by Gary Gygax
"That is essentially correct, Your Majesty."
The maharajah smirked at his own display of personal knowledge regarding the tall /Egyptian. He also was pleased with something else. "She must be displayed to more advantage. We will have Our Dresser of Court Women see to that."
"That is not required," the magister said quickly, his words clear and distinct in contradiction. He had to be quick, for Rachelle understood and was about to react in a way guaranteed to bring an uproar to the court. At the very best, the wizard-priest might be able to extricate the two of them with some great hekau. More probably, they would have been cut down by the guards for assault on the person of the monarch. "Lady Rachelle is charged with my personal protection, Your Majesty. It would violate her sworn duty to appear in other than her armor."
Scowling, Guldir Sivadji signaled that the audience was over. With appropriate gestures, they backed three steps from the royal presence, then turned and walked from the cham-her. There were mutters and gasps from behind, but Inhetep and the amazon seemed deaf to those noises. The near-hysterical major-domo came flying out after them, having managed to creep backwards on hands and knees at a record rate in order to manage that. "This way, please, Pr— Sahib Magister, Sahibah. I will show you to your rooms. The bath is hot. Attendants are there to see to your slightest wish. If you require anything else, merely clap your hands, and I will come instantly."
Rachelle could not contain herself. She whispered angrily to Inhetep as they followed the functionary: "When he looked me over, Setne, I felt as if slugs were crawling over my body— in places slugs should not be! He's a vile . . . filthy . . . nauseating . . . And when he spoke to you about—"
"I understand and agree, my dear. This is no place to discuss the matter, though. Wait until we are alone."
Their suite consisted of two separate bedrooms, a parlor, and a huge bath chamber with a sunken tub nearly large enough to swim in. Being of the /Egyptian aristocracy, neither was surprised or disconcerted to find a bevy of half-naked serving women there to undress them, to perfume the water, dry them, massage and oil their bodies, and finally to help them don splendid Hindic garments. When the girls giggled at seeing Setne unclothed, however, Ra-chelle decided she had had enough of the maharajah's court. "Out!" she commanded in /Egyptian, her tone and pointing finger communicating her meaning as clearly as if she had uttered it in perfect Hindi.
They girls moved to obey, but one fell on her knees, weeping. "Do not dismiss us, Sahibah, I beg of you! The majordomo will have us beaten, flayed for displeasing you. We are sorry! We will not offend again, please?"
"Stay," Rachelle muttered, horrified at what she had heard, believing the sincerity of the plea. The magister repeated her instruction, embellishing it sufficiently to calm them down. "Very well, Setne Inhetep. Have your moment of glory at the hands of these foreign hussies," she told him. Then her voice grew serious. "I like this whole situation less and less," she exclaimed in a very low voice, certain that there were ears and eyes spying on all they did. "What sort of a man is he?"
"We shall see quite soon. Be on guard at dinner—and after. It is time we dug into the meat of the matter, and I do not refer to the repast we are about to share with the maharajah."
THE SCENE OF THE CRIME
At the appointed hour came a man who introduced himself as Gorvan. He brought the two guests to the private salon in which the maharajah was giving the special supper. "I am, lord and lady, the . . . what is the word? Chancellor is correct, I believe, yes? That is the one responsible for the treasure of state, is he not?" He spoke in carefully phrased Trade Phonecian, for he had learned that Rachelle was unable to speak Hindi.
"Yes, a chancellor is usually the treasurer. A very important office, Gorvan Sahib. You must have been most. . . distraught when the crown jewels were stolen," Inhetep said with some sympathy and a trace of uncertainty.
"Oh, yes, Magister. I was very, very unhappy to learn of that terrible theft—even though it brought me greater position in the government."
"Greater?"
"But of course, Magister," he said with a sly
smile. "That came right after the robbery, when I was promoted from master of the royal chambers to the recently vacant office of chancellor."
"I see," Inhetep grunted. Fortunately he wasn't required to engage in any more of that polite conversation. They entered the room in which they were to dine.
Gorvan showed them to their places, saying, "Just stand here until His Resplendence arrives. When he is seated, we may all then do likewise. Meanwhile, you will brought light refreshments. I must leave you now, but I will return soon. If there is aught you require, command any slave here."
As the wiry man slipped away and left them to themselves, both had a chance to examine their surroundings. Inhetep thought the place horribly gauche. Such an opinion was unusual, for he seldom considered taste foremost. Although the magister was certainly well versed in such matters, he was, after all, a wizard-priest bent on other aspects of life. That the place was over-decorated, cluttered in a fashion only possible for one determined to show extreme wealth by flaunting it in eveiy way, seemed undeniable. Nothing else could have possessed the owner to have done this to an otherwise pretty chamber of marble and tile.
There were at least big, over-stuffed chairs and a much-carved, inlaid table, so the ordeal of sitting on the floor as if he were a peasant too poor to afford decent furniture would be avoided. In fact, Inhetep noted that the seat at the head of the table was as wide as a divan, deep, and heaped with bright cushions whose patterned surfaces fairly screamed at each other. "Sivadji Guldir will enjoy his meal at some ease," he quipped to Rachelle. "That is, if he can manage to eat in this bizarrely furnished room."
"And I thought the tiger skins and elephant feet such clever touches. Never, Setne, have I seen so many rugs piled atop one smother, so much gold and objets d'art crowded like bric-a-brac. This is going to be an ordeal. Imagine the menu! Speaking of which, I had better taste all of your food and drink first. In such a nightmare place as this, poison can only be expected."
Inhetep barked a soft mirthful sound. "Don't be melodramatic, my dear. You know as well as I that I have taken such simple precautions as to ward both of us from something such as you suggest. I swear to you, it is this room which makes one say such things." He paused, ran a hand over his shaven head. "Hmmm . . . Now there's a thought."
"Will you share it?"
"Oh, no—sorry, my dear. It was nothing, actually. I was just rambling."
That seemed to satisfy Rachelle, distracted as she was by their surroundings. "There seem to be no other guests assembling," she observed after a moment. "I wonder how long we are to be kept waiting." There was no answer forthcoming, although a slave padded up and presented the two with a tray filled with various drinks. Rachelle examined the selection, peering, sniffing, even tasting. "Tea, Setne? There is also some fruit juice here, beer, white wine— a red, perhaps?" The magister was standing before a complex tapestry, staring intently at the scene it depicted. "Did you hear?" she prompted.
"What? Red? Ah, but no. Nothing, thank you," he said as he took in the tableau and his mind picked up the thread of her conversation. Then he reversed himself with an uncharacteristic suddenness. "Wait! Give me a goblet of the red wine you suggested. Perhaps it is just what I need."
Rachelle looked hard at her mentor but made no comment other than to select one of the gold vessels filled with the beverage he named. What he did made Rachelle even more uncertain. She watched as the magister thrust his finger into the wine, stirring it and muttering to himself. That was too much. "Setne, what are you doing?"
Inhetep withdrew the finger with a guilty expression, shook it off, and took a hasty swallow from the golden cup before he responded. "Just lost in thought, dear girl. Sorry for the bad form." Then an eyelid dropped to mask one emerald eye for an instant. "You know," he went on as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary, "this is a rather decent vintage—Magy
ar, I think, but quite drinkable."
They had only a minute alone after that before Chancellor Gorvan appeared in the room, his slippers making hardly a sound on the polished floor and heaped rugs. "A hundred pardons for my absence. I was delayed by an unavoidable matter of no import to you, but one I had to attend to. Good! You have taken refreshments. I will join you." He clapped his hands, and the big servant with the drink selection hurried to where the man could help himself. "You Eire having the Magyar red wine, I see. I shall do likewise." He did just that, gulped down half the contents of the goblet, and smacked his thin lips. "You find this good, no?"
Rachelle nodded politely. Inhetep said, "It is passable."
"Ohhh, yes, Magister Sahib. I am not surprised to hear you find it to your liking. It is superior to /Egyptian wines, is it not?"
If the wizard-priest was going to answer, the sudden arrival of Maharajah Sivadji precluded it. A huge guardsman entered the room, as tall as Inhetep, rolls of fat barely concealing the massive muscles beneath. He carried a naked scimitar with proportions appropriate to his size and strength. Immediately after entering he stepped aside, head bowed only to such extent as made it possible for him to keep his eyes fastened on all within the chamber. On seeing the guard, Gorvan flung himself prostrate on the carpets, somehow managing to retain the contents of the wine goblet.
"Now I know the reason for the piles of rugs," Rachelle whispered as their host came waddling in after his bodyguard.
Guldir Maharajah Sivadji looked more than ever like a toad dressed in regal adornments. Behind him came a pair of fan bearers and a half dozen of the seemingly obligatoiy harem women. Again, the sovereign ruler of Delhi appeared quite satisfied with the less dramatic gestures which Magister Inhetep and the ama-zon made in recognition of his royal presence. "Good evening, My most welcome guests. We must eat and drink now, for Our hunger demands it." He plopped onto his massive couch with a grunt. The women hastened to grab cushions and pillows, thrust them here and there, so that every conceivable place their master might loll would be supported. Not to be outdone, the male slaves fanned furiously as this occurred, as if they wished to demonstrate that their concerns were as great as those of the women. He grunted and the women instantly ceased their fussing and fell into seductive poses, secretly fighting for the more noticeable positions before their lord's divan.
Gorvan had stood at the maharajah's first words. He hastened to take Rachelle's arm. "You will sit here," he said as he tried to lead her to the left of the table. She removed the man's hand from her arm with polite firmness. Gorvan's expression was startled when she did so, for her strength was greater than his own. She made no protest, however, and followed his instruction to take the chair at the maharajah's left hand. The chancellor indicated that Setne was to have the honored seat on the monarch's right. Then, as if on cue, and before anyone other than Sivadji Guldir was actually seated, two others arrived.
"General Ratha! Pirimah Lady Sujata!" the maharajah exclaimed in evident joviality as the two named newcomers prostrated themselves. "Arise, arise. Greet Our guests—the princely Sahib Magister Inhetep of Egypt of whom We have spoken to you and his companion bodyguard the Sahibah Rachelle. Isn't she a lovely protectress? We should have such ones to guard Our person!"
There was a hasty babble at his words. "I shall see to it tomorrow. Resplendence," Gorvan said smoothly. The harem women glared at him as he spoke. The arising general gave Inhetep and Rachelle each a stiff little bow as soon as he was back on his feet. "I am honored to meet you," he said in a grating voice. Similarly, the lady arose, smiling briefly and nodding to Rachelle, flashing her teeth more broadly at the magister and bowing deeply enough to flash something else at him. "Your powers, Magister, are legendary," Sujata stated in flawless Trade Phoenician.
"Our court practitioner reminds Us of courtesy," the obese monarch called from the head of the table. "We command that all converse is to be carried on this night in the tongue of commerce." Switching to that speech, Maharajah Sivadji added, "It is a language none in this room save Us and our fellow banqueters understand." He beamed at his cleverness, the thick lips of his big mouth seeming to stretch almost to his dangling ears. He seemed unaware of the stream of servants bent under the weight of great platters, trays, and other things entering to fill the table's top with sufficient fare for a dozen diners.
General Ratha was lean, muscular, and rather handsome in a dark, bearded way. The scar on his face which ran from the outer tip of his left eyebrow down to the center of his cheek could be found dashing in some eyes. The chancellor pointed Ratha to the chair next to Rachelle's.
The court practitioner was almost stunning in her good looks, despite the fact that she was well into her thirties. Her eyes sparkled with admiration, and her attention was riveted on the magister. Rachelle took an instant dislike to her, seeing her to be as ugly inside as the maharajah was on the outside. Setne's interest in what she was saying made the amazon fume, but between the general's grave remarks and the need to watch the maharajah's every move, she couldn't catch much of what was being said between them.
Everyone was free to chat and eat as they chose, for Sivadji Guldir had begun stuffing himself immediately after introducing the two last members of the dinner party. The females attending him assisted his consumption by popping choice morsels of this and that into his mouth, if he hadn't filled it full on his own, as two eunuchs made dishes of all sorts hover before him, and the ever-busy fan bearers beat the air with their fans of ostrich feathers.
Seeing how he was engrossed in eating and drinking, Rachelle allowed the monarch of Delhi less constant attention, speaking with General Ratha, who seemed intent on nothing but his troubles with "bandit rebels" who lurked in the northern hills "unlawfully sheltered by both Katehar and Sirmur." He was dull, but at least the commander of Delhi's military wasn't disgusting.
It was just as well that the amazon was unable to hear the Pirimah Lady Sujata. After lavishing compliments on the /Egyptian wizard-priest for several minutes, the court practitioner moved her leg so that her thigh pressed against Inhet-ep's. "Let us exchange magickal secrets tonight, Magister. My chambers are just down the hall from your own. ..." And as she allowed her invitation to trail off, she smiled seductively into Setae's eyes.
"There is . . . ah . . . the small matter immediately before me, Lady Sujata," he said in vaguely apologetic tone as he eased his leg away from the hot flesh of the woman.
"Now what could that be?" the pirimah demanded with pretended crossness. Then she glanced archly across the table. "Surely not your bodyguard!"
The magister gave an easy laugh and shook his head. "To delay such an invitation from so beautiful a source on that account? Really, dear lady!" He lifted up his goblet and sipped as if in toast to her. "It is altogether another sort of thing I speak of—the command of your own royal sovereign."
As if he had been listening, before the pirimah could reply to what Inhetep had said, the maharajah gave a thunderous belch. Every head turned to watch. Nobody moved or dared speak. Sivadji Guldir swatted away a slender hand which happened to be approaching his face with more food, speaking as he motioned. "We are replete. It is time to discuss matters of state. Clear all this away!" he commanded, his arms flung out towards the laden length of the table. "Bring cool sherbets and fresh wine for Us to drink. Then get out!" He sat then, eyeing the assemblage before him, the similarity to a big toad striking, as the slaves scurried to comply with his commands and the fan bearers and members of the harem skulked off as if they were whipped dogs.
When the six of them were alone, the maharajah snapped, "Have you discovered the culprit, Magister? Is the guilty one known so that Our justice can be done to him?!"
"Not quite yet, Your Majesty. There are a few small things which I must see to before I can give you that happy report."
"What small things? I do not like delays in carrying out my wishes!" The tone of his voice was threatening, and the maharajah's ugly face darkened as he
spoke.
If Inhetep was nonplussed by this display, he didn't reveal it in the least. "It is plain that your righteous ire falls squarely upon the head or heads of the party responsible for the theft of the crown jewels of Delhi, Maharajah Sivadji. I will do my utmost to see that the delay forced upon you by that criminal act is short. In that regard, and keeping in mind your expressed displeasure at the time the required steps must take, I ask Your Majesty to have your subjects here present lend me their full cooperation."
"Of course I command that. I want the jewels returned, that happy event followed by the slow death of the guilty parties, their heads displayed on the walls for all to see thereafter!"
"You are most gracious. Majesty, as befits so grand a monarch. Do you give me leave now to visit the place from whence the jewels were stolen? If so, I ask that your chancellor and the Pirimah Lady Sujata accompany me."
The glowering maharajah opened his thick, downturned lips and snapped, "You have Our leave. These 'small matters' had better not take long. I'll brook no weeks of investigating—not after your month delay in obeying Our command!" He looked at the magister to see what reaction his words had on the ^Egyptian, but Inhetep's green eyes revealed only polite attention. The maharajah clapped his hands, the meaty palms making a sharp report which was answered almost instantly by the appearance of his huge bodyguard. "I go to sport in the women's quarters. Report immediately when you have the information We require."
The magister murmured something polite as the maharajah heaved and the guard hauled to lift him from his seat. The Hindis prostrated themselves, Inhetep and Rachelle bowed, and Sivadji Guldir waddled out of the salon. As the door closed behind him, the priest-wizard turned to smile at the others. "Well, Lady Sujata, Chancellor, lead the way. Oh, by the way," he added as an apparent afterthought, "General
Ratha! Would you be so kind as to stay here with Sahibah Rachelle? You will certainly have much you can tell her about enemies of the state—there are rebels in the mountains, aren't there?"
