Scepter of Flint

by N. L. Holmes

  “The only thanks I want is to see him one more time. I’ve come up with a few more questions I’d like to ask him.” He patted the head of a pot-bellied toddler who clung to his mother’s leg and gaped up at Hani.

  She looked reluctant, her eyes shifting uneasily. But she was in Hani’s debt. “Come with me, then, my lord.”

  He followed the family out through the garden burgeoning with spring green and ornamented by birdsong. They hastened down the packed-earth road with its empty mansions and headed north into the warren of poor little private homes and workshops that marked the less prosperous part of town. It was the hottest part of the day, and the air between the close-packed walls was suffocating, almost visible—thick and shimmering like molten glass. Hardly anyone was afoot at this hour. Hani mopped his forehead as he trailed after the woman.

  She approached a door in a wall and, casting a furtive look around, knocked in a pattern that had to be a code. Almost immediately, the door opened, and Bebi-ankh, in his own short, disheveled hair, peeked out. A big grin spread across his bruised and burn-scarred face as he looked at his family—but as soon as he caught sight of Hani, his eyes widened in terror.

  “It’s only me, my friend, and your secret is surely safe with me,” Hani said with a reassuring smile. “May I come in?”

  Bebi-ankh backed away from the door to make room for his passage then, with another cautious glance around, shut the door softly behind him. “I didn’t want anybody to know where I was.”

  Hani’s smile broadened. “I don’t know where you are. I could never find my way here again.” He looked around him at the small unpaved court in which he stood. A modest house rose at his left, with a rolled-up mat hanging in the doorway.

  “It’s my mother’s house,” Bebi-ankh explained. “I came here until Iryet and the children could join me. Now we’re going someplace less obvious. Maybe to Ta-nehesy. Surely, they could use artists up there.”

  “Then I’m glad I caught you before you got away. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  Bebi-ankh drew Hani behind the house, where a much-mended wooden pen held a goat and a few geese. He led him to the little reed goat shed, and the two men dodged inside. “We’re safe here,” he said with a twitch of the mouth. “The goat doesn’t speak Egyptian.”

  “Were you aware that Djau was dead?” Hani asked point-blank.

  Bebi-ankh shifted uneasily. “I suspected he would be soon if he weren’t already.”

  “Why? He’d already made his report. What further danger was he to anyone?”

  The painter eyed Hani up and down and said, incredulous, “Why, because he saw the foreigner, of course. And he wasn’t up to his ears in crime, so he had nothing to lose by ratting him out.”

  The little bastard never told me that, Hani thought in surprise. “When did this happen?”

  “I don’t know when it was, my lord. Months ago. He overheard me speaking to the foreigner on a street corner. I knew, because I saw his head peep around the corner. Then he took off. I ran after him, and when I laid hands on him, he suddenly had a coughing fit—or pretended to—and twisted away when I let him double up to cough. He ran into a nearby door, so I couldn’t follow him.”

  Here I am again at the pool of Two Truths. Somebody’s lying. “And what would have happened to him if he hadn’t gotten away, Bebi-ankh?” Hani asked severely.

  The painter hung his head then looked up again with a hopeless smile. “I would have bashed his self-righteous little skull against the wall, my lord.”

  Hani nodded slowly. Bebi-ankh wasn’t a bad man, but he’d been desperate, fearing for his life. “I guess we can’t indict you for something you would have done. Do you have any idea who might have finished him off?”

  “The foreigner, no doubt.”

  “No, I mean, who pulled back the bowstring? He was shot with a cavalry arrow. Were there any soldiers involved with your plot?”

  Bebi-ankh looked uncomfortable. “The workmen he brought in to dig and carry off the grave goods had that air about them. I mean, they weren’t in uniform or anything, but they were all very clean-cut young men and proper. Not like some peasants he might have rounded up to do the stoop labor. You know—they were disciplined. Asked no questions. Just dug when they were told and carried all the spoil dirt off without a word.”

  That doesn’t sound like cavalry people. They tend to be blue-blooded. I don’t picture cavalry archers carrying dirt... unless orders came from high above. Although the workmen might have been scouts or runners, who are usually commoners. “I see your memory has been jogged,” Hani said. “Anything else you know or suspect? Did the foreigner see Djau too? Did you tell him who the spy was?”

  Bebi-ankh looked sheepish. “I did, my lord. He asked next time I saw him, and I answered. I... I was aware it probably meant Djau’s days were numbered, but he knew that I was implicated.”

  Hani thanked the black-line man for his additional information and wished him well. Then he took his leave. It crossed his mind that Mahu might have put a tail on him as he had once before. Get out now, he willed Bebi-ankh silently. Quick. Quick.

  Hani set off down the street, not knowing exactly where he was. He decided it would be best to head for the River and then south to his home by a familiar route. He turned along the broad processional way that flanked the River—the way where once the barque of Amun-Ra had passed, borne on the shoulders of the wabu at the time of the Ipet festival, accompanied by all the pomp and magnificence the most powerful priesthood in the world could provide. Hani thought of Nub-nefer marching along, singing hymns and shaking her sistrum rhythmically, her face alight with fervor. He remembered his brother-in-law, Amen-em-hut, in his starred leopard skin and jeweled sporran, proudly bearing the ram-headed standard of the god as the glittering procession passed from the Great Southern Temple back to the Ipet-isut. How the people had gathered on the banks and cheered!

  Hani sighed. Will the old days ever return? Perhaps it was a lack of faith, but sometimes he wasn’t sure. The power of the king is nearly absolute. Who can stand up against him?

  A faint, thin cry from the sky made Hani look up. High overhead, a hawk circled on graceful, deadly wings. Hani made his way to his gate and was about to knock when, from within the garden, he heard voices raised in anger.

  “No, you may not search our house. How dare you. I told you, Hani isn’t home,” came Nub-nefer’s outraged cry. A thrill of anger and fear rolled up Hani’s spine.

  Then a man’s voice growled, “We’ll see about that, mistress. Now, stand aside.”

  Mahu.

  CHAPTER 9

  HANI BEGAN TO HAMMER wildly on the gate, furious as a jay defending its nest. “Open up! A’a! Open to me now!” he roared.

  The gate opened a slit, and Hani burst his way in. “What’s the meaning of this?” His face was burning, his heart ready to explode. He rushed to Nub-nefer’s side, and she put her arms around him and hid her face against his chest.

  Mahu and four of his men and their leashed baboon stood in the gravel path. The chief of police was scowling like a thundercloud. At Hani’s precipitous entry, his angry expression turned to a snide smile. “Well, well. Look who’s here.”

  “I told you he wasn’t home,” Nub-nefer shouted in a raw, accusing voice.

  “What do you want?” Hani demanded, stepping between his wife and the policemen.

  “You’re under arrest for interfering with the king’s justice,” said Mahu, looking almost delighted.

  Hani said haughtily, “I’m sorry your intelligence hasn’t given you the rest of the story, Mahu. I was acting as the agent of the vizier of the Lower Kingdom and of the high commissioner. You’ll have to take your grievance up with them.” He was breathing hard through his nose, trying to restrain himself from the quivering violence he felt creeping along his body. His hands clenched in defiance. Stay cool. Don’t give in to a shouting match or worse. “Go bully women somewhere else.”

  Mahu swaggered up to Hani,
and the two men glared at one another, almost nose to nose. Do not strike him. Do not strike him, no matter how much he deserves it.

  “I think we’ll just take you in while we find out whether you’re telling the truth or not,” Mahu said through gritted teeth. His face had grown as crimson as a pomegranate.

  “I have letters of mission, signed with the vizier’s seal. You can read them for yourself.”

  Over Mahu’s shoulder, Hani was aware of his father standing in the doorway of the house, his bristling eyebrows murderous. “Here, what’s this?” Mery-ra cried as he surged into the garden. “My son has a royal commission. You have no right to apprehend him.” He extended the packet of papyrus and unfolded it, holding it out toward Mahu but not relinquishing it.

  Mahu ran a quick eye over the document but seemed reluctant to back down even in the face of evidence. However, his bravado had slipped a notch.

  Hani said contemptuously, “Inquire of the vizier whether or not my actions are on his behalf. I had proof the Mitannians were innocent, and there was no longer any excuse to hold them. Their king has already made a complaint to Nefer-khepru-ra, and you’d better not aggravate the situation.”

  Mahu hung there, quivering with impotent rage, but he seemed to have doubts about crossing Aper-el. “We’ll see whose commission will prevail, Hani. But I advise you to stay out of my way. You’re making yourself very obnoxious.”

  “To whom, Mahu? To you?” Hani couldn’t resist saying. “I’m trying to find out the identity of a criminal. To restore ma’at. To whom does that make me obnoxious?”

  The apoplectic scarlet mounted in Mahu’s face again, but he spun on his heel and, with his men in his wake, stormed out through the gate.

  As the panels closed behind them, Hani let out his breath. “Thank you, Father. That was a timely entrance.”

  “Oh, Hani, I hate that man. He’s abominable,” Nub-nefer cried, embracing her husband. “He’s just the sort of brute the king would use to do his dirty work.”

  “You seem to have gotten up his nose pretty badly, son,” said Mery-ra, folding the papyrus.

  “Yes. Mahu is never happy to see the truth come out. He’s clearly protecting someone—at that someone’s orders, I suspect.”

  “You seriously think the king is involved?” Mery-ra asked in a quieter voice.

  “Or somebody close to him. Otherwise, why would Mahu be trying to obstruct my investigation? Why would he have been put on it in the first place? Why would he have any authority in Waset?”

  Hani was silent, breathing in the perfume of bergamot and lilies that rose from Nub-nefer’s body, while his thoughts spun. At last, he said pensively, “Where did that Talpu-sharri come from?”

  “Naharin. What do you mean?” Mery-ra said.

  “I mean how did he come to be Kiya’s chamberlain? He certainly didn’t come from Naharin with her. And I don’t remember seeing him around two years ago.” Hani blew out a breath. “I asked Neferet to ask around discreetly, but I haven’t seen her since. I need to go arrest him as a suspect of tomb robbing. But it seems to me even that’s not really going to solve our crime.”

  “Right now?” Nub-nefer asked reluctantly.

  “I think I’d better, before someone tips him off. It will take nearly a week to get there.” He turned to Mery-ra. “Father, send someone to tell Maya that we’ll be leaving for Hut-nen-nesut tomorrow by midmorning.”

  “Bring Neferet back with you, Hani, if she hasn’t already left.” Nub-nefer pulled away and started into the house. “I need to tell Baket-iset what happened. If she heard those voices, she’ll be worried. And then we’ll get ready to go to the farm.”

  ⸎

  The next morning, Maya appeared at Hani’s door as arranged, Sat-hut-haru with him. She and the children would be joining the other women at Hani’s country place until danger of plague had lessened in the city.

  “We had a little visitation from the chief of police yesterday,” Hani told him with a sour smile. He described how Mahu had invaded Hani’s home and bullied Nub-nefer and how Mery-ra had saved the day with Hani’s written commission.

  Maya swelled with outrage. “That piece of jackal shit. He never gives up.”

  “So now we need to take Talpu-sharri into custody before Mahu gets to him. That’s why we’re going up. And to fetch Neferet home for the holidays. Menna is giving us a half dozen of his soldiers.”

  “To bring Neferet home?” Maya said in mock surprise. “I know she’s lively, but...”

  Hani chuckled. “Let’s hope that’s the worst thing they have to face.”

  Hani considered and discarded the idea of trying to see Lord Aper-el, thinking he must surely be at home for the holidays. But then he decided he needed immediate confirmation of his mission—Mahu surely wouldn’t wait to test him out.

  ⸎

  As soon as the boat tied up at the capital five days later, he hurried to the Hall of Royal Correspondence. As he’d feared, Aper-el had gone. But his secretary permitted Hani to write a brief letter describing what he’d done and promised to give it to the vizier as soon as he came back to the office.

  “Back to the boat and away, Maya,” Hani said, feeling more cheerful now that the burden was off his back and onto Aper-el’s. “The soldiers are waiting for us.”

  As they were crossing the courtyard toward the main road, he heard a voice cry, “Hani!” and he turned around in surprise. Pipi was hailing him from the corner of the court outside the hall of scribes. He jogged toward his elder brother in an ungainly gait, his belly bouncing and a big gap-toothed grin spread across his face. “Brother! I never see you anymore.” His smile grew sly. “And I have something to tell you that you’ll like.”

  “Is Nedjem-ib expecting?” Pipi and Nedjem-ib’s youngest were eight, so that seemed unlikely, but one could never tell.

  Pipi drew the two men toward the corner of the court, away from the occasional passerby. “No. Father told me about your investigation. I’ve been assigned to the reception hall on certain days.” He lifted his chin with innocent pride. “And then yesterday, who should walk in but Lord Ay. He’d come to talk to the vizier, although Aper-el turned out not to be here. Ay is master of the king’s horses, you know, and he had a soldier with him, a cavalryman. He was like a sort of aide de camp.”

  Hani had a suspicion he knew where this was going, and a fizz of excitement started bubbling within. “And?”

  “While they were waiting in the reception hall for the vizier, they started to talk. There was hardly anybody else there, and their voices echoed more than they probably realized. And—yahya, Hani!” Pipi’s boyish square-jowled face beamed. “What do you think they started to talk about?”

  “What, man? Out with it,” Hani said impatiently.

  “The murder of that Djau, or at least, it sounded like it.”

  Sounded like it. Hani started bracing for a disappointment. “More specifics, please.”

  “Lord Ay said under his breath, ‘Have they found the one who did it?’ And the soldier said, ‘No, my lord. And they won’t.’” Pipi looked up in delighted expectation of praise.

  “That’s all?” Hani didn’t want to disappoint his well-meaning brother, but such a conversation could be interpreted in a number of innocuous ways.

  “And then Ay said, ‘Be as discreet with the next one, please.’ And the soldier said, ‘You can count on the son of Ah-hotep-ra.’ Or something to that effect.”

  “Who is Ah-hotep-ra?” Hani said, pondering all this.

  “Why, the soldier’s father, of course.”

  “Or the father of someone else who is trustworthy. It does sound vaguely as if it might pertain to our case, but—”

  “‘But’?” cried Pipi, getting more and more excited. “It’s practically an admission of guilt.” He was all but jumping up and down.

  “Are you going to come back to Waset for the holidays?” Hani asked, unashamedly changing the subject.

  “I guess. I don’t want to stick a
round this plague bed any longer than I have to.” His little brown eyes sparkled. “Hani, let me help you investigate this case.”

  Hani laughed and cuffed his brother’s head fondly. “What? Already bored with your new job as a royal scribe?”

  Pipi made the irresistible pleading eyes of a hound.

  That look must be part of our patrimony, Hani thought in amusement. How many times have I seen it on Neferet’s face? “Take your family home, Pipi, and enjoy the holidays. We’ll talk about this later.”

  He gave Pipi a hug to soften his disappointment, then Hani and Maya took off briskly toward the embarcadero. “Come on,” said Hani, still chuckling. “We’re keeping Menna’s men waiting.”

  “Do you think there’s anything to what he overheard, my lord?” asked Maya, trotting to keep up. His pen case clacked rhythmically as it bounced on his shoulder.

  “Could be,” Hani said. His amusement had changed to pensiveness. “Or not. We’ll have to be very careful sniffing around the God’s Father Ay. At least, we can try to find out who the son of Ah-hotep-ra is.”

  The two men clattered up the gangplank of their vessel, a fast army boat, and swung out into the current. In two or three days, they would be in Hut-nen-nesut and take Talpu-sharri into custody, charged with tomb robbing and probable murder.

  ⸎

  But when they presented themselves at the gate of the House of the Royal Ornaments and asked for Talpu-sharri, the majordomo told them he was gone.

  “Gone?” Hani exchanged a startled look with Maya. “You mean disappeared?”

  “No, my lord,” said the majordomo, looking shocked in his turn. “He went back to Naharin with Lady Kiya and the two diplomats.”

  “Well, then. I thank you for your time. Now, if I could see the Lady Neferet, the royal physician’s young apprentice...”

  “I’ll see if she’s here my, lord.” The man bowed and scuttled away.

  Maya was both surprised and not surprised. He shot Lord Hani a grim, knowing look. “That’s practically an admission of guilt, my lord. The son of a dog has run away out of our reach.”