Three Princes (5 page)

The left-hand side of the balcony had a broad staircase curving downward to the children’s quarters, with brass handrails, each a crowned serpent exquisitely undulating into the children’s world. On the right hand side of the balcony, Pharaoh’s stair curved down to the garden.

There was no staircase to the Queen’s entrance. In front of them was the Queen’s Bridge, a narrow span of marble, arching over the garden. The Queen’s private apartments were on the other side. The slender bridge looked as fragile as glass; the thin handrails like mere silken ropes, yet once they set foot on it, both felt as solid as steel. It was only wide enough for two, side by side. Oken followed behind the princess and Mabruke, marveling at both the view and the garden.

The Queen’s private secretary, Lady Khamanny, was waiting for them at the other side of the bridge. She bowed to the princess, then nodded gravely to Mabruke and Oken. “Madam is waiting for you, gentlemen. Thank you for being on time.”

“I’m to go ahead and get the tea service ready.” Princess Astrid Janeen raised herself up on tiptoes to give Mabruke a childlike kiss on the cheek. “I really am glad that you’re safe, Mikel.” She flashed a quick, brilliant smile at Oken, then dashed away.

“There, you see, Mik,” Oken said. “We get tea.”

The two men followed Lady Khamanny through golden doors set with hieroglyphs and royal seals. The foyer to the Queen’s apartment was low-ceilinged and luxurious, continuing the motif of red and black with gold and Imhotep blue. Tall papyrus in golden planters filled the corners, each with little sun-globes glowing softly amongst the leaves. Chairs stood between low tables and spunglass lamps in the shape of Isis and Nephthys back to back, with light shining from their upraised palms.

“If the gentlemen would wait here,” Lady Khamanny said to them, “I will inform Her Majesty that you have arrived.”

Oken spoke up then. “I believe I can safely leave this with you?” He held out the briefcase.

“Of course, Lord Oken,” Lady Khamanny said smoothly, taking the case from him without further comment.

Mabruke settled down on the edge of a couch, resting his hands across his lap.

Oken stood beside him, looking at him in concern. Mabruke seemed unusually winded from the walk. “Are you safe?”

Mabruke looked up at him. “No one is ever truly safe. Not even in Memphis.”

“At least your sense of humor hasn’t changed.”

“Her Majesty awaits you.” Lady Khamanny spoke to them from inside the entry to the Queen’s apartments.

Mabruke and Oken each bowed as they entered, then waited quietly to be formally announced.

The secretary announced them with their full names, which was the Queen’s way of letting them know that this visit, despite its informal nature, was a matter of royal business.

“Captain-Prince Mikel Kim Julian Khonsu Mabruke, thirteenth son of Michael Nobolo Kim Surat Mabruke, King of Nubia, born of Lady Curren Elizabeth. Prince Mabruke is accompanied by Lord Scott Jaimes Robert Lesley Oken, fourth son of Lord Julian Lesley Robert Scott Oken, born of Princess Isis Eileen Marguerite Rowena MacDur, Arch and Archet of the Mercia Spate in the Britannic Kingdom.”

Two cats at the foot of the bed jumped down, hurrying over to Mabruke to rub against his ankles, purring loudly.

Queen Sashetah Irene reclined on a divan, comfortably nested among large pillows. Her cats were sleeping around her, over her, and tangled up with each other. She did not rise. She smiled up at Mabruke and Oken and waved them in, marking her place in the book she had been reading with an eagle feather of solid gold. She put the book on the table beside the couch, faceup.

The Queen was a beautiful woman in her own right. The majesty of her royal rank suited her temperament. She wore it well. Her skin was tawny and smooth, her dark eyes large and round, her features strong, with high cheekbones, a broad and intelligent brow. Her slender fingers and narrow palms curved back gracefully as she gestured for them to be seated.

Her purple silk robe had pleated sleeves and she did not wear a wig, rather a closely fitted gauze headpiece of gold and purple stripes. Gold earrings were a spray of stars dangling from a Watch It Eye.

Oken gave her his most dazzling smile as he bowed, touching his forehead to the hand she held up to him. “Your secretary left out the part about being special agents to the fairest queen in both worlds—of course, we won’t mention that beyond these lovely walls, will we, madam?”

She shushed him gently with a slight smile. “Sit down, gentlemen.”

Oken then picked up the cat who had rolled over to paw at him, and cuddled her in his arms, making cooing noises while they rubbed noses. He sat down on the edge of the couch at the Queen’s feet. Two more cats stood up to rub against his shoulders.

Lady Khamanny stepped forward silently, carrying a low-backed chair carved with leopards and gazelles. She placed this beside Mabruke, bowed to the Queen, and withdrew.

Mabruke sat down, placing his feet neatly in front of him and brushing flat a wrinkle in his starched linen kilt. He folded his hands in his lap. “Pharaoh is well, madam?” he said politely.

Sashetah Irene sighed. “Poor old Dozey. Bored to tears with this business in Rusland. We just can’t get the wood anywhere else, it would seem.”

There was a soft ring of chimes, signaling that Khamanny had gone into her office outside the Queen’s quarters. Mabruke relaxed, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms over his chest. Oken sensed a strange reluctance to speak touching Mabruke’s expression.

Oken spoke up. “Khamanny seems put out with me, madam.”

“Khamanny’s daughters are put out with you. You went touring with princesses in Europe.”

“And found not one to match the beauty of women in Egypt, madam. Khamanny’s daughters have nothing to fear.”

“All seven send you their regards.”

“Thank you, madam.” Oken smiled. “Seven daughters, you say?” He leaned forward, whispering into the cat’s ear. “Maybe one or two of them are getting lonely, what do you think?”

“Careful, Scott,” the Queen said. She was smiling. “The three youngest already adore you, and the two eldest have begun serious husband-hunting. You are far too eligible to be safe from them.”

Oken pretended to count on his fingers, to the amusement of the cat, who batted at his hands. “That leaves two lonely lovelies!” he whispered to the cat.

Oken and Sashetah Irene often jested with each other about Khamanny’s many daughters. The Queen clucked at him fondly, then turned back to Mabruke. “We were greatly concerned for you, Mikel. We are quite relieved to see you looking so well, although you seem to have lost some weight.”

“I appreciate the efforts made in my behalf, madam.”

“You have had quite an adventure, we believe, and you with only the one man at your side!”

“Had I but known, madam, as the romancers say, I would have attended that party with a full regiment.”

“We will not underestimate the Red Hand after this.”

“With any luck, madam, this will severely loosen their hold.”

“What did happen, Mik?” Oken broke in. “I’ve been out of the country, remember?”

“Yes, please,” Sashetah Irene said. “We would like to hear how you survived. How did you get there to begin with? The Red Hand isn’t really your jurisdiction.”

Mabruke sat farther back into his chair, as though withdrawing from the memory. He reached up and flicked the plume in his hat, then flashed an embarrassed smile. “I was at a party, actually. In the Wild East sector.”

The Wild East was a broad section of rock and desert on the eastern outskirts of Memphis, a suburb of public housing, for the steady flow of immigrant workers passing through northern Egypt. They gathered briefly at crew agencies, to get training or to find assignments on road crews and engineering projects throughout the Mediterranean, Africa, and Europe, even Central Asia. The Wild East was a place of youthful spirits and restless energy. Dreams collided with great, cultural waves splashing around. People there were educated and skilled for the most part, but they were rootless, unattached to families and past. Relationships shifted, merging and breaking up like bubbles in a wild stream.

Oken himself adored the place.

“I had a bodyguard with me,” Mabruke said. “I did not go there alone.”

“Your bodyguard was nearly killed,” the Queen said in mild rebuke.

“Not at the party, madam.” Mabruke was emphatic. “The dinner party at the Star Osiron went quite well. The trouble came afterwards. The nightclub owner offered us each a complimentary aperitif while we were waiting for our carriage. It was drugged. We passed out right there in the cloakroom. I cannot fathom why I didn’t recognize it. I am supposed to be an alchemist!”

“Never mind,” Sashetah Irene said. “Even that is useful information. It’s a warning.”

“Thank you, madam. I suspect the vanilla shavings must have been strong enough to cover the scent of the drug. I thought it was just an unfortunate garnish. There was also a hint of anise, which might have been a factor, as well.”

“Mikel,” the Queen said, gently interrupting him. “The owner of the Star Osiron and the entire staff have been arrested, and you may question them at your leisure. You were telling us of your terrible ordeal with the Red Hand?”

“Of course, madam.” Mabruke reached up and flicked the white plume. “My apologies. As I was saying, when Wast and I woke up, we were in an unlit cell somewhere underground. They had stripped us of everything but our kilts.”

“They were keeping you alive for the slave market, weren’t they?” Oken said.

“They let us keep our kilts because they were custom-made. Proof to slave traders that we were high-class property.” Mabruke sat, head bowed as though unable to look up from his hands resting across his knees.

“We were tied up with silk scarves.” He shook his head sadly. “I will have to add this to the training program, madam. Knots of almost any other kind we could have untied, even in the dark, but silk! The knots were as solid as if the fabric had fused to itself, and slippery. We had to chew through them, finally, which seemed to take hours. In the silence and dark, though, I don’t really know how long we were at it.”

The cat in Oken’s lap swatted him to express her dis pleasure. His grip had tightened around her as he listened, picturing his friend in that dark place. He let her go, crossing his arms over his chest instead.

“Their accents wereDaad.” Mabruke ignored the cat and went on speaking, his voice steady despite the strain showing in his eyes. “They came to fetch us before we were quite through the bonds. From what I picked up of their patois, the trade ship had docked and we were to be carried onboard for transport to market in Sumatra. They were dragging the first of the captives out when the strands of the silk finally broke and we got free. The others were still unconscious. There was nothing we could do but to escape and bring help.”

“Help was sent,” the Queen said once Mabruke had sat silent for too long, staring helplessly at his hands. “Wast gave the name of the slavers’ ship as soon as he was conscious. The Marine Guard were sent after them at once.”

“Thank you, madam.” Mabruke looked up to meet her eyes.

“You did escape.”

“I could tell we were deep underground,” Mabruke went on. “I could smell the river, so we did at least have one direction for orientation. We were discovered twice, but Wast is a good bodyguard. He was injured the second time, however, which slowed our progress. We just kept walking, for days, it seemed. There were three, or perhaps four times when we heard men ahead of us. Once they had passed, we took the opposite direction, thinking we could trace back the way they had come by following their stink. Finally, we stumbled onto a staircase going up. I could smell fresh air ahead. We got careless, I suppose. We had been so long in the dark. They heard us. Wast was wounded again, and at that point we stumbled out into the Ibis Road.”

Mabruke fell silent, regarding Oken with a puzzled frown. “How you happened to be there, just at the moment we escaped those tunnels, is quite a striking mystery.”

Oken shrugged, feeling that peculiar tug of destiny’s web. “How it was that you happened to escape at just that spot in just as Mathias and I were passing by.” He felt a different, less pleasant twinge. “Osiris Mathias, I am afraid.”

Oken fell silent, remembering, then said. “I just felt the need to walk.I needed to feel Egypt under my feet, to breathe Egyptian air.”

“You and I are longtime friends,” Mabruke said. “Osiris spoke to you. He whispers his instructions through emotions, with need, with impulse. I’ve known you since you were a child.”

The two men regarded each other solemnly. The Queen was silent, intently observing this exchange.

“Mathias is the mystery, I suppose,” Mabruke said. “I never met the man.”

“Perhaps not such a mystery,” the Queen broke in. “The high priests of Thoth can pray some mighty fine and powerful prayers. We personally instructed them to petition every protection the divine powers could provide. The priests were asked to keep praying until we found you, or had discovered your final fate. We prayed privately to Sutekh to guard you, and to Sakhmet to keep you alive. We prayed to them in every free moment.”

“Madam is very kind,” Mabruke said. “Sutekh is the guardian of our guild for a reason, it is true, but we can’t rely on him. To rely on him is to expect him. To expect him is to mistake his form, and an insult to his nature.”

He was staring down at his hands. The damaged nails had been manicured and repaired. His hands seemed shrunken, older.

“Once Wast has recovered more fully, madam”—Mabruke pulled himself up to a more formal posture—“he will draw a map of our meanderings. Wast is a good memoryman. His map should be accurate enough for us to send troops in, after some planning. The Red Hand have been using this underground network to expand their territory for some time. That much is clear from the extent of their reach.”

“Finding them so close to Thoth’s Manor was shock enough. That’s Caesar’s Ground, the most sacred in Memphis.”

“We will never let them onto the Campus, madam. I may be retired, but I keep my eyes open!”