Scepter of Flint

by N. L. Holmes

  Hani, his mouth full, waved a hand to reassure his host. Then, having swallowed, he said, “Not at all. On the contrary, in fact. I’ve been told he can help us in our investigation.”

  “I can take you to him after you eat.” Ankh-reshet watched them, bright-eyed with curiosity, but Hani said no more about their mission. There was always the chance that Ankh-reshet was involved in the robberies, no matter how genial he seemed.

  The three men made small talk as the guests ate, and at last Hani stood up from his stool and heaved a sigh of contentment. “We’ve eaten well, my host, and I thank you. Now, could we trouble you to take us to see Djau?”

  “No trouble to help Our Sun’s men,” Ankh-reshet said, bobbing up and down. There was something unctuous in his manner, as if he desperately hoped Hani would tell Nefer-khepru-ra how obliging his loyal servant, the overseer of the right-hand corps, had been.

  Ankh-reshet led the way back into the street, which despite the winter month was starkly sun-washed where the shadows of the houses didn’t empurple it. Hani found himself almost blinded by the glare. As they followed Ankh-reshet through the narrow packed-earth alleys, the man said, “You know, we haven’t had so much work since the capital moved. The king—life, prosperity, and health to him—keeps us fed, but we don’t earn as much as when we were making royal tombs.”

  He seems to think I can help him. Anger smoldered under Hani’s smile. Here are yet more people suffering from the glorious revelation of the Aten. “I’m sure that’s true,” he said neutrally. “How many noble tombs do you build in a year?”

  “Oh, it varies. We’ve only had three big ones to complete this last year, but of course, they were begun years ago.” Ankh-reshet shot Hani an anxious glance, and his voice dropped. “I guess you’ve heard about the robberies, my lord?”

  “Yes,” Hani said as Maya watched with a shrewd expression on his face from the other side of Ankh-reshet.

  The latter regarded Hani for a hopeful moment, then he said, “Well, here is Djau’s house. Shall I leave you, or do you want me to introduce you?”

  “You’ve done too much for us already, my friend.” Hani clapped him amicably on the arm. “Please thank the mistress of the house for the excellent lunch, and we’ll leave you to whatever errand took you into the street when you intercepted us.”

  Ankh-reshet bobbed respectfully and made his reluctant way off down the street.

  Maya asked under his breath, “Do you think he has anything to do with the robberies?”

  Hani shrugged. “I have no idea, Maya. I suppose Djau can shed some light on that. Or not.”

  They knocked on the gate of a large house almost comparable in size to the overseer’s. Draftsmen—who were literate, after all—seemed to do well for themselves. An elderly maidservant answered the door, and Hani introduced himself as the royal investigator there to see her master. He thought it best not to be more precise. One never knew who was involved in the robberies.

  The servant toddled off, and a moment later, a wiry little man with a thin face and popping eyes came crunching up the path through his meager garden, which was beautifully laid out, although the harsh, dry conditions had stunted the bushes.

  “My lord, how can I be of service?” Djau said in a wheezy voice. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, but there was something old looking about his gaunt cheeks and his fleshless frame, which he held stiffly.

  Perhaps he isn’t well, thought Hani as the man’s protruding eyes fixed on him both eagerly and fearfully. “My name is Hani. The king has asked me to look into your confidential report about... misdeeds in the house of the ka of a number of families in the area.”

  “Ah, yes, my lord. Come in. Come in, please.” Djau led them with quick, nervous footsteps through the garden and into his house. It was a pleasant place, beautifully decorated. Hani wondered if the frieze of paintings above the red dado was an example of the homeowner’s skill. A chief draftsman for the king had to have considerable talent.

  The little man led them into his salon, where the three of them took a seat on the colorful cushions that lay about. “Can I offer you refreshments, my lord?”

  “No, my friend, we just ate. But thank you.” Hani settled his face into an amiable expression that he hoped would set his interlocutor at ease. “Could you please repeat for me everything you know about the robberies, including whose tombs have been targeted?”

  Djau nodded, swallowing hard. “We all were aware that several tombs had been robbed in the last few weeks, since the beginning of our lord king’s heb-sed. To be more precise, the tombs of a certain Ah-mes, the one of Pa-ren-nefer, and the one of Sa-tau. Their private guards reported it right away, and our overseers made an announcement that anyone who knew anything should come forward.”

  He cast worried eyes at Hani. “About a week ago—yes, it must have been a week, because I had served my eight days in the camp and was home for the weekend—I was taken with faintness in the street, and I sat down in the shade of the wall. A moment later, I heard two men speaking low together just around the corner. I recognized the voice of one of my colleagues who draws the black lines over my red sketches, a man named Bebi-ankh. He said something about ‘our successful enterprise’ and that he needed more gold because he was taking a huge risk by doing so many in so short a time.”

  “‘Doing so many?’ Those are the words he used?” Hani pressed.

  Djau’s bugging eyes blinked nervously. “I don’t honestly remember the exact words, my lord. But something like that. At first, I didn’t connect it to the tomb robberies, so I’m sure he didn’t say anything like rob or loot.”

  With an understanding nod, Hani urged him to continue.

  “Then the other man spoke. He had a very strong accent—”

  “Could you tell what kind?”

  “No, my lord. I don’t hear enough foreigners to recognize how they speak. But he certainly wasn’t Egyptian.” Djau’s brow wrinkled in anxiety as if he feared to disappoint.

  “Please go on.” Hani smiled. “I’ll try not to interrupt.”

  “The man said that when they collected everything they needed, he—Bebi-ankh—would get the rest of his reward. He said not to be afraid, because he—the foreigner—had immunity, and he would see to it Bebi-ankh didn’t get into trouble.”

  Dear gods, Hani thought with a sinking weight in the pit of his stomach. He really is a diplomat. This could hardly be worse. He looked at Maya, whose eyes had widened in comprehension. Now what?

  “Anything else?” he asked Djau, watching him closely for any flicker that might signal he was lying. He observed the man’s thin, clever hands clasped tensely in his lap.

  “The foreigner said something about ‘the others’ that sounded like a question. Then their voices dropped, and I couldn’t hear any more of what they were saying. I was afraid they’d come around the corner and see me listening and kill me.” Sweat had started to trickle down Djau’s temples from under the edges of his round wig. “And sure enough, I heard footsteps approaching, so I lay down in the street with my arms and legs out and pretended to be unconscious.” He made a noise that might have been a sob of fear and wiped his nose with the back of a hand. “Bebi-ankh bent over me and said, ‘Djau, are you all right?’ That was natural enough, wasn’t it? We work together. He sounded honestly concerned. But oh, my lord, I was so frightened.” The poor man’s face collapsed, and he looked away, as if embarrassed by his tears.

  “I can well imagine. You must be a good actor if you could convince him you were out cold,” Hani said with compassion. “What did you do then?”

  The draftsman continued, openly wringing his hands, “He slapped me a little on the cheeks, and I pretended to come to. I was so scared I was genuinely shaking and, no doubt, pale. He helped me up, and I thanked him and said I could get home all right.” Djau laughed nervously. “I tottered off as fast as I could. If he’d suspected me, he might have come after me, and he’s a big man. He could break me in half.”


  “And you’ve both gone to work together since? Does he act suspicious?”

  “In fact, I haven’t seen him. I had finished laying out the paintings and text on the walls of the tomb we were both working on, and I went on to another project. He’s still at that tomb.”

  “Whose is it, if I may ask?” Hani said.

  “The one I finished? A man named Ptah-mes. He has the most beautiful ka statues of him and his wife I’ve ever seen.”

  Well, well, Hani thought in surprise. He knew how magnificent Ptah-mes’s statues were because he’d seen the plaster models in the workshop of the royal sculptor Djehuty-mes. Apparently, the high commissioner had bought himself a royal artist as well.

  “Anything else I should know, my friend?” he said, clapping the little man on the shoulder. The draftsman’s muscles felt tense, as if he might fly apart under his anxieties.

  “No, my lord. I’ve heard nothing else.”

  “And you reported this to whom? Your overseer? That would be Ankh-reshet, I suppose?”

  “No, in fact. I was afraid he might be involved. I mean, anyone might be, mightn’t they? So I went to the mayor of Waset.” Djau’s frightened, protruding eyes gave him the air of a small desert animal cornered by a predator.

  “Good thinking. You didn’t go to the police, then?”

  “The village police? No, I didn’t trust anybody.”

  Hani rose, and Maya and Djau followed suit. “Well, I thank you for your testimony, Djau. Let me ask you one final thing—can you suggest a guide who can take us to the tombs that have been robbed?”

  “I’d offer, my lord, but I have a little trouble with my lungs. I need the weekends to recover.” He looked quite apologetic.

  I wonder how much dust and powdered pigment he breathes in in the course of a week, poor man, thought Hani. But then he warned himself not to be too sympathetic; the draftsman might well be involved in the crime.

  Djau added hastily, “Lord Hani, allow me to call my nephew. He’s a sturdy lad, and he works with the crew. He can guide you.” He was on his feet and starting into the back of the house before Hani could get a chance to respond.

  Hani and Maya sat in silence, exchanging a stare. Maya evidently wanted to ask something, but before he could say it, Djau returned with a short, well-built youth of about fifteen in tow.

  Hani smiled at the boy, who reminded him of his own son Pa-kiki at the same age.

  The youth bowed, his sidelock swinging. “My name is Khawy, my lord. Uncle said you wanted someone to lead you to the tombs that have been robbed.”

  “Yes, son. Can you do that?”

  “I can, my lord. But they may be guarded.” He turned to his uncle as if to ask his permission, and Djau nodded with his nervous bug-eyed smile.

  Hani said cheerfully, “Then lead on, Khawy. And Djau, many thanks for your information. I may be back if we need clarification on anything.”

  Djau bobbed an obsequious acknowledgment, his thin hands clasped so tightly the knuckles were white. “Remember us to the king, my lord.”

  Hani assured him he would, and the two royal scribes, led by the boy, made their way out into the street.

  “It’s a long walk, my lord, but not too long,” Khawy assured them as they strode down the alley toward the northern gate. “Once we reach the workmen’s camp, it’s not far at all.”

  “And you make this trip every week with the men, do you?”

  “Yes, my lord. We stay in the camp for the work days then come back for the holiday at the end of the week.” His brows contracted as if in pain. “I don’t know how much longer Uncle will be able to work, and I’m the oldest.”

  Hani asked in concern, “Your uncle is ill?”

  Khawy nodded, his lips compressed. They walked in silence. People were starting to emerge into the hot winter afternoon, and now and then, someone greeted the boy, staring with unconcealed curiosity at the two strangers in his wake.

  They passed through the gate of the walled village and began the ascent of the rocky trail into the cliffs. “Why the wall, I wonder?” Maya asked, looking back. “Surely, there are no invaders out here.”

  “Animals, my lord. Jackals and hyenas and foxes. Wolves, maybe, or even lions.”

  Maya raised his eyebrows uneasily.

  “I’m confident we’re safe by day,” Hani assured him. But he scanned with apprehension the many clefts and crevices that could conceal a dun-colored animal lusting for flesh.

  After what felt like half the afternoon had passed to the rhythm of their trudging feet, Khawy pointed off to their left to a rough cluster of huts at the foot of the cliffs. “That’s the work camp, my lords. That’s where we live during the week. There’s nobody there now.”

  He led them toward the right, where Hani could make out a scatter of whitewashed tombs against the ocher rock. The shadows of the Mountains of the West were already devouring the tombs. As the men drew nearer, white, black, and red spots were visible at the mouths of several of the tombs—human figures standing or squatting. Clearly, concerned families had set guards on their houses of the ka.

  “This one is the tomb of Lord Sa-tau,” the boy said, pointing at a fine-looking entryway some cubits to the fore of a tall pyramidal shrine.

  “What do you know about the break-ins, son?” asked Hani.

  “They told us the robbers came down from the top, where the rock is thinnest. But the thing is, what appears to be the entrance really isn’t. You’d have to know how the tomb was laid out to know where to dig.” The boy pointed once more. “Over there is the break-in spot. They’ve repaired it and put dirt on top.”

  “Hmm,” Hani said. Clearly an inside job. An artist working on it would be familiar with the layout of the tomb. There might even have been a plan lying in plain sight so no workers got lost at the end of the day.

  “Do you want to see inside?” asked Khawy.

  But Hani noticed how low the winter sun was getting. He found he had no desire to be caught out in the desert after sundown with foxes, wolves, and lions. “Show us the other two, my young friend.”

  The boy clambered over increasingly rocky terrain with Hani at his heels. Maya was struggling to keep up, but Hani didn’t want to embarrass his secretary by slowing Khawy down.

  “There’s Lord Ah-mes’s tomb,” said the boy, indicating another freshly whitewashed shrine and subterranean entry.

  “Did they get in the same way here?”

  “Pretty much,” said the boy. “And the other one, too, as far as I know.” He shrugged, looking apologetic. “Maybe the grown-ups know something I don’t, but that’s what they told us on the crew.”

  Hani grinned, overcome with fondness for the boy. “What’s your job on the crew, Khawy?”

  “I mix paints and take them up to the artists on the scaffolding, my lord.” He looked as if he were going to cry, then he managed a brave smile. “My father died up there. He fell off the scaffold and hit his head on the stone floor. That’s when Uncle took us in.”

  Hani’s nose twinged with tears. “You have an artistic family, I see,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray his emotions. “Can you read and write?”

  “No, my lord. I can never be a draftsman like Uncle. But I can outline or lay in color where somebody else has already written the Speech of the Gods, like my father.”

  Hani asked himself whether something could be done for the boy. There was no longer any House of Life where priests could train him to literacy, but perhaps Hani’s own scribe father, who was now retired, might be able to teach him—if the youth wasn’t already too old. Hani’s daughter, Neferet, had begun at thirteen, but she’d only learned cursive writing.

  “Well, Khawy, you’ve helped us a lot. Now I suppose we’d better be getting back.” Hani slipped a faience ring with a finely cut seal off his finger and pressed it into the boy’s hand.

  The lad accepted it in surprise, and his eyes grew wider and wider as he stared at the ring’s beautiful turquoise color and in
tricate figure of a seated goddess Seshat, patroness of writing. “Oh, thank you, my lord! I’m sure Uncle will thank you too.”

  “He’s been helpful as well. He did the right thing by reporting this business,” Hani said. “Your uncle seems to be a good man.”

  “He is, my lord. I hope he’ll live forever, but... well, when he dies, I’ll be the support of the family.”

  That was the second time the lad had made such a comment, Hani noted. The prospect of so much responsibility clearly weighed on him.

  They struck out across the rocky path once more, heading back toward the River, so that the descending sun was at their backs and their shadows grew increasingly long at their feet, rippling over the rocks and gullies. The late afternoon was silent in this realm of Meret-seger, the Lover of Silence. A raven cawed high in the sky, and a string of ibises passed overhead, heading for water, the flash of their white wings turned rosy by the winter sun’s long rays. The only sound was that of the three men’s footsteps clopping over the stones, sending an occasional cascade of gravel rattling down the slope.

  At last, they came within view of the walled white village in its shallow valley, where the Mountains of the West began to level out along the River.

  “Will you come back to our house, my lord?” Khawy asked in a tone of hope.

  “I think not, my young friend. We want to get to the River before the ferries stop this evening. Please thank your uncle again for us.”

  They parted company with the boy, and while he set off on the road to the Place of Truth, Hani and Maya took the most direct path eastward. As he turned for one last look, Hani saw Khawy wave and then break into a run toward home.

  ⸎

  “What do you think about that Djau, my lord?” asked Maya under his breath as they balanced on the seat of the little boat bearing them back across the River to the city of the living. “He played unconscious? That seemed odd.”

  Hani chuckled. “I confess, I wondered at first if he was as innocent as he wanted us to think. He was so nervous and desperate seeming. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he must be genuinely fearful that if the perpetrators know he has reported them, they’ll do away with him. And he has huge responsibilities as his family’s main support.”