Murder in the Place of Anubis (12 page)

Perceiving no one else, Meren straightened from his crouch. He brushed a hand through his hair and  smoothed the folds of his kilt. The years as a charioteer and warrior still came to his aid. This wasn't the first time his training had saved him from danger encountered in his duties to Pharaoh.

 He drew a dagger that hung from the belt at his waist. Leaning against a wall, he contemplated the groaning  Imsety. The fool had risked death by attacking a nobleman and would be punished—but he would be questioned first. As he watched the man on the ground, his charioteer burst into the passage and slid to a halt. He glanced from Meren to his victim, snorted contemptuously, and went silent. Imsety rolled onto his back, then pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. He opened them. His teary gaze found Meren, and for once he found more than three words to say.

 "My lord Meren! Merciful Amun, I am destroyed."  Imsety struggled to his knees and held out a beseeching hand to Meren. "I thought you were a thief. I beg you, lord, please believe me."

 Meren regarded Imsety without expression, allowing the young man to babble. Imsety was squinting at him, his eyes red. His massive shoulders hunched, and he  groaned as Meren lounged silently against the wall.

"I am dead," Imsety said.

He crouched in the street before Meren. His head was bowed nearly to the ground in supplication. Meren heard him draw in a breath as he lifted his head to glance at the charioteer and saw the necklace bunched in the fist of the warrior. His features smoothed into blankness.

 "Your clattering tongue has stilled," Meren said softly. "No matter. It will flap freely enough before you die."

Imsety closed his eyes briefly. Meren twitched his dagger at Hormin's son, causing him to lurch to his  feet.

 "Come," Meren said. "It seems I'll sit in judgment of  you before you go to the gods for theirs."

 He had no trouble in shepherding the dispirited  Imsety back to his chariot and to his headquarters. He had his guards throw Hormin's son into a holding room in the small barracks behind his office. Imsety remained there, nursing his fear, while Meren bathed and changed.

 While his body servant arranged the folds of a fresh kilt around him, Meren wondered how Kysen was faring at the village of the tomb makers. He had encouraged his son to return to the place many times, only to relent in the face of the boy's pain. This murder had offered an occasion to insist that Kysen confront old Pawero and leave behind old and haunting memories.

 Meren felt his body servant tug on his wrist. He held it out so that the boy could fasten a studded wristguard  in place; his warrior's garb would further intimidate the hulking Imsety. When the last tie of his gilt leather corselet had been tightened across his chest, he slipped a dagger in his belt and held out his hand for a gold-handled chariot whip.

 He had contemplated wearing a short sword, but discarded the idea. He wouldn't need it with his aides in attendance, and the sword would be too much. He preferred subtlety, though it would probably be lost on Imsety. Meren touched the gold band that held his head-cloth in place and dismissed the body servant. It was time to play the cruel aristocrat and strike fear into the heart of Imsety.

 The barracks was a long, low building with a central hall. Meren entered the hall flanked by two aides to find several charioteers. Two guarded an interior door, while another sat by one of the support columns, mending a  whip. Meren nodded at the sentries. They threw open the door, and one ducked inside the dark chamber. Imsety stumbled into the hall, shoved by the charioteer. Propelled by the guards, he lumbered over to Meren and fell to his knees when two hands shoved on his shoulders.

 Meren slapped the coiled whip against his thigh deliberately. Imsety glanced at it. Meren caught his expression—one of dull resignation. He remained silent, his plan suddenly altered by this perception. Who had always obtained Imsety's cooperation? Not the brutal Hormin, but the clever Djaper. Meren gazed at the man on his knees while he held out the whip. An aide came forward to take it, while the other brought a chair.

He sat, never taking his gaze from Imsety. The man was obsessed with his farm. He wanted to go home. This Meren believed. What had Imsety been willing to do to obtain the farm and go home? Did he have the courage or the rashness to rob his own father? Meren drew his dagger. Laying it flat against his palm, he pretended to contemplate the iron blade. He'd taken it from a Hittite in a skirmish near Tyre. The handle bore a turquoise inlay and the pommel was of rock crystal. He watched the crystal reflect dim colors while he thought, then began to tap the flat of the blade against his palm.

"You're a fool, Imsety, and a stubborn one."

 Imsety stirred, but he had regained his ability to keep  silent.

"Yes, stubborn. But how stubborn will you remain if I give Djaper a taste of my whip instead of you?"

 His jaw stiff, Imsety widened his eyes and stared at  Meren, who smiled at him.

Meren looked at the aide beside his chair. "Abu, bring Djaper, son of Hormin, to me at once."

 "No!" Imsety stretched out a hand to Meren, only to  have it knocked aside by one of the guards. The other hit him on the side of the head, and he subsided back onto his heels. "Please, lord, I beg of you. Don't hurt Djaper."

 Concealing his surprise, Meren watched Imsety struggle with some inner perplexity. The effort distorted the man's fleshy features. His thick lips skewed to the side, and great furrows appeared between his brows. Meren decided to push him again. He nodded to Abu, who turned to leave.

"I will tell you all!" Imsety said.

 Meren glanced back at his victim as if in surprise. "Well?"

 "We quarreled with my father." Imsety paused and  wet his lips. "He would never have given me the farm. Not if he gained ten times the wealth he already had. We took the collar."

"When?"

"The night—the night he was killed."

 "Come," Meren said. "Don't lose your newfound eloquence or I shall begin to think of sending for Djaper."

 "That night, we had gone to the house of a friend to  let our anger cool. We came home and went to our beds, but later—Djaper had thought of a plan. We would devise a false robbery."

"You looted Hormin's room," Meren said.

Imsety nodded.

"And were to sell some of the booty."

 "I would have purchased my own farm." Imsety said  this last with a shrug. "But the necklace was broken and needed repair."

 At a look from Meren, Abu produced the necklace,  the beads cascading into Meren's hand. Most collars had end pieces made in the shape of animal heads that fastened together, but each edge of this one instead bore  only the thin, smooth gold pin by which the finial should have been attached. Also missing was the metal counterpoise that should have hung down the wearer's back to hold the heavy collar in place.

 Meren handed the collar back to Abu, then snapped  at Imsety. "You saw Hormin leave the house late after going to his concubine. That is why you did your stealing then."

"How—?"

 "Djaper is too clever for his own health, and you are not so stupid that you'd fail to reward yourself through his cleverness. Perhaps you decided stealing was too much trouble and killed Hormin instead."

"No!"

 Abu spoke for the first time. "Let me take a cattle brand to him, lord. I'll make him confess."

"Merciful Amun," Imsety groaned.

"The whip is faster," said a charioteer. "No need to build a fire and heat the brand."

 Meren held up a hand for silence. "Which do you  prefer, Imsety, the whip or the brand?"

 Imsety's face had turned the color of the whitewashed  walls. He licked his lips. His mouth worked, but no words came.

"I have said the truth. Djaper told me the collar was the solution to all our troubles. It's so valuable. By the powers of Maat, goddess of truth, I have spoken no lies."

 Meren rose. Folding his arms over his chest, he  stared at his gilded sandal, then glanced at Imsety.

"You may go."

Imsety gaped at him.

"Go, fool."

 A charioteer hauled Imsety to his feet and shoved  him toward the door.

"Imsety."

Hormin's son turned back as Meren called to him.

 "Think not of running away. I would find you, and  then you would have both the whip and the brand."

 Imsety dipped his head and trundled out of the hall to  the accompaniment of the laughter of Meren's charioteers.

 Meren snorted, then said to Abu, "His tale, it is  proven?"

 "Yes, lord. They spent some hours after the evening  meal in the company of an assistant overseer of the Temple of Amunhotep III, then went to a beer-house and shared a woman. The woman described both Djaper and Imsety. Imsety went first and then left the beer-house. After that, either could have killed Hormin, or both."

"But first they robbed him."

"Yes, lord."

 "Why rob him if they planned to kill him?" Meren  asked himself.

 None of his men answered. Rousing himself from his speculation, Meren noted the deep gold of the sunlight  coming through the open door. The day was waning, and he had no answers to the murder of either Hormin or Bakwerner. He thought about paying another visit to Hormin's family, but he wanted to give Imsety plenty of time to alarm Djaper. Tomorrow morning he would descend upon them without warning.

 Shadows fell across the threshold as his steward ushered in two visitors. Meren recognized the keeper of wills of the House of Life, Seb, who had held the post before Meren was born. Seb's dry, yellow-nailed hand rested for support on the shoulder of a youth round-eyed with excitement and curiosity. Meren accepted  Seb's greeting and waved a hand. A charioteer brought a stool, and when Seb had settled on it, Meren resumed his stance, leaning against a column.

"You have brought the will of the scribe Hormin yourself, good Keeper."

"Don't I always when there's a good murder?" Seb asked with a cackle that ended in a cough. "Would have come sooner, lord, but this addled gander here had mis-filed the original and we were a time hunting it down."

 The youth, who had been devouring the weapons and  gear of the charioteers, brought his gaze back to Meren and flushed. Having himself been embarrassed by his elders, Meren made no comment. He held out his hand to the youth. The boy gaped at it, then dove for the leather case slung over his shoulder, delved inside, and produced a roll of papyrus.

 Meren broke the clay seal of the House of Life, unrolled the papyrus, and read. The room filled with the sound of Seb's labored breathing. Meren skimmed the list of possessions, then noted the half-dozen witnesses. Most were from the House of Life, including Seb, but old Ahmose's name was there as well. None of Hormin's family seemed to have signed; nor had Beltis. No doubt Hormin had kept his intentions to himself as a weapon.

 Letting the will snap shut, he held it out. Abu took it from him.

Seb cackled again. "A grand design for cataclysm, is it not?"

 "What do you know, you old gossip-monger?" Meren  asked.

 "Naught, lord. Naught of murder. I only know that  this dead one, this Hormin, caught my interest. As you see, the will is only a few months old. Even so, I wouldn't have remembered it, or him, if he hadn't offended all my assistants by the time the will was ready for witnessing. That one, he ate and drank furor, survived on the animosity he created more than on the food he consumed. I knew he'd end up standing before the gods, done in violently."

 Meren sighed, hardly surprised at the news. "Have  you anything of substance to tell me, or have you come to pry knowledge of this murder from me?"

"An old man has few joys in life, my lord."

 Seb was whining now, which meant he had come for gossip. Unfortunately, Meren would no doubt need his  cooperation in the future. Reluctant to send him away unsatisfied, he spent much more time than he would have liked satisfying Seb's curiosity without giving away important details.

 When the old man had gone Meren retreated with  Abu to his office, where he reviewed the notes taken by his scribes. Abu read to him reports of inquiries to Hormin's neighbors and household.

"The maids of both Selket and the concubine swear their mistresses were at home asleep," the aide said. "They were pressed hard, and both remained adamant."

 Meren pinched the bridge of his nose and laid aside a sheaf of notes. "Curse it, no witnesses to either murder, no witnesses who saw Hormin go to the Place of Anubis."

 "But Bakwerner was seen lurking about Hormin's house several nights before the murder. A maid next  door was entertaining a lover and saw him on two separate nights."

 Nodding, Meren rose and stretched. "So Bakwerner  could have been planning to kill Hormin, and finally did, but then who killed Bakwerner? And why?"

"Perhaps the young one, Djaper," Abu replied. "After all, Bakwerner charged into his house bellowing that he  'knew things' and calling for Djaper's blood."

 "Or Djaper could be the murderer, and Bakwerner his second victim. Curse it, Abu, I detest being in the midst  of an abundance of possible killers."

 "Aye, lord. Rarely have I seen a man so hated, or a  collection in one place of so many capable of murder."

 Meren smiled grimly at his aide. He was about to  suggest dinner when a charioteer rapped on the door and entered.

"Well?" he snapped. His men knew him better than to disturb him when he was in one of his pondering sessions. There was news, and it was most likely bad.

 "It is the concubine, lord. The concubine Beltis. She packed herself and her boy and left the house. She went to the village of the tomb makers after another quarrel  with the family. You should have heard the screaming and howling."

 "I have. Was there aught of interest among the  screams and howls?"

"No, lord. Only the same accusations and threats. She only threw a few vases and pots this time. The old woman did kick her ass as she stomped out of the doorway, though," The charioteer grinned, evoking a smile from Meren.

"Gods, I would have liked to have seen that."