Time Meddlers on the Nile

by Deborah Jackson

  “Nadine may be right, Matt,” said his father, quietly, almost cautiously.

  Matt couldn’t believe this. “Nadine is never right. She never cared about anyone. I know travelling with the prince is a risk, but leaving Sarah is just mean.”

  “Maybe Nadine cares about the greater good,” his dad said, even more quietly.

  Well, this was crazy and Matt had had enough. “I don’t know what she’s told you, Dad, but everything she’s done has been cold, calculated, and cruel. She trapped you in other worlds and in the past.”

  “Maybe she trapped me because I was arrogant,” said his father, barely audible.

  “Dad!”

  “I don’t blame you for hating me, Matt,” said Nadine. “I was never mother material anyway. But however you feel doesn’t change the fact that we don’t belong here. We’re destroying history, and we have to leave.”

  At that moment they heard the tramp of many feet echoing in the air, filtering through the labyrinth of passageways. Nadine didn’t hesitate, but grasped Matt’s father’s hand, and Matt’s—much to his annoyance—and pulled them in the opposite direction. All around them the wind seemed to have picked up, battering at them, peppering them with hard grains of sand, but Nadine persisted. They turned left, then right, and left again, but somehow they must have become turned around, because, as they rounded the next corner, they came face to face with Taharqa.

  “Too late,” said Matt, and he didn’t know if he should feel frightened or relieved.

  Chapter 17

  The Decision

  “Matt,” said Taharqa. “We need to get inside. There’s a sandstorm brewing. Who are these people?” He swished his hand at Nadine and Matt’s dad. Then he must have noticed the tight grip Nadine had on Matt’s arm. “And where are they taking you?” He seized his sword and thrust it at Nadine.

  “No,” said Matt, holding up his hand. “They’re friends. Well, sort of,” he said, eyeing Nadine. As much as he despised her, he couldn’t let Taharqa kill her. Things were messed up enough as it was and he wasn’t a killer. He thought of his bow and arrows still sitting benignly on a table in Taharqa’s room. At least not yet, anyway.

  Taharqa’s eyes narrowed, but he slid his sword back into his scabbard. Then he sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. “She smells like sour meat.”

  “I threw up on her,” said Matt.

  “Ah,” said the prince, sounding somewhat amused. “Interesting. But there’s no time to talk out here. We need to seek shelter in the palace. Amun’s priests have accompanied me from the temple at Gebel Barkal.” He jerked his head at half a dozen men who’d stumbled in behind him, dressed in similar garb to the first priest Matt had met, linen kilts and wide silver necklaces, their heads bald and glistening with perfumed oil. “We have much more to discuss,” he practically snarled, “and they wanted to include a couple of my captains.” Taharqa nodded at the soldiers beside him, men Matt had seen directing this or that manoeuvre when they were travelling along the Nile.

  Matt looked at his father, noting his eyes widening and his breathing becoming laboured. Were they going to be pulled into this meeting whether they liked it or not? He laid a hand on his father’s shoulder as they trotted after Taharqa. “Maybe if you just keep quiet,” he whispered in his ear.

  “Right,” said his dad, giving Matt a shaky smile.

  “And you keep quiet too, Nadine,” Matt hissed at her.

  “Why do you assume that it will be me who destroys the timeline?” she snapped.

  “Because you are who you are,” said Matt. “And you can never keep your mouth shut.”

  “Oh, you miserable, insulting—”

  Taharqa swung around, just as they reached the palace gate. “Are you sure you don’t want me to dispatch her, Matt?” he asked.

  “See,” he said out the side of his mouth to Nadine. “No,” he replied to Taharqa’s question. “Not at the moment.”

  “Very well,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Let’s all go to the council chambers and you can tell me about your new friends.” His tone held a hint of grit and a touch of frost. Were his suspicions resurfacing? No wonder, with all these strange people entering his world.

  The trio followed Taharqa, while the other men trailed behind them, slapping their sandals on the stone pavement. Matt didn’t know what he was going to do. How could he explain the presence of his father and Nadine? How could he keep the prince from questioning them? He wondered if he failed to prevent the catastrophic event that would change history, would he just melt away, disintegrate?

  The prince halted before a gold-trimmed wooden door and pushed it open. He stood aside for them to enter, his hand still fondling his sword. His eyes tightened when he looked beyond them to the milling priests in the hallway. Matt gripped his father’s arm and trudged to a corner of the room, where a dozen chairs had been assembled in a circle. Directly in front of him stood a large gem-studded chair, looming over the others, in the middle was an open area, and to the side sat small square tables that held tightly-bound scrolls. Matt wondered if it would be too bold to take a seat in one of the chairs. He raised an eyebrow at Taharqa, who’d stridden in after them. The prince waved his hand at the chairs, and then took the largest one for himself.

  “Now you take the king’s chair?” said Bakket, the priest Matt had already met.

  “Since I’m required to make a kingly decision, it seems like the appropriate chair,” said Taharqa. “Shabaqo would make me the next king if I halt an invasion.”

  Bakket glowered, but didn’t say anything else. He and his fellow priests each took a chair, as did Taharqa’s captains, Matt, his father, and Nadine. Matt noted that his dad kept his face lowered, but Nadine scanned the group with interest, making no effort to be inconspicuous.

  “And who are these foreigners?” asked another priest.

  “This is the boy I picked up on one of my training exercises in the south. He was lost in the desert when we . . . made his acquaintance. The others, I do not know. But you can explain, can’t you, Matt?” Matt’s stomach knotted as Taharqa’s eyes fell on him.

  He took a deep breath. “This man,” he said, pointing at his dad, “is my father. The woman,” he grimaced, “is a friend. They’ve been looking for Sarah and me since we . . . wandered away from their camp.”

  “Ah,” said Taharqa, but he still looked unconvinced. “You’re Matt’s father?” he asked.

  Matt sucked in his breath. His dad had no choice but to answer. Please keep it short and sweet, Matt pleaded with his eyes.

  “I am,” his dad answered.

  “And you and the woman are alone?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Just the two of us.” He looked briefly at the prince, and then looked down again.

  A thought suddenly occurred to Matt. He’s speaking their language, too. And so was Nadine, when she’d annoyed the guards earlier.

  “You do not act like Matt’s father,” said the prince. “Matt’s father would look me in the eye.”

  But that would mean that Sarah’s theory didn’t wash.

  His dad raised his head, swallowed, and met Taharqa’s gaze.

  Because if her theory were true, then Dad and Nadine wouldn’t know the Nubian language, unless the change had already happened that destroyed the timeline and they were stuck here forever.

  “So you left your camp in the desert?” Taharqa asked.

  He nodded.

  “To search for Matt and Sarah?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  But how could it have happened already if they hadn’t really done anything? Maybe they had stepped on a butterfly.

  “Unfortunately, the Medjay raiders have abducted Sarah. Matt would like me to help rescue her, so he can take her as his wife.”

  “What?” said his dad, turning to Matt with wide eyes.

  Matt looked up in amazement, suddenly realizing what Taharqa had said. Where had he gotten that idea?

  “Ah, he didn’t tell you,” he chu
ckled. “Your son is smitten. He might deny it, but it is quite obvious. You’d think a father would know.”

  “Sarah is just . . . a friend,” said Matt, as much to his dad as Taharqa. He didn’t know how to explain how he felt about Sarah. And what if the prince forced him to get married? “Besides,” he continued, “my dad doesn’t know everything about me. We’ve been separated before.” He shot a quick glare at Nadine.

  Taharqa squinted as he examined Matt. “Very well, Matt. I accept that he’s your father. I can see the resemblance, although he seems rather dense regarding his own son. And the woman’s a friend, you say? Like Sarah?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “N-no,” sputtered Matt. “Not like Sarah.”

  “You see?” said Taharqa with a knowing glance at his dad.

  “So we’ve established who these foreigners are,” said Bakket. “Can we dismiss them now and get on with a discussion of much more significance?”

  “Very well,” said the prince, his tone immediately harsher. “We’ll get on with it. But there’s no need to dismiss the foreigners. They remain under our constant watch, so they can hardly be a threat to leak information. And there’s little we need to discuss, regardless. I am going to intercept the Medjay before I assist Hezekiah with the Assyrians.”

  “To help this boy recover his girl?” boomed another priest.

  “No. To prepare my troops for battle and perhaps increase our numbers. We’re not ready to meet the Assyrians.”

  “These foreigners are ill omens,” said Bakket. “Appearing in the interior from out of nowhere? This reeks of magic. I believe they’re here to delay you. You should not postpone travelling to the Delta when the fate of our kingdom rests in your hands. If the Assyrians seize Jerusalem, Egypt will be next. They aim to dominate the world and only the threat of a massive Kushite army will hold them at bay.”

  “As you know, I don’t have a massive army.”

  “Yes, I certainly know. But they do not. And if you strike hard and fast, you could repel them. If news of your approach reaches them, they might even retreat.”

  “They have enough spies. They’ll surely be aware of the strength of my army. But if I defeat the Medjay, they might be a little more reluctant to fight. Or, perhaps, if I convince the raiders to join us, they will be even more reluctant,” said Taharqa.

  Matt blinked. What had the prince just said?

  “It is madness to delay,” said Bakket. “And convincing raiders to join us? Ridiculous. Captain Sayjan, what do you say?”

  Sayjan, the taller, swarthier Nubian soldier with a mass of scars crisscrossing his chest, looked at Taharqa with raised eyebrows, and then cleared his throat. “The army is strong, but it needs to be stronger to defeat the Assyrians. They outnumber us at least two to one. They have an endless supply of fresh horses, while we will have travelled such a great distance once we reach Jerusalem, that our mounts will be parched and weary. The Medjay are fearless and skilled. We’d be foolish to ignore the opportunity to enlist their help, to have them join our ranks and fight alongside us as they once did for Egypt.”

  “There. You see?” Taharqa snapped at the priest.

  “He’s been schooled by you. What else would he say?” said Bakket.

  “Ah. Then ask someone who’s unschooled. What do you think, Matt?” Taharqa swung in his direction.

  This is it. Matt shifted in his seat. This is the decision that could change history altogether. Now he’s asking for my opinion when I didn’t even know what the plan was. Trying to get the raiders to join them? What’s that all about? Although, in a way, it seems a better plan than fighting.

  Except, it might be the wrong plan.

  Matt glanced at the priests, seated with stern faces and crossed arms, their words still echoing in his head. They seemed to think Taharqa should head straight into battle with the Assyrians. Of course, if he did, Sarah would be lost, but the timeline could be restored. Maybe the prince did play a vital role in this battle, even if the history books didn’t mention it. And if the Jewish people were killed or captured, would their religion and culture survive? What would that mean to western civilization, a mixture of Greek philosophy, Roman government, law, education, and the roots of science combined with Jewish and Christian beliefs? And how did he remember all that? Maybe he hadn’t been sleeping in every history class or there was something to that “sleep-teaching” thing. But what if Taharqa was right and his army wasn’t ready? What if they needed the Medjay?

  “You know what I want,” said Matt. “But I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”

  Taharqa smiled and winked at Matt. “And you, Matt’s father?” he said, flicking his hand towards him with an open palm. “What do you think?”

  “I . . . um . . . don’t have an opinion,” said his dad, looking over at Nadine. She gave a nod of what looked like approval.

  “And you, Matt’s friend, whom he doesn’t seem to like very much?” said Taharqa, looking directly at Nadine.

  “Me?” she squeaked.

  “Yes, I’d like to hear what you think I should do.”

  Matt was shocked. He didn’t think women were consulted for important issues in these ancient times.

  “I’d rather ask my mother,” said Taharqa, “because she is a wise woman, but since Matt’s father is clearly taking guidance from you in some way, I’m asking you.” Matt gaped. Taharqa hadn’t missed a thing.

  “I . . .” said Nadine. “I can’t give you advice. But you mustn’t do something just to help Matt. That isn’t the way a king would conduct himself. He would think of his entire kingdom, not just one boy.”

  Matt glared at her and fisted his hands. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut, could she? Not for one minute. She was condemning Sarah as surely as if she’d aimed a pistol at her and shot her. Well, she’d almost done that before, too. He knew, in her own feeble way, she was trying to restore history, but how did she know that going to meet the Medjay wasn’t in Taharqa’s original plan?

  “The woman speaks wisely,” said Bakket. “You must act as a king would and race to Hezekiah’s rescue. Before it’s too late.”

  Taharqa looked at the priest and then at Nadine. He ground his teeth and grimaced, as if he’d just chewed on a rotten grape. Everyone in the room waited in expectant silence. The only sound came from the whistling, snarling, howling wind outside.

  Does even the weather sense how important this decision is?

  Matt dug his nails into the arms of the chair. He bit his lip, stiffened his shoulders. Maybe this was the way it was supposed to end, but he couldn’t allow it. Not on Nadine’s advice.

  “No!” he shouted. “Don’t listen to her! Don’t listen to anyone! Do what you know in your heart is the right thing. It’s the only way to be sure.”

  Taharqa snapped his gaze back to Matt, his eyes widening and twinkling. He opened his lips. Matt waited, understanding all too clearly what Taharqa could not: that his next words could fracture earth’s history or restore it. Matt gripped the chair and held his breath.

  Chapter 18

  Sandstorm and Other Nasty Things

  The wind howled like an animal in pain as it swept in and pelted the placid oasis with sand. The flimsy straw mats that formed the tent’s walls bowed in with the force of the wind. Sand penetrated every seam in the structure, curling into the tent in long wisps and extending seeking fingers towards Sarah. She coughed and sputtered as she inhaled the thick powder. Qeskaant had already slipped outside and covered the horses with linen, to protect their lungs. When he returned he gave Sarah a strip of cloth to wind around her face, covering her mouth and eyes, sealing them from the grit. She curled into a ball and waited. Would they be buried under all this sand? When she worked up the courage to peer from the cloth, she could see drifts piling up against the side of the tent.

  “Don’t fret,” said Qeskaant, patting her arm. “It probably won’t last long.”

  “It seems like forever already.” She was still peering from the clo
th when she noticed something other than sand—something black—skitter under the flaps of the tent. Then she saw another and another. Grains of sand flew into her eyes and stung. She blinked and blinked, tears blurring her vision. But she still could have sworn another black thing darted under the tent flap.

  “Qeskaant? What are those?” she asked, pointing at the segmented black bodies.

  “Oh,” said the Medjay. “They’re just scorpions. Pay no attention.”

  “Pay no attention? But I can see six, seven— No, there’s more now.”

  Several more creatures scuttled into the shelter. They seemed to be approaching her with their claws raised, their bodies arched, and their tails curled back to strike.

  “Don’t worry so, Sarah. This type is not poisonous. The creatures are simply looking for shelter from the storm, just as we are. They may sting, because they’re disturbed, and it might hurt for a while, but it will not be so bad.”

  “Not so bad!” This Medjay was entirely too casual about desert creatures. To think she’d been upset to share space with chickens and pigs before. She wished all these black, nonpoisonous, ugly creatures would transform into pigs right now.

  Sarah sucked in her breath as one crawled onto her leg and eyed her, opening and closing its claws. It didn’t sting, though. Not yet, anyway. It just sat and watched.

  Then Sarah noticed another creature dig its way under the tent flap. A lizard with reddish-orange spots and a long thin tail scurried in and burrowed under her legs.

  “Well, this is just great,” she said. She blinked away tears from her sand-stung eyes and gazed at the creatures, too terrified to move. Another scorpion crept onto her leg. She could barely hold back a scream.

  “Just stay still,” said Qeskaant.

  “That’s hard to do.”

  “I know. But you have to— Oh my.”

  “What now?” Sarah couldn’t imagine anything worse. She turned her head slightly to the side, to where Qeskaant had fixed his gaze. A long rope-like creature—oh no, a snake—with alternating patterns of tan and taupe and odd little horns jutting from its head, had slithered in on the opposite side of tent.