City of Lies

by Anton Gill

  ‘I have arrived too late,’ he said. But his frustration was clearly formal, for he made no attempt to catch Kenna’s attention from the shore. ‘They told me at your house that you had accompanied your guest here,’ he continued tonelessly, immediately adding, ‘Of course, I say “your house”, when I mean poor Samut’s. But be reassured that you may stay there under his terms until his affairs have been sorted out. He had no immediate family and his papers have yet to be examined.’ He looked at Huy apologetically, and gave him a little, regretful smile. ‘It is a tragic matter. This city was free of violence, despite where we are. These are the first acts of violence within the walls that I can remember.’

  ‘Who was responsible?’

  Nesptah looked shocked at so blunt a question. ‘If I knew the answer to that, I would tell Tascherit immediately. Poor man, he will be weighed down by this investigation, at a time when he should be giving all his energy to the garrison. There are rumours of more raiders coming up from the south east.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Nesptah placed a hand on Huy’s shoulder and gave him a look of sympathetic concern. ‘I know that you will be worried – with reason – that Samut’s death will mean the withdrawal of his men from the search for your wife – and of course the Medjays involved in it have already been recalled to await Tascherit’s orders. It is probably all too late – ’ he spread his hands wide, ‘– but an effort must be seen to be made.’

  Huy had already thought hard about the ending of the search for Senseneb. He bit his lip. He did not wish to seek reassurance from this man. He said:

  ‘You must have an idea about it.’

  Nesptah looked at him. ‘Huy. I know that Ankhesenamun has asked you to look into the matter that concerns the attacks on her. Your reputation was great – it even filtered down to us here. But you have not made progress. How, then, should a man like me, who only understands how to buy and sell, take it upon himself to make guesses in such a complicated affair?’

  ‘Are the killings connected?’

  ‘What has Samut to do with Tascherit’s wife? I only know that they were friends. I believe they shared an interest in the old religion of the Aten. Do you think that is a cause for suspicion?’

  Huy watched the falcon-ship bearing Kenna away to the north. Already it was the size of a toy boat, its outlines blurred by the heat in the air.

  ‘I do not know. But these moments of violence have come together. Why should they not be connected?’

  ‘As I said, there is nothing to suggest – ’

  ‘There may be a conspiracy,’ said Huy, deliberately. ‘You are out of the king’s eye, down here.’

  Nesptah looked at him shrewdly. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘No more than that.’

  ‘But you have a picture in your heart?’

  Huy looked at his hand, acting the official. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘We have enough to do here settling the district. It is a worthwhile investment of time. Do you know how rich it is to the south? You have seen one goldmine. It is as nothing! And there is great diversity. Royal black ivory – the black wood. Gold, silver, the yellow teeth of the great forest beast, the swift running cats... Ay’s might is great!’

  ‘It is great indeed.’

  ‘But it could be greater still. We have discovered a second empire here – one to complement the Black Land.’ Nesptah looked conspiratorial. ‘Come, Huy, you did not think that I was ever deceived?’

  ‘By what?’

  ‘Look! You are still in Ay’s service.’

  Huy said nothing. He remembered Ankhsi’s talk of the king’s spies here having been suborned. They worked for her, not Nesptah; but a man may serve two masters. If this had been the rumour that had spread about him, then it explained much – and now he could see that it was to his advantage. Nesptah, meanwhile, was warming to his theme. It would be a pity to interrupt him.

  ‘We are going to achieve great things for the king here, Huy. Great things. But he must let us set about them in our own way. We understand the ground here.’

  ‘Reports have been irregular.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Nesptah gave Huy a less amicable look. Huy wondered if he had overplayed his hand – or if he was straying close to the edge of a trap.

  ‘But the king’s vision is wide,’ he said.

  ‘Your energy on his behalf is worthy of a praise-singer’s eulogy.’ Nesptah broke off and squinted up at the sun. ‘But we should not be standing here. It is time to seek shade. Let us go and take the morning glass of wine.’ Wine was the last thing Huy wanted, but Nesptah had already turned, walked between his attendants as if they did not exist, and made for one of the small drinking-houses that were dotted around the harbour. Here he took a seat like royalty and did not need to ask what he wanted.

  ‘We wish to be your friends here,’ continued Nesptah after they had drunk. ‘As we are friends of Ay. I mean – his loyal people.’ He smiled as he corrected himself. ‘Can we count on you as a friend?’ He watched Huy’s face but spared him the need to answer. ‘Of course we can. You may even find that after all you have no wish to return to the Southern Capital.’

  Huy considered this.

  ‘You have not mentioned your wife,’ said Nesptah.

  ‘If there is to be no further search I will continue alone.’

  The man smiled warmly. ‘There will be no need for that. I should have mentioned it earlier, but I am not withdrawing my boat; and I will send another to join it.’

  Huy had to thank him, but only a part of him was grateful. He was certain that Nesptah was not a man to give something for nothing.

  Nesptah stood up. ‘We need people like you here,’ he said. ‘People who can use their hearts to think for themselves. When I talked to Kenna he praised you highly.’

  ‘What else did you speak of?’

  ‘News of the north. Samut’s death. Kenna will make a full report in the Capital.’ He gave Huy a look that reminded the little scribe of the one Kenna had given him. ‘The Boat of Day advances. We will meet again.’

  After he had gone, Huy sat a while longer. He wondered how far Tascherit would get with his investigation – and how far he would want to get.

  It was the time of sleep. The town was quiet and the sun sent slanting rays that spilled red and deep yellow over the white walls of the buildings. The dusty trees seemed tired and their leaves rattled occasionally in a languid and sporadic wind which eddied round corners and sent the dust swirling.

  Little Imuthes lay in his cradle in a small cool room on the north side of the Governor’s mansion. He lay on his back on a fresh pad of linen and slept, his tiny wizened head turned to one side, while his nurse slept on a couch drawn up next to him. The breeze dropped at this hour, and an old man sat in a corner of the room cooling them with a great feather fan.

  The nurse was dozing, just awake enough to enjoy the gentle movement of the air on her cheek, drifting in and out of sleep, and dreaming without focus as thoughts which would have no meaning to the conscious heart slipped over and under each other through it. She knew she should not have been resting at all, but there was a guard at the door and she herself carried a knife and was trained to use it.

  She must have slid into sleep completely, but not for more than a breath’s space. Then she was quite awake. She did not move. Her eyes were wide open. The room was as it had been. The mansion was silent. She felt the baby shift in its sleep, giving a tiny, pouting cough as it did so. Something was different. It was warmer in the room. The air was still.

  Her heart beat faster. She drew herself upright, putting her feet to the floor and reaching for the dagger at her side. As she did so she saw the fan, at the end of its long pole, lying on the floor. In the corner the old man still sat, but his head was on his knees and at an odd angle which did not suggest sleep. Where was the guard? she wondered in panic as she felt the air move again behind her, but only with the strength of a whisper. Swiftly she drew her knife and started to rise, but sh
e was already too late.

  Huy came as soon as the tearstained, breathless runner had delivered the message from the Governor’s mansion. He found Ankhsi alone, sitting like a funerary statue in a high-backed upright chair by the window, through which the dying light cast broad streaks of brightness and shadow across her face. Her face was dead, her eyes turned inwards, but she stirred when he approached.

  There were no words he could say. He touched her shoulder. Tears came into her eyes but her face did not move, nor did she make any attempt to brush them away as the galena ran in black streaks down her face, over old streaks of the makeup made by earlier tears.

  ‘I would rather he had lived as Tascherit’s son than died like this,’ she said.

  Huy could still find no words. What could he say? That Osiris had willed it?

  ‘His death is not on your head,’ he said at last.

  ‘Oh, but it is,’ she replied. ‘It is my ambition that has killed him.’

  ‘Say nothing now.’

  She turned to him. ‘I must. All that is left to me is revenge. Give me that and I will go with you to Ay.’

  Huy was surprised. ‘Give yourself time. You do not know what you say.’

  ‘Do I not?’ She looked into his eyes until he lowered them. ‘Consider what has happened since Kenna arrived with the pharaoh’s orders. My hopes are in ruins.’ She made a bitter sound which might have been a laugh. ‘When I think that I suspected Horemheb.’

  ‘This cannot have been Ay’s doing.’

  ‘I cannot think whose doing it was. Kenna then. To make sure I obeyed. You have failed me so far. Now you must do your work.’

  ‘Kenna did not know who Imuthes was.’

  ‘Someone did. Someone found out.’

  Huy thought of the tortured Samut.

  ‘But Ay has won,’ continued Ankhsi. ‘My plan is dead. My friends and my family are dead. My dear friend Senseneb is gone. I long only to leave this accursed place.’ Her tone was so lifeless and so plain that Huy believed her. She had stopped crying and her eyes were hard. His hand was still on her shoulder but he could feel its flesh reject his touch. She gripped the sides of her chair and her toes were bunched in her sandals.

  ‘There is Tascherit. He loved Imuthes. You said this in truth yourself.’

  ‘Yes, he did love him. And I believe that his grief is as great as the Flood. But he is as weak as young corn. Poor Tascherit. I almost pity him. And he has been good to me.’

  Huy still had the letters to Tascherit in his wallet.

  ‘I have told him what Ay intends,’ said Ankhsi. ‘It was one duty I could spare you. I have not forgotten that you have your own grief.’

  ‘You have read my heart.’

  ‘I know. I am harsh in my sadness. I think I can still trust you.’

  ‘You are right to chastise me. I have discovered nothing. If you do not wish to return to Ay I will help you.’

  ‘Where else is there?’

  ‘You could stay here with Tascherit.’

  She looked at him.

  ‘There is no future here.’

  There was something in the way she spoke that made Huy pause. ‘Who killed Samut? That was not Kenna. He could not bring himself even to look at the body. And I know him.’

  ‘He had men with him.’

  ‘One servant. And a small escort. They were ordinary soldiers. Not men for work like this.’

  ‘There is a plague in this city which no doctor could purge it of.’

  ‘Where is Tascherit now?’

  She lowered her eyes. ‘With his sister.’

  ‘Did he tell you he was going there?’

  ‘He did not need to. She has made him her creature. I do not blame him. It is not just that his will is bloodless. She commands the minions of Seth.’

  ‘Does one who believes in the power of the Aten also believe in demons?’

  ‘I thought once, long ago, that there was enough light in the world to dispel the darkness, if only enough hearts could discover it. Now I know otherwise. There are demons, Huy, and they are here. They do not come out of the desert; they come from inside us.’

  As she spoke, the sun dipped over the western edge of the world and the wailing began. The high, unbearable ululation of grief which never failed to tear at Huy even though he knew that the chant was raised by qualified mourners entirely detached from the lamentation they expressed.

  The mourners had gathered in the central courtyard. Members of the household knelt on the hard, baked mud floor, joining their cries to the professional lament, and throwing dust and ashes on their heads. Among them were several of the mansion guards. Huy made his way to the office of their chief.

  He was a small, robust man, much of Huy’s own build, but he was younger and his features were coarser. His physique made him a Black Lander but his skin was burnt blacker than a Kushite’s by the southern sun. His movements were quick and nervous, and he refused to meet Huy’s eye.

  ‘Yes?’ he said sharply as Huy entered.

  ‘I have a question.’

  ‘Are you here on Tascherit’s authority?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then leave! I have no time for civilians now.’

  ‘Covering for yourself?’

  The man’s expression turned even uglier. ‘I know who you are, Huy. But I have better things to do than talk to you. I have three dead in the mansion.’

  ‘The child, the nurse, and the old man who worked the fan.’

  ‘Yes. If you know that, then – ’

  ‘Where was your guard?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The one who was supposed to be outside the door of Imuthes’ nursery.’

  ‘The security of this place is none of your business.’

  ‘What have you said to Tascherit?’

  The man gave way a fraction. ‘The guard was posted.’

  ‘Just one?’

  ‘Outside the door, yes. There were two more at the end of the corridor and guards at every gate.’

  ‘Did anyone see him leave?’

  The man crumpled. ‘No. How did you…?’

  ‘He is not dead. He was not there. I wonder who paid him, and how much. Did you know him?’

  ‘Not well. But he was a professional, not a conscript.’

  ‘You had better find him.’

  ‘We will. No one can go far in this town. And Tascherit will hang me over the River balls first for the crocs to snap at if I don’t.’

  ‘Don’t you know what has happened? The Governor’s son is killed. Don’t make jokes.’

  ‘I am not joking.’

  Huy set off in the direction of Takhana’s house.

  Senseneb opened her eyes and found that the shadows had returned. There was even a blur of brightness in the direction from which she could hear the fire sputter. She forced her heart to be calm. She knew that this might be as far as her sight returned.

  There was a smell in the cave that she recognised. It had returned. It was worse now. She sensed more than saw the outline of Henka’s figure as he sat at the mouth of the cave where there was more light. The cold of dawn was on them.

  Henka was looking at his wound. The colours were already showing through the burnt flesh. There was nothing else he could do to clean it. He did not dare ask the woman because he knew that her answer would be the same. he touched the wound with his fingers. It was soft. Pus oozed out under the pressure. How much was hidden under there already? Only the previous night had he realised that he had lost the slip of papyrus containing Ay’s words. He had disobeyed his master and this was the price the gods exacted. You could not defy their order.

  But he had found himself, and even though he knew that he must soon leave on his own lonely journey, he would do one more thing here that was his own.

  It was an effort to prepare the boat, and every movement made him more aware of the wound; but at last everything was ready. He kicked out the fire and reached gently for the woman’s hand. She did not shrink from taking i
t.

  ‘We must go,’ he said.

  Tascherit found it easier than he had thought to command both his anger and his sorrow. He had wanted to weep as he held the little body against his cheek, feeling how small it was, how the whole of the back lay against the palm and fingers of one hand, wanting to warm the unresponsive head with the warmth of his own blood, pressing it against him, his heart racing. When the young wab priest had taken Imuthes away from him, he had at first tightened his grip, unwilling to say goodbye. And this had not been his own son. He will have others – he could see the pat consolation in their eyes already. But his bed with Ankhsi was a desert. He had not felt bereft when she had chosen that moment to tell him she was going to leave. He had felt bereft a long time ago, and he knew that the blame for it was also his.

  His sister! The cloud that had been gathering over his heart had grown thicker. As he walked towards her house, no definite plan yet formed in his head, it covered his other feelings too. He had no time for them now. The time for them would come when his work was finished.

  He knew that Nesptah would not be there. This was his usual time to visit his sister, and Nesptah had long since learnt to be absent then. He knew why too. Nesptah was not complaisant but calculating. What did it matter if his wife continued her affair with her brother if by that means he could control the brother? But even Nesptah could not look into Tascherit’s heart and see how love had rotted there.

  She was expecting him, greeting him wide-eyed and smiling, the scent of lotus filling the room. He accepted the glass of wine she offered him but he could not bring himself to respond to her caress.

  She drew away, frowning.

  ‘I expected you to be pleased.’

  ‘Do you know what has happened?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then how could you possibly – ?’

  He reined himself in. He had pretended indifference to Imuthes, even that the child was a duty, a burden, to protect him, so that he would never arouse their interest. he had closed his heart to the first two attempts on the child’s life. And where had that led him? In truth the gods were cruel. But how had they found out who Imuthes really was?