City of Dreams (12 page)

To Huy’s relief, his shoulder was released. It throbbed. He wanted to rub it, but the
balanos
for the bruise that would grow there would have to wait until later. ‘I offered him my thoughts. I opened my heart to him, and he gave me his blessing.’

‘Did he give you any…orders?’

For a moment, Surere was confused; then his expression cleared. ‘He will, in his time.’

‘And where will he give you them? In the desert?’

‘If he chooses. He smiles on my plan.’

‘You have collected followers, I suppose?’

Surere looked at him serenely. ‘I will found my community. Then they will come. The king will help me.’

Huy looked at him. ‘I have a last question.’

‘Yes?’

‘Why did you leave my house? Did you know the Med jays would come?’

Surere smiled. ‘I did not need the king’s guidance for that. I knew they would arrive sooner or later. I saw them watching your house and I escaped through the back. Prison teaches you cunning.’

The same covered rickshaw took Huy back to the city. Once more, Huy had no opportunity to see out, but guessed from the number of twists and turns it made that they were taking a deliberately tortuous route. Once more, he was accompanied by the taciturn messenger. When the rickshaw came to a halt, it was not at his house, but at the deserted harbour.

Huy understood why he had been dropped here, from where a large number of roads led off back to the various parts of the city, but guessed that they had underestimated his knowledge of the twisting muddle of streets that formed the harbour quarter. He had no doubt that he would be able to keep pace with the rickshaw and follow it wherever it went, even now, when the descending darkness created streets of shadow where there were none in reality, and when the eye played tricks on the heart. 

The messenger moved so fast that Huy barely saw the club as it swung through the air at his throat. The force of the blow caught him squarely and sent him sprawling, gasping for breath, temporarily blinded, rolling in the dust. Spitting and spluttering, forcing his flailing hands and knees to get a grip on the earth and push him back upright, he heard the rushing creak of the rickshaw’s wheels and the patter of feet as the haulier sped off into the night.

By the time he had got to his feet and turned round, the square was empty again. Evidently Surere’s caution was still one step ahead of his madness.

Huy wanted a bath, to wash the fatigue away, and put some order into his thoughts. It seemed several days since he had seen the girls’ bodies in their mockery of repose at the embalmer’s shed that morning. As for Surere, Huy had surrendered to the thought that the man had left the Southern Capital long ago. The discovery that he was still here, that his heart had found time, in that sinister cell he inhabited, to entrench itself in the obsessions of his lifetime, and that he believed himself to be in contact with the ghost of the dead king, were complications Huy could have done without. He could not admit to his own heart that Surere was involved with the girls’ killings; though perhaps — the dark thought was there — Huy was afraid to admit such a thing was possible, as he would then, however innocently, have played a part in their deaths.

There remained the question about whether to tell Merymose that he had seen Surere. If he were captured, the former district governor would be executed, by the cruellest method prescribed in the Black Land: impaling. Whatever their differences, could Huy hold himself responsible for sending him to such an end? He found himself glad that he did not know the location of Surere’s hide-out.

Huy made his way home, but, still finding no message there, he forced himself to set off again, heading for the City of Dreams. He would talk to Nubenehem about his discovery of that morning. If he drew a positive result from his questions, he would have something else to tell the policeman, as well as the manner in which he believed the victims had been killed. 

But as he walked, he became more and more convinced that he would also have to tell him about Surere. Would Merymose believe that he had no idea of the man’s whereabouts now?

‘Are you here for business or pleasure?’ scowled Nubenehem from the couch where she appeared to live. Rolls of dark fat lolled over the little sofa’s back and sides. More than ever, it seemed to have become a part of her body.

‘Business.’

‘I see. So, not
my
business then. My business is your pleasure. You should take some. You didn’t spend any time at all with Kafy last time you were here.’

‘How is she?’

Nubenehem scowled. ‘She’s gone.’

Huy was surprised. ‘Why?’

‘None of your business.’

‘I noticed she was badly bruised. Was it a client she didn’t like?’

‘I said it’s none of your business.’

‘Where has she gone?’

Nubenehem looked at him. ‘You’re really concerned, aren’t you? Well, don’t worry. She’s gone back to her village, near Saqqara. But not forever. She hasn’t been killed, like those rich tarts the whole town’s gossiping about.’

Huy felt an emptiness in his stomach. He had been concerned for Kafy; more than he would have thought, for someone whose interest in him stretched no further than his wallet.

Nubenehem was in a bad mood, reaching for her liquor jar and belching. A stale smell hung in the air. ‘So, what do you want? If all you want to do is talk, there are plenty of other places you can go. Bees don’t make honey by talking.’

‘I want to ask you about Nefi.’

The woman’s eyes became clever. ‘What about her?’

‘Has she been back?’

‘No. Anyway, I thought you found her.’

‘I lost her again.’ Obviously the town gossip had not revealed who had been killed. 

Nubenehem relaxed. ‘There’s plenty of girls besides her and Kafy. I might take you on myself.’

‘Oh yes. And Min’s erection’s gone soft, too.’

Nubenehem cackled. ‘You shouldn’t talk about the gods like that.’

‘About Nefi,’ Huy continued, carefully.

‘I haven’t seen her.’

‘I wondered — something about her — something you might remember.’

‘You described her to me. That was her. Little slut, all puppy fat and innocence. You should have heard the way she talked. I tell you, she even shocked me.’

‘But she was a good looker, wasn’t she?’

‘Plump little lips. Cheeky little tongue. Give a man the best kind of pleasure he’d get this side of the Fields of Aarru.’

‘Pity you never saw her naked.’

Nubenehem was getting careful again: ‘What are you driving at, Huy? Of course I saw her naked. She wanted to work here.’

‘Did anyone else see her?’

‘Couple of the clients. Whistled. Told them she wasn’t on the market yet.’

‘You never got her full name?’

‘No.’

‘One thing I’ll always remember about her — that little cat tattoo just above her navel.’

Nubenehem clammed up. ‘We’re not talking about the same girl.’

‘Oh?’

‘Nefi had a tattoo all right — they all do — but it wasn’t a cat, and it wasn’t anywhere near her navel. It was a scorpion, and it was on her shoulder blade.’

‘Oh,’ said Huy, certain of Nefi’s identity now. ‘Can’t have been the same girl then.’

He turned to go, but halted at the door.

‘Where did Kafy get that bruise?’

‘I told you — ‘

‘I know. None of my business. But I’ve got friends in the police now. Merymose. Heard of him? I could get you closed down. Who was that client I saw in here? The richly-dressed one who paid you over the odds?’

Nubenehem started to sweat, and half rose.

‘Don’t call out the cavalry,’ said Huy. ‘That’ll only make things worse. Who was it?’

Nubenehem was silent, but there was a hint of fear in her eyes.

‘You put on a show for him, didn’t you? A special show. With Kafy. That’s how she got that bruise. And that’s why she’s left. She didn’t want any more. But you don’t have a licence to operate that kind of brothel. Now, who was he?’ Finally the fat Nubian looked at him. ‘Don’t give me any trouble, Huy. We’ve known each other for a long time.’

‘Who was he?’

‘You can have any girl you like, free.’

‘Who was he?’

She spread her hands, but her look was defiant. ‘All right! He was someone from the palace compound. I don’t know why he decided to come here, but they do, now and then, and he paid well. You’re right. Things got out of hand.’

‘His name.’

‘He didn’t give it.’

Huy was not sure if she was lying or not, but she read his thoughts and continued, ‘Even if I knew it I wouldn’t give it to you — and you may have enough clout to shut me down, but even Merymose couldn’t reach high enough to touch him.’

‘What did he do to Kafy?’

She spat out the words. ‘Nothing. He just watched.’ 

SEVEN

‘With a needle?’ asked Merymose, intrigued.

‘Yes. Or something similar. A very fine knife, perhaps, or even an embalmer’s chisel,’ replied Huy.

‘But how can he have done it? There wasn’t any sign that any of the girls struggled.’

‘What do you think?’

Merymose spread his hands. ‘That they didn’t want to struggle?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you mean they were drugged?’

‘It might have been simpler than that. They might have trusted him.’

‘What, to stick a knife in their heart?’

Huy shrugged. ‘They might have been embracing. Perhaps the furthest idea from their hearts was that they were going to be attacked.’

‘But why?’

‘If we knew the answer to that!’

‘But there might be no motive at all. Where would that leave us?’

‘Oh,’ said Huy. ‘I think there’s a motive. However strange it is, I think there’s a motive.’

‘The only thing that’s consistent is the way these girls have been killed.’

‘There is much more,’ said Huy, convinced that Merymose must have seen the other similarities too. ‘They all come from similar backgrounds, they all live within the palace. They’re all the daughters of rich officials. They’re all the same age. They all had…a look of innocence.’ 

Merymose looked uncomfortable. ‘But what about their characters? Iritnefert was a firebrand, but she hadn’t
done
anything. Neferukhebit, well, if what you say is true…’ his voice trailed off.

‘I think it’s true. The brothel keeper had no reason to lie to me, and I’ve talked to the other clients who saw her there.’

‘How could she want to do such a thing?’ Merymose’s voice was harsh.

Huy looked at him. ‘You have been through enough to know what this world is like.’

‘I think of my own daughter. She never had a chance to grow up, either.’ Merymose looked at Huy. ‘I am going to destroy this spawn of Set.’

Huy had delayed telling Merymose about Surere, waiting for the right moment to come. Now he wondered if he had left it so late that he would arouse the man’s enmity. There was something else. Merymose clearly had orders to ignore any trail that led to the palace compound. It would be unwise, therefore, to say anything to him of what he had learned about Ipuky’s sons from his first marriage, or about the other visitor to the City of Dreams. But yes, he would tell the policeman about Surere now. Then at least the responsibility would be shared.

‘What about the third girl?’ he asked first. ‘Mertseger. What have you been able to find out from the parents?’

‘Very little. They know of nothing. Certainly no lover. To talk to them, you would think she had still been playing with toys. She was their only surviving child. They were old when they had her.’

‘There is something I must tell you,’ said Huy, tensing himself. ‘Something I have not told you, which I should have done. I should have told you days ago.’

Merymose looked at him. ‘That surprises me.’

Huy squared his shoulders. How could he explain his feelings, his reservations, and the reasons for them? Would Merymose, who had been so badly let down by Akhenaten himself, be able to feel any sympathy at all? He might simply view as collusion what Huy saw as loyalty. And now there was another doubt: the new element which Surere had introduced — contact with the ghost of the dead king — was not only the one which had triggered Huy’s decision to tell Merymose all he knew; but also the one which might exempt Surere from any blame. If the former administrator had gone mad, then the passion that possessed him had more to do with the re-establishment of the New Thinking in a new place, rather than any desire for vengeance. Surere, however cunning and even ruthless his instinct for self-preservation made him, might also be an innocent.

If he had
not
gone mad, but was really in touch with the ghost of the old king … Well, there were precedents for such things; and if ever a monarch might not rest peacefully in the Fields of Aarru, that man was Akhenaten.

Huy conveyed this as best he could. For most of the time he was talking, Merymose’s expression remained set. Huy found himself wishing that he were able to read some comment on the policeman’s face — anger or disapproval might have been easier. To his own distress, he realised that he was in danger of abandoning his self-reliance, and making a friend of Merymose.

Coming to the end of his account, he remembered the fate of the mason-overseer, Khaemhet, held responsible for the security of the prisoners deputed to him for the journey from the granite quarries to the Southern Capital. The obelisk was nearly completed, and a place had been prepared for it near the south pylon of the Temple of Ptah; the barge which had brought it had long since returned to the quarries upriver. But what had become of Khaemhet?

‘He was executed,’ Merymose told him coldly, leaving Huy with an extra burden on his conscience; though in this case the burden was easier to bear, since Huy, given the choice, would never have put the interests of the prisoner below those of the jailer.

‘Would you recognise the house again?’ was all Merymose asked.

Huy shook his head. ‘It was a door like a thousand others in a wall like a thousand others.’ 

‘A man like you might have looked through the screens of the rickshaw; might have counted the time it took to reach the place, calculated the direction in which you were taken.’

Huy took the criticism in silence. It was true that he was more than capable of all that; what was more, the measures Merymose described were ones which he would usually have taken instinctively. He had deliberately laid them aside this time, though he had not been aware of any direct instruction from his heart to do so.

‘When I went to him, I had no idea that what he would say to me might bring him within the sphere of our investigation.’

‘Even though he is obsessed by an ideal of innocence? Even though he sees the parents of these dead children as traitors to his cause? Even though he has spoken to you of vengeance?’

‘I cannot associate what he said with the action of killing. His obsession is to form a community loyal to the Aten, away from this city. He rejects us and our values.’ Huy had spoken his last words quite automatically; but their utterance made him realise in what world
he
now lived.

‘We must find him,’ insisted Merymose. ‘I do not share your instincts. It hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that a former senior official of the Great Criminal goes on the run, and at the same time a series of murders begins of the children of other former officials of the Great Criminal. Kenamun is baying for blood.’

‘Well, now you have some bones to throw him,’ countered Huy. ‘We know how the girls were killed; that they must have known or at least trusted their killer. If it is no demon, we know that his motives are not robbery or sex. Some strange ideal moves him.’

‘Some strange ideal moves Surere,’ said Merymose crisply. ‘My heart tells me we need look no further than him.’

Merymose did not involve Huy in the search that followed. He did not explain why, and this placed a distance between them. Huy knew that it was because the policeman could trust him only so far after his confession. He wondered how much had been passed on to Kenamun, though it was unlikely that Merymose had told the priest everything. Merymose did not like Kenamun, neither did he trust him; and if the case were solved, Kenamun would take the credit.

But his confession to Merymose had a positive effect too, because permission was granted to the former scribe to talk to the bereaved families within the palace compound.

Huy took this to mean that Merymose still needed his help. He might be able to elicit information from the families which the policeman had missed; but he had reckoned without the gulf between granting permission to interview, and the families’ readiness to talk. His own association with the court of the Great Criminal was not a secret, least of all to these people, and their attitude to him was one which Merymose had no power to influence.

‘Of course I’ll help,’ said Taheb. ‘I have been ready to ever since you began this.’

‘Can you arrange for me to see the parents?’

‘That will not be difficult. When?’

‘As soon as possible. But they will object to seeing me.’

‘Not if you come with me. And I will send letters ahead. They will not refuse. They remember favours owed to my father and to my father-in-law. I will take you this evening. In the cool of the day. Let me write the letters now. Then we will wait for their reply.’

Later, Taheb raised herself on one elbow and let her hand slide along his thigh. They lay together in the same blue-white room, though this time their lovemaking had been gentler and more familiar, as warmth and exploration of each other’s bodies and hearts had succeeded the glorious frenzy of their first coupling. This time, they had not needed the stimulus of an aphrodisiac. Huy felt he could get drunk on the smell of Taheb, sinking his lips into the base of her neck where it joined the shoulder. Now, re-aroused, he curled his body to hers and slid into her lazily, as they lay side by side. They kept their eyes open, to see into one another’s hearts.

Afterwards, they were washed by Taheb’s body servants, and dressed in visiting robes. By dint of some speedy alterations by Taheb’s dressmaker, Huy was able to wear a kilt and shirt that had belonged to Taheb’s late husband, his friend Amotju. He ran his hand over the clothes. It was a strange sensation to have them on — more intimate than sleeping with his widow.

They rode into town in her finest litter, crowded with cushions covered in a rich fabric from a country undreamed of, far to the north at the edge of the world, on the other side of the Great Green, and covered with a canopy of light linen cross-threaded with blue and gold. The messenger sent ahead had ensured that there would be no difficulty in entering the palace compound, and the guards at the gate did no more than salute as the litter passed within the walls.

‘They are prepared for more than just a social call,’ Taheb said. ‘It will be interesting to see what excuses they offer for not having seen you before.’

‘I didn’t get beyond the major domos,’ said Huy.

Mertseger’s father, the general in command of cavalry, was a stocky man like Huy. He was sixty, and the muscle on his chest and arms had gone to flab. The gold bracelets he wore were too small, and bit into his forearms. He was lavish in his grief, his eyes still red-rimmed from tears and sleeplessness, and although he was polite to Huy, he barely seemed aware of who the scribe was. He spoke of nothing so much as his guilt at having depended only upon his own staff for security. Old Mahu, the gatekeeper who had slept on the night of Mertseger’s disappearance, had been dismissed without a pension, but that action had done nothing to mollify the general’s conscience. ‘Had she been seeing anybody?’ Huy persisted.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean a man — or any companion.’

‘She had her friends, but they met during the day. They often went to the park to sit by that lake.’

‘Might someone she knew have made a date with her at night?’

The general looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Why would she go there?’

‘She was found there.’ 

‘That is what I cannot understand,’ the general had turned in upon himself again, hardly aware of the presence of his guests any more. ‘Perhaps it is a judgment on me.’

Huy exchanged a glance with Taheb. ‘Why?’

The large, wet eyes were full of suspicion and dislike. ‘Who are you, again?’

‘I am trying to find out what happened. I am working for Kenamun’

The look turned to triumph. ‘And do you have children?’

‘Yes, but not here.’

‘Distance will not save them, if you are as I am.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We both served the Great Criminal.’ His eyes suddenly narrowed, and he came close. ‘I remember you, Huy, after all. I was in charge of a chariot division in the north. An important one. We sat in Tanis and heard the news from the coast, but we never had any orders. We were awaiting orders to move against the rebels from you, you scribes and administrators,’ he spat out the words, ‘in the capital. But no word came. Now we are paying the price. Five years ago my son was drowned. Now I have lost my daughter; you will lose your children, too.’

Huy felt the heat of fear. But these deaths were not caused by an avenging spirit from beneath the sunset. They could not be. He made himself remember the teaching, bringing coolness into his heart: all things have a natural cause which can be discovered. What seems supernatural is simply what is beyond present understanding. The last thing Akhenaten ever taught was vengeance: the idea was so foreign to his nature that he would never have entertained the thought. But, the general was possessed by it. The acceptance of the idea provided him with a curious salve for his guilt. Pity for his children was engulfed in pity for himself. As for his wife, the healers had given her drugs; there was no talking to her. She lay on a bed on the verandah by her daughter’s door, asleep but for her eyes, which were open.

* * * 

Taheb’s litter carried them the short distance within the compound to the towering, dark house of the Controller of the Silver Mines. Ipuky had no illusions about supernatural intervention. A long, grey face and grey eyes reminded Huy of Kenamun, though the priest seemed ebullient by comparison with this sombre banker. The room in which he received them was sparsely furnished, despite his wealth. It looked like the chamber of an ascetic priest. However, the stiff chairs and table were made of the expensive blackwood which grew to the south and was imported from Punt. The one decoration was a finely-executed wall painting of the cobra-goddess, Wadjet, goddess of the town of Buto, in the Delta.