The Crocodile Tomb

by Michelle Paver

‘With Havoc. The villagers are terrified of her, that’s why they put you here, away from the houses. They’ve penned all the cattle and what they call “small cattle” – that’s sheep and goats and pigs – and shut up the dogs and cats. They’ve given Havoc so much to eat that she’s gone to sleep it off.’ She was talking too much, and picking at the frayed edge of the mat.

  His leg was itching again. With an enormous effort, he moved his other foot to rub it.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Pirra, ‘it’s doing you good.’

  ‘What’s this stuff on it?’

  ‘Hesmen, beer and river-horse dung. And they dipped in my amulet, they said the god Heru was cured of a scorpion sting, so the wedjat has healing power.’

  ‘Who’s they? There was a man and a bald child …’

  ‘That’s Itineb – he’s the sunu, the healer. His little daughter is Kawi. She’s refusing to eat, he’s really worried about her.’

  ‘Itineb. He doesn’t like me.’

  ‘He doesn’t want us here. He’s been even worse to Kem, they all are, because he’s a slave.’ She paused. ‘He keeps telling me he didn’t abandon us. It really bothers him.’

  Hylas squinted at the binding on his ankle. ‘What are those little marks?’

  ‘That’s writing. They call it medu netjer. Sacred signs.’

  ‘Look like squiggles to me.’

  ‘Writing has power, Hylas, it makes things real. That’s a spell to drive away demons. It …’ She broke off, twisting her hands. ‘That writing kept you alive,’ she said shakily.

  To his horror, he saw that her eyes glittered with tears.

  ‘You could have died!’ she blurted out. ‘Your heart was going so fast Itineb said it might burst! It was horrible!’

  All through the endless night, Pirra had sat by his side and faced the unthinkable: that by morning, he might be dead. She couldn’t imagine life without Hylas. When she tried, all she saw was darkness.

  The night around them had been full of whispers. Once, Havoc had started to her feet, her great golden eyes following something moving outside the shelter: something Pirra couldn’t see. She’d sensed that it was the jackal god Anpu. Pacing, waiting to take Hylas.

  Then he too had started up, shouting, ‘Not yet!’ He’d slumped back again, gripping her wrist, as if she alone could keep him from being dragged away.

  As dawn broke, Itineb had declared him out of danger, and sent her to his house to sleep. Now she was back, and Hylas lay with his eyes shut and that dreadful blue tinge about the lips. She’d never seen him so weak. She hated it.

  Itineb appeared in the doorway and glared at them, then knelt beside Hylas. Close up, his palm-leaf wig looked even more bizarre. Pirra thought it must be scratchy. Maybe that was why it was always on crooked.

  Itineb put two fingers to Hylas’ wrist, then his throat. ‘The voice of the heart is stronger,’ he said coldly. ‘Tomorrow he can go.’

  Pirra was aghast. ‘He can’t go anywhere, he can’t even sit up.’

  ‘He will have to.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘I cannot care for him any longer,’ snapped Itineb. ‘This is our busiest time: getting the harvest, making ready for the heb. And I have a sick child who refuses to eat.’

  ‘How come you speak Akean?’ said Hylas.

  Itineb ignored him and started changing the bandage.

  Hylas stared at the healer’s left hand, which ended in a neat, smooth stump. Itineb used it as deftly as if it had been sound.

  ‘A crocodile bit it off,’ said the healer, as if Hylas had asked aloud. ‘It was a long time ago and no it doesn’t hurt.’ He spoke wearily, as if he’d been asked many times before.

  ‘Why won’t you let us stay for a few more days?’ said Pirra. ‘I’ve told you I can pay you gold –’

  ‘I don’t want your gold – I want you gone!’ Itineb pointed at Hylas’ Crow tattoo.

  Hylas and Pirra exchanged glances. ‘You’ve seen this mark before,’ said Pirra.

  ‘I’m not a Crow,’ said Hylas. ‘I was their slave and they put their mark on me.’

  Itineb snorted. ‘You’re one of them. In your fever you said the name Userref.’

  ‘Because we’re looking for him,’ said Pirra. ‘He’s in a place called Pa-Sobek –’

  ‘– and this proves you are Crows,’ retorted Itineb. ‘They seek this man Userref; they seek Pa-Sobek!’

  ‘How many?’ said Pirra. ‘How long ago?’

  ‘A big ship, forty men, led by a young lord and a woman. Very beautiful, very cruel.’

  Telamon and Alekto, thought Pirra. Despite the heat, she felt cold. In her mind, she saw Alekto as she’d last seen her on Thalakrea: that perfect face and those empty black eyes, studying Pirra’s scar with an unsettling mix of eagerness and disgust.

  ‘Like locusts they came,’ said Itineb. ‘Taking our food, our cattle. But they had the favour of the Perao, and the Lord Kerasher was with them, so we had to obey.’ He paused. ‘My brother had a grove of date-palms. He’d planted them, he loved them like children. The Crow woman had them cut down because she wished to taste the delicacy that is the heart of a date-palm. My brother wept, and this pleased the Crow woman. She enjoyed his pain. Later that night, some of our dogs barked, and because she asked, the Lord Kerasher had them killed. She enjoyed that too.’ He glanced at Hylas with dislike. ‘Maybe you are Crow, maybe not. Whoever you are, you bring danger. Tomorrow you go!’

  ‘But we need to travel to the other end of Egypt,’ Pirra said hotly. ‘Look at Hylas – he can’t even walk! We need your help!’

  Itineb rose to his feet. ‘You’ve had all the help I will give. If, as you said when you got here, you have the favour of our gods – let them help!’

  Pirra set a basin of water in the shade of an acacia tree and Echo swept down for her morning bathe.

  Below them, women were washing clothes in the shallows, and on the bank, children were making dung-cakes for the fires. Itineb’s little daughter Kawi sat apart, scowling at a mess of river clay.

  Echo flapped her wings and dipped in her head, splashing and gurgling with delight. She hopped out, shook herself from beak to tail, and threw Pirra a grateful glance: Much better! Then she hopped back in and started all over again.

  Pirra rested her chin on her knees and yawned. She’d slept on the flat roof of Itineb’s house with his family, each of them shrouded like a corpse against the midges. At least, they had slept, while she lay awake, worrying.

  Even with Kem’s help, Hylas was far too weak to set off tomorrow. And they’d be going on foot: the villagers knew their boat was stolen, and wouldn’t let them take it.

  And now to learn that the Crows had tracked Userref to Pa-Sobek … Had they already found him?

  Echo splashed Pirra in the face. Distractedly, she splashed back. The falcon slitted her eyes and gurgled. Go on, do it again.

  I have to make them help us, thought Pirra. I have to. We can’t do this on our own.

  Kawi had crept up and was watching from behind the tree. She was skeletally thin: Pirra could see the skull beneath the skin, and every one of her ribs.

  She asked the child in Egyptian if she wanted to splash Echo, but Kawi shook her head. She was gazing wistfully at the falcon, and picking the scabs where her eyebrows had been.

  Those eyebrows … ‘Are you grieving?’ Pirra said gently. ‘Is that why you shaved everything off?’

  Kawi blinked. ‘Our dog died,’ she mumbled.

  ‘I’m sorry. What was his name?’

  ‘Hebny. She had the blackest fur.’ Hebny. Ebony.

  ‘I always wanted a dog,’ said Pirra. ‘My mother wouldn’t let me.’

  Kawi came a little closer. In one fist she clutched a lump of river clay, and in the other a wooden mouse with a lower jaw that you moved by a string. It reminded Pirra of the wooden leopard Userref had made when she was little.

  She asked when Hebny had died, and Kawi said many days ago, the barbarians shot her because she barked
.

  Alekto, thought Pirra with hatred. ‘Is that why you won’t eat? Because they killed her?’

  Kawi shook her head.

  Pirra studied her strange, bony little face. ‘Where’s Hebny buried?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s not. She isn’t ready.’

  Userref always said that for an Egyptian, it was vital that when you died, your loved ones made sure that your body didn’t rot, so that it could be a home for your spirit. His greatest fear was that he would die outside Egypt; then he wouldn’t receive the proper rites and his spirit could never be reunited with his family.

  Carefully, Pirra asked the child what had to be done to get Hebny ready for burial. To her surprise, Kawi brightened up a lot. ‘Oh, it takes ages! First we pulled out her guts and dried them and Father scraped out her brains, but we left in her heart, so the gods can weigh it, and we stuffed her full of hesmen and straw to get her nice and dry.’

  Pirra felt slightly sick, but Kawi clearly found it a comfort. ‘I made her a collar of lotus flowers and Father tied a little scroll to it with a spell so that she’ll know what to say when the gods ask her questions –’

  If Hebny can read, Pirra thought doubtfully.

  ‘– and we used my big sister’s old dress to wrap her up. Would you like to see?’

  ‘Um –’

  Grabbing her hand, Kawi dragged her into Itineb’s house, where an oblong basket stood behind the small clay shrine to the ancestors. In the basket lay a dog-shaped bundle, bound very tight and blotched with yellow stains.

  Being tied up for ever was Pirra’s worst nightmare. She thought of Hebny’s spirit struggling inside, and black spots swam before her eyes. ‘She can’t move,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Course she can, this is just where her spirit comes for a rest! I’ve done the Opening of the Mouth – sort of, so she can breathe and bark and eat …’ Kawi’s small face puckered, as if she’d suddenly remembered what was the matter. ‘But it’s all gone wrong!’ she wailed. ‘I’d collected everything she’ll need in her grave – her ball, her favourite mat, and Mother’d made little clay foods to last for ever. I had it all in a basket, but some horrible boys threw it in the river and now everyone’s too busy and I’ve tried to do it myself and I can’t’ – she held up the mangled lump of clay – ‘so Hebny will be hungry for ever!’

  The following day, Kawi had devoured an entire loaf of date bread, a pot of bean stew and a jar of barley beer, and was happily showing her astonished parents what Pirra had made: a miniature flock of river-clay sheep, a herd of tiny brindled cattle, and enough ducks, geese and pigs to keep Hebny fed for eternity.

  ‘There are even little bones,’ Kawi said proudly. ‘And look at her new ball!’

  Pirra glanced at Hylas, who gave her a wan smile. He was still frighteningly weak, but Kawi reminded him of Issi, so he’d woven a ball out of palm leaves – making sure that Havoc didn’t see, or she’d have been jealous.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this was what was troubling you?’ Itineb asked his daughter in Egyptian.

  Kawi squirmed and mumbled something inaudible.

  In bemusement, Itineb picked up a tiny brindled bullock. ‘Where did you learn to do this?’ he asked Pirra.

  ‘Userref showed me.’

  He put the bullock back in the basket.

  ‘Not there,’ muttered Kawi, ‘here, with the rest of the herd.’

  While she was busy setting Hebny’s livestock in order, Pirra turned to Itineb. ‘You were wrong about us.’

  ‘We’re not Crows,’ said Hylas.

  Itineb rubbed the back of his neck with his stump. ‘Yesterday, you asked how it comes that I speak Akean.’ He paused. ‘When I was a boy, my father wanted me to be a healer, so he sent me upriver to live with his cousin, who is a mat-maker outside the Temple of Pa-Sobek. It has a great market: much people from many lands. There I learnt healing, and Akean. From a scribe I even learnt a few of the medu netjer: the sacred signs. That scribe taught many boys from all along the River. His name is Nebetku.’

  Pirra went still.

  ‘I had heard that my teacher had a brother who was lost long ago, maybe taken by slavers or a crocodile, they never found out. So when the Crow barbarians came, and spoke that name – Userref – I remembered; though I didn’t tell them.’

  Again he rubbed his neck, setting his wig askew. ‘Soon it will be the heb of the First Drop. For this, people travel to temples and make offerings.’ He glanced at Kawi, busy with her basket. ‘This year, I have much to give thanks for. I will journey all the way to the Temple of Pa-Sobek and give thanks for my daughter’s life.’ His dark eyes flicked from Pirra to Hylas. ‘I will take you if you wish.’

  Hylas drifted awake with no idea where he was. Heat, darkness, a swampy smell of reeds.

  He was on Itineb’s boat, hidden under the awning. Pirra slept with her back to him, her shoulder blades as sharp and delicate as little wings.

  Yesterday they’d headed up what Itineb called ‘one of the River’s children’. He didn’t say when they would reach the River itself. Hylas had lain in a blur of exhaustion, while Itineb and his two brothers handled the sail, and Pirra bickered with Kem, and Havoc padded restlessly up and down.

  They’d had a job coaxing her on board, and in the end Hylas had lured her with the mummified Hebny, which she clearly regarded as a new plaything – although Hylas promised an anxious Kawi that he would never let the lioness touch her beloved pet. (It had been a relief when Itineb buried Hebny and her grave-goods in a patch of desert while Havoc was safely asleep.)

  They also had a battle persuading Itineb to take Kem with them, and when they finally succeeded, Kem was so grateful he bowed low. ‘Now I in your debt,’ he said solemnly.

  In the distance, a jackal barked.

  Hylas thought back to the night of the scorpion. He dimly remembered raving in his fever to Pirra about the jackal-headed god, but he hadn’t told her that he’d seen it bending over her wedjat. Now the memory filled him with foreboding. Had the god been warning about the scorpion? Or something else?

  The sky was turning grey when he crawled out from under the awning, and the north wind cooled his skin. He felt shaky, but at least he could stand.

  The Great Green had been left behind. As the banks glided past, he saw shadowy fields of flax, and mudbrick houses where families lay on flat roofs to escape the heat – and beyond, the deathlike silence of the desert.

  He remembered another night-time river journey two summers before, after the Crows had attacked his camp. At the time, he’d thought that in a few days he would find Issi. Now here he was, at the edge of the world.

  Kem slept on a coil of rope. Beyond him, Itineb’s brothers were snoring. Echo perched in the mast with her head under her wing. The sail bellied in the wind. It was made of papyrus. The whole boat was papyrus: hull, awning, rigging. Only the oars and mast were wood. Trees were precious in this land of reeds.

  Havoc picked her way towards him, stepping casually over the sleepers. She seemed to have grown used to the heat, but she was plagued by midges and she hated the boat; she’d been sick a lot. At times, she splashed ashore and disappeared, but always returned before they set off. Now she rubbed her head against Hylas’ thigh, and he scratched her ears and felt a bit better.

  Itineb sat in the stern with his stump on the steering-paddle. ‘The daughter of the Sun brings us luck,’ he said with a bow for Havoc. ‘If this wind keeps up, we won’t have to use the oars.’

  ‘How long till Pa-Sobek?’ said Hylas.

  Itineb lifted his shoulders. ‘With a strong wind all the way, not too many days. Without a wind – much longer.’

  Either way, thought Hylas, we’ll be stuck under that mat for days. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell Pirra.

  ‘You feel stronger?’ said Itineb.

  ‘Mm. But my eyes feel scratchy and I keep sniffing.’

  Itineb smiled. ‘It’s the end of Shemu, the Dry Time. We call it the time of blocked noses. But
it’s a good time to go upriver. The current is weak, the wind is strong, and people are too busy with the harvest to notice strangers.’

  Staying hidden had been easier than Hylas had feared. Itineb’s wife had given him a kilt and a long strip of linen to wind about his head and hide his fair hair, and she’d cut Pirra’s hair in a fringe. Nobody had bothered disguising Kem, as no one noticed slaves. And if anyone asked about Havoc, Itineb said she was a gift for the Temple at Pa-Sobek.

  Far away, a lion roared.

  Havoc pricked her ears and uttered a groany yowmp-yowmp. She wanted to roar back, but she didn’t know how.

  ‘Those are the temple lions of Nay-Ta-Hut,’ said Itineb.

  ‘They keep lions in a temple? For sacrifice?’

  ‘Oh, no! The priests sing to them and feed them the choicest meats, they deck them with jewels. When they die they are embalmed and buried in a special tomb. In other temples we have baboons, falcons … upriver there is a great lake where they keep crocodiles, to honour Sobek.’

  ‘Who’s Sobek?’

  Itineb cast an uneasy glance over the side. ‘Sobek means crocodile. The Raging One: He Who Makes Women into Widows. But He also keeps the banks green, and sends the Flood.’

  ‘So where we’re going – Pa-Sobek – that means –’

  ‘The place of the crocodile, yes.’

  Hylas was dismayed. He’d hoped crocodiles had been left behind with the Great Green.

  ‘Here. Eat.’ Itineb indicated a cone-shaped loaf and a jar of soapy red beer.

  Hylas had been doing his best to get used to Egyptian food. He liked the sweet chewy dates, but not the green things they called ‘cucumbers’. Even familiar foods were strange. Pirra had sworn never again to eat chickpeas after learning that Egyptians called them heru bik: falcon’s eyes. And she’d been surprised to find goat’s-milk cheese, as Userref regarded goats as unclean. When she’d told Itineb, he’d laughed. ‘Then your Userref is better off than me! Goats aren’t unclean if you’re poor!’

  Just then, the boat swept round a bend and Itineb cried out: ‘We have reached Iteru-aa!’ His brothers woke up and started casting offerings of barley overboard, then all three knelt in prayer.