Imhotep (25 page)

And he
had no idea where he had gone.

He
heard footsteps on the hard-packed path and saw light bouncing off the mud
walls of the homes as torches were carried down the street.

Brian
glanced back at the body on the ground and then turning, he ran into the
darkness.

K
hmunu was a small village spread along the
river’s east bank.  There was a marketplace, a few bakeries and a densely
packed residential area that thinned quickly as it spread from the
market. 

The
Temple of Thoth, with its own workshops, bakery, brewery and storage rooms, lay
away from the river at the eastern edge of town.  The embalming mortuaries
were across the river, for it was only in the western land that bodies could
properly be purified.

The
Temple of Ma’at had been built on the southern end of town closer to the river
so that a canal could be dug to feed the pond beside the temple's amphitheater.

Running
blindly down a dark alley, Brian turned right at the second intersection and
continued at an easy jog heading back toward the river.  When he and
Nimaasted had walked into town from the boats Brian had been thinking only of
meeting Tama. Now he realized he had no idea how far they had walked before he
had been ambushed.

He
tried to remember the earlier walk when he and Pahket first had made the trip
to the Temple of Ma’at.  As far as he could recall they had left the boat,
walked straight away from the river and then turned right on a broad avenue
that had been lined with torches.

He
slowed, listening for the sound of pursuers.  He could hear the river now
up ahead in the darkness lapping gently against Djefi’s three boats.  He
hoped Dagi had gotten back on his boat without being seen.

Turning
south, Brian followed the river, leaving Khmunu behind him as he looked for the
canal that would lead to the amphitheater and the Temple of Ma’at.

When
he found the canal, he followed its flow to the Temple of Ma'at, unsure of what
he would do next.

As he
crouched in the darkness by the western wall of the temple complex he saw
torches moving in the darkness, their light scraping against the rough stone of
the temple walls.  He moved down the sloping canal bank.  Looking for
escape he saw a narrow opening built into the temple wall to allow the canal to
enter the complex.

He
heard voices carrying down from the temple entrance, but couldn’t make out the
words. It didn't matter; he probably wouldn’t understand them anyhow.  The
torches stopped bobbing as the men formed a circle by the temple entrance.

Peeking
over the canal's edge Brian saw a small group of men, their dark brown chests
gleaming in the yellow light.  They waited outside the temple entrance
while one of them entered. 

When
he emerged, with Tama by his side, Brian saw that it was Nimaasted.  Brian
watched them talk and then Tama gestured for the men to enter the temple.

They’re
searching for me.

He sat
on the slanted canal bank and watched as the men entered the temple. 
After the last torch had disappeared into the temple, Brian continued to stare
in that direction, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness while his mind
adjusted to his situation.

Baseball
had always provided Brian with a way to deal with life.  He worked hard,
prepared and trained.  He was part of a team.  He never gave
up. 
The game isn’t over until the fat lady sings,
he thought.

Absentmindedly
he pulled a blade of rough grass and twirled the narrow leaf in between his
fingers.

There
were no chalk lines, no rules, no umpires, no playing field here, he
realized.  At the end of the game, he wouldn’t shake hands with his
opponents, clap their backs, and say ‘good game.’

Men
had attacked him.  One had been killed and now they were looking for
him.  He knew that Tim had told him the truth about their situation: there
was no American embassy to pull his nuts out of the fire. 

He had
no idea what kind of police system they had here, if courts even existed. 
Were there jails?

If he
were caught by Nimaasted would there be a trial or would they just cut his head
off right there on the spot?  He remembered Siamun’s brutal laugh when he
had turned his back and left Brian and Neswy to die in the desert.

“Damn
it,” he said softly to himself.

I
didn’t do anything, just defended myself.  That’s the truth.  But who
do I tell?

The
thought tickled his memory and he recalled what Pahket had said: Ma’at stands
for truth.

He
couldn’t throw himself on Djefi’s mercy, or Nimaasted’s either.  He didn’t
see any way he could survive alone without eventually being caught.  The
only other person in authority was Tama, priestess of Ma’at, priestess of
Truth.

The
night grew lighter as the men emerged from the temple.  He watched as they
broke into three groups.  Most of them stayed by the temple entrance, two
turned and started to follow the temple wall away from him.  Two more
turned his way.

He
looked at the temple wall, the solid stone reaching over his head.  He
looked down the canal back to the river.  He could follow that and stay on
the run.  He looked back at the temple walls.  He would be safe in
there, it already had been searched.

The
canal.

The
searchers were close enough now that he could hear them talking.

He
slid down the bank.  The canal was chest deep.  He walked down it,
his feet sinking into the soft mud that lined its bottom.  At the wall, he
reached under the water, checking to see if there were bars or some other
obstacle.  Feeling nothing there, he took a deep breath of air, ducked
under the dark water and pushed through the opening under the wall.

B
rian dreamed that he was playing
baseball. 

A jet
flew far overhead, its white contrail and distant roar comfortingly
familiar.  He was on the pitcher’s mound, cloying brown dirt beneath his
feet.  Stretching away from his golden island was a carpet of grass so
vivid and green it hurt his eyes.  The white lines connecting the bases
were so fresh he could see each particle of flaky chalk.

His
eyes swept the stands, filled with kids and their parents, teenagers talking
and animated, middle-aged men and old-timers, nodding knowingly at each other’s
comments.  Their bright shirts and bare, waving arms were a colorful blur
as they talked, pointed or reached for a beer passed hand-by-hand across the
row, waiting for the game to begin.

He
leaned forward as his catcher flashed a sign at him, two gnarled fingers
calling for a curve ball.  The batter spit into the dirt.  The stream
of saliva moved in slow motion, splattering and splashing in the dust, raising
a miniature dust storm just outside the batter’s box.

In his
dream, Brian straightened up, felt the taut leather of the ball in his hand,
its raised stitching brushing along the edge of his index finger.  As he
peered at the catcher’s glove, he could smell the freshly cut grass and feel
the sun brush through his uniform and warm his muscles.  The batter
stopped waving his bat, poised now, wrists cocked and ready to swing.  The
infielders stopped their chattering and shuffling.  They leaned forward on
the balls of their feet and locked their eyes on home plate.  The crowd
stopped moving, held its collective breath in anticipation.

The
world was a frozen, golden moment poised to unleash energy and action, balanced
just on the lip of expectation.

He
smiled and moaned.

“When
did you find him?” Tama asked the young attendant.

“Just
a few minutes ago, Voice of Truth.”

“Do
you know who he is?”

The
young girl shook her head.

“I
will see to him, Nany.  Please don’t speak of him to others until I see
you again.”

The
attendant nodded her head and backed out of the doorway of the small storage
room where she had gone to get a jar of oil to replenish the temple lamps.

“Nany,”
Tama called, “don’t forget your oil, dear.”

The
girl came back into the room embarrassed by her forgetfulness.  She picked
up the ceramic jar and turned to leave.  Tama reached out and brushed her
fingertips across the girl’s shaved head.

“Thank
you, Nany,” she said as the girl walked out into the hallway.

Tama
stretched, extending her arms as high as she could, raising herself on her
toes.  She breathed in deeply and then exhaled slowly through her mouth as
she lowered her arms and came back down onto her heels.

It was
early morning.

Nany
had come to her while Tama was in the midst of the slow stretching movements
she practiced each morning before she meditated.  Tama knew the little
girl would not have interrupted her without good reason.  After the
excitement of the previous night, Tama was expecting more unrest until the
disturbance was resolved. 

In her
mind she pictured a heavy stone dropped from high into the still water of the
pond.  The stone was the killing last night.  The violent splash of
the water was the frantic, urgent search that had brought Nimaasted to the
temple door demanding to search the grounds.

The
ripples from the splash would continue moving, spreading beyond the immediate
moment, rebounding on themselves until the killing was understood, the murderer
caught and punished.  Even then, the murdered man’s family would continue
to suffer his loss, as would his friends.  The friends and family of the
murderer would suffer in a different way, tainted by his guilt.  Everyone
affected by the killing would be changed, some would become more angry and
driven by their pain would say or do harmful things to each other.  The
ripples would continue far longer than most people realized.

And
here, at her feet, sleeping soundly with a smile on his lips was the man -
or god - who called himself Brian.  He was the one Nimaasted had
insisted was a murderer, a dangerous, evil demon even more fearful than Ammut,
eater of hearts.

True,
his arms were fearfully muscled, his legs looked immense and powerful.  He
was huge, much larger than anyone Tama had seen before in the Two Lands. 
But his face seemed so happy and peaceful.  She wondered what he
dreamed.  Was it a beautiful woman?  A banquet and jars of
beer?  The feeling of power as he killed someone?

Those
were the things that drove men, she knew: sex, possessions, and power.  To
a man, and to many women, there was little else.

What
drove this man-god?

She
squatted beside Brian.  She was wearing only a short kilt.  Her
necklaces and bracelets were on a stand by her bed, as was the long, black wig
she wore in public.  Her shaved head was lightly beaded with perspiration
from her exercise.  She was well aware that she hadn’t bathed yet. 
She could smell her own musky fragrance, as well as a heavier smell that came
from Brian.

“Good
morning,” she said, watching his eye lids.  She saw movement behind them,
the kind of restless wanderings that showed someone was dreaming.  Slowly
she reached out to nudge his arm and bring him awake.

Brian
sat up, jerking his arm away from the unexpected touch. 

In the
split second between wakefulness and the moment when he opened his eyes, Brian
saw again the man’s throat, red and gurgling after Dagi had drawn the knife
across it.  A wave of panic swept over him, rekindling the fear he had
felt the previous night when he had stood in the shoulder-deep canal and
decided that his only chance was to dive into the black water to escape the
searchers.

Lurching
backward, he slid across the ground floor, instinctively drawing his knees up
to his chest as he opened his eyes.

“Not
the dreams of the innocent,” Tama said to herself.

Brian
raised an arm to shield his eyes from the light that streamed in the doorway
behind the person who was kneeling in front of him.  He guessed from the
shape that it was a woman, but he couldn’t see her shadowed face.

“You
are Brian?” she asked.

“Yes,”
he answered, his throat rasping.

“Did
you kill that poor man last night?”

Brian
shook his head.  “No,” he answered.  “The man attacked me. 
Three men attacked me.  And the priest Nimaasted.  He was with them.”

Tama
studied his face.  She had never talked with him before and she knew
nothing about him.  Was he a practiced liar?  Would his face show the
truth behind his words?  She didn’t know.  At least he isn’t
pretending to not know about the killing, she thought.

“Who
did kill him?”

Now
Brian paused.  He couldn’t name Dagi.  The boatman had saved his
life. 

Sitting
in the darkness of the temple storage room last night, Brian had tried to
understand what had happened.  He couldn’t think of any reason for three
armed men, four if he counted the priest Nimaasted, to try to kill him. 
It had to be Djefi’s idea.  That was what Dagi had suggested when he told
Brian it was not safe to return to the boat.

Brian
knew that Djefi disliked him.  Djefi had hidden Diane from him. 
Djefi had sent him into the desert with Siamun.  And now Djefi had sent
assassins to kill him.  But Diane was being treated well, at least as far
as Brian could tell.  She certainly wasn’t rushing to him for help. 
The only reason Brian had come up with for Djefi’s murderous hatred was that
Djefi viewed him as a threat.

He had
fantasized last night about getting revenge against Djefi.  He had
pictured himself as the movie character Jason Bourne, somehow possessing
incredible fighting skills and capturing Djefi.  But he knew that all he
really wanted was to return home, to be with his friends, to play another game
of baseball.

He
shook his head now.  “I don’t know,’ he said, looking at the ground.

Tama
knew he was lying.  He had thought, decided he would not tell her and now
was looking at the ground instead of meeting her eyes.  God or man, he was
easy for her to read.

She
should send for Nimaasted, but she knew that truth would not be served that
way.  Nimaasted had pretended to be full of righteous anger last night,
insisting that something evil was afoot.  But she had seen anger in his
eyes, not fear.  He had been lying to her also.

Now
the key to last night’s killing was sitting in a storage room here in her
temple.

She
wondered if he was just part of the broader mystery. 

Hetephernebti
had spoken of it last week when they had met: Kanakht had held secret meetings
with Waja-Hur and journeyed all the way to To-She to meet with Djefi. 
Hetephernebti was sure that the three men were plotting to kill King
Djoser.  However, the three commanded no military might and had only a
handful of personal guards.  What was their plan?

Tama
looked at Brian, sitting quietly on the floor.  He didn't seem dangerous.
He hadn't tried to escape or to attack her.  He knew what had happened
last night. 

Could
he be the key to help unlock the greater mystery?

She
knelt and sat back against the wall, her legs folded to the side, wondering
what to do.

As she
turned so that the light wasn’t directly behind her anymore, Brian realized who
she was.  “Ma’at!” he said.

“I am
high priestess for Ma’at, Voice of Truth” she said.  “My name is Tama.”

He
remembered seeing her talk with Nimaasted last night, allowing him into the
temple to search for him.  Had she already sent someone to fetch Nimaasted
and his guards?  Was he about to be arrested?

His
plan last night had been to escape the men who were hunting him by hiding in a
place they already had searched.  He had hoped to figure out the next step
this morning.

He saw
that she was alone; no armed guards were standing by to take him.  He
could overpower her and run away, but where?  He decided to trust her.

“Help
me,” he said.

Tama
studied him as she thought.  Hetephernebti had told her about Tim, how he
had chosen to stay with Meryt in her finals days of the wasting disease. 
Miraculously, Meryt had recovered and had left with Tim just a few days ago.

Hetephernebti
also had told Tama about the other strangers, Brian and Diane. They had arrived
in the Two Lands a few days before Tim had and that he had come to the Two
Lands in search of them.  Tim had told Hetephernebti that Brian and Diane
were lost and needed his help.

“Stand,”
she told Brian.

She
motioned for him to turn.  There was a streak of red on his kilt by his
right hip.  She thought at first that it was proof that he had cut the man
last night, the dying man’s blood spurting onto Brian’s kilt.  But then
she saw that there was a fresh wound on his hip above the red stain.  The
blood was his own!

So
Nimaasted had lied when he said that the man who was attacked had been unarmed,
she thought.

She
glanced around the room.  There was no weapon here.

She
closed her eyes and tried to picture what had happened, weighing Nimaasted’s
words against the wound in Brian’s side and Hetephernebti’s warning that
Nimaasted's master, Waja-Hur, was involved in a plot.

“I
didn’t do anything wrong,” Brian said earnestly, interrupting her
thoughts.  “Please help me.”

If he
is a god, she thought, then he doesn’t need my help so by asking for it he is
testing me.

If he
is only human then either he killed the man last night or he has been falsely
accused.  If he killed the man, then he could easily kill me and he has no
need of my help.  If he has been falsely accused, then he would fear
Nimaasted and fear being caught.

Tama
turned the questions over in her mind.  They formed a logic puzzle, a
delicious mystery, something she enjoyed solving, although she realized that in
this case, her pleasure was coming at a terrible expense.  A man had been
killed, and the man who stood before her had been accused of the crime.

If
only I truly had the power to weigh a man’s heart and see if he has followed
ma’at, she thought.  But I have only my eyes, my ears and my heart. 

Smoothly
she came to her feet.  Brian watched her, filled with excitement at
finding her and hoping that she would believe him and help him.

“Stay
here,” she said, watching to make sure he understood.

Brian
nodded and sat back on the floor.  He had nowhere to run, no one else who
could help him.  He would trust in Ma’at.

S
he turned right outside the storage room,
heading back to her chambers to prepare for the day and to give thought to the
puzzle of Brian.  She stopped at the next hallway and looked back to be
sure he had stayed in the storage room.