Heavy doors covered with sheet gold swung shut behind him with a boom. Linen-clad backs bowed low, Meren’s among them. Pharaoh hurried down a corridor formed by slender wooden columns painted to resemble tall papyrus plants, but stopped and turned back to stand before Meren.
“Eyes of Pharaoh,” the king said.
Thus addressed, Meren straightened. He didn’t expect what he saw. Tutankhamun’s skin had been painted in gold with magical signs of warding, protective symbols, an idea that probably had come from the magician priests. He held a golden net such as would be used to catch harmful spirits in a magical ceremony.
The king came nearer. “You have news.”
“Of a privy nature, O golden one.”
Tutankhamun turned around and addressed his waiting councillors. “My majesty will confer with the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh.”
He waved a hand in dismissal, which caused a murmur of surprise. The dozens of people surrounding the king began to move all at once, except for the Overseer of the Audience Hall and one of the chief judges of the kingdom. The judge whispered to the overseer, who approached the king.
“Great king, thy majesty is to preside in a hall of judgment at this very hour.”
“The judges and the complainants will wait, overseer.”
Soon Meren was in the uncomfortable position of having to sit in a small pleasure boat while the king rowed on one of the vast palace pleasure lakes.
“This is the answer?” the king asked as he pulled his oars out of the water. “A mad, petty noble who imagined himself greater than he was? It wasn’t Eater of Souls?”
“Reshep was possessed, golden one, but I don’t think Eater of Souls was in him. I can’t believe Eater of Souls would serve such as he.”
Tutankhamun looked thoughtful. “True. If Eater of Souls were to come among the living, she’d serve me.”
“Thy majesty speaks with the wisdom of his father Amun.”
“My majesty will order his name erased wherever it’s found. Get rid of him, Meren, and I’ll put it about that an outlaw was caught masquerading as Eater of Souls in order to rob the citizens of Memphis.”
Meren bowed, and they fell into an uneasy silence. Such was the fate of evil ones. Their names were erased from documents, monuments, family tombs. Their bodies were cast into the desert to become the fodder of hyenas and jackals. Denied their eternal house and the repository of the soul, these spirits were left to the terrible judgment of the gods. When their names were erased from the land of the living, their final avenue to existence vanished, and their souls perished.
Tutankhamun was staring at the reflection of a lone cloud in the water. “I’m glad you refused to admit him to my presence. Do you think he would have taken offense at me?”
Meren
went cold as he realized the king’s meaning. Reshep had envied Meren’s power; how much more hatred would he have had for a living god.
“Never mind,” Tutankhamun said. “I can see it in your face. A danger escaped. Which reminds me. My scouts have returned and reported vicious bandit raids on villages just north of the great pyramids. Libyan tribes, they say. Testing my strength, trying to encroach upon my kingdom when they think I’m too young to defend myself. My majesty will not tolerate such transgression.”
“General Nakhtmin will send troops at once, divine one.”
“Oh no,” Tutankhamun said. He shipped his oars, stuck his hand in the water, and doused Meren with a spray of water. “Your promise, Eyes of Pharaoh. I’m to go on the first suitable raid. This is the first suitable raid, and you’re taking me, as you promised.”
Meren regarded the king solemnly, then sighed and leaned against the side of the boat. He touched his fingers to his brow and allowed his head to droop.
“It’s of no use,” the king said.
“Majesty?”
Tutankhamun shoved an oar into Meren’s arms and laughed when his courtier nearly lost his balance. “Admit it. You were thinking of pleading weariness.”
“Thy majesty thinks I would deceive him?”
“If it suited you, yes. Fortunately, you’ve done yourself the ill favor of teaching me most of your tricks and wiles.” The king thrust the second oar at Meren. “Resign yourself, my lord. We’re going on a raid. As soon as my scouts can find the bandit camp—and you’re not leaving the city until that happens.”
“Thy majesty’s will is accomplished,” Meren said with a scowl.
“This time it is.”
Meren shoved the oars in the water. “I should not have given the divine one my promise.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, but it’s too late. Now row my majesty back to the water steps, Meren. I must sit in judgment before Ay hears of my absence and comes looking for me.”
Meren guided the boat to the great stone staircase that descended into the water at one end of the lake, and they climbed ashore. Meren watched pharaoh disappear into the palace and stared across the ornamental gardens, annoyed that he’d lost the battle of delay so soon. He should have anticipated that Tutankhamun would maneuver around him and been ready with a creative excuse for further postponement of the king’s battle initiation.
“Ah, well. What cannot be changed must be endured.”
He returned home to an unusually quiet house. For hours he’d been avoiding any thought about Isis and her role in last night’s near-disaster. She needed curbing, and he was going to have to do it. Which made him even more angry and hurt than he already was. She was forcing him to be unpleasant, and he hated being that way to his children.
But he couldn’t deal with her now. He needed time to think about what was best. Relieved that he’d thought of a reprieve, Meren went to the hall where Bener had ordered food and beer set out. Kysen was waiting for him, his hands restlessly twisting a papyrus roll. He greeted Meren as his father sat down and picked up a water jar.
“All went well with the Hittite?”
“As well as any matter can go with a Hittite.” Meren poured water into a large cup and drank all of it.
Kysen’s fingers closed over the papyrus. “And pharaoh?”
Meren furrowed his brow.
“Father, there’s news about the cook.”
“Good. What is it?”
Kysen looked over his shoulder, and Abu appeared, leading the chief of watchmen, Sokar. When Meren saw him, he almost groaned. Sokar approached and threw himself at Meren’s feet.
“O mighty Eyes of Pharaoh, have pity on this poor miserable servant. I am beset with countless duties. I have no relief, too few men, a vast city to patrol. How was I to know?”
Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Meren snapped, “Be silent. Kysen, what is he doing here?”
Kysen put the papyrus roll into his hands, one of the daily lists of incidents compiled by Sokar. An item near the bottom of the sheet had been underlined in fresh red ink. It read, “Stabbings, a man and a woman. Not of the city.”
“By the gods!” Meren felt blood rush to his head. He jumped to his feet, sending his chair scooting backward as he glared at the blubbering chief watchman.
“They were not of the city, my lord! Newcomers, who didn’t even own the house, poor, and of no importance.”
“Sokar, you are a lackwitted donkey.” Meren clenched his fists in an effort to keep from striking the man.
“He says he knows who owns the house,” Kysen said.
Meren shoved Sokar with his foot and bellowed, “Who!”
“A man of Arthribis in the delta, called Nefersekheru.”
“Go on, Sokar,” Kysen said. “Tell it all.”
Sokar tried to worm his body between the tiles that decorated the dais stairs.
“Out with it, you fool, before I pull your tongue out and make you eat it,” Meren said.
“Nefersekheru only holds the lease on the house,” Sokar said. “He holds it for another, who also is not of the city.”
Meren paced away from Sokar and returned to plant his feet wide apart, his hands on his hips. Sokar whimpered and kissed the floor before Meren’s sandal.
“Listen to me,” Meren shouted. “If you speak those words ‘not of the city’ another time, I will banish you to the turquoise mines. Now tell me who owns that house where Hunero and her husband Bay were killed.”
“Naram-Sin! His name is Naram-Sin, O great one. Oh, misery and woe, I am doomed. Naught but horror befalls those who cause difficulty for the Greek pirate.”
“Silence!” Meren bellowed.
He ignored Sokar’s blubbering. Rubbing his chin, he fell to pacing while Abu dragged Sokar out of the hall. With the chief of watchmen gone, a peaceful silence reigned. Kysen dropped wearily to the floor beside Meren’s chair, grabbed a small bread loaf, and began tearing pieces from it. Meren paused beside his chair to fix his gaze on a glazed floor tile. It bore an alternating pattern of papyrus stalks and lotus buds.
Finally he spoke. “Ky, we’ve stumbled into a swamp inhabited by all sorts of poisonous creatures. Everything is murky, like marsh water. The truth is trapped below the surface, weighed down by mud, tangled in roots, and screened by reeds. If we reach it, we could thrust our hands into the mouth of the crocodile.”
Kysen tore off another piece of bread and studied his father. “I know, and that’s why I don’t understand why you suddenly look as if you’re anticipating the feast of Hathor.”
“Who killed the cook and old Bay?” Meren glanced down at his son. “Was it someone in the pay of the pirate? Was it Naram-Sin? Or was it Eater of Souls?”
“They were stabbed.”
“So was that woman who was waiting in the garden for Mugallu.”
“By the wrath of Set, Father.”
Meren smiled. “Yes. Each time we approach near the matter of Nefertiti’s death, something happens to distract us. Is Naram-Sin a distraction, or have we reached past the screen that conceals the hunter from the quarry at last?”
“You’re intrigued. Father, you were right in the first place. Whoever killed the queen is more dangerous than any bandit or Hittite. This is not the time to be amused.”
“Easy, Ky. Don’t adopt my habit of becoming too grave. After facing Eater of Souls, I realized I’m much too serious, and such gravity gives no advantage. And you’re right. I am beginning to appreciate our unknown enemy. He must have a complex nature and a ka of infinite sagacity to have remained hidden for so long and to have designed such a complicated method by which to direct his plots.”
“Then you don’t think we’re near the truth yet?”
“I don’t know.”
Meren sat down again and poured wine for Kysen and himself. Handing his son a goblet, he lifted his own.
“I don’t know the truth. At least not all of it. But I do know that I’m going to find the one at the center of this
intrigue, and when I do, I think it will be someone who possesses within his ka more of the true nature of Eater of Souls than Reshep ever did.”
“And yet you relish searching for this new demon,” Kysen said.
Raising his goblet higher in a salute, Meren grinned. “I appreciate the complexity, the serpentine design, the intelligent heart. We’ve alarmed someone, Ky. I was beginning to think the murderer dead or out of Egypt. But he’s here. And he’s fighting us. We’ve disturbed the scorpion’s nest, and he’s about to strike. Soon there will be no more dueling with shadows. And that above all else pleases me. I prefer to face my real enemy, not lowly and servile pawns.”
“Well, it’s too late to do as I wanted and let the matter drop.”
Meren laughed and picked up a bowl of dates. “If we do that, we’ll get ourselves killed all the more quickly.”
“Is this your new attitude, go into danger cheerfully?”
“Cheerful or not, the danger will come. Have you found Tcha?”
“Not yet. I think he may have fled the city for the moment. He’ll come back once word spreads that Eater of Souls has been killed.”
Meren leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs, and drew a long breath. “Ahhh. No wonder the air smells so fresh. Enjoy the sweet watery breath of the earth, Ky. When Tcha skulks back into Memphis, he’ll bring a stench that would knock a vulture from atop a refuse heap.”
Other Books by Lynda S. Robinson
Don’t miss the earlier mysteries featuring Pharaoh Tutankhamun’s chief investigator, Lord Meren:
MURDER IN THE PLACE OF ANUBIS
A murdered corpse has desecrated the terrifying Place of Anubis, where unquiet spirits dwell while awaiting embalming—and it’s up to Lord Meren, Tutankhamun’s most trusted adviser, to find the killer.
It seems that everyone is a suspect, for the body belongs to the notorious scribe Hormin, hated by all who knew him. Undaunted by the plots of Hormin’s concubine and sons, Lord Meren searches for the murderer, peeling back the secrets of nobles and slaves in his quest for the truth.
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