by N. L. Holmes
Hani said dryly, “I can tell you exactly what it means. Mahu has been given the case, by the king’s orders.”
Maya stared at him, speechless, then he tore his wig from his head and hurled it to the floor in the same impotent fury as Hani had felt earlier. “How can he? We did all the work.”
“That’s the problem. Even though he assigned us the case initially, we uncovered things the Good God Nefer-khepru-ra doesn’t want uncovered. Mahu will quietly undo it all for him.”
“Leaving five people’s souls unavenged...”
“He doesn’t believe in the Duat, Maya. In his mind, he has done no harm.” Hani smiled unhappily.
“Since when is killing someone—and by a horrible death. Plague, no less!—doing them no harm?” Maya’s face was red with anger.
“Kings have people put to death every day.”
“Are you defending him, my lord?” cried Maya in horror.
Hani shook his head gloomily. “No, son. I’m just trying to understand how such things happen in the world. The person who does them never thinks he’s done anything bad. Or even if it’s bad, his goal justified it.” He shot Maya a wry look. “After all, those four people weren’t supporters of the true god.”
“And Djau? What evil was he guilty of?” Maya was implacable.
“A man of his class probably doesn’t even exist for Nefer-khepru-ra. I’ve known plain grandees who weren’t much better.”
Maya made a noise of disgust and picked up his wig. “Let’s get out of here before the storm hits, my lord.”
Hani was on his way to the room to collect his baggage when a thought occurred to him. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave Lord Ptah-mes alone to face this...”
Maya snorted. “He seems like a man who can take care of himself. Come on.”
“But he’s not himself these days. He might say or do something regrettable. You know how he and Mahu react with each other.”
“And can you stop him, Lord Hani?”
“Probably not.” You can’t solve everybody’s problems, Hani reminded himself. But it was hard to head for the door.
The two men were crossing through Ptah-mes’s garden rapidly when they heard a hammering on the gate ahead. They stopped in their tracks, uncertain. The gatekeeper had barely pulled back the heavy panels of the outer gate when Hani realized, with a prickling of fear and antipathy, that Mahu and his men had already arrived. They stood in a menacing block of four medjay and a baboon, with Mahu at their head. His eyebrows rose in icy recognition at the sight of Hani and Maya. “Well, well. We keep finding you at the scene of the crime, Hani. I think I made a mistake in not apprehending you sooner.”
“And what crime is this the scene of, Mahu? Surely you don’t think Lord Ptah-mes is one of the tomb robbers?” By all that’s holy, Hani, control your temper, Hani told himself. But Mahu was a burr in his sandal; every time they were around each other, he felt anger and aggression mount within him. Mahu apparently felt the same—and made no effort to keep it in check.
The chief of police smirked. “Insubordination. You both have been told that the case is no longer yours, yet here you still are.”
“Two points here, Mahu,” Hani said acidly. “One, the fact that I am visiting my superior, who also happens to be a bereaved friend, has nothing to do with the case and is hardly a crime. And two, it was only this morning that the high commissioner was told that the case had been handed over to you. I can assure you, he has done absolutely nothing since then.”
“Handsome of you to defend the commissioner so zealously. Why don’t you just step back inside while we listen to him defend himself?” Mahu pushed Maya aside roughly and strode past Hani into the garden.
Hani was dimly aware of the gatekeeper scuttling off toward the house. It occurred to Hani that it might be a good thing to occupy Mahu a little longer. “Here!” he cried. “I object. This young man has done nothing. You have no right to shove him.”
At Hani’s side, Maya bristled, brushing himself down as if to shake off the contamination of Mahu’s touch, and glared at the policeman with loathing. Mahu whipped around, and rocking back on his heels, he eyed Maya up and down. “What if one of my men just heaved him out into the street, Hani? He was obstructing justice.”
“He was only standing there. And even if he had obstructed you, it would hardly have been justice he was obstructing.” Hani’s teeth were clenched with the effort not to do something irreversible.
But Mahu had heard the contempt in his voice. The chief of the medjay reached out and snatched Hani’s shirt, jerking him toward himself. “Watch your tongue there, my friend,” he snarled. “Your protector is in the Duat.”
Hani wasn’t sure he could control the tidal wave of fury that surged up though his veins. Keep your mouth shut. Do not answer him back. They could take it out on Maya or Ptah-mes. Instead, he silently wrenched his shirt out of Mahu’s grasp, giving him the most scornful stare he could muster. He hoped the gateman had warned his master by now of the police visit.
His face crimson, Mahu pushed Hani aside and stumped up the path, his henchmen in close formation behind him. The baboon shot Hani a contemptuous look as he passed.
Let Ptah-mes be ready for this. Let him have hidden Talpu-sharri.
The little band made its way through the extensive gardens, past shady trees and refreshing pools—the setting for a life of culture and repose, the very opposite of Mahu and his troubled, violent spirit. Hani and Maya trailed them, exchanging an uneasy glance.
A doorkeeper met them at the entrance of the house. “How may I help you?” He spoke levelly, but his eyes cut back and forth in anxiety.
“Where is your master?” Mahu growled.
From the interior of the vestibule, Ptah-mes stepped forward, as tall and elegant as a figure from a tomb painting, his arms crossed. “His master is here, Mahu. What brings you to my property again?”
“Rumor has it that you still have a witness in your custody—after you were told that the case was no longer yours.”
“Then you’d better tell Rumor he’s wrong.” Ptah-mes’s black kohl-rimmed eyes glittered dangerously.
Mahu’s heavy jowls were almost purple with rage. “You have Talpu-sharri, don’t you? I want him now.”
“I do not have Talpu-sharri. I want you off my property, Mahu.”
“We’ll see about that.” Mahu made a savage gesture, and his men surged toward the door. Ptah-mes stepped coolly back to let them pass.
“Have you no decency?” Hani cried. “This is a house of mourning.”
Mahu turned on him. “And so will yours be, Lord Hani, unless you shut your mouth.”
Biting his tongue, Hani watched the backs of the troops as they passed into the cool darkness of the vestibule, their feet reflected on the polished gypsum as if it were water. Ptah-mes stood frostily but calmly to the side while they swarmed into his house. He caught Hani’s eye, but no expression gave away what he was thinking. In the vestibule, the three men stood side by side as the policemen ransacked room after room, Mahu storming around among them, snarling orders. Hani saw with a wince that they were slicing curtains and ripping the stuffing out of cushions—as if a man could have been concealed inside. The servants huddled, terrified. But Ptah-mes watched with no reaction, his arms still crossed.
At last, Mahu came to Ptah-mes’s household shrine, where a beautiful statue of gold and ebony depicting the King of the Gods reigned, flowers wilting at its feet. The police chief turned back to the door, his face lit with malice. “Oh dear, Ptah-mes. Where is your stele of the Aten and his one priest?”
“I had it removed,” said Ptah-mes icily.
“This doesn’t look very loyal for a servant of the king.” Mahu knocked over the statue with the back of his hand.
“I will serve the king’s foreign policy with all my soul, Mahu, but my religious loyalty goes only so far as the limits of my conscience.”
Hani heard Maya draw in his breath, and a sparkle of fear caught in
his own throat. This was very dangerous talk directed toward a man who already hated Ptah-mes and would seize upon any excuse to humiliate him.
A triumphant smile curled Mahu’s lip, but he yelled, “You! Men! Have you found the prisoner?”
“Nowhere, my lord,” one of them called back.
“Keep looking. Look in his granary. Look in his barns.” He turned and thrust his face into that of the commissioner. “I hear you have nice horses, Ptah-mes. Maybe we’ll have to slit them open to see if Talpu-sharri is hiding inside.”
Hani felt rage boiling up in him again. How did this unworthy man ever climb so high? For his part, Path-mes showed no emotion by so much as the slightest flutter of his eyelashes—not when heavy crashing sounded from outside that might well have been his granaries suffering assault. Not when animals screamed.
At last, the policemen came trooping back in, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. Some of the horrified servants were weeping helplessly. Mahu drew near to Ptah-mes once more. “Where is he?”
“I have no idea.”
“Perhaps he’s at Hani’s, eh?” Mahu said slyly, turning to Hani.
“He is not,” Hani said, defiant but fearful. He didn’t need Mahu bullying Nub-nefer again and frightening Baket-iset.
“Does it occur to you that I may have let the man go when I learned that the foreign service no longer had jurisdiction over his case?” Ptah-mes said.
Mahu laughed scornfully. “You wouldn’t have thought to have turned him over to me, would you?”
“Oh. You didn’t get him? How awkward.”
Hani cringed. Mahu wouldn’t take much of this sarcasm. Hani was beginning to fear for Ptah-mes’s physical safety.
But abruptly, Mahu pulled away, still simmering, and called to his troops, “Come on, boys. We’ll deal with this inbred scum later.” They stormed out the front door, baboon and all, and Hani heard their footsteps thundering down the path and out of hearing.
Hani held his breath for a moment longer then finally let it out in relief. Ptah-mes looked icy. Maya stared from one to the other.
With tears in his eyes, Ptah-mes’s steward rushed in and fell at his master’s feet. “Oh, my lord, forgive me. I couldn’t stop them. They’ve smashed everything, killed the cattle, knocked holes in the silos—”
“It’s all right,” Ptah-mes said neutrally. “Where did you take the prisoner?”
“To my brother’s house, my lord.”
“Good man.” Ptah-mes turned to Hani. “Well, my friend,” he said with a bleak smile. “We’ve declared war.”
⸎
“If it’s the last thing I do—and it may well be—I want to find out what is going on here. The idea of that brute imposing his so-called justice on anybody he takes against is contrary to every principle of ma’at. Something very shady is going on,” Hani told his father after he’d described the events at Ptah-mes’s. Even at the remove of six days, his blood was boiling at the memory.
Mery-ra shook his head heavily. “I want to say, ‘Good for you,’ son, but something tells me you’re swimming in very dangerous waters by antagonizing this man. If he’s just an envious cur acting out of his own malice, that’s bad enough. But if his actions are really at the behest of a higher power...”
“I was pleased to see Ptah-mes stand up to him.”
“Did you doubt that he would? You didn’t see him in action when we went to rescue you from the police barracks two years ago.” Mery-ra chuckled at the memory. “I can still picture him with those gloves in his hand.”
Hani smiled, but his heart was heavy. “He’s been blaming himself for everything for so long...”
He changed the subject. “I guess I’d better get Khnum-baf off my property before Mahu comes sniffing around.”
“Who’s that?”
“My witness—the one of the robbers who escaped arrest. He’s at the farm. I don’t know how an artist feels about working in the lettuce patch.” He had to smile at the thought of the slightly built Khnum-baf, with his fine hands, kneeling in the dirt. “But he asked to work so he could earn a little something.”
“Is he really in danger from Mahu?” Mery-ra leaned back and stretched out his legs, his arms above his head to cool his armpits. Hani and he were sitting in the garden pavilion, seeking whatever trifling breeze Flood season could waft at them, and they almost had to shout over the deafening cicadas. “I thought you said Djau didn’t tell Mahu about Bebi-ankh, and he was the one who knew all the other conspirators.”
“You may be right. But the other workmen heard me call his name. He might be a sort of pariah in the Place of Truth for a while.”
Mery-ra grunted noncommittally.
“I need to talk to that Talpu-sharri before he slips out of our hands. I also want to say goodbye to Keliya.”
“He’s finally been recalled, has he?”
“It seems so. He’s invited me to dinner at Mane’s. He says he has a surprise for me.”
“A turquoise tunic from Naharin, for old times’ sake?” Mery-ra flashed an evil grin.
Hani laughed. They sat in companionable silence for a while. Hani, gazing into the bushes, found himself missing the silent grace of Qenyt.
A’a came around the bushes and bowed. “My lord, there’s a boy here to see you.”
Hani and his father exchanged a curious glance. Is it Huy again? “Send him to us, my friend,” Hani said, straightening up.
Mery-ra put down his arms. “Do you want me to leave, son?”
“No, no. This can’t be anything too personal.”
A’a disappeared then reappeared momentarily with a sturdy adolescent still in his Haru-lock, a covered basket in his hand. He looked frightened at the upper-class magnificence around him, and made a deep hesitant bow.
“Khawy!” cried Hani in delight. “How is life for you, my lad?”
The boy managed a smile, but his face was drawn with uncertainty. “My lord, I thought you’d want to know that my grandmother has died. And my sister is married. So I don’t have any responsibilities to the family anymore. If my lord is still offering to teach me to write, I... I can come.”
Hani exchanged a look with Mery-ra. “This is your decision, Father.”
“Why, no decision is needed, son. I made the offer, and I stand by my word.” Mery-ra beamed at Khawy. “By all indications, young Khawy is a smart, well-spoken lad, and we know he has artistic skills. It will be a pleasure.”
Hani added kindly, “You can live with us if you have no relatives in Waset. I’m sure one boy won’t disrupt too much. Nub-nefer is used to much worse.”
The boy fell on his face before the two scribes, and in a voice trembling with tears, he cried, “Oh, my lords, how can I thank you? I want to be a draftsman like Uncle, and you’ve fulfilled my prayer.” He fumbled at Hani’s bare foot to kiss it.
“None of that is necessary, Khawy. We know you’re grateful. But it seems like the least of favors we owe your uncle for his brave testimony,” Hani said, lifting him to his feet.
A moment later, Nub-nefer emerged from the house with a tray in her hands. She set it down on a little folding table between the men. “I thought you gentlemen might like some fresh fruit,” she said, holding up a wedge of pomegranate to her husband. He bit it out of her hands and began to crunch it down, seeds and all, the juice dripping from his chin.
“I can see we brought you up right,” commented Mery-ra as he served himself a fig.
Nub-nefer noticed the boy standing in shy discomfort to one side. “And who are you, my dear?” she asked with a smile. She held the fruit out to him and encouraged him to take some.
“This is Khawy. He’s going to be a resident pupil of Father for a few years.”
Her eyes widened, and she caught Hani’s glance. “Oh. How nice.” She turned toward the house and called for one of the servants then addressed Khawy once more. “She’ll take you to your room, dear.”
But the boy cried out, “I have something for you first
, Lord Hani.” He stopped to pick up his basket and, laying back the cloth that covered it, offered it to Hani. Inside, Hani saw, nestled in a swirl of dry grass, a large bluish-gray egg.
“What’s this, Khawy?” said Hani, looking up at him in surprise.
“It’s just an egg I found. I thought it was pretty and thought you might like to have it. It’s nothing, I know...” The boy’s voice trailed away, and his face grew red with embarrassment. “I hated to come empty-handed.”
It was a heron egg. Hani took the basket from him and stared at the egg, moved almost to tears. “Why, it’s the nicest present I’ve ever received.” He reached out and cuffed the boy’s head affectionately.
Khawy made a deep bow and followed the servant girl out.
“Who is he?” Nub-nefer asked once Khawy had disappeared from sight. “He’s young to leave home like this. What do his parents say about it?”
“He’s an orphan, my dove. His uncle was the draftsman who was murdered.”
Compassion melted her smile. “Poor child.”
“And how are our children? Neferet’s been down at the farm with you at last.”
Nub-nefer smiled. “Neferet and her friend enjoyed their stay, I think. Bener-ib seemed to be coming out of her shell before they finally left.” She pulled up a stool and seated herself. “The unfortunate girl. Did Neferet tell you about her awful stepmother?”
“In general.” He helped himself to another wedge of fruit. “So she isn’t so strange after all?”
Nub-nefer exchanged with him a knowing look. “No. She’s sweet. She got on very well with Amen-em-hut’s children. And what’s more, Baket-iset likes her.”
“That’s the best test,” Hani said, squeezing his wife’s hand. When Nub-nefer rallied, she rallied.
“I should prepare you for the fact that Neferet has had her head shaved.”
