Imhotep

by Jerry Dubs

  “Nimaasted said they found him here the next day,” she said, pointing to the dirt floor by the bed. “He said it looked like Waja-Hur had gotten up and started to walk to the doorway when he collapsed.”

  They looked at the dirt floor, each picturing Waja-Hur there. Suddenly Brian took a long step that brought him to the low bed by the wall. “Ook,” he said, pointing to the bed and the neatly folded sheet at the foot of it.

  “Yes?” Tama said.

  Brian made mimed folding a sheet. Then he pointed again at the bed.

  “You’re right,” Imhotep said. “The sheet is neatly folded. Waja-Hur didn’t sleep here.”

  Tama shook her head. “We don’t know that. It is possible someone cleaned the room and folded the sheet.”

  “Can we ask?” Imhotep asked Tama.

  “Cahn we ee is bahee?” Brian asked.

  Tama looked at Imhotep for a translation. Instead Imhotep looked at Brian. “How would that help? If Djefi killed him with a knife, they would have noticed. And the body will be different. They are mummifying it. I don’t know what we’d gain.”

  Brian shrugged. “I wah hinking. Ow ould he ill im?”

  Imhotep squinted trying to understand Brian’s mangled English. During the trip down river, Imhotep had learned to understand much of what Brian said, but he was excited now and hard to understand.

  Brian sighed deeply and suddenly reached out and took Imhotep by the neck, as if strangling him. Imhotep stifled his reaction to jerk away and let Brian demonstrate his point. He felt a pressure on his windpipe, which Brian released as soon as Imhotep winced.

  “Oones, ooken oones,” Brian said pointing to his throat.

  Imhotep got it. “Right, broken bones. We should be able to tell that.” He looked at Brian in amazement. “How did you think of that?”

  “EV,” Brian answered. He pretended to use a remote control.

  “Got, it, television,” Imhotep said.

  Tama had followed part of Imhotep’s English, but Brian’s gibberish made no sense to her. “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “If Djefi killed Waja-Hur like this,” Imhotep put his hands around his own throat because he didn’t know the Egyptian word for strangle, “then the bones here would be broken. Can we see his body?”

  Nimaasted was resistant until Hetephernebti intervened.

  “He is King Djoser’s adviser, Nimaasted. You were not at Kom Ombo when he stepped in front of Makare and stopped the assassin with a wave of his hand and saved the king’s life. You see the royal menat he wears.

  “If he wants to see Waja-Hur’s body, you must let him.”

  The priest led Imhotep, Brian and Tama across the river to the tent where Waja-Hur’s body was drying in the natron trough.

  It was the first time Brian had seen Nimaasted since the night Nimaasted had lured him to the ambush and pulled a knife on him. Tama had explained to Brian that Kanakht had ordered the attack and Nimaasted was bound to obey the vizier’s orders.

  Brian understood, and having seen Kanakht attacked by the crocodile, he no longer felt the need for revenge. But found himself disliking the young priest despite Nimaasted’s apologies.

  Inside the tent, Nimaasted knelt by the trough and lovingly brushed the salt crystals from Waja-Hur’s face. The natron had begun to tighten and darken the body’s skin, which looked delicate and paper-thin.

  Imhotep knelt beside Nimaasted and unfolded a Swiss Army pocketknife. As he reached slowly toward Waja-Hur’s throat, Nimaasted grabbed his arm to stop him. Imhotep glanced at him angrily and Brian quickly clamped a rough hand on Nimaasted’s shoulder.

  “Nimaasted,” Tama said quietly. “We are in search of the truth here. Release him or I will ask Brian to take you outside.”

  His arm free, Imhotep brought the shining blade closer to Waja-Hur’s throat, glancing at the dead man’s face, half expecting him to open his mouth in protest. Swallowing hard, he reached in with his other hand and brushed away the crystals from Waja-Hur’s neck.

  “Ook,” Brain said as the neck became visible.

  The natron had started to absorb the fluids from Waja-Hur’s skin leaving behind dark circles where blood had formed bruises.

  Imhotep folded up his knife and reached in with both hands, placing his fingertips on the bruises. As he placed his finger on the bruise marks, his hands wrapped around Waja-Hur’s neck as if he were choking him.

  Tama and Brian stared silently. Nimaasted gasped and shouted for Imhotep to stop.

  Tama understood first. “No, Nimaasted he isn’t desecrating the body. Imhotep, please move your hands. See, Nimaasted? The bruises on Waja-Hur’s neck are exactly where they would be if they had been made by someone’s fingers squeezing there. Waja-Hur was strangled, Nimaasted. Someone killed him.”

  “It wasn’t someone,” Imhotep said. “It was Djefi.”

  Tama shook her head. “We do not know that.”

  “Waja-Hur’s bed was not slept in, we saw the folded sheet. Yet Djefi told Nimaasted not to disturb Waja-Hur because he was sleeping. Djefi was lying,” Imhotep said. “He must have taken him to his room and killed him there. Then he told Nimaasted not to disturb Waja-Hur so he had time to leave Khmunu.”

  “I agree that it makes sense, Imhotep,” Tama said. “I’m just saying that we don’t know that it is true.”

  “Iane,” Brian said.

  Imhotep looked at him sharply. “That’s right, she’s at To-She.” He turned to Tama. “Brian and I are leaving for To-She, as soon as possible.”

  “No,” she said. “If Djefi has done this, then he has gone mad.”

  “He knows I am the king’s vizier now. He will not harm us.”

  “No, Imhotep, think. If he has gone mad, he will not care who you are. Wait here. We will send word to King Djoser and he will send men to go with you.”

  Brian grabbed Imhotep’s arm. “We muh help her,” he said.

  Imhotep looked at Brian. He remembered the swaggering jock who had walked across the sand at Saqqara. Now he saw a man who had been tortured and almost killed, yet he was ready to place himself in danger for someone else.

  And he thought about Djefi. He was desperate or deranged enough to kill another priest. He would know that there was no place for him to hide or to escape the king’s revenge unless he found the passage through the unfinished tomb to the land he, Brian and Diane had come from.

  In his heart Imhotep knew that Djefi would look for the passageway, and he knew Djefi would do anything to force Diane to help him.

  “Let’s find Bata,” he told Brian in English. He turned to Tama. “We must go. I will leave Meryt in your protection.”

  “An Paheh,” Brian added.

  Prince Teti’s three boats arrived two days later.

  He expected to find Imhotep and the others resting at Khmunu, but instead he learned that Waja-Hur had been murdered and that Imhotep had headed north to To-She determined to rescue Diane himself. He sent a message to the king, dispatching pigeons to different towns, unsure where King Djoser would be.

  Then he and the soldiers who were traveling with him returned to their boats and headed north to Ineb-Hedj to await the king’s orders.

  Flight from To-She

  Bakr slid his tongue across the edges of his top teeth, stopping when he came to the gap. Gently he probed the space with the tip of his tongue. The raw edges of the gum felt huge and sore.

  The teeth had been gone three days and the pain was getting worse.

  Hearing footsteps approach from his right, Bakr pressed back against the mud wall and waited, alert and ready.

  The footsteps grew closer and, recognizing them, Bakr relaxed. It was Abana bringing the evening meal to Yunet and Diane.

  She gave him a quick smile and then averted her eyes as she entered the hut where the women were being kept. Bakr looked after her, wondering why she hadn’t stopped and then he heard the heavier footsteps.

  Siamun’s face was the same scowling mask of anger he had wo
rn since returning to To-She with the women a month ago.

  “Where are they?” he asked, barely breaking his stride.

  “Inside,” Bakr answered quickly, nodding toward the doorway. “Abana just took them food.”

  Siamun brushed past him and looked inside.

  Bakr heard Yunet shout at Siamun to leave them alone. He heard a heavy slap and Abana ran past him crying and holding her cheek. Bakr wanted to follow her and comfort her, but he knew it would only make Siamun angry and then someone would suffer.

  He felt the empty space in his gum once more.

  He had been sitting by the fire, eating with the others, Siamun squatting beside him. The men had been talking about a hunt, trading stories, laughing. Bakr had been quiet, thinking about his sister Pahket.

  She had gone to Kom Ombo with the others, but hadn’t returned.

  Something bad had happened at Kom Ombo. He knew that. The few men who had been there and returned with Siamun didn’t talk about it. They were like Siamun, rough, angry and unfeeling, but strangely quiet about Kom Ombo.

  Naqada hadn’t returned either. From the look in the eyes of the men it was clear something horrible had happened to Naqada.

  Siamun had been as quiet as Bakr, simply staring into the fire, watching the dance of the flames; lost in whatever world he lived in.

  Gathering his courage, Bakr softly asked, “What happened to Pahket?” He spoke quietly so the others wouldn’t hear.

  Siamun’s hand had moved too fast for Bakr to react. He had grabbed a rock by the edge of the fire and smashed it into Bakr’s mouth, breaking off two teeth and splitting open his lip.

  “You ask too many questions,” Siamun had said.

  Djefi returned late at night.

  He went to Siamun’s hut, but found him asleep, broken beer jars lying on the ground around him. After kicking him twice without waking him, Djefi lumbered away, headed for Yunet and Diane.

  Bakr, who was guarding the women, heard Djefi’s heavy breathing as he approached.

  He ducked into the hut and whispered a warning to Neswy, Yunet’s crippled uncle, who had sneaked in to talk with her. Neswy hobbled out and got around the side of the dwelling as Djefi came up the path.

  “Greetings, First Prophet,” Bakr said.

  Djefi was startled. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I am guarding Yunet and Diane. At Siamun’s orders.”

  “Guarding? Why? Has something happened?”

  “No, First Prophet. When Siamun returned, he ordered Yunet and Diane to be watched.”

  Djefi looked at the ground and shook his head. “Go home, Bakr. The women do not need to be guarded here at To-She. The time for that was at, oh, never mind. I will speak to Siamun in the morning.”

  He waited for to Bakr disappear into the darkness, then he turned and entered the hut.

  The women were standing against the far wall of the first room. A low doorway led to their sleeping chambers.

  “Greetings, brother,” Yunet said, relief in her voice. “We thought you were Siamun.”

  Djefi wondered what had happened to make Yunet so afraid of Siamun, and how he could use it to get their help.

  Yunet motioned to a chair and offered Djefi food and beer.

  “We haven’t much, Siamun has not allowed us to leave or to cook here. We only have what is brought to us.”

  Djefi waved his hand in dismissal.

  “Have you heard what happened at Kom Ombo?” he asked.

  Yunet shook her head.

  “Kanakht tried to assassinate King Djoser!” he said, his voice rising higher as he pretended to be offended. “It was horrible, Yunet. Fortunately, Sobek intervened and attacked Kanakht, saving King Djoser.”

  “Was he sitting in the chair? The one Siamun tied Brian to every night?” Diane spat.

  Djefi blinked slowly and looked at Diane. Ever since he and Siamun had killed his stepfather, no one had ever talked to him with that tone of voice, not until this strange red-haired woman and her friend had emerged from Kanakht’s unfinished tomb.

  He glanced at Yunet and saw her face was strained with worry.

  “I have been traveling,” Djefi said.

  “I don’t know what Siamun was doing at Kom Ombo. If you remember, I sent him away when I arrived there.”

  “You didn’t know,” Diane said in English. “Siamun doesn’t fart unless you tell him to. You knew what he was doing.”

  Djefi looked from Diane to Yunet. “What did she say?” he asked.

  “I do not know, brother. I haven’t learned her language.”

  “I said I remember. I will always remember what Siamun did,” Diane said, speaking in Egyptian.

  Djefi shifted his weight and tried to keep his face impassive. He needed the information this woman had. Djefi would try to persuade Diane to help him. If that failed, there was always Siamun.

  He turned back to Yunet. “Because the attack took place at Kom Ombo, at Sobek’s temple, King Djoser is angry with me. With Sobek.”

  “Angry? But you said Sobek saved the king.”

  “Yes. But King Djoser was frightened, too frightened to think clearly. He associated the attack with the temple, even though Kanakht confessed before he died. He whispered something to the king with his dying breath. I think he implicated me.”

  “Why would he do that?” Yunet asked.

  Djefi sighed. It was so hard to make up lies, so much easier to just take what he wanted. He looked at Diane, saw defiance in her eyes, and began to lose his temper.

  “It doesn’t matter, Yunet. What matters is that I am in disfavor. All of us are in disfavor.”

  “Because you plotted to kill the king,” she said.

  “Because Kanakht plotted,” Djefi said, his voice rising. “You were not there, you don’t know.”

  Yunet didn’t answer.

  Djefi took a moment to compose himself, but he felt his blood rushing.

  “I want her,” he nodded toward Diane, “to take us to her country, away from Djoser and his fears.”

  Yunet shook her head. “She doesn’t know how she got here. I’ve talked to her. Her friend brought her.”

  Djefi stared at her. “She doesn’t know? How can she not know?”

  Yunet shrugged.

  Djefi remembered the coldness in King Djoser’s eyes as he untied the cloth around Kanakht’s leg and forced the blood from the ragged stump. He closed his eyes and saw the blood lust in the king’s face as he drove his spear into Kanakht’s body.

  “I must leave Kemet, Yunet,” he said simply. He swung around to face Diane. “Where did you come from?” he asked.

  “America,” she said.

  “Where is it? How do we get there?”

  Diane shook her head. After what Djefi had ordered done to Brian there was no way she would help him.

  Djefi saw the defiance in her eyes. “She knows!” he said, taking a step toward her. “She knows how to get there.”

  Yunet slipped between them.

  “No, Djefi. She doesn’t know. She is angry because of what Siamun did to Brian. That’s what you see. She does not know.”

  She stopped and put her hands against his fat shoulders, but Djefi leaned into her and pushed her aside.

  Diane slid away, moving toward the low table by the other wall.

  Djefi turned to follow her, but Yunet moved in between.

  “Out of my way. She knows and she will tell me,” Djefi shouted. He pushed at Yunet, shoving her away. She stumbled back and hit against the wall with a groan, but quickly pushed herself away again, grabbing at Djefi’s arm.

  He whirled on her with surprising speed and slapped her face with his free hand. Blood flew from her mouth, but she didn’t let go of his arm.

  “Run, Diane,” she said.

  Djefi slapped her again, harder, jerking her head to the side. He moved his hands down to her throat.

  “Shut up,” he said as he started to choke her.

  Remembering how she h
ad stood by unmoving when Brian was being tortured by Siamun, Diane took two long steps and jumped on Djefi’s back, digging her fingers into his eyes.

  He swayed from the weight shift and began to fall backward, letting go of Yunet. As he staggered backward and began to topple, Diane slid free. He fell heavily to the hard-packed dirt floor, landing on his back with a loud grunt as the air rushed out of him. His head snapped back with a loud thud and he stopped moving.

  There was no sound except for Yunet’s raspy gasps and Diane’s heavy breathing. Yunet stared at Djefi’s inert form.

  “Is he dead?” she asked, rubbing her throat and moving toward him.

  Diane ignored Djefi. “Are you OK?’ she asked Yunet.

  Yunet ducked her head as she swallowed.

  “Yes.”

  She knelt by Djefi. She placed a hand flat on his chest and felt it moving. “He breathes,” she said. His head lolled to the side and he groaned.

  Yunet looked up suddenly as she heard a noise at the doorway. Neswy was looking in at them, his eyes wide as he saw Djefi on the floor.

  “Did you kill him? I hope so,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder and then entered the hut.

  Yunet shook her heard. “No, he is breathing and he moaned.”

  Neswy looked from Djefi to Yunet. “You know you must leave, don’t you?” he asked.

  Yunet bit her lower lip and nodded.

  Djefi’s head started to move as he began to wake. Neswy untied his kilt and gripping the hem with his teeth he tore a strip of linen from it. Quickly he dropped beside Djefi and wrapped the cloth around Djefi’s head, gagging him. He nodded at the torn kilt as he worked on the gag. “Tear more strips, “ he said.

  They blindfolded Djefi and rolled him onto his side so they could tie his arms behind his back. Then they tied his feet together.

  “You must leave, now,” Neswy whispered to Yunet and Diane. “Siamun is asleep so you have a few hours. I don’t know where you should go, but get as far from To-She as you can. Perhaps you can flee to Iunu and seek refuge with Hetephernebti at the Temple of Re.”