Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile (12 page)

I was exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes open, but Djet looked wide awake, as did our guide.

“This is all very lovely,” I said. “But I’m not sure why you’ve led us here. Unless I’m to sleep on the ground. Or…”

Unless you intend to hand us over to bandits who’ll take my purse, cut our throats, and leave our bodies for the vultures,
I thought. So much for Djet’s abilities as a judge of character!

“It’s just ahead,” said the boy.

“What?”

“The inn.”

“I don’t see any inn.” I squinted at the darkness before us.

“It’s just up there, where you see those palm trees.”

The outline of the palm trees I was barely able to discern, but I saw no lights or any sign of a structure.

“Are you sure?”

“The inn that’s farthest from the town—that’s what your boy told me you wanted.”

“The
cheapest
inn, more to the point.”

“Oh? I see.” The boy sounded slightly chagrinned. He turned to Djet. “But you said—”

“Never mind what I said. You’re the local guide!”

“And you’re the customer, you little fool!”

“Stop squabbling,” I said. “Now, young man, if I were to tell you I wanted the cheapest possible accommodations—”

“I understand. Well, that would be the Inn of the Red Sunset, all the way back through town, on the side toward Alexandria—”

“No, no, no. After hiking all this way, I’m not going back through town. What is this place up ahead? What sort of establishment is it?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll love it!”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Well … it’s not the cheapest inn outside Canopus, that’s for sure. But it is the farthest east, and you’re heading for the Nile, aren’t you? When you wake up in the morning, the river will practically be right outside your door! Come on. Follow me. Come and see!”

Reluctantly, I trudged after him.

The palm trees loomed larger. There were so many of them, with such masses of foliage clustered beneath, that I took the location to be a small oasis. At last I glimpsed two points of light, which turned out to be lamps set on either side of the door of an inn, just where the boy had said it would be.

“This is it,” said the boy.

The place seemed to have no windows. Above our heads, the fronds of a palm tree rustled in the faint evening breeze. “I’m not sure I like the look of this place. What is it called?”

“The Inn of the Hungry Crocodile.”

I frowned. “I don’t care for the name. But I suppose, having come all this way…”

As we approached the door, I reached for the knocker, then pulled my hand back with a start. The bronze knocker appeared to be a crocodile’s head, though a small one, with the snout pointing down, so lifelike that it might have been cast from an actual crocodile. It was in two parts connected by a hinge, with the bottom of the jaw fixed to the door and the top serving as the knocker. The nostrils provided finger holds. When I raised the knocker, rows of sharp bronze teeth glinted in the lamplight.

I let the knocker drop. The noise reverberated in the stillness. There was no response. I raised the knocker again, but before I could let it drop, from within I heard the sound of a bolt thrown back.

The door opened, and I stood face to face with the strangest mortal I had ever seen.

X

For a long moment the man who had opened the door stood there, staring at us. He looked first at me, then lowered his eyes to Djet, and then to Djet’s companion, whereupon I saw a flash of recognition in his heavy-lidded eyes, and the man’s face cracked open—I can think of no better way to say it—to display a wide grin.

The man’s skin was quite dark. That in itself was not unusual, for many Egyptians come from a region close to the place where the sun rises, and in consequence acquire a slightly scorched look. It was not the color of his flesh but the texture that seemed so odd, for it had a dry, scaly appearance, almost reptilian. Where it reflected the luster of the lamplight, this flesh appeared to be the darkest possible shade of green. His face protruded in what could only be described as a snout, with a small nose and a very large, very wide mouth. His grin stretched from ear to ear, showing two rows of unusually sharp teeth.

Since he seemed disinclined to speak, I finally did so. “My name is Gordianus.”

He continued to study me for a moment. “A Roman?”

“Yes, but living in Alexandria. That’s where I’ve come from. The boy traveling with me is named Djet. The other boy—”

“Yes, this one I know. One of our local lads.”

“He brought us here, in search of lodgings for the night.”

“Did he? Did he, indeed? Welcome, then, to the Inn of the Hungry Crocodile. I am your host.” He took a bow.

“And are you the Hungry Crocodile?” I said, thinking to make a joke.

“Why, yessss!” he hissed. I half expected to see a reptilian tongue come flickering from between his thin lips, but he kept his tongue inside his mouth, hidden behind those rows of pointed teeth. “Can you imagine how I came by such a name?”

Nonplussed, I opened my mouth and stammered.

“Because I am notoriously hungry! Always hungry I am. And do you know what I’m hungry for?”

His grin was unnerving. Before I could answer, he produced a pair of copper coins, one between each forefinger and thumb, and held them in the lamplight for a moment before making a great show of biting them, one at a time, as if they were made not of copper but gold and he wished to test them. “Hungry for such as these, I always am! Ever and always hungry for more. You must give me such as these if you wish to spend the night.” He pressed his grinning snout toward me.

“I can do that,” I said, trying not to flinch.

“But these particular coins must be for the boy who brought you here. Here, boy, take them from me.”

The boy held out his right hand and unclenched his fist to reveal two coins already nestled in his tiny palm. The Crocodile added his two, plunking them down one at a time.

“A consideration, young man, for bringing me custom.”

The boy grinned. “Thank you! And now I have four!”

“Yessss! Two and two make four. Ah, the beauty of it!”

I frowned. “Djet! Did I not give you three coins, when I sent you to find the boy?”

He looked up at me and crossed his arms. “You did. And two of them I gave to him.”

“And the other?”

“Don’t I deserve a … what’s that you called it, innkeeper? A consideration!”

“Yessss, for all we do, such as these must constitute our consideration. It’s only right and proper.” He patted Djet on the head with a dark, scaly hand. His fingernails were dark and dull and as pointed as his teeth. “This little one is like his host, a hungry one, hungry for such as those.” He pointed to the coins, which the local boy now held tightly in his fist. “Run along, then, you, and let me make my new guests welcome.”

The boy turned and ran. I watched him leave the glow cast by the lamps and vanish into the darkness.

“Don’t stand here on the doorstep. Come inside!”

We stepped into a dimly lit vestibule. The Crocodile closed the door behind us.

The place was very quiet. “Is the inn empty?” I said.

“Not at all, not at all!”

“The other guests are all abed, then?”

“Not at all! They’re in the common room, enjoying each other’s company.”

I looked around. The vestibule opened onto a hallway, but the passage led only to shadows on either side. “I see no common room,” I said.

“Downstairs it is. Cooler down there, especially in the heat of summer.”

“It’s not summer yet.”

“Always cool down there, whatever the time of year. Nice and cool in the common room under the ground. Come, I’ll show you.” He gestured to a doorway that opened onto a descending stairway.

“I only want a room for the night, for me and the boy. We can share with others, if that’s cheaper—”

“No cheap rooms here. All rooms the same.”

“Fair enough. How much for the night? And which way to the room? I’m very tired—”

“But surely you need food and drink at the end of the day, before you sleep. Included in the price!”

“Yes, well, then…” I heard Djet’s stomach growl. “If it’s included. But what is the price? If you said, I didn’t hear—”

Even as I spoke, he ushered us down the stairs. Djet traipsed ahead of me, reached a landing, and disappeared around a corner. When I reached the turning, I saw a faint light from below and heard soft music and the sound of voices. The air was cool and dank and smelled of Egyptian beer.

“Down, down we go,” said the Crocodile, following me. “Just follow the boy.”

I rounded another corner and found myself in a subterranean chamber. The size of the room was impossible to discern, since the edges disappeared into darkness. In the zone between shadow and light, a girl sat cross-legged on the floor, strumming some sort of stringed instrument. Even by the uncertain light, I could see she was not pretty. In fact, she looked so like my host that I took her to be his young daughter.

In the middle of the room, with a lamp hung above them, five men and a boy sat on rugs in a circle. The boy was no older than Djet. He wore a bright red tunic and had curly black hair, so long that it might never have been cut. One of the men was a big fellow whom I took to be a bodyguard. While he and the boy looked on, the other four men appeared to be playing some sort of game.

As I watched, one of the players, with a cry in some barbaric language, let fly a handful of dice. The throw must have been good, for his craggy features, starkly lit by the lamp, broke into a smile of triumph as he reached forward to remove a colored wooden peg from a perforated playing board and replace it in another hole.

Framing the man’s clean-shaven face was an elaborate headdress made of cloth and knotted rope, such as the desert-dwelling Nabataeans wear. Though I couldn’t see his hair, I suspected there would be some gray in it. He wore a loose white robe belted at the waist, with long sleeves decorated with colorful embroidery at the cuffs. On several of his fingers were rings, each set with a jewel. From a necklace of thick silver links, sparkling in the lamplight, hung the largest ruby I had ever seen.

“Can you believe that fellow traveled all the way across the Delta like that?” whispered the Crocodile in my ear.

“In Nabataean garments? Is he not a Nabataean?”

“Indeed he is. He calls himself Obodas and he’s a dealer in frankincense, scouting overland routes to Alexandria—or so he says. When foreigners go traveling in Egypt, who can say what they’re up to?”

Did he include me in that question? His heavy-lidded eyes and grinning snout gave no indication.

“But when I say ‘like that,’ I mean not his Nabataean garments, but his rings and necklace—that Obodas should wear them so openly. How many coins might those be worth?” The Crocodile clicked his teeth.

“Does he not travel with bodyguards?”

“Two, and two only! One is that burly, bearded fellow who sits behind him. The other bodyguard keeps watch over their camels outside.”

“What about the boy in the red tunic who sits beside him? Is that his son?”

The Crocodile snorted. “I hardly think so! With only two bodyguards and such a pretty boy for his bedmate, all the way from Petra to my inn Obodas traveled dressed like that, flashing those jewels and making himself a target for who knows how many bandits? Some Nabataean god must be watching over this Obodas, for such a fool to cross the Delta without falling prey to the Cuckoo’s Child.”

I swung about to face my host. “What do you know about—?”

“The other three guests are Egyptians from the Delta,” he went on, “city fathers from the town of Sais.” The men he referred to were less ostentatiously dressed than the Nabataean. They had the look of farmers wearing their best clothes, in which they were not quite comfortable. “Their leader, the one with the long gray beard, is called Harkhebi, and they’re returning home from a mission to Alexandria. They tried to gain an audience with King Ptolemy, to petition for repairs to the road that crosses the Delta; last summer’s inundation of the Nile washed out a great many sections. How many coins would it take to fix that road, I wonder? But the king refused to meet them, and they return to Sais with nothing. So don’t ask them about their trip unless you want to hear an earful about the king! But look, the Nabataean gestures to you. He’s inviting you to join the game.”

I turned to see that all four players were looking up at me from their places on the rug-strewn floor.

I shook my head. “Thank you, gentlemen, but I never gamble.”

This was the truth. From earliest childhood I had been taught by my father that gambling was a ruinous pastime, a vice to be strictly avoided. In his career as Finder, he had seen many men (and even a few women) of every rank in society, from humble shopkeepers to haughty senators, destroyed by gambling. “Every man takes risks and calls upon Fortuna from time to time,” he had told me. “But the gambler taxes the goddess’s patience, until he practically begs Fortuna to withdraw her favor.”

My father lived what he taught, and so far I had followed his example.

“We play only for tiny stakes,” said the Nabataean. “A friendly game to pass the time.”

“I’d do better to pass the time by sleeping,” I said.

“Sleep!” The Crocodile clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No man sleeps at night in Canopus. Here we sleep in the day, and amuse ourselves at night. You must at least have something to eat and drink. Here, sit on the floor with your boy. Join the circle and watch while the others play.”

While Djet and I settled ourselves on the floor, our host clapped his hands. A couple of young men appeared. By their dark, scaly appearance, I took them to be the Crocodile’s sons. One brought me a small plate of food—bread, dates, and olives—while the other brought a large cup of beer. The food I felt obliged to share with Djet, but he had no business drinking beer, so I kept that to myself. The cup contained more than I wanted, but the frothy liquid helped to assuage my hunger, and soon I found that I was staring into an empty cup.