by N. L. Holmes
Like avenging your wife, Hani thought. “He was a danger to our kingdom, my lord.”
“Yes.”
“So I suppose our case is closed.”
“Our case is indeed closed. A new vizier of the Lower Kingdom has been appointed, Hani. He has declined to renew my office.”
“Oh, Lord Ptah-mes!” cried Hani, struck to the soul by the injustice. Gods know what kind of truckling sycophant I’ll have over me now. “Are you being punished for standing up to Mahu?”
“Punished? I’m not so sure. I’ll be taking up residence in Azzati as commissioner of the northern vassals. The appointment is a step down, so I presume it’s intended to be a punishment. But it has in its favor that Azzati is very far away.”
Hani sat there, stunned. That post had remained unfilled since the death of Yanakh-amu some years before. He tried to think of something positive to say. “You’ll still be my immediate superior, then, at least. Who is replacing you in the high commission?”
“I don’t know,” said Ptah-mes lightly. “Some Aten-worshipping toady, I don’t doubt. He’s welcome to it. I will quietly do my little job far from the rays of the Dazzling Sun Disk. With any luck, my name will be forgotten.”
Hani flinched. Ptah-mes wasn’t over his painful self-contempt after all, despite his insouciant air. But at least he was out of danger. And the vassals had gained an honest and skillful advocate. Ptah-mes rose, and Hani followed suit.
“Goodbye, my friend,” said Ptah-mes, his smile warming. “I thank you for everything.”
“And I you, my lord. For your support and your extreme generosity. I wish it could have been better rewarded.” Hani grasped the hand his superior extended and clasped it hard for an instant. Then, finding his throat starting to tighten with tears, he made a profound bow, fingers to mouth, and his respect was genuine.
When he rose, Ptah-mes was already walking away into the dark salon. Hani gazed at his straight, elegant back. Then he turned and made his way to the door and out through the garden.
When he emerged onto the sun-washed street, he looked up. A hawk was circling overhead on strong, graceful wings, for all the world like a painted image of Haru, the One on High. Honest men still have a protector, Hani thought with a smile.
THE END
Did you enjoy this book? Here is a sample of The North Wind Descends, the next volume in the Lord Hani Mysteries series:
HANI STOOD IN THE RECEPTION room of the vizier of the Lower Kingdom and wiped the sweat off his face with his arm. The dim, high-ceilinged hall was blessedly cool after the withering heat of the courtyard. At his side, his secretary, Maya, said uneasily, “What do you suppose the vizier wants to see you for, my lord?”
“I have no idea, my friend. I’ve had precious little contact with Lord Ra-nefer since he took office except to send written reports. I think I’ve sort of slipped through the cracks of his notice, since I’ve been working locally.” Hani thought gratefully of his former direct superior, Lord Ptah-mes, who had managed to get him off the rolls of foreign postings. Alas, Ptah-mes himself, in disfavor with the king, was now stationed abroad at Azzati in Djahy.
“Maybe he wants to give you the gold of honor, eh, my lord?” Maya said sarcastically. The two of them knew Hani was no more in favor than his superior, after he had only too successfully uncovered the mastermind of a series of tomb robberies two years before.
“More likely, he needs me to take the blame for some botch-up.” Hani grinned.
Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Lord Ra-nefer’s secretary at the vizier’s door. He tipped his head and said loftily, “The vizier of the Lower Kingdom will see you now.”
Hani took a deep breath and strode forward through the shadowy reception room and into the office, luminous with the buffered glow from its high windows. The vizier sat on a fine chair on a dais. He was a rotund figure in his long kilt knotted across the chest, his thick neck full of gold that doubled his chins up. There was a sheen of sweat on his face.
Hani folded in a formal bow, hands on his knees, and when he rose, Lord Ra-nefer said in a high-pitched, weary voice, “The famous Hani. I thought I’d never meet you.”
“I’m honored by the summons, my lord.” Hani was unsettled. Famous? This hyperbole augured nothing good. He had tried hard to stay below the notice of the court.
“Well, Ptah-mes isn’t around to intercede for you for the moment, so we’ll be seeing more of one another, I daresay—at least, until a new high commissioner of foreign affairs in the north is named.” Ra-hotep crossed his arms, which rested on the mound of his belly, and leaned back in his chair, while Hani waited, curious, to be told why he was here.
Ra-nefer eyed Hani up and down for a moment with a considering expression on his jowly face. That face was a strange color, as of a pallid green laid over the copper of his Theban complexion.
Does he know about my resistance to orders? Is he wondering if he can trust me? Hani asked himself.
After the two men had sized each other up for a heartbeat, the vizier resumed, “Two reasons why you’re here, my friend. One is, I have a commission for you in Djahy, or maybe Kharu—I forget which it is—but Ptah-mes will fill you in on the details. See him in Azzati. And the other...”
He trailed off, and an ominous ripple of apprehension crawled up Hani’s spine.
“Our Sun God Nefer-khepru-ra Wa-en-ra—life, prosperity, and health be his—wants to recognize you. You’re to be named a Master of the King’s Stable and receive the gold of honor.”
It was as if the floor had dropped out from under Hani. Of all the events in the world he had never expected to happen, this was surely the most improbable. May the Hidden One protect me. Is this a sarcastic joke? He had been a thorn in the king’s flesh for years—criticizing the foreign policy of the Two Lands, uncovering a shady bit of political intrigue that Nefer-khepru-ra would probably have preferred to keep hidden...and now he was to be honored? Suspicion smoldered like a banked fire in Hani’s middle, but he said only, “The king’s favor is the breath of life in my nostrils, my lord. I fear I am unworthy.”
“Well, if by that you mean you know nothing about horses, that’s not an obstacle,” Ra-nefer said dryly, as if Hani’s protestations were an imposition. “The association with the cavalry is purely honorific. But some pompous title will give you more clout when you deal with our vassals in Kharu. Or was it Djahy?” He suppressed a belch and patted himself on the chest with a fist. “Damned cucumbers.”
Hani groped unsuccessfully for words for a moment and finally managed, “I’m speechless, my lord.”
Ra-nefer emitted a burble that might have been amusement, although his put-upon expression never brightened. “Don’t be too speechless. We’re counting on your eloquence in Djahy.”
Or is it Kharu? Hani thought, with the kind of giddy interior laughter of a man who has had his world overturned. “And when is this honor to be bestowed, if I may make so bold, my lord?”
“Two weeks. That gives you time to get your people down here. Any questions, Hani? If not, that’s all.” Ra-nefer rose, none too tall even on his feet. He hitched at the knot of his long kilt as if afraid it might all come sliding down, although Hani suspected the man’s belly should hold it comfortably. Quite a difference from his late predecessor, the lean, hawk-faced Aper-el.
Hani bowed, glad the prostration hid his expression. He should be wildly honored, but this was all too strange, and he couldn’t help but wonder what lay behind it. By the time he rose, the vizier had disappeared through his inner door, and Hani was left to totter, like a man in shock, out to the reception hall once more.
Acknowledgment
The author gratefully acknowledges all those who have helped
her in the production of this book. To the wonderful women of
my writers’ group, for their critique and encouragement, my thanks.
To Lynn McNamee and her editorial team at Red Adept—Jessica,
Sarah, and Lau
ra—profound gratitude (and Lynn, for so many other
forms of help). To the flexible and talented gang at Streetlight
Graphics for the cover and map. To my cousin and her husband, my
technology guru: thanks, guys. To Enid, who urged me forward by
her support, I can’t thank you sufficiently. And most of all, to my husband,
Ippokratis, who put up with the months of fixation it takes to
write a novel, many, many thanks.
About the Author
N.L. HOLMES IS THE pen name of a professional archaeologist who received her doctorate from Bryn Mawr College. She has excavated in Greece and in Israel, and taught ancient history and humanities at the university level for many years. She has always had a passion for books, and in childhood, she and her cousin (also a writer today) used to write stories for fun.
Today, since their son is grown, she lives with her husband and three cats. They split their time between Florida and northern France, where she gardens, weaves, plays the violin, dances, and occasionally drives a jog-cart. And reads, of course.
