Scepter of Flint

by N. L. Holmes

  Mane’s eyebrows rose. “Your daughter is joining the Royal Ornaments?”

  “No, no. She’s a sunet, studying under Lady Djefat-nebty. She said something about going to Hut-nen-nesut to attend the royal women.”

  Mane clapped his friend on the arms, beaming. “I knew you could help. I’ll let you know when I take off. It will be on my way to Wasshukanni.”

  “I’m going to start avoiding you, Mane. You inevitably mean trouble.” Despite Hani’s playful attitude, he meant what he said. Mane had been stationed so long in the Mitannian capital that his loyalties were more with Naharin than with Kemet.

  The two friends said their goodbyes, and Mane set off for the door with a jaunty step. As soon as Mane had left, Maya said in a dire tone, “That girl is the one who is trouble, my lord.”

  Hani sighed. “I know. I’m hoping our investigation into the tomb robberies will keep me too busy to go to Hut-nen-nesut.”

  He took a seat on the floor once more, and Maya imitated him. He dipped his pen in the ink he’d mixed before Mane’s entrance.

  “I think we need to visit Djau again briefly and ask where Bebi-ankh lives,” Hani said. “I’d rather talk to the black-line man discreetly at home and not in front of everybody at the work site, in case any others of the workmen are in on this. We’ll take soldiers with us and arrest him. But first, I want to speak to Djau and offer to have Khawy trained as a scribe.”

  A sour expression flickered across Maya’s face. The secretary said neutrally, “Isn’t he a little old to be starting? We all trained from childhood.”

  Hani repressed a smile. Maya tended to be jealous of Hani’s affections. “He should become good enough to be a draftsman. After all, he doesn’t have to be a royal scribe.”

  Maya gave a skeptical hmph.

  “My father wants to come with us to meet the boy. I think I’ll bring the litter for him, and we’ll look up Bebi-ankh later. It would probably scare Djau to death if he saw us show up with troops.”

  “Whose company are you going to request, my lord?”

  “Why, Menna’s or Pa-aten-em-heb’s.” Hani smiled.

  ⸎

  Hani and Mery-ra ended up making the trek to the Place of Truth alone. Against Mery-ra’s will, Hani made his father take the litter.

  “I’m not so decrepit that I can’t walk, son,” Mery-ra said testily as he climbed into the litter. “Whatever happened to filial obedience? I told you I didn’t want to ride this contraption.”

  “You’re sixty-six years old, Father. You don’t have to prove your manhood. Why, most people never reach your venerable age.”

  Mery-ra sniffed. “Most people never reach your age, Hani, but that doesn’t mean we have to treat you like an invalid.”

  Hani laughed. His father was incorrigible. Mery-ra had no problem taking the litter around in the city, where it was a mark of status more than anything. But here, where the going was genuinely hard, he balked. “When Pipi moves up here, we’ll be two against one. Better get used to our affectionate tyranny.”

  “Bah,” sniffed his father, but as the bearers started slipping and stumbling over the rocky path, his protests subsided.

  Hani walked alongside the litter. It had occurred to him that it might be useful to have the four bearers with them, in case there should be any problem with their witnesses. As for him, he loved the sensation of walking, one leg after the other, in the mild air of a winter’s afternoon. Overhead, the sky was pure, pale, cloudless—and a lone heron, far from water, winged its way majestically toward the east. Hani drew a deep breath of contentment, able to set aside his worries about the sinister errand that took them to the west bank.

  They reached the walled workmen’s village just after siesta hour, and Hani led the way haltingly through the narrow streets to the gate that belonged to Djau. Mery-ra dismounted, and Hani knocked. After a moment, he could hear footsteps approaching.

  The little window in the panel opened, and an eye peered out at them. A wheezing voice demanded, “Who’s there?”

  “Djau, it’s me, Hani. I came to—”

  But to Hani’s amazement, the draftsman cried, “Go away. I have nothing to say to you.” He slammed shut the little window.

  Hani and Mery-ra exchanged alarmed looks. “What’s the matter, my friend?” Hani said to the closed gate in confusion. “Has something happened?”

  Through the door, Djau cried aggrievedly, “You tricked me. You said you were investigating the tomb robberies, but you lied. How do I know you aren’t one of the robbers come to assassinate me?” His voice had risen and his breathing grown ragged.

  “Let’s talk, Djau. I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” said Hani in a reasonable tone. And I think I know what that was. A cold fury grew in him like a sandstorm unfolding. “Have you, by any chance, spoken to Lord Mahu or another of his medjay?”

  “I have indeed. And he told me you were not legitimately on this case.”

  Hani flashed his father a look of simmering fury, but he made his voice remain soft and friendly. “We’re supposed to be working on this case together, according to the king’s orders. But I’m afraid Mahu isn’t a man who likes to share credit. Can I come in and talk this out face-to-face, my friend?”

  There was a long silence from behind the red gate, then Djau said in a calmer voice, “All right.” Hani heard sounds of unbarring, and the panel swung open with a soft screech. The little draftsman stood before him, his popping eyes darting around, his anger giving way to bewilderment and then suspicion when he spotted Mery-ra. “Who’s that?”

  “He’s my father, a retired scribe,” Hani said with a smile. “He’s willing to give young Khawy lessons in the Speech of the Gods so he can become a draftsman and make a better living for your family.”

  Djau stared at him, his jaw hanging. “You would do that? You don’t even know us.”

  “Of course,” Mery-ra assured him genially. Nothing in the world could have been more benevolent than his broad gap-toothed smile. “I’m always delighted to instruct youngsters in the mysteries of the lord Djehuty.”

  Djau gaped at them for a moment longer, then his face crumpled, and with the back of a hand, he dashed at his eyes in chagrin. “Forgive me, my lord. I felt you were a good man, but that Mahu confused me so.”

  “No shame to you for being prudent, Djau,” said Hani kindly. He clapped the man on his bony little shoulder.

  “Come in, come in. Please explain to me what’s going on.” Djau led them through the garden into the house. “I could have taught Khawy myself, except... I don’t have much energy left once I get home at the end of the week. He liked you. I should have known a child’s instincts were sound.” He ushered them into his salon, where a shrunken little old woman sat stroking a cat. She looked up, her protruding eyes a rheumy, elderly version of Djau’s. “My mother,” he said in a sorrowful voice. “She doesn’t understand what you say to her anymore, I’m afraid. My brother’s death just about finished her off.”

  Hani and Mery-ra made a courteous nod to the woman, who stared at them, blank as a gourd.

  “You see?” Djau murmured dismally. “My life is falling apart.” He motioned his guests to have a seat on a plastered dais softened with two colorfully woven cushions, and he crossed his legs and sank to the floor, his shoulders slumped. “Please, Lord Hani, tell me what’s going on.”

  Hani pondered what he dared say. “Lord Mahu and I both have orders to investigate the crimes. Presumably, that means we should help one another. But I’m afraid Mahu thinks it means he pushes me out of the way. What did he say to you?”

  Djau shrugged, dispirited. “He said he was the investigator and that you were pretending to be so you could get information for someone. He left that open. I guess I jumped to the worst possible conclusion—that you were part of the gang who robbed the tombs and that you wanted to... to kill me.”

  Mery-ra gave a disgusted snort. Hani’s face was burning with anger, but he managed to sound calm and reass
uring. “The ‘someone’ for whom I’m gathering information is the king—life, prosperity, and health to him. I’m sorry Mahu frightened you, Djau. In fact, there are only two reasons we’ve come today. One is to invite your nephew to train as a scribe with my father”—he nodded at Mery-ra—“and the other is to ask you where Bebi-ankh lives. I need to question him before Mahu and his men torture him.”

  Djau looked up with haunted eyes. “I almost wish I had never said anything, my lord. My life has become so complicated. I think Lord Mahu believes I’m part of the gang. He became almost threatening. If anything happens to me, if he carts me off to prison...”

  Ammit take the heartless bastard, Hani thought with a silent growl. “Don’t be afraid, my friend. You’re under my protection, and that means the protection of the vizier. Now, please tell me what you said to Mahu. And could you give me Bebi-ankh’s whereabouts?”

  “I told him the same thing I told you, my lord.” Then Djau described the route to the black-line man’s house, which was close by but on a more modest street. “He has brothers, though, all as big as he is, so be careful.”

  “Thank you for your warning. And now, about Khawy. Is it a problem for you if we take him on weekends? That way, he won’t miss any workdays. Or he could stay with us and study every day. That would be more useful to him.”

  Djau stared into his lap, considering, then looked up. Hani noticed the dark, unhealthy circles around his eyes. “If you can take him every day, my lord? I don’t know... I don’t know how long I’ll be able to work, and then it will all be on him.”

  “Good. Don’t worry about paying us. My father is retired and has nothing else to do.” He shot a glance of suppressed amusement at Mery-ra, who nodded benevolently.

  “How have we deserved this, Lord Hani?” the draftsman cried, clasping Hani’s hands. “How could I have suspected you of being a bad man? May the Hidden One bless—I mean...” He looked suddenly frightened again. “I mean, may the Aten bless you.”

  Hani threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll take any blessing the gods can spare me, friend.” He rose, and Mery-ra did the same. “So it’s settled? Send Khawy whenever you feel you can let him go. Most of my children are out of the house, so there’s plenty of room.”

  Djau climbed laboriously to his feet, and even that slight exertion left him wheezing. “What should I do if Mahu comes back, my lord?”

  “Cooperate,” said Hani, “but don’t believe what he tells you. And if he threatens you again, let me know. This must stop.”

  They took their leave with much more warmth than their arrival had elicited. Mery-ra refused to enter the litter, so the four bearers followed them down the narrow dust-clogged way between houses.

  “I wanted to go back and get soldiers before I confronted Bebi-ankh, in case he tried to escape, but I’m afraid to wait now. Mahu could come and take him at any minute, if he hasn’t already.” Hani chewed on his anger as he stalked along. “The unscrupulous son of a dog.”

  Mery-ra shook his head, his bushy brows contracting fiercely. “He’s as bad as the criminals he chases. I’ll never forgive him for almost killing you.”

  “The real worry is that he has the king’s ear.” Hani forced himself to let go of his rage, and he turned to the porters behind him with a pleasant expression. “Are you fellows ready for a possible fight? You can slide out the poles from the litter for clubs.”

  The young men, strapping and eager for a brawl, grinned and made warlike noises.

  Mery-ra chuckled. “Life is never boring around you, son.”

  The two scribes led the way to the gate Djau had designated, and Hani rapped smartly on the panel. After a moment, he heard the bolt sliding, and a youngish woman peeked out through a crack. “Who’s there?” There was no welcome in her suspicious features as she eyed Hani up and down.

  “Hani son of Mery-ra, investigator for the king. Is your husband home?”

  “Another investigator? Don’t you ever take no for an answer?” Her voice was shrill and sharp, but what alarmed Hani was the word another. Mahu had already come.

  The woman tried to close the gate, but Hani had inserted his sandaled foot in the opening, and he wrenched the panel back in spite of her. “Where is Bebi-ankh, mistress? If you try to hide him, you’re guilty of complicity.”

  She shouted, backing up toward the house, “He’s not here. I told the other men that. Get out, or I’ll call the medjay.”

  “I rather doubt that,” said Hani with a gently sarcastic smile. “I’d think you’d rather almost anybody but the medjay came in after what they did to him.”

  Her jaw dropped, and she wilted. “How did you know about that?”

  “Will you show him to me or not?”

  “What are you going to do to him?” She was still suspicious, Hani could see, and very afraid. “I’m going to offer him protection if he talks to me honestly.”

  The woman was in her thirties and attractive with her long natural hair, but there was already a worn look about her. This house had no gatekeeper, Hani saw. These were people who worked hard and were never without some need for grain.

  He said kindly, “I understand why he might have gotten involved in... what he got involved in, mistress. But believe me, he’s in danger. The people who are using him have no scruples. If he cooperates, I’ll see to it he’s protected.”

  She gave a cynical snort. “Like that other bastard ‘protected’ him?” Suddenly, her bravado crumbled, and tears began to leak from her eyes. Her mouth turned down in a wobbly crescent. “Save him, my lord. Don’t let them get him. One side or the other will kill him for sure.” She hid her face in her hands and bawled, “I warned him, but we were so in debt...”

  “May I see him?” Hani repeated in a gentle tone.

  The woman sucked back her tears with a sniff and, turning, led the way into the house. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. She preceded the two men through the salon, which was decorated with exquisite taste despite its small size, and into a small dark bedchamber. At the door, she said flatly, “Bibi, more men are here to see you.”

  Out of the shadows, a voice cried wildly, “And you let them in? Ammit take you, woman!”

  Hani could dimly make out a figure stretched out on the bed, struggling to rise. He hastened to the bedside and laid a hand on Bebi-ankh’s chest. The man fell back without a fight. Hani saw now that his leg was splinted and his face was a mass of bruises and scrapes. Although he was a sturdy fellow, pain had taken the spirit out of him.

  Hani squatted at his side. “Who did this to you? The medjay? Did they make you talk?”

  “Who are you?” the artist demanded weakly, but there was defiance in his voice.

  This close, Hani saw that what he had taken for scrapes were in fact burns. His anger against Mahu mounted. The son of a dog tortured him. He must have threatened his eyes. “I’m Hani, and this is my father, Mery-ra. We are the real investigators of this case, and believe me, if I had reached you before the chief of police, you would not have been tortured. What did he make you tell him?”

  Bebi-ankh gave a creaky laugh that clearly cost him pain. “I told the bastard nothing. Nothing. And you can’t make me talk either. I don’t know anything.” He looked up at Hani with fever-sharpened eyes. “Who gave the medjay my name? Was it that little rat Djau? Was it Khnum-baf, that hound-eyed wretch? I told them we should never have let him drag us into it.”

  You just confessed, thought Hani dryly. “I have my sources. I want to hear you confirm what I know, Bebi-ankh. If you are helpful—and truthful—I’ll see to it you’re hidden away someplace safe from Mahu and from the rest of the people who are going to be after you now.”

  “By all the gods, talk to him, Bibi,” the woman cried from behind Hani. “We can’t live like this. They’ll come after the children next.”

  Bebi-ankh’s head flopped back onto his headrest in resignation. “A man approached me a couple of weeks ago and asked if I wanted to get rich. He said there might b
e danger but the rewards would be great.”

  “What sort of man?” Hani asked sharply. “Was he Egyptian?”

  It was impossible to tell what Bebi-ankh normally looked like, so disfigured was his face. But his eyes rolled toward Hani, white in the near darkness. “A foreigner. Tall. Light skinned. Spoke good Egyptian but with a strong accent.”

  “Could you recognize the accent?” asked Mery-ra.

  “No. But he was from the north.”

  Hani said, “How was he dressed?”

  The black-line man thought for a moment. “A long tunic of wool. A beautiful color you don’t often see—like turquoise stone but deeper. Some dye from chrysocolla ore, I’d say.”

  Ah, yes, thought Hani. He’s an artist. He would notice such things. “What else?”

  “Hair dark, cut off at the shoulders. Light eyes. Bearded around the jaw but no mustache. Nice-looking fellow. He had a mole just over his mouth on the left lip.”

  “That’s most helpful, Bebi-ankh. I think you’re on your way to buying your safety,” Hani said with an encouraging smile. But inside him, something dropped, leaden, into the pit of his stomach. A Mitannian? That will really blow up Tushratta’s treaty. “What did he want of you? How did he plan to make you rich?”

  Behind him, Bebi-ankh’s wife gave a little sob-like noise.

  “He... he wanted me to show him how to get into a tomb.”

  Hani and Mery-ra exchanged a triumphant look. “To rob a tomb? Did he know the penalty if you were caught?”

  “I didn’t know—I can tell you that. It was Khnum-baf who told me. The scum disappeared into thin air after that. And I always thought he was my friend. He’s probably over the border into Kush by now, the rat.”

  If he’s still alive, thought Hani uneasily. “He was involved with you and the foreigner?”

  “There were maybe seven of us—artists and stonecutters. Artists to draw a plan and show on the ground where to dig and stonecutters to cut into the roof of the chamber. He had other men, too, to do the heavy work. To... to drag away the treasure we pulled out.”