by Scott Peters
Aunt Zalika swept her hand wide. "Welcome to our humble home."
Ramses followed the man's gaze, trying to imagine it through a stranger's eyes—the large house with its promise of private, shady rooms; the precious front door made of wood, which his parents’ had been so proud of; in front of it, the tiled courtyard, edged with green cultivated herbs. Overhead, date trees heavy with fruit swayed slowly. Then there was the lily-strewn pond he’d loved to splash in when he was small. And still, there was more. The servant’s sleeping quarters. And beyond that, the barn.
"I am impressed, my lady." The tutor pointed out a cluster of clay pots. Rings shone on every finger. "I see you enjoy flowers."
"Flowers?" Her eyes found Hebony’s colorful blooms. "Oh yes, I love to putter around out here."
At this, Ramses snorted.
"Come inside," she said. "Let me show you your room."
Uncle Hay gave Ramses a shake. "Stop gawking." He held up a mallet. "For you."
When Ramses didn’t move, Uncle Hay swung it at his shins. Ramses jumped back and caught it.
Furious, he wrenched it from his uncle’s fingers. "You want me to do what with this?"
"Get out there and get rid of the shed!"
"You want me to tear down a building. By myself?"
From inside, Aunt Zalika and the tutor’s laughter rang out.
"Please," Ramses said, suddenly too exhausted to fight. "Tell me you're joking."
Uncle Hay picked at a spot on his tunic of what appeared to be spilled stew. The smell of roasting meat drifted from the kitchen. Angrily he said, "It’s your fault, and you know it! So don’t stare at me with your big round eyes. Get going."
Ramses tried to think. "What about the ploughs? That's where they're kept when the harvest is over." He knew he was grasping at straws. "Where are you going to store them?"
"Ask Sobek. That’s his job, not mine."
"But—"
"Beat it," Hay said, not looking at him.
Ramses reached for the cup. "Okay. I'll go. Just let me have a drink."
Uncle Hay snatched it first. "When you're done." He took the cup with him into the house.
A window shade rustled.
He caught sight of Sepi’s pale face. Ramses turned away. But not before he registered the rage in his cousin’s eyes.
Night had long since fallen over the farm. Plaster and dust exploded as the building grudgingly surrendered to Ramses’ assault. Each mallet stroke tore at his hands. He’d managed to pull down a small section, but that had taken hours.
He’d never finish by morning.
Something touched Ramses shoulder. He spun around, hefting the mallet high.
"Whoa, it’s me!" Sepi shouted.
"By the gods, I almost cracked your skull in two!"
"Well that wouldn't have been much of a hello."
"What are you doing out here?" He’d never seen his cousin so far from his sickbed. How had he made it here, by himself, in the dark?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Insects hummed in the night fields, their harmonies both soft and sharp.
Sepi wore a grin from ear-to-ear. He wheezed as he set a large basket on the ground. Then he wiped his brow and stared up at the sky. "Would you look at that? The stars are mind-boggling, there are so many of them."
Ramses shoved the basket's linen cover aside and rummaged through its contents. He grabbed a sweating jar of water, tore off the lid and gulped it down.
"Sepi, you’re a champion." The scent of roast duck wafted up and he unwrapped the meat and took a huge mouthful. He groaned. It was delicious. The fact Sepi had carried all this seriously impressed him. There was a ton of food. It couldn’t have been easy. He stuffed his mouth so fast he had to gasp for air between bites.
"Wow, remind me not to get my fingers in the way," Sepi said.
Ramses swallowed the last bite, sank back, and drew a long, slow breath. "That deserves a reward. If I had one, I'd give it to you."
"Oh, before I forget." Sepi pulled a small container from his pocket. "Hebony sent this. You’re supposed to rub it on your cuts."
Ramses opened the lid. There it is. Hebony's cure all. This stuff stinks."
"Phew," Sepi said, covering his nose. "That stuff stinks."
Ramses grinned. "Yep. Hebony's cure all. Stinks, but works."
He unwound the bandages and gooped the paste on without looking too closely. He was glad of the dark. The paste felt cool and slimy. The coolness eased the pain; he sighed with relief. Sepi leaned against the wall while Ramses rewound everything.
"So how’s that new tutor?" Ramses said.
"Ha! I wondered how long you’d take to ask."
"And?"
"Well, he’s . . . different."
"What does that mean?"
"Apparently I’m his first ‘un-famous’ student." Sepi rolled his eyes.
"Well, he is from Memphis. What’s his name?"
"Weris—anyway," Sepi said with a frown, "this drawing business is ridiculous, embarrassing. Like I want to be an artist? My mother knows I want to be a scribe."
They sat together in silence, staring up at the stars.
"It's too bad you couldn't take my place," Sepi said. "At least you'd appreciate it."
"Maybe I can't be there but—"
"What are thinking?"
"If you took notes, you could give me some tips?" Ramses said in a hopeful voice.
"Groan!" Sepi grinned. "Not a bad idea. But then I’ll actually have to pay attention!"
Ramses nodded. "For just two weeks."
"I might die of boredom in two weeks. But I'll do it."
Energized by the promise, Ramses whooped.
Sepi stuck a piece of grass between his teeth. "Speaking of boredom, this place will be a lot different when you take off to be the big apprentice at the Place of Truth."
It was the first time Ramses actually considered going away for real. His cousin was looking at him and Ramses tried to lighten the mood. "Like it would ever happen. What chance do I have, honestly?"
Sepi ignored the question. "You better visit me at least once a year."
"I really doubt I'm going to get in. So don't even talk like that."
"You’ll be too important to visit a lowly person like me." Sepi laughed. His voice was joking, but his eyes looked serious.
"No, I won’t. You’re my best friend. Whether I get in or not, I’ll be here all the time."
But he realized it was a lie. His life would change. Everything would change. And Sepi would become part of his past.
"Listen to me," Ramses said. "No matter what, even if I do win this crazy position, you and I will always be best friends."
Sepi shoved the empty water jar back in the basket.
"We'll swear on it. Right now," Ramses said.
Sepi straightened, then nodded.
"Best friends forever. Agreed?" Ramses said.
They took hold of one another's forearm.
"Agreed," Sepi said.
Hours later, after Sepi left, Ramses had managed to reduce most of the building’s west wall to rubble. Half of the roof had caved in some time ago. Exhausted he hammered at it, his swings haphazard, his arms numb.
His eyes drooped. He snapped them open and rubbed his face on his forearm.
A faint scent of jasmine floated on the air. He blinked. Night blooming jasmine, his mother’s favorite. In the far corner of the shed, the moon revealed a large bush that had somehow grown up inside. He picked a bloom, sat down, and closed his eyes.
He needed to rest.
Just for a moment.
His head nodded back. The bloom fell from his fingers. He drifted off, dreaming he lay in his mother’s arms.
A large hand grabbed Ramses’ ankle and shook it.
"Hey-ho! Morning sleepyhead," came the voice of Sobek.
Ramses opened one eye, squinting in the sunlight. "What time is it?"
"Late."
"Flea-dung," Ramses muttered, clamb
ering to his feet. He glanced around. "What the . . ." The mound was empty. All that remained of the shed was a neat pile of dirt and bricks. "Where’s the building?"
Sobek held up his dusty palms.
"You did it? Alone?"
"I might be getting old, but you don’t have to look so amazed."
"Without waking me up?" Ramses said.
Sobek grinned. "Magic. Of course, you being dead to the world helped a bit." His grin disappeared. "It’s time I got back to the house, and you out to the fields. We've fallen behind again. If the harvest continues at this pace, we’re going to be in serious trouble. You need to light a fire under the men."
Ramses nodded. "I know. But how? They won’t listen. Not to me."
"Make them," Sobek said. "Hebony and I are depending on you."
Chapter Thirty
The Place of Truth churned with excitement. All around her, examination fever gripped the villagers. Craftsmen talked about the new apprentice as if he’d already been found; mothers bickered over whose daughter was most in need of a husband; girls giggled at the prospect of so many boys crowding their front gates. And every person had been appointed a duty to prepare.
Whenever Neferet ran into Tui, the old painter gave Neferet a secret salute: he’d swirl his hand to acknowledge that she’d set this whirlwind in motion. She’d smile back, but fear would still grip her stomach. She’d remember her dream, see the monster with his dripping jaws just waiting for them all to fail.
The world seemed oblivious to her worries.
At dinner last night, even her father had seemed happier. For the first time in ages he’d actually laughed out loud, recalling a story of the day. His laughter was infectious. She’d gone to bed giggling.
It will be fine, she reassured herself now.
It was mid-morning. Neferet sat in the front room of Layla’s house, crowded in with a dozen girls. They were assembled on the floor with a giant rectangle of fabric stretched between them. When complete, the fabric would form the final wall section for the judge’s tent. The girls’ fingers moved quickly, hemming its edges.
Sunshine blazed through the narrow window vents, slashing their faces and shoulders with light.
Neferet worked one corner of the linen in silence. As the others sewed, their conversation buzzed with excitement.
"Have you decided what you’re wearing?" a girl named Kiki asked Layla in a breathless tone. From the looks on the other girls’ faces, it was obvious they’d all been dying to ask her the same question.
"Maybe," Layla answered with a smirk.
"Is it true you’re having a new wig made?" asked another. "A short one?"
"You’ll see," Layla replied in a singsong voice.
Neferet rolled her eyes. As usual, none of the girls could make a single fashion decision without knowing what Layla was wearing first.
Layla caught Neferet’s eye-roll and made an exaggerated sad face. "Look at poor Neferet," she said, "Doesn’t she look funny sitting here sewing with us? I hardly recognize her without her dirty face!"
All the girls tittered. Neferet stabbed her needle through the coarse fabric.
"Know why her face gets so filthy?" Layla said. "Because even after studying herbs for five years, she still has to stick her nose in the dirt to figure out which is which."
The girls laughed out loud.
Layla smiled. "It’s pathetic. The only reason the physician chose her is because her father’s Chief Scribe. He forced her to."
Neferet stopped sewing. "That’s a lie."
Layla laughed. "I bet Merit throws away everything you bring her. I bet they all turn out to be useless weeds."
Neferet took another stitch. She had to ignore her. She couldn’t let Layla goad her into an argument.
"I used to feel sorry for you," Layla said. "All alone, with no mother."
Neferet’s hands began to tremble. "Shut up, Layla."
The others held the banner’s hem, watching.
"Listen to you, shut up, Layla. You sound like you’re five."
Neferet set her jaw. Even when they’d been friends, Layla had been cruel. She’d known just how to hurt her. But this time she wouldn’t let her. It didn’t matter what the backbiter said. Neferet pulled on her needle; it was stuck.
"Maybe it’s a good thing your mother died."
The banner slid from Neferet’s fingers. "Oh really."
"Yes. Don’t you think girls?"
No one spoke.
"And why is that?" Neferet said.
"Why? I think it’s pretty obvious. So she didn’t have to see what a pathetic excuse for a daughter you are."
Neferet lunged.
But she only made it halfway. Before she could get her hands around Layla’s throat, she found the sheet rising underfoot. From all four sides, the girls pulled it tight. They yanked upward as if pulling a carpet from the floor.
And Neferet flew into the air.
She flew so high, she hit the ceiling with a thump. In a shower of dust, she tumbled back down. The fabric held her, but only for a moment. Then, with a great ripping sound, it tore down the middle. She landed on her back, arms and legs askew.
Stunned, she stayed there, breathing hard.
The front door opened. "Neferet?"
Every head turned. It was Merit, the physician. Cheeks flushed as girls rushed to help Neferet.
Layla reached her first. "You poor thing, you’re so clumsy."
"I’m fine." Neferet pulled her arm free.
When Merit spoke, it sounded as if she’d been running. "I don’t know what you girls are doing. Right now I don’t care. Neferet, the herbs for Tui? Can you find more?"
"I know where some are growing, I saw them the other day."
"Thank the gods. Quick, I have a sentry outside to take you."
"Has something happened?" Layla asked.
Merit shot her a withering glance. "It’s none of your business. But the men brought Tui from the Valley of the Kings on a stretcher."
"Can I help?" Layla said.
"Only Neferet can help him now." She put her arm around Neferet and bundled her out the door.
Outside, Neferet expected to see Jabari waiting. Instead, a man with heavy jowls and eyes smudged with dark circles met her with a curt nod. Inwardly, she groaned. It was Denger, Jabari’s younger brother, who usually kept guard at the gates.
"I just have to grab my basket," she said.
Not for the first time she wondered how two brothers could be so different. Unlike Jabari, something about Denger made her uncomfortable. But that was silly. He was a guard. He was sworn to protect her.
Together they hurried out into the baking desert.
Soon, the village shrank in the distance.
Chapter Thirty-One
Neferet walked in silence, mentally ticking off the landmarks she used to navigate the desert: a flat, star-shaped rock, a scrubby outcrop whose roots must have found water far below, the mountain’s pointy afternoon shadow.
"Where are these herbs?" Denger demanded, wiping sweat from his brow. "The physician ordered me to bring you back in an hour."
"Almost there, just over this hillock. See, down there."
"Go ahead. I’ll wait."
With her basket over one arm, she slid down the hot sandy slope to the shaded oasis of scrubby plants. Above, the guard looked east, shielding his eyes from the sun. He stiffened.
"What is it?" Neferet called up to him.
"There’s a donkey with no rider," he said. He sounded torn, as if wondering whether to stay with her or go investigate.
"Go ahead."
He shot her a wary glance. Clearly, he expected her to run off.
"I’ll be here."
"Better be," Denger said. "I don’t want to get in trouble because of a silly girl like you." He headed off.
Neferet crouched amongst the foliage. She worked rapidly, plucking the best specimens as Merit had trained her to do.
Denger had no reason to worry. She
wasn’t going anywhere, not without a full basket. And then she’d head home, as fast as she could. Hearing Tui had to be carried home had been a shock. She thought about his bright smile and his funny hand signal. Tears sprang up and she brushed them away.
"Hello," a voice said.
Neferet jolted upright. A tall boy stood inches from her toes. Oily strands of hair framed his high cheekbones. His eyes took in her own, and she knew the fear a rabbit felt with a jackal at its heels. Stepping back, she pressed her fists into her sides to hide their shaking.
"How dare you come up on me like that?" she demanded.
"Don’t run!" He lunged and snared her by the wrist. "I want to talk to you. I saw you come out of the Place of Truth."
"Let go of my arm, you’re hurting me," she said.
He loosened his grip but didn’t let go. "Do you know anything about this examination? Or are you a servant?"
Neferet kicked at his shins; he dodged sideways. She tried to wrestle free, but he had a wiry strength and he pulled her down hard beside him so that they both landed on the scorched earth. His fingers pressed into her arm. His face was inches from hers. His eyes were dark and intense. For a minute she was terrified he was going to try and kiss her. Instead, he yanked her into a sitting position.
"Well, are you a servant or not?" he demanded.
"Of course I’m not," she spat. "We don’t have servants in our village—it isn’t Thebes. We do our own work."
"So you are someone then." He grinned. "In that case, I didn’t mean to push you down."
"Let go of my arm!"
The boy’s grin widened. "Don’t look like that. I said I was sorry didn’t I? Anyway, I need your help."
Neferet laughed. "That’s your problem."
A flare of anger shone behind the veil of his dark eyes. "What, are you too good to help a stranger?"
She scowled. "What help do you need?"
"I hear you’re expecting hundreds of applicants for this examination your Chief Scribe is holding. All I want is a chance to present him with my work first. Today."
