Year of the Hyenas (8 page)

“These
southern
families are the worst,” Paser went on. “They’re just arrogance and
privilege! Can you pass the duck? Excellent. And I’ll tell you
something else—now that the empire’s almost gone, these families have
had to endure shortages for the first time in generations. All the
wealth’s in the north now, not here in Thebes. And they don’t like it.
I suspect them, Semerket—Pawero most of all.”

“Of what?”
Semerket
accepted a third bowl of wine from Paser.

“Of
everything… of
nothing. It’s just an instinct I have, that’s all. Nothing more but
nothing less, either. And I’m absolutely convinced that Pawero is
hiding something sinister. Now”—here Paser’s gleaming face became sly
and importuning, as he sucked the marrow from the rib bone—“if you were
to find anything, anything at all that might justify my suspicions, I
could be in a position to… well, we don’t have to say it, do we?” He
let the promise dangle in the air, unspoken.

Semerket’s
face
remained a mask. “I understand,” he said, ensuring that his words
slurred a little.

Paser,
absently wiping
his fingers on the ebony chair’s cushion, untied a leather bag from his
belt and tossed it to Semerket. The bag was full of silver. “I knew you
were a perceptive man,” said Paser.

With that the
Eastern
Mayor rose, bringing the interview to a close with a loud belch. “Count
on me, Semerket,” he said. “I am your friend in all things.”

“I will
remember, Lord
Mayor.”

Semerket did
not
accompany his brother and sister-in-law to the gate to bid farewell to
Paser. Instead Nenry found him a few minutes later at the privy,
vomiting out the wine he had imbibed.

THE NEXT DAYNenry made
arrangements to present his brother to the vizier. But shortly before
dawn a sandstorm began to blow across the desert and into Thebes. Sand
drove itself into the wrinkles of old people and dried on the cheeks of
crying children. It swirled in eddies and surged into the huts of the
poor, into temples and palaces, and ran in streaming rivulets from
unsealed cracks in mud-brick walls.

Shrouded in
fine-mesh
tunics kept for such days, Semerket and Nenry linked arms and made
their way through the deserted avenues to the Temple of Ma’at. They did
not speak, the better to keep the grit from their mouths. Though it was
midmorning, it was almost as dark as night in the southern capital.
When they reached the temple, they were admitted at once into the
vizier’s presence.

“I’ve asked
around
about you,” Vizier Toh said to Semerket, gazing at him from his small,
raised throne. “You are well remembered here.”

Semerket
inclined his
head.

“But not with
fondness.”

Semerket, arms
crossed
at his chest, merely continued to stare at the vizier from his own low
backless chair, placed below the old man’s dais.

It was Nenry
who spoke
instead. “Great Lord,” he said, his face wreathed in tics, “I informed
you that my brother was a plainspoken man, not given to flattery or
sweet words.”

“Plainspoken?”
the
vizier interrupted. “They told me he was rude. Insubordinate to his
superiors. Bad-mannered and bad-tempered. Some even call him vulgar.”

Nenry tried
another
tack. “My brother has one virtue, however, Great Lord—he speaks the
truth.”

Toh leaned
back in his
throne, sighing. “That, too, I have heard.” He groaned—all his joints
ached when a sandstorm raged. He peered irritably from beneath his wig
in the general direction of Semerket. “I have heard your brother tells
the truth like a woodcutter wields an axe.”

Toh called for
beer
sweetened with honey. His scribe, sitting on the floor next to him, put
down his pens and poured from a jar beside him.

“So,” the
vizier said,
“let me have a sample of this truth-telling of yours. Tell me something
that none dare say to my face.”

Nenry was
instantly
alarmed. “Great Lord!” he began, sputtering. He feared the outcome of
such a request.

In the dim
light, Toh
held up his hand to quiet him. “Go on.” He continued to level his
piercing gaze on Semerket. “Amaze me.”

Semerket
seemed to be
considering what words he would use. “The Great Lord’s bones are a
misery to him today.”

“Aye,” Toh
agreed with
a suspicious sigh, “my bones are indeed an agony to me. I am old, old.”

Semerket’s
voice was
clear. “Why do you not retire, then, and leave the rule of Egypt to a
younger, more vigorous man?”

The expression
on the
vizier’s face at that moment caused Nenry to fling himself from his
chair to the floor, trembling.

“What?” Toh
rumbled in
a low, dangerous growl.

Semerket
continued,
“You’ve made the mistake of believing what every long-lived despot
does—that what is good for you is good for the country.”

Toh’s lips
quivered.
“Insolence. I should have you beaten!”

Semerket
shrugged.
“How can you know the truth about a priestess’s murder, then, when you
want only to silence it with beatings?”

“By the
gods—!” Toh
began to rage, then stopped. The mention of the priestess had quieted
him. He sat back on his throne, breathing hard, and his fingers drummed
the filigree of its inlay. “They spoke correctly about you. Your
manners should have gotten you killed long ago.”

Quietly,
Semerket
said, “I will never lie to you, Great Lord, no matter how unpleasant
the truth. Nor will I again make sport in truth’s name.”

So the man had
been
joking, Toh thought. This realization soothed his wounded
pride—somewhat. “How long will it take you to solve this crime, then?”
he asked.

“There is no
guarantee
that I
can
solve it, Great Lord.
I don’t know how long it will take. Weeks, months perhaps.”

“I suppose you
will
soak me in expenses.”

“My keep; the
usual
bribes…”

“You will take
this
badge proclaiming you to be my envoy.” Toh gave him a necklace of
jasper beads from which hung the vizier’s insignia. “You may draw from
my treasury all that you need. Travel will be unrestricted. All access
will be granted. Spare nothing and no one in finding the truth. I
expect reports, but only when you’ve something to tell me.” The vizier
snapped his fingers and his scribe handed him a leather sack. He threw
it to Semerket. “This should get you started.”

Inside were
rings of
gold and silver, and bits of snipped copper. Semerket felt the bag’s
weight. “It’s enough.”

“If you need
anything
else while I am in the north, you will see Kenamun here. He is my eyes
in the south.” At this he indicated the scribe who sat cross-legged on
the floor next to the throne. The man rose politely and bowed to both
Semerket and Nenry. He had an intelligent, kindly face.

A sudden scent
of
musky perfume made them cease their conversation, and Toh sniffed
irritably in its direction. At the doorway to his chambers stood five
ladies, each covered from head to toe in gauzy vestments, protection
against the storm. The lady at their center was the only one of them to
pull away her net covering.

The woman who
emerged
into the dim light was older in years, but her dark-skinned beauty was
very pronounced. She was dressed simply, almost to the point of
severity. Only the asp in her wig caused Semerket to instantly stretch
his hands out at knee level; none but members of the royal family were
allowed the insignia of the sacred cobra. Nenry also dropped face down
on the floor.

The vizier had
a sour
look on his face. He moved stiffly to genuflect. “My lady,” he said.

“Forgive me
for
disturbing you, Vizier Toh.”

Her voice,
thought
Semerket, was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard, light
but resonant with warmth and maternal concern.

“Queen Tiya’s
presence
is like the sun after a storm,” said the vizier stiffly.

Strange that
the
vizier’s words of homage sounded so cold on his tongue. Semerket
glanced surreptitiously at the renowned but rarely viewed queen.

“Please sit
down, old
gentleman,” she said, crossing to Toh and assisting him back to his
small throne. “I will be only a moment. It’s Semerket I’ve come to see.”

Nenry
hiccoughed in
shock. How had Semerket come to the notice of so high a personage as
Queen Tiya? From his vantage point he could see only her gilded sandals
as she moved to his brother and touched his shoulder.

“Please,” she
said in
that magical voice, “I dislike ceremony. Come sit beside me, that we
may talk together as people do.”

Semerket moved
to do
as the queen said. He hesitated before sitting, and she smiled and
patted the seat of the bench beside her. He sat, though only on the
edge, his back rigid.

The queen held
out a
hand and one of the shrouded figures came forward to place a metal
object in her palm. The queen turned to Semerket, seized his own hand,
and placed the object into it, closing his fingers around it.

“I came here
today to
give you this. It will protect you, and also assist you in this
terrible… this awful crime that has claimed the life of that lovely old
lady.”

Incredibly,
Queen Tiya
began to weep. Semerket’s tongue immediately fused to the roof of his
mouth, and he could only stare at her. She still clutched his hand in
hers.

“I looked on
Hetephras
almost as a mother,” she said after she had taken a moment to gather
herself. “We met as sister priestesses, but became far more than
friends over the years. When I think…” her lip trembled again, but she
firmly composed herself. “When Paser told me you had been chosen to
solve the mystery of her death, I knew I must do everything I could to
assist you.”

“Thank you,
lady,”
said Semerket, prying his tongue loose.

She laid her
wet cheek
upon his hand, and kissed it. “I know I am only a weak woman, but you
must believe me when I tell you that this amulet is very powerful. I
have also sent such charms to the Medjays guarding the Great Place as
well. You must keep it with you always.”

Semerket
nodded.

“May the gods
bless
and keep you, Semerket. Know that if you need anything, you are to come
to me at once.”

He nodded
again.

She rose from
the
chair then, saying that she must not be late for her choir practice at
Sekhmet’s Temple. Once again she draped the shroud around herself. The
men all bowed low again as she and her ladies silently withdrew.

“Hmmmph.
Females and
their magic!” said Toh after the women had gone. He gestured wanly,
wearied by the sudden appearance of the queen. “I am tired,” he said,
“and the sand is chafing my eyelids. You may leave me now as well.” The
vizier’s voice took on a bemused tone and he regarded Semerket with
something akin to mischief. “I really must bring you to see Ramses. It
would do him good, hearing the truth from you.”

Outside the
justice
building, where the spiraling sands were intensifying to a furious
crescendo, Nenry and Semerket took shelter behind an alabaster sphinx
of the great god Ramses II, a distant ancestor of the present pharaoh.
He yelled to Semerket through his shawl, “You play a dangerous game,
brother—tweaking Toh like that about his age!”

“I play no
games,”
Semerket shouted back. “I only use the least time necessary to achieve
an end.” Semerket suddenly grasped his brother’s arm in the howling
winds, and Nenry felt its strength. Even in the swirling sands, Nenry
saw his brother’s black eyes glittering. “Can I count on you, Nenry?”

Nenry looked
at him
unwillingly but at last said, “I know I am a coward and a fool, of no
use to anyone—for my wife tells me this—but you are my brother. Yes,
you can count on me. For what it’s worth.”

Semerket
nodded. “I’ll
send word when I can,” he said. Then in the churning sands, Nenry
thought he saw a flash of his brother’s teeth. “Tell your wife she can
come out of her room now.”

Nenry was
suddenly
alone. He saw only his brother’s shrouded form disappearing into the
waiting vortex of sand.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” THE BOY HAD OPENEDthe large wooden door
with a sullen grunt. He used a finger to dislodge a seed caught between
his molars, then casually wiped his hand on his filthy loincloth. He
stared at Semerket, or rather at the jar of strong beer he held.

It was midday.
The air
was heavy with fine sand left over from the storms, and summer-like
heat baked the landscape, trapped by the lingering haze. Semerket had
deliberately chosen noontime to visit the House of Purification,
knowing the priests and their servants would be taking their rest. But
he also knew that this was the time when the smell in the house would
be at its sharpest.