City of the Dead (11 page)

Neferet returned. “All is ready.”

Sen stood. “The hour is late, and there is much work to do tomorrow, eh, Grand Vizier?”

I stood, my mind elsewhere. “Yes. Thank you.”

Sen eyed his daughter. “I think I will show the grand vizier where he can lay his head, Neferet. You may retire to your chamber.”

Neferet laughed, a sound like warmed wine on a cold night. “As you wish, Father. God be with you, Hemi.”

I lowered my eyes to the floor. When I looked up, she was gone.

“This way, Grand Vizier.”

Minutes later I lay upon a bed that smelled of being freshly scrubbed and laid with clean coverings. But I was not thinking of the clean bed, nor of the woman who had prepared it.

Another woman occupied my thoughts. One who visited the village temple in the early mornings, disguised. And Mentu, who was also seen in the temple in the mornings. Both of them now dead.

I thought of Khufu and his jealousy. Of Khufu’s reluctance to allow me to investigate the murders.

Like a man who has something to hide.

What began as a foreboding quickly grew to dread, then something else in my chest as I lay in the dark.

Anger. White-hot anger toward the man who had taken Merit from me when we were young. And now he had taken her away again. Simply because he could not have her heart.

I awoke, blinked my eyes, and shot upright. The morning was too far gone to still be in bed.
And it’s not my bed.
I scanned the chamber, took in the unfinished walls, the mud-brick floor.

Sen and Neferet.

I had stayed the night and overslept, my morning rituals lost.

Thoughts of Merit and Mentu meeting secretly, and of Khufu’s temper, invaded. I dropped to my back again.

I had come to the village for information and had received far more than I wanted. But with the morning light came doubt.

I have too much work to do to be chasing theories.

Within the hour I was on the plateau, letting the dusty wind blow away the thoughts of last night. I raised my face to the burning sun, then paused to survey the site. The desert stretched as far as I could see to the west, north, and south. From the base of the pyramid, one could see the temple and harbor and royal estate, the village in the distance, and the wide blue sky. In spite of the many thousands of workers buzzing over the plateau and pyramid, there was an isolation here, and I let it work its way inside me.

No time for anything else.

I climbed the ramps slowly, running my hands along the stones. Laborers hailed me as I passed. At the top, I saw that my new design to store unused tools had already been implemented. Masons bowed low, murmuring my titles of honor.

With my ka settled within me, I descended to the stone table that had been set up as my meeting place with my chief overseers. De’de and Khons were already there, and Sen approached from the south.

“Men.” I greeted them without a smile. “I need reports.”

Khons grunted. “Kind of you to visit, Vizier. We thought perhaps you were occupied with other—”

“Keep your thoughts to yourself, Khons. Report on the progress.”

De’de raised his eyebrows and clucked at Khons disapprovingly. “Careful, Khons. You’re making Father angry.”

Sen leaned his fists on the table. “May I report first, Grand Vizier?”

“What do you have, Sen?”

“In looking at the projections this last day, I fear that we will soon hit a snag on our critical path.” He pointed to the stockpile of stones from the quarry, a flock of loosely scattered blocks in a field of sand. “The rate of transfer for courses fifty-six through two hundred eighteen has slowed in recent weeks, while the rate of placement will begin to increase as we attain the higher levels which require fewer stones.”

I frowned. “What’s causing the slowdown?”

“I don’t know, my lord. I haven’t had enough time to analyze.”

Khons folded his arms. “Shouldn’t Mentu have been keeping track of transport rates? Why is this the first we’re hearing of it?”

Sen shook his head and held up his palms.

“That’s not good enough!” I slapped the basalt table, then grabbed my limestone shard and scratched furious numbers onto the stone. White chips flew across the flat surface. “These men must know that everything depends on the time line. If stone placement on the pyramid catches up with the transport and stockpiling, we will have thousands of stone haulers at a standstill, waiting for stone!” I finished my calculations and pointed. “Look at what a mere twenty-percent reduction in transport rate will do. Here,” I pointed, “the number of stones short. And here, masons without blocks to dress.”

De’de put his two index fingers to his lips. “I am sure we will be able—”

“You focus on getting beer and bread in their mouths and let us worry about the stones!” I turned my back on the man and ignored his indignant huff.

In truth, De’de’s oversight of the commissary, the stores and materials, the workshops and housing were the foundation of all we did here. But I was tired of speculation. I was tired of everything. What had happened to the controlled order of the project that would be my legacy in stone?

As though the chaos I feared had taken human form, Tamit suddenly appeared beside me, all smiles and fluttering eyes.

I sighed. “Tamit, this is a work area—”

“Yes, Grand Vizier.” She wrapped fingers around my arm and slithered close. “I want you to give me a tour.”

I sighed again and glanced at my supervisors, who looked away with thinly veiled amusement. I knew Tamit would not easily be put off.

“Quickly then,” I said and half-dragged her to the ramp. We climbed together, and I purposely pushed the pace faster than
I would have alone. I was rewarded by the sound of her heavy breathing. Along the way I described building techniques, stone dressing, and hauling methods, all with tedious detail.

“Inside,” she panted. “I want to see inside.”

We reached the slotted entrance, and I took a torch from an exiting laborer and led the way downward until we reached the juncture where the corridor split to redirect upward.

“What is down there?” Tamit asked.

“An underground chamber. It was to be used for the king’s burial, but the plans have changed.”

“What will it hold now?”

I shrugged. “Nothing. It will remain empty.”

She smiled and tickled my arm with long fingernails. “Seems a waste. Perhaps you and I could make use of it. It could be
our
burial place. A chamber all our own, where we could spend eternity together.”

I pulled away. “Why are you here, Tamit?”

“I told you. I wanted a tour of the pyramid.”

I pointed upward. “The corridor ascends four hundred cubits. Are you ready?”

She squinted up the ascending corridor, then turned to me and half smiled. “You win, Hemi. I care nothing for your pile of stones. I wanted to see you, to ask you to join me for a late meal tonight in my home.”

“The work takes all of my time, I am afraid.”

She scowled up at me. “And you have nothing to show for your life except the work!” Her face softened and she leaned close. “Life is more than building, you know.”

I turned from her and headed for freedom. “Not my life.”

She followed me in a pout, and I led her down to her waiting litter.

As I reached the meeting table to converse once more with my three overseers, I noticed their attention was drawn to a cloud of sand in the distance. We watched for a moment until a gold sedan chair appeared, carried by twelve slaves.

“Wonderful,” I murmured.

The slaves lowered the chair to the ground nearby, and Khufu parted the curtain. He was in full headdress today, with a braided wig hanging down each side and tucked behind his ears. He wore a gold-and-blue-striped nemes over the wig, gathered behind in a knot.

My resolve to forget last night’s revelation blew away in a sandstorm of howling anger, and my body tensed.

Khufu climbed out of the chair, and a slave immediately shielded his head with an ostrich plume at the end of a tall rod. Behind him, Ebo announced, “His Majesty Horus, Beloved by the Goddess of Truth, Strong in Truth, Chosen of Ra.”

My overseers crossed their chests with fists and responded, “Life, Health, Strength!”

I said nothing.

Khufu sighed. “I am restless today,” he said, joining us at the table, slave in tow. “Too much death around me. I felt I should come and see the progress for myself.”

I rubbed my eyes and turned away. With eyes closed, I could imagine Sen’s cozy, torchlit courtyard as a mirage rising from the burning sand of the plateau.

“Hemi?”

I swiveled.

De’de was grinning. “Pharaoh, Beloved of Horus, was speaking to you.”

I bowed. “My mind was on the project, my king. I apologize.”

“I was asking why there seem to be more men working on the east side today.”

I stared at him. “Are you jesting, my king?”

Khufu frowned.

“They are commencing work on the queen’s pyramid.”

“Ah.” Khufu studied the laborers.

The time line, the slowdown, the unexpected deviation caused by Merit’s death, all of it swam before my eyes for a moment, and I thought I might scramble across the table to wrap angry fingers around Khufu’s throat.

“Well then, we might fall behind,” Khufu said, like a pouting child whose toys do not please him. “Perhaps we could bring in a few more men so we don’t lose time.”

The other men looked to me for a response.

Cowards
. I took a deep breath, then spoke through gritted teeth.

“Your Majesty, we have organized more than four thousand stone masons, eighteen thousand stone haulers, and hundreds of artists to complete this project. The men are divided into crews of two thousand, gangs of one thousand, with five groups of two hundred, each with ten teams of twenty.” My voice rose above the work-site noise, and I fought to control the hysteria in my voice. “Together these men will lay more than two million blocks of stone for the internal core and dress one hundred thousand casing stones. Every step they take has been planned and measured, counted and recorded. We cannot simply ‘bring in a few more men.’” I bent to brace my shaking hands against the table. “I suggest you leave the
building to us and return to your palace. Perhaps your dwarf can entertain you and cure you of your restlessness.”

A stunned silence followed.

I straightened but did not break eye contact with the king.

Khufu’s eyes went cold. His hands went to his hips and he lifted his chin. “That is a good suggestion, Grand Vizier. Thank you. I would ask that when your work here is finished today, you would come and speak to me in my private chambers.”

I bowed my head and watched as Khufu mounted his sedan chair and his slaves carried him off toward the palace.

I had spoken rashly. But there was much more I could have said.

When I turned my attention back to the overseers, they each eyed me with a mixture of fear and pity. It was never a good idea to make an enemy of the Chosen of Ra.

* * *

I made my appearance in the palace that evening, my mind a jumble of regret and anger. Conflicting desires to placate and to confront Khufu warred for my loyalty.

Ebo, the head servant, led me to Khufu’s private chamber, the House of Adoration, and motioned me through the door. The room blazed with the harsh light of far too many torches, placed in pots around the perimeter. I blinked at the brightness and looked to Ebo. The jagged scar across his forehead shone pink in the torchlight.

Khufu stood on the opposite side of the chamber, his arms extended like falcon’s wings and his head thrown back.

Another man, naked but for the excessive jewelry at his neck, arms, and ankles, stood beside the king, shaking a sistrum at him. The naked man paused at my entrance, and Khufu dropped his arms and focused on me. He did not smile.

“Come forward, Grand Vizier. You know Djed-djedi, the magician?”

“No.”

Khufu resumed his pose. “He is calling up a prophecy. I have been having dreams.”

“I can return later.”

“Stay. Perhaps you will discover that your king knows more than you believe.”

“As you wish.”

The shaking of the sistrum resumed, each wooden bead twirling and beating against the others. The magician picked up a chant, words I did not recognize. I moved to the back of the chamber, alongside Khufu’s deep, rectangular bathing pool, and sat in a reed-bottom chair, with my staff across my legs. One of the many torches burned nearby and threw off an uncomfortable heat. The chanting continued.

“It is the ancient language. The first language,” Khufu said, his eyes still closed. “Do you know its meaning?”

“No.”

“No, of course you do not.”

I gripped my staff. “The king is displeased with my comments earlier.”

“The king cares nothing for your opinion.”

No, of course he does not.

The dozen torches grew unbearable, and I began to sweat. The bathing pool’s water looked cool and inviting.

The magician ceased his shaking and produced a small container. He dipped a finger into the package and brought it to Khufu’s lips. The king licked the substance from his finger.

“Come, Hemi. Come here.”

I leaned my staff against the wall and approached.

The magician focused on me for the first time. He was a little man, with eyes that seemed to cross when he looked at me directly.

“Give him some, Djed-djedi.”

Djed-djedi held out the package. Yellow-gold honey pooled in the center.

Khufu licked his lips. “It is sacred honey, from bees hundreds of years old. It imparts wisdom to those who partake.”

I held up a hand and stepped back.

“The grand vizier believes he has all the wisdom he needs, Djed-djedi.”

Khufu flicked his head toward me, and before I understood the motion, the magician coated his finger again and smeared the honey on my lips.

I sputtered and swiped at it with my fingers, then finally licked the traces from my lips.

Djed-djedi whispered a few words to Khufu, then began packing up his trappings. Khufu went to a small table and bent over a stack of papyrus bound in black hides.

The magician lit incense before he left, and the spicy scent filled the room within moments. He said nothing as he departed, just slipped from the room like the smoke from the incense.

Khufu waved me back to my chair and began to write on the papyrus. Several times he closed his eyes, whether to consult his memory or the gods, I could not be sure.

Finally he closed the book and looked up. “Perhaps someday I will allow you to read the secrets recorded here.”

I was familiar with Khufu’s secret book, in which he claimed to be recording the history of the world. “Would I discover anything so surprising?”

Khufu’s eyes narrowed. “All of Egypt would be surprised.”

“Then I should like to read it.”

Khufu stood and stretched, and his bronzed and oiled skin gleamed in the torchlight. “Something is troubling you, Hemi. You would not have spoken as you did otherwise.”

Troubling me, yes. Though nothing seems to trouble you. Not your
dead wife, nor your dead friend. Why is that, Pharaoh?

Aloud, I said, “I regret my words earlier.”

Khufu leaned on the table. “I can see it there, just behind your eyes. You have learned something, perhaps? Something that makes you angry?”