The Horned Viper
Authors: Gill Harvey
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CONTENTS
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Bloomsbury Publishing, London, Berlin and New York
First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY
Text copyright © Gill Harvey 2009
Illustrations copyright © Peter Bailey 2009
The moral right of the author has been asserted
This electronic edition published in July 2010 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
All rights reserved.
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make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
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may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 4088 1250 1
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Also by Gill Harvey
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Egyptian Chronicles
series
The Spitting Cobra
The Horned Viper
The Sacred Scarab
The Deathstalker
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Also available
Orphan of the Sun
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For Mala
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Hopi and Isis can remember the terrible accident on the River Nile when they lost their parents to crocodiles. Hopi still bears crocodile teethmarks on his leg. But five years have passed, and they’ve been lucky: eleven-year-old Isis is a beautiful dancer, and she’s been spotted by a dance and music troupe in the town of Waset. Now they live with the troupe, and Isis performs regularly. Meanwhile, thirteen-year-old Hopi, marked by the gods, pursues his strange connection with dangerous creatures . . .
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Join them in the world of ancient Egypt as they uncover the dark deeds happening around them. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you may find an explanation at the back of the book.
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PROLOGUE
Sweat ran down the men’s backs. It trickled down their foreheads and into their eyes. The ropes chafed their shoulders and hands, cutting into their flesh, so that blood mingled with the sweat.
‘
Heave!
’ shouted Hat-Neb, the overseer.
The men heaved, and the huge block of stone inched up the ramp.
‘Useless! It’s hardly moved!
Heave!
’ yelled Hat-Neb. He turned to his deputy. ‘What’s that you’ve got in your hand?’
‘A whip, sir.’ The deputy looked troubled.
‘Then why aren’t you using it?’ Hat-Neb’s face was twisted with fury. ‘These men are useless, lazy good-for-nothings. Whip them!’
The deputy looked uneasy. ‘Sir, they’re doing their best. Five men fell sick yesterday and cannot work. Those that are here haven’t rested since dawn.’
Hat-Neb narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you disobeying me?’
The deputy said nothing. He wiped a hand across his forehead, then, reluctantly, he raised his whip and turned towards the men. The whip whistled through the air, and the men cried out in pain. The block of stone shifted a tiny bit further up the ramp.
The temple was half built. It would be beautiful when it was finished, glistening with white paint overlaid with brilliant colours. Its images and hieroglyphs would all speak of the glory of Horus, the king of the gods.
But the building process wasn’t such a beautiful sight. Things were falling behind, because a nasty sickness was spreading among the men. It made them vomit and sweat, and it left them weak and shaking. They needed to rest for several days before they could work again. But Hat-Neb was cruel and merciless. He had no sympathy. He just worked the other men harder and harder until some of them thought they would die of exhaustion.
The deputy raised his whip again, but he didn’t crack it. He could see that the men were close to breaking. In fact, they were so exhausted that there was a risk they would let go of the rope altogether.
‘Steady, men!’ he shouted. ‘Hold it there!’ He turned to Hat-Neb and spoke urgently, ‘Sir, we need to give them a rest. The stone is unstable – we must secure it –’
He spoke too late. The men had lost control of the rope. Their muscles were too tired to hold on any longer and the massive stone was beginning to slip. They cried out in agony as the rope ripped through their hands, tearing their skin. And the stone moved faster, faster, faster down the slope.
The next few seconds passed in a blur. The stone continued to plummet. The men at the top of the ramp looked down in horror. Meanwhile Ipuy, a young scribe, hurried towards the overseer to deliver a report, his head bent with busy thoughts. He didn’t see the stone. The deputy opened his mouth to shout.
‘
Ipuy!
’
Ipuy glanced up at the ramp. It was the last thing he would ever see – the ramp, and the massive block of limestone that was about to snuff out his life. He gave a short, final scream. And then he was dead.
For one instant, silence fell as dust settled and the men stood still in shock. It was the deputy who moved first, hurtling towards the great stone and the young man who lay beneath it. His heart was already bursting with grief.
‘No! No, no!’ he cried. ‘Not Ipuy. Please, please not Ipuy . . .’
But all that could be seen of Ipuy was one leg, jutting out from beneath the stone. There was no hope, no hope at all. The deputy sank to the ground, and clutched that one foot and leg, soaking it in tears. Ipuy had been his best friend.
It was some time before the men could tear him away. But the stone had to be lifted, and the body pulled out. The deputy looked up to see Hat-Neb shouting orders.
‘Stop gawping!’ he barked. ‘Anyone would think you’d never seen a corpse before! Form two lines and start lifting!’
The deputy gazed at him through his watery eyes.
I hate you,
he thought.
You have brought nothing but hardship and misery to me and my men. Now you have killed my best friend. I hate you. And if it’s the last thing I do, I will get my revenge.
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CHAPTER ONE
‘I’m afraid that will be quite impossible,’ said Paneb. ‘We have two young children. It would be very difficult to take them on such a trip.’
‘Ah, now that’s a shame. A real shame.’ The visitor stroked his chin. ‘I’d heard that you are the best dance and music troupe in Waset. I only employ the best. And I pay the best prices.’
Isis sat quietly in the corner, holding her breath. What would Paneb say now? The visitor wanted to take the troupe upriver on his new boat, but she really hoped Paneb would say no. She
really
didn’t want to go. The River Nile filled her with terror.