Eater of souls (26 page)

Had he heard the rasp of metal, or was it simply branches scraping together? The air smelled of water, dust, and some animal odor. Perhaps it was wet duck or decaying water plants. The garden was alive with movement, but the west wind subsided. Trees and reeds settled down. After a few moments, Meren decided the only thing he'd heard was the wind and resumed his walking and ball tossing.

After one circuit of the reflection pool, the wind picked up again, but not enough to stop him from juggling. He had to pursue this interest in secret, for great nobles did not perform feats of entertainment like commoners. Meren wasn't certain what pharaoh would think if he learned that his Eyes and Ears tossed brightly colored balls like the troupe in the royal palace.

And Zar disapproved. He acquired a look like a bilious toad and said things like, "Great lords do not toss balls like naked children" and "One so noble of lineage cannot sustain his dignity while chasing after toys as the baboon chases cats." Zar had served royalty and understood the importance of decorum, splendor, and reserve in supporting a great one's power.

But Meren needed this pastime. It forced him to concentrate on balance and rhythm while it relieved his heart of burdens, fears, and confusion, if only for a brief time. So he juggled when he was alone.

Unfortunately, this time he couldn't distract his heart from the deaths, the missing hearts, the feathers. If he tried, he ended up trying to make sense of old Satet's demented opinions about where her sister could be. Every time he pressed the old woman for answers, she gave answers that were increasingly absurd. He dared not press her too hard for fear of permanently confusing her wits.

He'd been forced to take the men assigned to searching Memphis for her sister and divert them to the hunt for Eater of Souls. Unsnarling the tangle of Nefertiti's death was going to take a long time. Every day that passed in which he sent out requests for information, asked friends about old memories, and culled old records of the household of the Great Royal Wife increased the chance that the wrong person would discover that Meren was interested in a queen long dead.

"Cease!" Meren hissed to himself. "You're to think of balance and speed, not killings."

He turned a corner of the pool and started down the long side of the rectangle. Moving slowly, he approached the next corner. There an artificial papyrus marsh had been constructed on a base of Nile mud. Rising to double Meren's height, the thicket of triangular reeds with their frothy, tufted crowns bowed and bobbed in an isolated gust of wind. Meren reached out to catch a ball that had been blown slightly off its course and tossed it up just in time to catch the one that followed.

As he neared the papyrus marsh, his foot came down on something soft, wet, and cold. He cried out, withdrew his foot, and staggered sideways. The golden orbs bounced in all directions. He heard a plop as he regained his footing and watched one of the balls sink into the water. As the wind ceased, a giant toad croaked at him. It scrambled to the edge of the pool and jumped in.

"Cursed water monster." Meren rubbed his ankle. His foot was wet from the toad, so he went to the pool and dipped his foot in the water.

As he bent his knee, the papyrus reeds stirred, producing a rattlelike sound. There was no breeze! Meren pulled his foot out of the water and reached for his dagger, but he was too late. Several dark figures erupted from the marsh and rounded the corner of the pool. As Meren drew his weapon, a fist hit his arm. He dropped the dagger, but three swords jabbed him.

Expecting to feel metal pierce his flesh, Meren froze. When the sword points remained embedded in his robe, he pulled himself up, dropped his arms to his sides, and turned to face a man who stepped closer.

He looked like a mastaba, one of the short, wide tombs of ancient nobles that resembled benches. His eyes bore an expression that said he understood his own importance in the world, and that it was greater than that of anyone he'd met so far. Bronze armor was wrapped around his torso. It covered his lower legs and encrusted his helmet, but his body seemed hard enough that the metal protection might prove unnecessary.

"General Labarnas," Meren said. "I wouldn't have expected you to be so foolish as to attack one of pharaoh's servants in the middle of his city."

The Hittite threw back his head and laughed once. Then his smile vanished. "Perhaps, Egyptian, I've come to avenge Prince Mugallu, whom you slaughtered like one of your sacred bulls."

"Have you ever heard of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh attacking anyone like a hyena after a carcass?"

Labarnas was only a silhouette of lighter darkness in the night. Meren watched him twitch his head to the side as an eagle does when scouting for prey. He heard him slide his sword into its sheath.

"I didn't come out in the evil breath of this desert wind to listen to the poison and lies of an arrogant Egyptian prince."

"I cannot understand why you're here at all," Meren said. "My son told you we were doing everything we could to find the one who killed Prince Mugallu."

Labarnas darted toward Meren, shoving aside one of his men. "My father died at the hands of an Egyptian dog at Kadesh."

"Neither he nor any Hittite should have been in Kadesh," Meren said. "Kadesh belongs to pharaoh."

"Miserable perfumed catamite!"

Meren smiled his indifference and touched one of the Hittite sword blades. "Enough of this useless and petty debate. What do you want?"

Labarnas said something in his own language to one of Meren's guards. The man dashed behind the papyrus thicket and returned with a basket large enough to hold half a bull's carcass. He set it down near the general and removed the lid. Labarnas swept his arm toward the container.

"O perfected prince, true of voice, beautiful of aspect, great Eyes of Pharaoh, get into the basket."

It took Meren a moment to understand, as no one had ever dared to insult him in this manner.

"Are you possessed by a mad spirit?" he asked.

"I'm leaving this cursed city, Egyptian, and you're my letter of safe passage. My men and the rest of the delegation are waiting for us, and once I have you back at the royal visitors' house, pharaoh will have no choice but to allow me to leave."

"How do you know he won't hurl a dozen companies of infantry at you?"

Labarnas planted his fists on his belt. "Why is it that you Egyptians think all Hittites are dense of wit? The great king, Suppiluliumas, knows the secrets of his brother. Not that pharaoh's affection for you is a secret."

"Perhaps," Meren said lightly. "But I know the living god far better than your king, and I can promise you that trying to compel him to do anything, much less to bend to your will, is a mistake. One does not order a god-king. Not unless one is prepared to suffer—possibly I should say—divinely."

"I weary of talk. Egypt has lost the will and the fire needed for conquest, wasted it on dalliance, perfume, and jewels. Get in the basket, curse you, before I order you bound and silenced."

"I suppose you've killed all the men on guard," Meren said as if carrying on a pleasant conversation with a banquet guest.

"Not all of them. Some will live."

At last Meren allowed himself to look away from Labarnas to the walls surrounding the garden. "By the great Amun, general, you're right."

Fire rained down on the group by the pool. Meren remained still while flame-tipped arrows stabbed into the ground in a circle around them. The soldiers holding Meren at sword point stepped back, then stopped, fearing to move. Their blades dipped toward the ground as they searched the top of the wall.

Labarnas whirled around to stare as well. Standing on top of the wall, shoulder to shoulder, bows drawn and spears held ready to throw, Meren's charioteers waited quietly. The gate creaked, and the old porter shuffled into view, bowed to Meren, and gave the Hittites a contemptuous scowl before he hobbled back the way he'd come.

In a blur of movement, Labarnas was suddenly at Meren's side. Grabbing his arm, the general pointed his blade at Meren's heart.

"Tell your charioteers to go away, Egyptian."

Meren refrained from showing his irritation and spoke more calmly than he felt. "Please don't move again, general."

"Ha!"

"Do you see that young man holding the bow trimmed with sheet gold? Not a plain warrior's weapon, is it? His name is Reia. He's a lieutenant of chariots. How many prizes for accuracy have you won, Reia?"

Reia responded without shifting his stance. "In year four I won three, lord. This year I have won two, so far."

"Hollow boasting," Labarnas growled. "I've won dozens."

Shaking his head, Meren replied softly. "Here in Egypt, there are only three."

The Hittite's eyes slid sideways to examine Meren's expression. Meren lifted an eyebrow.

"I've seen Reia hit a crow sitting on the nose of the sphinx, from a moving chariot."

Breathing hard, Labarnas tightened his grip on Meren's arm. "Pray to the gods, then, Eyes of Pharaoh, for we both die."

"Why?" Meren asked quickly.

The general's face was lit by burning arrow shafts. He looked like a desert nomad suddenly faced with the task of sailing across the Great Sea.

"I swear by the wrath of your storm god," Meren said wearily, "all I want you to do is go back to the visitors' palace and let me find Prince Mugallu's killer."

Labarnas tightened his grip on Meren's arm. "I know what I'd do if someone took me prisoner in my own house."

"True, but as you Hittites never weary of repeating, we Egyptians are more courtier than warrior."

"You're lying," Labarnas said with a glance up at Reia.

Meren laughed softly. "So, you have learned from your sojourn into the Black Land." His mouth drew down at the corners. "As foolish as it may seem, you're going to have to trust me. If I had killed your prince, would I have sent my own son into the midst of your warriors to tell you Prince Mugallu was dead?"

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Labarnas was silent for a moment. At last he grunted, lowered his sword, and released Meren's arm. His men sheathed their own weapons. Meren inclined his head to the general, then nodded to Reia. There was a loud smack as spears were turned point up and their hafts rammed into the top of the wall. Bowstrings were allowed to loosen as bows were lowered so that nocked arrows pointed at the ground.

"Reia will escort you home," Meren said.

Labarnas glared at him. "Will I reach it alive?"

"Of course. Do you think I want pharaoh to blame me for the death of a great Hittite general? The Son of the Sun would send me to explain to your king, and that I wouldn't like to do."

"I'm going," Labarnas said. "But if you have no good explanation by a week's end, I'm leaving if I have to fight pharaoh's infantry, chariotry, and archers all at once. Then you'll find yourself explaining my death to the great king while he sits on Egypt's throne."

Meren turned away from Labarnas. "Oh, go away, general. I'm trying to catch a killer who feasts on hearts, and I have no patience with your threats."

Labarnas growled something in his own language, but didn't object when he and the other Hittites were ushered away. Meren refused to allow Reia to surround him with guards. Reia protested, but finally left to escort Labarnas when Meren remained adamant. Finally Meren was left alone in the garden again. The flaming arrows had been removed. The lamp he'd brought was burning low, and Meren had subsided wearily into a chair beneath the awning by the reflection pool.

He had propped his elbows on his knees and lowered his head to his hands and was grumbling to himself. "Wretched Hittite vandals, invading a man's private garden. My heart will never regain enough peace to make sense of either the heart thefts or the queen's…"

Meren had been staring through his fingers at the mat that covered the earth beneath the awning. Now there was a small foot encased in a blue sandal on the mat. Meren didn't even move.

"I suppose the noise woke you," he said.

"Aye, Father," said Bener. "A Hittite invasion does disturb one's dreams."

Placing a tray on the table beside him, Bener yawned and ran her fingers through her long hair. "That was a good lie, that story about Reia hitting a crow."

"He almost hit it."

"True. Are you ever going to rest?"

Meren straightened, then slumped and stretched his legs. "Can't."

"What queens?"

"What?" Meren echoed, abruptly alert.

"Just now, you were complaining about not being able to make sense of the queens."

"Who can make sense of the Great Royal Wife or the lesser ones?"

Bener fixed her great dark eyes on him without saying a word.

"Tell me," Meren said. "Can you?"

"If you refuse to confide in me, I can't be prepared for murderous invasions of the house, Father. What if they had gotten hold of Remi or Isis? And where is Kysen?"

"Visiting Ese's tavern."

"I've heard of her."

Meren sat up. "How have you heard of this woman?"

"I don't spend my whole day in the house directing servants. I have friends whose fathers and brothers and cousins seem to feel a great need to frequent the place, although why carousing with strange women holds more attraction than giving amusement to a lady is a puzzlement to me. Why is it so, Father?"

He hadn't been so bereft of thought since—he'd never been so bereft of thought. His heart wouldn't produce words. Meren stared at his skeptical, sensible daughter, stunned at the way her heart pursued matters to their reasonable end.

"Never mind," Bener went on. "You look weary, and it's going to take you some time to think of a good excuse for that one." She yawned again and said, "I'd better tell you now. Isis is planning to take herself and her possessions to Prince Djoser's house, where Reshep is staying."

A demon was pounding a mallet against his skull. Meren groaned and pressed his fingertips to his temples. A woman married a man by bringing her possessions to his house. Girls seldom did this without elaborate arrangements between the two sets of parents, negotiation of a marriage contract, feasting and celebration. But some were fearless, or foolish, or—as in the case of Isis—both.