Imhotep (39 page)

“But
can we just not make this about you and me?  Do you want to go back? 
I’ll help you get there and once you’re there you can do whatever you
want.  I promise.”

“I can
do whatever I want now,” she answered.

“You
sure?”

“I’m
happy, Brian,” she said, and for the first time he heard a note of satisfaction
in her voice.

He
shrugged and started to reach down to tousle her hair.  “Sorry,” he said,
catching himself.

“Well,
I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Are
you going back?” she asked.

“I
don’t know.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.  “Goodbye,
Diane.”

He
turned and walked out of the hut.  He stepped clear of the building and
sniffed.  There was a sour smell in the air.  He shook his head as it
triggered a memory.  It came to him - it was a locker room smell,
the smell of unwashed perspiration.

He
started to turn toward the source of the smell as Siamun swung his club. 
Brian caught a glimpse of movement, but before he could raise his arm, the club
hit the back of his head and he fell heavily into the darkness.

B
rian’s shoulder hurt as much as his head
ached.  His arms were twisted tightly behind him, his hands tied together
and tethered to what felt like a wooden stake.  His mouth was gagged with
a dirty strip of linen and he had no idea where he was.

It was
dark. The air was dank.  He could hear someone snoring lightly, but
couldn’t see who it was.  The last thing he remembered was the feeling of
guilt he felt as he turned away from Diane and walked out of the hut she shared
with Yunet.  He closed his eyes as a wave of nausea hit him. He started to
sweat as he realized that if he threw up while he was gagged it could go back
down his windpipe and kill him.

He
hung his head and tried to calm his breathing, but every breath made his
shoulder ache.  He remembered stepping out of the hut and sensing, no
smelling someone behind him.  He remembered turning and seeing a shadow
cutting through the air at his head.

Siamun!

He
took a slow, deep breath, trying to hold his shoulder still while his chest
filled.  He recognized the smell now; it was the same sweaty stench that
had hung like a cloud outside her hut.  He looked at the sleeping man and
realized his vision was blurry.

Damn
it!  Clubbed on the head, a shoulder that might be broken, gagged and
hands tied, and Siamun waiting for me.

He
thought about Tama, hoping he could find calmness there.  She knew he was
heading this way.  But she was turning north, going to Khmunu for a
festival.  She had told him that it would be dangerous, but he thought he
was like Indiana Jones or something:  He’d just sneak into the secret
temple and rescue the beautiful woman.

Where
is Tim?  Who is going to help me?

No
one, he thought.  OK, so what do I do?

“Y
ou don’t get any food today,” Siamun said
when morning came.  “If you’re alive tomorrow, then maybe some.” He
laughed.  “But then, you’re a god, right?  You don’t need food.”

Brian
sat in the hut, his back and legs cramping, his stomach growling in anger and
his head and shoulder aching.  His mouth got drier and drier.  He saw
light outside the hut, even saw people moving by off in the distance, but no
one came into the hut.

Evening
fell and then the shadowy haze turned dark.  Brian nodded off to sleep
several times, awaking when his head lolled to the side and pulled on his
injured shoulder.  He woke one more time as Siamun and two men came into
the hut.  Siamun carried a torch; each of the men had a short length of
rope.

One
man knelt on each side of him and tied one end of the rope each was carrying
around his arm.  Then one of them reached behind and untied him from the
post.

Siamun
left the hut and waited outside as the men helped Brian to his feet and then
pulled him from the hut.  They kept as far away from him as the ropes
would let them, keeping the lines taut.  Siamun led the way across the
temple compound toward a solitary stone chair.

As he
walked, Brian tried to flex his legs and hips to loosen the joints so he could
run.  He casually pulled on the ropes, trying to gauge how firmly they
were being held. 

At the
chair, the men turned him so he could sit in it.  He realized that they
would have to untie his hands if they wanted him to sit.

Siamun
leaned closer, bringing the torch up to illuminate Brian’s face.

“If
you try to escape, then Sobek gets dead meat,” he said.

He
reached behind Brian and cut the ties around his wrists.  Brian pulled his
arms quickly.  The man on his left held the rope tightly, but the other’s
grasp wasn’t as sure.  Brian’s arm came free, his fist moved quickly at
Siamun’s head and he felt a satisfying crack as the blow landed.  Siamun
fell back, but caught himself before falling over. 

Brian
stepped quickly toward the man on his left, the motion making the rope
slack.  He pulled up his left hand and suddenly felt a jerk as the other
man regained the rope and pulled Brian’s right arm back.

Siamun
sprang from his crouch and drove a fist into Brian’s stomach.  “Hold him,
hold him!” he shouted.

Brian
kicked at Siamun, but he was off balance and the kick had no speed to it. 
Siamun danced away from it and swung again at Brian at the same time the two
men jerked hard on the ropes around his arms.  The motion pulled Brian
back into the seat and Siamun’s punch missed him.

As he
fell into the seat, his injured shoulder slammed against the back of the stone
chair and he screamed in pain.  The two men held the ropes tight as Siamun
circled the chair, one hand rubbing the side of his face where Brian’s punch
had landed.

“You
stupid bastard,” he cursed as he came close to the man who had relaxed his grip
on the rope.  He reached out suddenly and slapped the man, his hand
cracking loudly across the man’s face.  “Hold the rope, hold the rope,” he
said.  “If he gets loose, if he touches me again, I swear you’ll be in
that chair next.”

Brian
felt his arm jerk as the man pulled hard on the rope.  The arm stretched
out, his shoulder twisted. Another bolt of pain shot through him.

Siamun
took the rope from the man’s hands. 

“Tie
his feet,” he ordered.

After
his feet were tied, the men pulled the ropes around the back of the chair and
tied them together there, pulling his arms tight.

Once
Siamun was sure Brian was secured, he leaned close to his face.

Brian
saw with hollow satisfaction that Siamun’s face had already started to swell
where he had hit him.

“Tonight
will be the start.  If Sobek is hungry enough, it will be the end, one
that I will enjoy watching as a true god devours you alive. ”

One of
the men disappeared for a moment and then came back into the circle of yellow
light cast by the torch.  He was carrying a basket filled with dead fish.

“Start
by the well,” Siamun ordered.  “Lay a trail to the chair.”

The
man put a dead fish at the top of the circular opening that opened from the
courtyard.  He lined up the rest of the fish in a row that stopped by
Brian’s feet.

“Have
a good night,” Siamun said.  He reached out and slapped Brian hard across
his face, turned and walked away.

I
t was quiet in the courtyard.  The
moon and stars gave enough light that Brian could distinguish between open
space and the pillars of the rising temple.  He could see where the low
wall around the complex ended.  Far off to the east he thought he could
see a darker ragged line where the tops of the trees interrupted the horizon.

His
head ached, his shoulder was on fire and he tasted blood on the linen cloth
that gagged him.  He didn’t know if he had bitten himself somehow or if
Siamun’s farewell slap had broken the skin.  His stomach was empty and he
had to piss.

He
tried to think of Tama and the nights they had spent together during the trip
down from Khmunu.  He thought about baseball games he had played.  He
thought about the early part of his relationship with Diane.

When
he felt calmer, he began to assess his situation, trying to think of what was
really happening, not what his fears were projecting.

Just
then he saw a shadowy movement from the well, a dark gray moving within the
blackness.  There was a heavy scratching sound.  The movement came
again, narrow but heavy.  Then another movement and he saw that it was a
huge crocodile, its head tilted up as it swallowed a fish.

It
shook its scaly head and turned toward him.  Its right forefoot was raised
a few inches off the ground as it had begun to pivot when it saw him.  It
froze, and the grotesque angle, the iron will shown by its immobility cut
through Brian.  Slowly it put its foot down and pushed itself forward,
another step closer to him.

Brian
began to scream through his gag.

S
amut arrived in the village of Kom Ombo
two days after Brian was taken captive in the temple across the river.

No one
in the village had seen Brian, although a farmer at the northern end of town
told Tama’s messenger that he had found a donkey two days earlier and another
farmer said his reed boat had drifted away the same night.

An old
woman who had trouble sleeping told Samut that she heard unhappy spirits
moaning in the night air that floated along the river.  But she also heard
Khepri speak in the scratchy sound of scurrying scarabs and Mehen whispered to
her whenever she saw a snake uncoil and slither away.

Samut
went to each house in the small village, telling the same story.  He told
the villagers that he had been sent by Hetephernebti, priestess of Re, and
Tama, priestess of Ma’at, in search of a stranger. 

“You
would know him.  He is tall and fair skinned.  He speaks our tongue,
but not very well.  If you find him, give him shelter.  Re and Ma’at
will bless you.”

When
he was shown the donkey the farmer had found, Samut recognized it as the one
Tama had given Brian.  He thanked the farmer for taking care of it and
told him to keep the animal as a gift from Ma'at.

“But I
would have you do me a favor,” he added.

With
the farmer’s help, Samut was able to find a messenger to carry a letter north
to Hetephernebti at Waset.  Samut told the priestess that although no one
had seen Brian, he believed that he had crossed the river to the Temple of
Sobek.  He promised to wait at Kom Ombo until Brian returned. Then he
would take him to the village of Edfu, a short distance north of Kom Ombo where
they would wait for Tama or Hetephernebti.

B
y the fourth day Brian had given up hope. 

He was
weak from hunger, and the nightly fear from being exposed to the crocodile had
drained his spirit.  He no longer struggled when they dragged him to the
stone chair, where he expected to bleed to death as the crocodile ate him
alive.

His
worst enemy was his imagination. 

He
pictured the crocodile chewing on his legs.  He saw himself kicking at it,
his legs reduced to a shinbone with bloody scraps of skin hanging from the torn
flesh.  He imagined the pain and the screams and he prayed that he would
lose consciousness quickly.

But
each night, although the crocodile had grown braver, Brian had not been
killed.  And each morning, before dawn, Siamun and his guards untied Brian
and led him stumbling on stiff legs back to Siamun’s hut where he was bound and
tethered to a post.  Each afternoon the gag was removed and he was given
warm, dirty water, which he lapped at hungrily.

He
dozed through the day, dreaming of his college friends, of playing baseball, of
Tama.  The awkward angle of his tied arms, the pain in his shoulder, which
had changed from a sharp pang to a throbbing ache, kept him from ever
forgetting where he was, even in those brief dreams.

At
times he daydreamed of somehow wrestling free of the ropes and attacking
Siamun, but as the days wore on, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to fight
him even if he did break free.

On the
second night, exhausted from straining against the ropes, he had fallen asleep
in the stone chair.  The crocodile had eaten the fish, following the trail
that led to him.  It had brushed its snout against his shin, almost as if
it were taunting him.  Then it had walked away, exploring the confines of
the courtyard, which was bordered by a short wall.

When
Brian woke, he was disoriented but the ropes on his arms and the hard stone
against his bare skin brought his fear rushing back, bringing with it an
adrenaline surge. 

Looking
around, he couldn’t see the crocodile, and he wondered if it had returned down
the wide steps to its well.

He
pushed his toes hard against the stone paving and felt the chair move. 
His legs were tied to the stone legs of the chair, but when he slid as far
forward on the chair as the ropes around his arms would let him, he was able to
wiggle his legs a little lower.

He
pushed again and felt the front legs of the chair rise.  He let the chair
fall forward.  Then he pushed again, rocking his chest and head backward
at the same time.  The chair rocked back farther and then fell forward
with a dull thud.

The
chair was stone, but so was the pavement.  If he could rock the chair
over, the arms of the chair could shatter and his hands would be free.

He
almost smiled. 

Calming
his breathing he closed his eyes and focused his energy.  He relaxed his
shoulders and hands, leaned forward, pressed his toes against the stone and
pushed hard, flinging himself backward.  The chair tilted, farther this
time.  It fell forward heavily and Brian pushed back again, trying to
create a rhythm to his movement.

On the
fifth try, the chair tilted farther and he slammed his shoulders backward
desperately, ignoring the pain.  The chair balanced on its back legs and
then began to fall backward.  Brian cocked his head forward trying to
brace himself so his head wouldn’t slam against the back of the stone chair.

It
seemed to fall in slow motion.  He saw the stars slide by, he felt the air
brush against him as he fell and then suddenly he was on the ground. 
There was a loud thud, but no shattering sound.  The arms of the stone
chair were intact; he was still tied and unable to move.

He lay
on the courtyard, staring at the uncaring stars.  He felt moisture on his
cheek and realized that he was crying.  He gave in to his fear when he saw
the dark shape of the lumbering crocodile emerge from the well and pause as it
saw him on the ground.

D
iane learned about Brian a week after he
had been captured when Siamun appeared at the doorway of the room she and Yunet
shared. 

“Come,”
he ordered. 

Yunet
took Diane’s hand and they followed Siamun across the temple grounds, behind
the main temple building to a small collection of huts.

Siamun
motioned for them to enter one of the huts that stood apart from the others.

“Oh my
god,” Diane cried when she saw Brian.  He was propped sitting against the
wall, one eye red and swollen, his arms tied behind his back.  He looked
as if he had lost twenty pounds and aged fifteen years.

He
looked up at her, barely conscious.  “Hey, babe,” he whispered.

She
started to rush to him, but Siamun moved between them.

“Get
out of my way, you animal,” she said and pushed against him.  Siamun
grunted and pushed back, shoving her against Yunet, who stood unmoving in the
doorway.

“What
is he saying?” Siamun demanded.

“Let
him go, right now!” Diane ordered.

Siamun
spit on the ground near her feet.  “He says the same thing over and
over.  What does it mean?” he asked.

Diane
turned to Yunet.  “Please,” she said.  “Make him let Brian go. 
This isn’t right.”

Yunet
looked at her sadly.  “Djefi has said you are to remain safe.  But he
has ordered Brian killed.  There is nothing I can do.  I am sorry.”

“Killed? 
What do you mean?  He can’t just order someone killed.  How long have
you known about this?  Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yunet
started to speak, but Siamun grabbed Diane’s arm and spun her around to face
him.

“Answer
me!” he shouted.  “He says the same words, over and over.  What do
they mean?”

Diane
shrugged away from his touch.  Siamun scowled and stepped quickly to
Yunet.  He grabbed her throat and put his knife at Yunet’s eye. 
“Tell me what he says,” he demanded, looking at Diane.

“What
does he say?  I’ll tell you what it means.”

Siamun
glared at Brian.  “Say the words!” he commanded.

“Go to
hell,” Brian said hoarsely.

Siamun
turned back to Diane.  “Those sounds.  What do they mean?”

Yunet
held her head tensely, her eyes wide with anger, her fists clenched.  She
watched Diane and waited.  Siamun dug the point of his knife into her
cheek, just below her right eye. 

He
turned to Diane.  “Another scar, my wife?” he said.

“It’s
a curse,” Diane said quickly.  “He is cursing you.”

“I
know that.  But what does the curse mean?”

He
pressed the knife harder and a drop of blood rolled down the blade from the cut
he made under Yunet’s eye.

Diane
tried to think of a curse that would belittle Siamun, show him that she wasn’t
afraid.  She knew men and she knew the kind of pride a bully like Siamun
would have.

“I
don’t know your words for the curse,” Diane said, “but it means that you aren’t
man enough to make a child.  That you can’t get hard.”

Yunet
gasped and jerked away from Siamun, but she was too slow.  He pulled the
knife viciously across Yunet’s face. 

“Bitch,”
he seethed.  “What have you said?  There will be a day when Djefi
doesn’t care about you and then, Yunet, then I will finish it.”

He put
his open hand against her face and pushed her out of the hut. 

Whirling
at Diane he grabbed her arm and pushed her outside.  Then he turned to
Brian.

Outside
Diane heard Siamun shout at Brian, she heard a wet thud as he kicked Brian and
she heard Brian’s weak response, “Go to hell.”

T
he scream that startled Diane from her
sleep ended in a gargled moan.  She sat up in her bed and swung her legs
over the side to get up.

“Don’t
go,” Yunet said, grabbing her arm.

Diane
pulled away from her.

“I
thought he had escaped at Khmunu.  Please believe me,” Yunet said.

Diane
stood, refusing to answer her.

“There
is nothing we can do.  You don’t understand Djefi or Siamun.  Believe
me,” Yunet said.

“I’m
not going to sit here while he’s being killed.”

“I
thought you hated him.”

“Are
you coming with me?” Not waiting for the answer, Diane turned and headed for
the door.  She looked around the room for a weapon, but didn’t see
anything she could use to fight Siamun.  Then I’ll use my hands, she
thought, stepping into the night.

She
saw three men standing near the center of the courtyard by the stone chair.

She
hurried across, recognizing Siamun among the group.  A clay pot was at his
feet, red coals glowing within it.  One of the men was holding a thin,
rod, whose tip was glowing red-hot.

“What
are you doing?  Stop it,” she shouted, breaking into a run.

Siamun
turned to her, his face twisted into a grin, his eyes bright with
excitement.  As he turned, she saw Brian, tied to the stone chair, blood
dripping from his mouth.  Siamun laughed and held out his hand.  His
fingers, dark with blood, held something thick, floppy and bloody pinched
between them.

She
stopped as she looked in horror from the bloody flesh to Siamun’s happy face
and then to Brian, his head slumped, his chest heaving and his mouth held strangely
open.  The smell of burnt flesh hung in the air.

She
heard Yunet’s soft footsteps behind her, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from
the gruesome scene in front of her.  Suddenly a shadow moved close to the
courtyard floor.  Siamun and the others stepped back from it.  Brian,
his head lolling against his chest, didn’t register the movement.

The
shadow emerged toward the torchlight and Diane saw that it was a huge
crocodile.

The
other two men backed away more as Siamun extended his arm.

“Here,
Sobek,” he called.  “Have a taste of what awaits you.”

The
crocodile tilted its head back and opened its long jaws to catch the flesh
Siamun tossed to it.

Diane
was petrified, unable to move.  She felt Yunet come up and put an arm
around her shoulders, turning her away from the men.

“What
is happening?  This is a nightmare,” Diane said numbly.

“There
is nothing we can do.  I am sorry.”

Diane
started to cry as Yunet led her back to their room.

“I
don’t understand,” she cried.  “What did they do?  Why?”

“Siamun
has done this before.  It is what he is known for. It is because he is
cruel.”

“What?”

“He
has cut out Brian’s tongue.”

Pahket,
watching from the doorway of her small hut on the far side of the courtyard,
saw Diane collapse and fall to the ground.

Pahket
had learned about Brian’s capture the morning after it happened.  Every
night she watched from her hut as he was led across the empty courtyard to the
stone chair.  Every night she watched the men tie him in place and leave
him there.  She had seen him tip over the chair, she had seen the
crocodile sniff at him and then walk back to its dark well.