Murder in the Place of Anubis (6 page)

 After a few hours he'd grown used to the stench of  the Place of Anubis, but it would take an eternity of the gods to accustom himself to the priest Raneb's screeching. Kysen tried not to wince as Raneb flapped his bony arms and cawed at a hapless apprentice who was unlucky enough not to know anything about Hormin, his life, or his death. The priest raised an arm, and Kysen sucked in his breath. He turned away and pretended to study one of the natron tables. The old miasma engulfed him, and he was a child again, bewildered and cowering under blows he was sure would kill him.

That clenched fist, the swinging arm, they belonged to Raneb, who would hurt no one. When he turned back to the group of men in the drying shed, he was calm. From the fire stokers to the highest priest, all had been questioned either by Kysen or one of his men. Further haranguing would yield nothing.

"Priest Raneb."

Raneb shut his mouth in midscreech.

 "Many thanks for your priceless assistance. The justice of Pharaoh is greatly aided by the authority of one  such as you."

 It had taken him years to learn the use of flattery, to learn how to spy out one susceptible to it, to say ridiculous phrases as though they were as weighty as sacred chants from
The Book of the Dead.
Meren had taught him. The greatest difficulty lay in believing his father when he said that the receiver of the flattery wouldn't see through to its real purpose. To Kysen the end was transparent.

Chest puffed with self-importance, nose and cheeks red, the priest glanced about to assure himself that everyone had heard the words of the son of Lord Meren. Rocking back and forth, toe to heel, he folded his hands over his belly and asked what else he could do.

 "At the moment, little." Kysen shook his head in regret. "Much as I wish to remain, duty calls me away. But I would speak once more with the water carrier."

 The servant was brought forth, the others dismissed.  Getting rid of Raneb was more difficult, but Kysen accomplished this task and set about the chore of allaying the fears of a peasant faced with a great lord. He couldn't do much about the charioteer's bronze corselet strapped across his chest, the warrior's wristguards, the weapons at his waist. The youth was one of the thousands of children of the poor who served in menial capacities in the temples, palaces, and households of the Two Lands. He would fear Kysen because he was common, landless, and of no importance to anyone but himself.

 "Sit up, boy. I can't talk to you if your nose is in the  dirt."

 The youth raised his upper body, but kept his eyes downcast as was proper. He wasn't much younger than  Kysen. His face was wide from forehead to chin. He was short, and thin from too little food and too much work. His bottom lip had been chewed raw in the time since Kysen had last seen him. It wasn't surprising, since the poor water carrier was the only one at the Place of Anubis who had recognized Hormin.

"Your name is Sedi?"

Sedi's nose burrowed into the dirt again.

 "Don't do that!" Kysen bit back a curse as Sedi's  body went stiff and then trembled. "By the phallus of Ra, they've been filling your head with silly tales of being carried off to a cell and beaten. Well, you can cast such fear from your heart. I don't beat innocent children."

 Sedi's mouth opened in astonishment, and Kysen  grinned at him. He lapsed into the slang of his childhood.

"Steady your skiff, brother."

"Oh."

 Kysen dropped to one knee beside Sedi. "Oh? You  sound like a washer maid whose lover has thrown her down among the reeds at the riverbank. Surely you heard my origin in my speech." Kysen held out his right hand, palm up. "Do you think I got these scars from such light work as hefting a sword? And stop chewing your lip. It's bleeding."

"Yes, lord."

"You may speak freely to me. I give you permission, Sedi."

 "I did nothing! There was a crowd around the body,  and I came to look. It's not my fault. I did nothing."

 Kysen put a hand on Sedi's shoulder, and the youth  jumped.

 "I asked you to speak freely, but I do expect you to  make sense. You're beginning to sound like Raneb."

 Sedi made a choking sound and then lost the battle  not to laugh. Through the hand that rested on the water carrier's shoulder, Kysen could feel tense muscles relax.

 "Brother, don't you think I know the courage it took  for you to come forward with your knowledge? Everyone knows it's best to leave the affairs of the great alone. If you speak before great men you are as a reed before pylons, no?"

"Yes, lord." Sedi wet his lips and swallowed. "But Raneb has been good to me, and I couldn't let evil flourish in the Place of Anubis."

Kysen eased his body down to sit beside Sedi, and eased into his question as well. "Then you understand that it's important for me to know how you recognized Hormin."

"I've seen him perhaps three times."

"Here?"

"No, lord, in the village of the tomb makers of Pharaoh."

 Kysen felt the strength drain from his arms and legs,  and he was glad that he was sitting down. 'Tell me."

"We came to Thebes last Drought in search of work and found it at the tomb-makers' village. My father is servant to the painter Useramun. Raneb has allowed me to visit him on feast days, and I saw Hormin there. I think he was paying the servants of the Great Place to decorate his tomb. You know they take on extra work to be done after their service to Pharaoh is done each day."

"I know," Kysen said. "So you've only been at the village a short time. How often did Hormin go there?"

"I don't know, Lord Kysen. I only saw him briefly, and by chance."

"What was he doing?"

 "Once he was yelling at the chief scribe, once he was  yelling at a draftsman, and another time he was walking down the path to the landing at the river."

"Hormin yelled a lot."

Sedi nodded.

 "But you know nothing else of his business at the village?"

 "No, Lord Kysen. I am but a water carrier, son of a  humble cup bearer, but…"

 Kysen watched Sedi chew on his lip. "You won't suffer for your honesty."

 "I don't think anyone in the tomb-makers' village  liked Hormin."

"How do you know?"

 "I'm not sure, lord." Sedi squinted and stared out into  the white heat of the afternoon. "I think it came to me because whenever I saw Hormin, I noticed that everyone else seemed anxious to find something to do elsewhere. He must have been an unpleasant man."

 Kysen smiled. "Someone found him unpleasant indeed.  You've done well, Sedi."

 Rising to his feet, Kysen motioned for Sedi to get up.  Over the youth's shoulder he saw the approach of his men. They'd finished their examination of the Place of Anubis. He glanced at Sedi, and found the water carrier watching him anxiously. Kysen knew what it meant to feel helpless in the face of happenings one didn't understand. Before his men came within hearing distance Kysen whispered to the youth, "If you remember something else, come to the house of my father in the Street of the Falcon near the palace. And listen, brother. Should you need help, or if you lose place because of this evil, come to me."

 This time Kysen didn't object when Sedi fell to his knees. When his men reached them, he had assumed the proper attitude of a lord receiving the obeisance of an inferior. Without looking at the water carrier on the ground beside him, Kysen walked out of the drying shed and stepped into his chariot.

 On the way back to the palace district he tried not to  think of the possibility that he would have to go to the tomb-makers' village. He hadn't been back there since his real father had dragged him from it ten years ago.  The village lay a short distance north and west of the offices of the government of Pharaoh, yet Kysen managed never to see it even if he happened to look in that direction. The good god Amun had given him new life on the day his father sold him to Meren. The old life was as dead as the ancient ones in their pyramids.

 As he approached the great walled house that had  sheltered the count's family for generations, Kysen's spirit lifted. Perhaps Remi would be awake from his nap. Leaving his team in the hands of a groom, he forsook the ovenlike day for the darkness of the entryway. The difference in temperature was so great that he shivered. A maid came forward with cool water to drink and wet cloths to bathe his face, hands, and feet.

 Kysen was bending over to slip on a sandal when he  heard the clatter of metal wheels. A miniature bronze chariot raced across the tiled floor. Kysen snatched up his sandal and hopped over the vehicle before it rammed his toes.

"Father, I slay you!"

 Small feet planted apart, body turned sideways in imitation of an archer's stance, Remi let fly a blunt-tipped arrow that hit the floor in front of Kysen. Kysen groaned, clutched his chest, and crumpled to the floor on his back. Remi gave a loud whoop and flew at his father. A three-year-old sandbag landed on his chest, making Kysen grunt.

 "Sweetmeats, Father. Nurse won't give me sweetmeats. You give them to me."

 "I can't," Kysen said with his eyes closed. "I'm  dead."

 Remi bounced on his father's chest with each of his words. "No, you're not. I unkill you. Now the sweetmeats."

 From the courtyard a shrill voice with the force of a  hyena's call said Remi's name, and Kysen's eyes popped open. He groaned.

 "Why didn't you tell me your mother had come to  visit?"

Remi scooted off his father and dived for his toy chariot. "I forgot."

"Kysen, what are you doing?"

 Rolling over on his stomach, Kysen rested his forehead on the cold tile. "I'm dead. Remi killed me."

"Nonsense. Quit wallowing on the floor."

 Kysen turned his head and looked at the woman in  the doorway. She was still lovely in spite of her indulgence in wine and potions mixed by her magician priests. She had the largest eyes and widest lips of any woman he'd ever met, and she was dressed as usual in a complicated court robe, gold and carnelian broad collar, and long wig. Her oiled lips were twisted in distaste.

"Has it been a month already, Taweret?"

"You know it has, and Remi and I have been playing."

 "You? You and Remi have been playing?" Kysen propped himself up on his forearms and stared at his  former wife. Behind him Remi trundled his chariot around in a circle.

"Mother watches me shoot Nurse."

 "You should include your mother in the game, Remi.Shoot her."

 Remi stopped pushing his chariot and looked around  for his bow and arrow.

 "I will not be shot," Taweret said. She clasped her  hands together in front of her body, straightened her shoulders, and turned on her heel.

 Kysen sighed and got up to follow her. She'd come to  look at her tainted son and his low father, to remind herself once again of her misfortune and the wisdom of  her divorce. He'd stand her presence as long as he could and then take refuge in the workshop where the physician would be examining Hormin's body. Once again he thanked the good god that he'd never really loved Taweret.

 She had stretched out on a couch under a stand of  palms in the courtyard. Two of her servants fanned her with ostrich-feather fans. She watched him come toward her, eyeing him with that critical wariness that never left her when he was present.

Kysen dropped down to sit by the edge of the artificial pool. He scooped water into his hand and drank, and was rewarded with a sneer at his common behavior. He considered shedding his armor and kilt to bathe in the pool, but he didn't want to lengthen Taweret's visit.

"Only peasants drink from their hands."

Kysen let a handful of water dribble down his bent knee to his ankle. "Some are bom to be peasants. Some the gods ordain to become beer brewers, goldsmiths, architects. Do you know what the gods made you, Taweret? A sufferer. That's why you married me. So you could suffer. Was it worth it, that exquisite pain and the virtue of bearing it?" Kysen smiled at his wife's glare. "Obviously not, or you wouldn't have divorced me."

"I am
henemmet
—"

 "I know. Your mother's father's mother's mother was  the spawn of a harem woman and Pharaoh. A thin strain of divinity, it seems to me. Though once I was willing to kneel before you for it. But then my knees got sore, and I decided I had enough gods and goddesses to worship, and that one living god was enough for me."

Taweret jumped off the couch, sending cushions flying. She picked one up and threw it at Kysen on her way out.

 "I was right to divorce you! You're lower than a  dog's belly. All my friends say so. All of them, do you hear?" Taweret's voice rose as she got farther away, and then cut off when she neared the approach to the street. The fan bearers scurried after her.

 Kysen heard a door slam, and Remi appeared, chariot  dragging along behind him by a length of twine.

"She's gone," he said with a smile. "Now may I have a sweetmeat?"

Pleased with himself for having got rid of Taweret so easily, Kysen picked up a pillow and went to the couch.

 "You may have two sweetmeats. Tell Nurse I gave  permission." As Remi pattered away, Kysen went on. "And remember what happened the last time you lied and told her I said you could have five."

Fluffing the pillows in his hands, Kysen lay on his back and stuffed the cushion beneath his head. He stared up through the palm leaves at the sky. Soon the servants would bring food. They always knew when he was ready to dine; he'd yet to figure out how.

 The physician attached to his father's staff would  have Hormin's body by now. Great care would be taken to ascertain if magic had been used to cause the man's death. Kysen didn't expect to find such signs of tampering. He'd been assisting his father since he was a youth, and what Meren had told him from the beginning was true. Those who employed magic almost always helped the supernatural along by use of ordinary weapons, poisons, or other violence. He was contemplating what the physician would have to say about Hormin's body when someone began chanting over him. Something hit his ear, and Kysen yelped. He scrambled to his feet to face his son's nurse.