City of Dreams (15 page)

‘What?’

if the method was copied, whoever did it
intended
us to think that it had been copied clumsily and stupidly. Perhaps there are not two killers, and this has been done by our man to confuse us. In which case we may be closer to him than we think.’

Merymose shook his head. ‘You are burying yourself in too many thoughts.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Huy. ‘We must stay on one path, while being aware in our hearts where others may lead. But I am not sure now that we seek Surere for this.’

Merymose’s eyes became veiled. ‘How can you say that?’

‘You still think I am protecting him. If I knew where he was, perhaps I would still try to. I tell you this because I know that I cannot expect trust if I do not give it. But Surere could never make love to a woman. He could never penetrate, not even if his life depended on it, for he is sure that their nether mouths contain teeth, and that once his limb was inside them, they would bite it off.’

‘And that is why he prefers the company of men?’

‘Can you think of a more compelling reason?’

There was a speck of yellow phlegm on Kenamun’s lower lip. As he spoke, and this lip joined the upper, so the wet dot transferred allegiance, and then back again. Huy found himself looking at the man’s lips alone, and the spittle switching from one to the other, in horrified fascination and to the exclusion of everything else.

Kenamun was in a white rage. Although he fought to control it, his voice trembled, and the knuckles of the hands which clutched the chair at whose back he stood were huge, the skin stretched tautly across them. His dark eyes were glassy with fury, the pupils dilated, the whites bulging in their sockets. A lock of hair had worked itself loose in his wig and now hung over his forehead. He could not have been aware of it, for it was the only untidy thing in the room, a banner of disorder in the midst of the most rigid ranking. His simple, expensive tunic hung straight, without the least sign of a crease or a sweat stain, despite the heat of the day and the advanced hour of morning. The jewellery at wrist and neck shone as if it were still on display in the shop from which it came, and the odour from the man was simply — nothing. A sense of freshness, perhaps, but no smell either personal nor scented.

‘I want Surere caught and brought here; and I want him tried and executed, and I want this before the next public rest day,’ he repeated. 

‘There is no proof that he — ‘ said Merymose.

‘Do not speak to me of proof. You have advanced nothing —
nothing
— to suggest that he is not guilty, apart from the theories and musings of Huy, whom I was ill-advised enough to allow you to engage as consultant.’ Froth bubbled at the corners of Kenamun’s mouth. He licked it away with a flick of his tongue, sucking and swallowing.

Huy knew better than to speak. He remained where he was, standing behind Merymose and a little to one side, head bowed, but eyes surreptitiously up, on that obstinate morsel of spit, now stretching into a thin line of glutinous liquid string between the two lips.

‘One who was a
colleague
of the escaped criminal. I do not now deny that I hoped he would lead us to him. And now what do I learn? That he met Surere and withheld knowledge of the meeting from us. He is lucky that he confessed his action before we discovered it, for that is all that has saved his life.’

Huy darted a quick look at the back of Merymose’s head. The Medjay captain had no doubt been forced into the minor act of betrayal which consisted in breaking Huy’s confidence to Kenamun, and there may have been political or strategic reasons for it; but the act had raised a wall between them. There was no reason why Kenamun should ever have known about his meeting with Surere. Perhaps now Merymose was beginning to share Kenamun’s desire for an arrest at any price, so long as it was soon. But if Surere was not the killer, then the murders would go on. Huy could not believe that Merymose could not see that. Kenamun clearly hoped to reap the rewards of a quick and flashy double solution, and to have moved on to other work before the murders recommenced.

‘This fourth murder confirms the escalating violence of the man’s mind. He is deranged. He cannot have gone far. I want him found, I want a confession extracted, and I want him executed!’ Kenamun repeated deliberately. ‘You have until the next rest day. Bring him to me and I will make sure he talks.’

Merymose did not reply. Huy looked at the black polished surface of the table behind which Kenamun stood. The ink holder; the leather pad for papyrus; the serried ranks of brush pens and rolls of paper, a cylindrical pot containing bronze pins and a paperknife. From them his gaze travelled to the hands on the back of the chair, noticing a red mark the shape of a new moon on one of them, noticing the heavy turquoise-and-gold ring of office on the middle finger of the other.

Kenamun had come to the end of his tirade, and now as his expression relaxed Huy thought he could discern something behind the anger in the man’s eyes: an expression so fleeting that he was not able to identify it, but one which left a disturbing impression on his heart. But now Kenamun had begun to speak again.

‘There is of course no question of retaining the services of this man. You say that he has contributed materially to the progress of your investigation. I do not accept that he has contributed anything that we could not have found out without his help. Your faith in his expertise was ill-founded, and does no credit to an officer of your rank and experience.’

Merymose started to say something.

‘You are forbidden to work in association with him any further. Is that clear?’

Merymose was silent.

‘
I
s
that
clear
?’ On his dignity, Kenamun was beginning to sound increasingly like the petty official made good which he was at heart. Huy looked at the over-long face, the ridiculous beard, and realised with a sudden shock that the man was scared. But of what? Was Horemheb beginning to lean on him? If so, he might well be frightened for the sake of his future ambitions.

‘River-horse dung,’ said Merymose, when they were outside. The sun glared down, dazzling them. Neither had slept, and both were shabby from the long night. In addition to which, Kenamun had taken care to keep them waiting an hour in an unventilated antechamber before seeing them. Huy said nothing, resisting the urge to ask Merymose why he had told Kenamun of his meeting with Surere, and wondering if the Medjay would give an explanation. But none came. They walked northwards, towards the town centre. 

‘The man is river-horse dung, and deserves to be rolled into a ball for scarabs’ eggs.’

‘Perhaps his masters aren’t pleased with him either.’

‘Then they should remove him.’ Merymose looked at Huy. ‘I threw you to the crocodiles to save my job.’

‘Then you are river-horse dung too.’

Merymose drew himself up. ‘You will be all right. Your work will not suffer.’

‘And what do I get out of this?’

‘I will indent for a fee for you.’

‘To whom? Kenamun? Don’t hide behind officialese.’

‘You don’t know how lucky you are not to be part of the system.’

‘If it weren’t for what you’ve been through, I’d break your jaw.’

Merymose stopped. ‘You don’t believe I would have sold you short for no reason at all, do you?’

Huy looked at him. ‘Do you still think I am holding back on Surere?’

Merymose did not answer quickly enough. Huy started to walk away, realising with bitterness how far away he still was from being accepted in this new society, and realising to his renewed surprise how much he wanted to be. Was this engagement his ticket to respectability, and is that why he had accepted it? How would Taheb react to this debacle? But what irritated him above all was the jumble of loose ends he would be obliged to leave behind, just at the moment when he was beginning to see how to unravel them.

He heard the Medjay come up behind him. ‘Look,’ said Merymose. ‘I still need your help. If you want an apology, you have it. But don’t let me down now.’

‘Do you mean you want me to track down Surere?’

‘I want to find the killer. I don’t want to hand a scapegoat over to Kenamun for him to torture into confession.’

Huy smiled guardedly. ‘But we can no longer work together.’ Merymose returned the smile. ‘Not openly. But I am a match for Kenamun, and you are forgetting our mutual friend.’

* * * 

Huy returned home to bathe and sleep. He awoke towards evening, put on fresh clothes and took himself out to one of the modest eating houses that lined the bank of the river on either side of the harbour. He ordered black beer and fig liquor, bread, pork and
persea
fruit, sitting outside under an awning and looking at the boats. Most had already lit their fore-and-aft lamps, which twinkled like glow-worms in the gathering dusk. A large cedar-barque rode at anchor, still loaded with its expensive cargo and guarded by two men armed with spears and swords. Near it were two smaller barges, being made ready to make the short journey upriver to Edfu to collect another load of sandstone. A handful of people crossed the harbour square, dawdling on their way home or to drink after work. The city was clean, quiet and contented. Around him in the eating house a few other diners sat, chatting quietly, and from the next table came the muted click of the pieces being moved by two players of twenty-squares. Looking south, Huy could just make out the shape of the wall surrounding the palace compound, and remembered that quiet and contentment existed in reality for very few, and then only for a fraction of the time one spends under this sun. Beneath the surface of this gentle evening a complex and never-ending game, which had something in it of a duel, was being played, the players swimming in their milieu like fish, at different levels which they would occasionally switch, to make an attack or to retreat, to seize prey or to threaten. The dead sat around the edge of the game and watched, knowing the secrets.

Banking, despite his better judgment, on Merymose’s promise, and unable to shelve the curiosity which had been awakened, Huy pushed relaxation aside with his stool and made his way from the eating house back through the harbour quarter towards the City of Dreams. It occurred to him as he walked that he had not seen Taheb since their visit to the palace compound. Might she be expecting him to visit her, or at least to send her a message? It gave him a qualm to realise that a large part of his need to see her again stemmed from her usefulness to him as a go between. He desired her too; but she had not lit a fire inside him as Aset had. He did not flatter himself that he might have had that effect on her, but he did wonder what course their liaison would take.

Nubenehem looked up as he pushed the door open. She was not alone. Standing by her table was a black-skinned girl from the far south, eyes and teeth dazzling white; breasts and buttocks mirroring orbs. Apart from gold chains around her neck, waist and ankles she was naked. So firm and perfect was her body that there was something unearthly, even unsexual about it. She shone in the lamplight like the black wood from Punt, and might have been carved from it.

‘Tell me you’ve come to spend some money,’ said Nubenehem in greeting.

‘I’m still earning it.’

‘What about this one?’ The fat Nubian nodded at the little girl from the south, who primped and giggled. There was a freshness and gaiety about her which lit up the brothel, making it appear dismal by comparison.

Huy smiled at the girl. ‘At any other time…But now I need one more favour.’

‘You want to sell me the wig back? No.’

‘A valuable wig like that? Are you joking?’

The black girl laughed and skipped away behind the curtain which led to the interior of the City of Dreams. She seemed possessed of an inviolable grace. Huy wondered how long she had been in the capital, and how she had got there.

‘What favour?’

‘I’m looking for a girl.’

‘Another one? What’s wrong with the ones I’ve got?’

‘This girl’s from the Land of the Twin Rivers.’

‘Oh,’ said Nubenehem sarcastically. ‘Easy. You sure you only want one?’

‘She might have gone missing from wherever she works.’ Huy tried to pick his words carefully, but Nubenehem was on the defensive immediately.

‘A place like this?’

‘Yes.’

‘When?’ 

‘Two days ago. Perhaps three.’

‘You still working for the Medjays?’

‘No,’ he told her truthfully.

‘Good. Didn’t seem like your style, somehow.’

‘Have you heard anything?’

‘How fast do you suppose news travels?’ Nubenehem remained cautious.

‘There aren’t that many girls from there.’

‘I’ll ask around. See if anybody’s lost one.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’ll cost you two silver pieces.’

Huy stepped out into the warm night, smelling the heavy, dusty odour of the air appreciatively. Still rested, he was disinclined to return to his solitary house, and although the thought of visiting Taheb came to him, he rejected it. He wanted tonight to himself, and the idea of the wealthy formality of her house oppressed him.