by Gary Gygax
Buhor was eventually dragged unconscious from the Golden Shiva. He had no idea how he had become involved in the fighting, swearing to the local magistrate that he could remember nothing except talking and drinking with friends. Unimpressed, the judge fined him heavily, and Buhor would have ended up in the workhouse had not some unknown benefactor paid over the whole sum on his behalf. Meanwhile, however, the three Albish men fared better—and worse. The police were quick to defer to them when one of their number presented certain credentials. "Search for a tall Egyptian," that one told the lieutenant in charge of the watchmen. "He's easily spotted—shaven pate, hawk nose, and green eyes. His name is Inhetep, Setne Inhetep, and he's wanted for questioning by the Royal Palace." No trace of the wanted man could be found, however, so soon thereafter the three hard-eyed men had to report back to their superior empty-handed. Nobody ever saw them again.
The day after the disturbance in the Golden Shiva, a mob attacked the Egyptian district. The Bow Street Runners found answers for the Lord Mayor. It seemed that they were whipped into a frenzy in secret cult meetings. Something to do with an Eastern god called Set-Anubis and a traitor. A lot of silver and gold was involved—the mob had been showered with silver coins to encourage them to find and kill the traitor. Gold was promised them if they succeeded. Before further investigation could proceed, however, the proceedings came to a halt.
Word arrived from the citadel. The Royal Chamberlain, Sir Chauncey, had been found murdered. Beside him was a statuette of the Egyptian deity, the one with a black jackal's head, Anubis. There had been a warning, too. The Lord Mayor was charged with finding the culprit, and one Magister Setne Inhetep was the chief suspect. The Runners were in the right district, so they simply switched from seeking the cause of the riot to looking for the wanted man.
For a week thereafter, all of Londun was buzzing with the story. Broadsides reported the tale in lurid and fanciful detail. The followers of the underground cult of Set disappeared. There were massive searches in the whole foreign quarter, and virtually every Egyptian, or foreign male over average height for that matter, was hauled into one station or another for scrutiny and questioning. The initial furor settled, but there were still whispers of the strange business. Rumors persisted that the whole matter was a plot by rebels and foreigners to overthrow the king and the Kelltic gods, too. There was a good deal of indignation among the good people of the city. All foreigners found it necessary to keep a very low profile. Those who went abroad made a point of visiting local temples to pay their respects to the established pantheon of Albion. But no trace was found of the ur-kheri-heb, the Egyptian wizard-priest named Setne Inhetep.
—= 10 ——
SETNE THE BLOODHOUND
Camelough stood on the high ground and even higher bluffs of the eastern shores of Lake Lhian-nan. The big lake was fed in part by the waters of the River Newid, a deep and lovely stream navigable by boat and barge for several leagues above the city, and for miles and miles beyond that by smaller craft. A number of villages lined the banks of the Newid, appearing amid fields and woods almost as if part of nature's growth. These charming little settlements were the homes of local farmers and tradesmen, as well as those of a few gentry and even nobles from Camelough whose summer residences lay in one or another of the riverside hamlets. Thus, among the thatched cottages and narrow buildings could be seen stately houses with high walls protecting them, little castles on the shore, or moated villas. The size and construction depended upon the status of its owner and the size of his or her purse. Because of the mild climate of Lyonnesse, activity continued in these residences even during the depth of winter; some of the aristocrats rusticated over the Sunsebb holidays in their country estates, for the local shire knights and prosperous merchants were renowned for their wassails and festivities during the merry season.
Mild or not, the trip up the River Newid in an open boat was a cold one, with damp wind to accompany the chill night air. "How much further?" Setne demanded of the two broad-shouldered men pulling on opposite oars of his hired gig.
"At least 'nuther 'our, yer worship," the man at the tiller answered. He did so because the two rowers needed all of their breath to maintain the fast pace dictated by this strange man who had engaged them to row upstream in the middle of the night. "Wind's foul, ya see, an' the boys'll be needin' ta take a rest soon," he added.
"Never mind slacking off," the Egyptian snapped. "You can change off with each other and get some respite that way. If you manage to get me to my destination before midnight, I'll give you each a pair of silver drakes."
Their destination was a collection of buildings and villas called Glaistig Pool. "Must be one hellsapoppin' carouse yer awaitin' ta gets ta," the helmsman cried loudly, so as to be heard above the wind and splash of water. His long-haired passenger merely grunted and jingled the coins. "Alright," the riverman growled, "we'll be swap-pin' duty on 'em oars. 'Ave yer coin all nice an' ready like."
Inhetep wore a wig, of course. It was a common enough thing in his own country, and in past centuries such attire had been social convention even in Lyonnesse. These days, however, nobody knew of them—at least not commonly, and the three men working the boat were certainly common. Had the wizard-priest appeared with shaven pate, one of them might have connected Setne to the Egyptian wanted by the crown officials. But none of them knew as they labored against the stiff breeze and strong current. When they rounded the bend near the villa Setne was seeking, he asked the men to put him ashore where a huge old willow tree jutted out over the dark water of the river.
" 'E's got eyes like a owl," one of the rowers hissed to his mate, for only after a minute of hard pulling did he see the tree the Egyptian had described. The captain informed Inhetep, "Yer 'bout a mile from the dock o' Glaistig Pool, yer are."
"This will do fine, boatman," Setne said firmly. "My dear cousin's lodge is but a few rods away from this spot." There was a dwelling about a bowshot's distance, but it was neither the habitation of any of Setne's kin nor his actual destination. The less these men knew the better. As the skiff thumped against the bank, Setne carefully handed each man the promised payment, two silver drakes. Then from a small shoulderbag he drew forth a squarish pottery bottle. "Here, my good fellows. Something extra for your hard and long efforts on a cold night. It's Hybernian whiskey, fine old single malt and full of warmth. Drink a tot for me on your way home!"
"That we will, yer worship. Ta yer 'ealth!" the boatman added, as he unstoppered the bottle and took a good swig. "Aaarr, now 'ats whiskey!"
Inhetep watched as the gig and the three riv-ermen disappeared back into the mists. The whiskey was excellent Hybernian, all right, but it was also dweomered so as to make one's memory a bit fuzzy. In a day, not one of the three would remember the trip or the passenger they had had in their skiff. Not unless they drank only a little of the stuff, and knowing men such as the river boatmen were, Setne was sure that the whole quart would be gone long before they made Camelough, ten miles down the Newid. He gave a secret smile and turned to face the land.
Inhetep hadn't stayed in Londun after the day of the riot near Limehouse. His being followed, the mob, and then the murder of the Chamberlain told a plain story: the Master of Jackals was intent on eliminating his opponent, and the criminal would stop at nothing until the magister was dead, or at least held fast in some deep dungeon where he couldn't interfere with what the Master Jackal intended. First had been the suspicion and assassination attempted in Cam-elough, leading to Setne's being a wanted man in all Lyonnesse. Relatively minor attempts on his life followed. Then came the matter in Londun and the posting of a reward there for him as a suspect in treasonous matters, rioting, and the killing of a crown officer. It was too late for the mastermind behind the plot to do anything about his successful visits to the other three kingdoms of Avillonia—Cymru, Hybernia, and Caledonia. Setne knew that there would be similar warrants on his person in those realms, though, for the Master of Jackals was a thorough and bitter enem
y. "We shall see who hounds who, Jackal," he hissed under his breath as he recalled the events. Then the tall Egyptian strode into the darkness of a grove of trees, heading toward a walled castle-manor on the riverbank about a half-mile distant upstream.
The fact that there were so few clues and no trails to follow in the extortion and murders made no more difference to Inhetep than the fact that he had no path to walk along in reaching the building for which he was headed. "Perhaps the final goal isn't as apparent," he said aloud as he stepped over a fallen limb about halfway to the tall building protected by its high walls. "But I am sure who will serve as guide to that desired place." At the edge of the copse he stopped, staying well back in the shadows of the leafless trees, hardwoods which had all shed their greenery in the frosts of the autumn gone.
The high walls formed a right angle to the main building and a lower wing, so that inside there was a courtyard—and garden, too, probably of considerable extent. The curtain of stone was only about twenty feet high, with an octagonal tower at its corner. The squat construction was about ten feet taller than the wall itself, and a dim light showed from its upper portion, a lantern's glow from the arrow slits. Inhetep watched the tower for a few minutes. A yellow light washed out for a moment. Someone had emerged from inside. A dark form moved along a parapet inside the place, head and shoulders just dis-cernable between the crenellations of the battlement. Despite its looks, the fortified manor was a functional stronghold. The sentries were obviously not particularly alert, taking time to warm themselves instead of continually pacing their posts, but that was typical of any such place not under threat of attack. The owner and guests holding their revel inside the great hall were not expecting unfriendly visitors. Yet if the sentries were slack, there were probably less fallible alarms protecting the manor.
It was necessary to approach the chateau more closely in order to discover what castings were in place to ward it from intruders. The wizard-priest stole forth as silently as a shadow. A quarter moon was shining, but scattered clouds alternately made the landscape dark then light as they crossed the night sky. Setne moved with the darkness, so that when the soft moonlight again illuminated the open ground around the dwelling, he was cloaked in the shadow of the tower. From there the copper-skinned Egyptian used his special senses and a charm to find what magick guarded the walls and gate.
The weaving was so subtle that even Inhetep almost missed reading the castings aright. The protections were not the forthright sort of priest-craeft nor the bold sort typical of dweomercraeft. The magicks woven through stone and wood and all around were a net so clever that most prospective intruders would view them as but weak wards easily avoided or removed by counter-spell. Energies were drawn in parallel, castings set so as to enwrap and at the same time support one another in a vertical manner. Dispel one, and those above and below would react. Then the varied horizontal forces could not be passed through without undesirable consequences. No negation would disarm these protections.
"I am not surprised," Inhetep thought to himself "Alarms, voices, quasi-spirits and goblin guards, spun into a web of deadly traps and killing magick too. Each is so laid as to be in harmonic sympathy with the other. Dissonance or discord will come if even the least is disturbed, but there is an answer . . ." And as that crossed his mind. Setne took from his girdle a little ivory tube wrapped with a filigree of silver, a miniature flute, and began to play upon it. There was no sound, at least as far as human ears could hear. Yet there were notes, a melody of ever-increasing complexity. A discernable darkness grew before him. Had the sentries been able to view it, they would have seen something like a spot of pewter-gray appear on the stone wall. The circle grew aelfrom coin-size to the diameter of a saucer, a platter, a targ, then a great round shield. Still Setne played soundlessly. The lightless circle was now nearly as tall as the Egyptian. Fingers moving rhythmically on the tiny instrument, Inhetep paced slowly ahead. Dogs began to bark and howl inside the little fortress. Setne ignored them. He went into the grayness, but it was no longer stone; it was space. As he stepped slowly into the enchanted nothingness, a faint fire sprang from his head and shoulders, running along arms, body, and legs, so that it appeared he was burning with a violet blaze. After but a few paces, however, the little lilac tongues of flame shrank, sparkled, and died in a coruscation of deep purple motes as they shot off into the sooty nothingness. With a last, inaudible trill, Inhetep stepped through the solid stone wall into the courtyard and ceased playing the ivory instrument.
He was standing amid several flowering shrubs, which screened the harsh rock surrounding the hall. The dogs ceased their yowling the moment the wizard-priest stopped playing the flute, but the sergeant-at-arms had already appeared in the yard with a handful of guards. They had torches and were armed.
"Corporal of the guard!" the officer called loudly. Setne crouched in the shrubbery made magickally green and blooming for the festivities. Light from the tower's open door spilled into the courtyard and over the greenish witch-lights set at intervals along the buildings. "Is all well?"
The soldier in charge of the watch cried out for his sentries to report. "East wall. All's quiet!" came a voice. "South wall," shouted another gruff voice, "and it's as dead as a blarsted graveyard . . . sar!"
"You get yer arse outta that tower, Clouter, an' makes double sartin that nuffin' disturbs the lords inside this evenin', 'ear me?"
The guardsman was irritated but didn't dare argue. "Them damned dogs was jes' tryin' ta sing along wi' the band playin' from inside, Sarge, but oT Clouter'll stay sharp the res' of the night if it'll makes ya happy."
"Happy my arse, ya lazy blarster. I'll be back in a 'our ta check!" Sergeant and guards stamped around a little, giving a hasty and mostly cursory inspection of the area, then returned to the warmth and revelry of the main building.
Inhetep remained absolutely still. The corporal was standing almost directly above where he hid, and the man was peering down. Then Setne
heard the sound of splattering about a yard away. It's a lucky thing you're not relieving your bladder on me, the wizard-priest thought darkly as the corporal finished urinating. Then the guard walked off, and Inhetep glided from the bushes and across the yard to the lower wing of the villa. Neither spell nor lock were set to prevent entry here inside the walls. The door opened at his touch, and Setne entered a dark, narrow hallway. It turned right, and a door to the left certainly led into the barn area where horses and carriages were kept and feed stored. This was the servants' wing, and it was virtually deserted now because of the revel in the great hall. All staff were busy caring for master and guests. At the end of the corridor, Setne selected a door at random and entered.
» In the small room, evidently one belonging to an important servant, the wizard-priest discarded his dark, woolen cloak and high boots. He hung them on one of several empty pegs on the wall rack. Beside them he placed his wig. He was now clad in only his Egyptian garments, but these were rich and decorated with gold and glittering gems as befitted one attending a noble feast. Instead of sandals, Setne drew on a pair of low, slightly pointed buskins, almost slipperlike in their lightness and flexibility. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Now let the fun begin!" he exclaimed aloud. "No more hare to chivvy from thicket to thicket." He pulled the
door open again and reentered the hallway. "Inhetep is now the hound who will be nipping the jackals here. . . So saying, the tall man left the low wing and entered the main building.
The place was a mansion. Thick beams supported high ceilings. Polished hardwood floors and wainscoted walls were glowing under soft, dweom-ered lights that resembled the warm illumination of wax tapers. A servitor came hurrying around the corner. "I ... you ... is there ... ?" the pretty little maid stammered, obviously flustered by the bald-headed, copper-skinned stranger, who was dressed as a noble. "Yes," Setne told the lass. "You may disregard whatever instructions you have previously received. I desire that you convey me immediately to the usher—ther
e is an usher, I trust."
Now the girl was truly puzzled, but she had no thought of anything other than complying with Inhetep's command. "Oh yes, m'lord, there is most certainly an usher—Master Medwyn by name, m'lord. Do you wish to go through the grand salon? Or will you prefer a more discrete route?"
That made the Egyptian smile. This was a highly perceptive and intelligent servant. "By all means, lass," he replied, "let's use the more quiet way, for what I have to say to Master Medwyn is most confidential—a sort of special surprise for your great lord, as it were." The girl nodded and led Setne through several small servant's passages and into the foyer of the main hall. There were two tall doors, closed, from behind which came the sounds of the wassail— music, loud voices, laughter. Before these portals stood a liveried man whose sash and gold chain bespoke his position as an officer of the staff, to whit, the usher. Inhetep waved the lass away, stepping quickly to the man on duty at the doors before he could ask anything of her.
"Please be so good as to announce Magister Setne Inhetep to His Lordship the Gwyddorr and the other guests within, Master Medwyn," the wizard-priest said smoothly. His tone was firm and irresistible. The usher had no thought of anything other than immediate compliance. He bowed, opened the two doors, and stepped into the massive room beyond.
Thump, thump! sounded above the party as the fellow used his staff to draw attention to his proud performance of office. The noise dropped off as eyes turned towards the entrance. A guest at midnight was most unusual indeed. "The August Magister Setne Inhetep!" Master Medwyn cried, embellishing Setne's style as was the wont of such functionaries. He began a sweeping bow but stopped short as gasps rose from the assemblage of revelers in the salon.
"No need for all that," the Egyptian murmured in the general direction of the startled usher as Setne strode into the great hall and faced the two-score folk staring at him. "What?
