Year of the Hyenas (27 page)

Naia smiled in
relief
and walked to where he stood. Eagerly she held the child up to him,
undoing the child’s swaddling a bit so that he could see its face.
“Isn’t he beautiful?”

The child was
indeed
that, his skin the same pale, smoky hue as his mother’s. He blinked up
at Semerket blindly, and his dark eyes were large, like a calf’s. Fine
black hair covered his head, and his brow was high with promised
intelligence. Before he could stop himself Semerket lifted a finger to
touch the child’s hand, a thing of perfect softness.

The child
looked at
him gravely, and clung to the finger with a strength that surprised
Semerket. Though Semerket’s face remained expressionless, he was
thinking silently to himself, I will crawl into the earth and die here,
now, right on this spot.

But in that
same
surprisingly clear voice he had used a moment before, he instead asked,
“What is his name?”

“There’s a
tradition
in Nakht’s family that they are descended from Pharaoh Huni—so that’s
what we call him, at least for now.”

“Huni.”
Semerket
pulled his finger away, and the child closed its eyes and turned its
head, making sucking noises. Semerket looked then upon his ex-wife. “I
don’t need to ask you how you are, Naia. You’re beautiful.”

She smiled,
pleased.
Then her brows drew together in concern. “Oh, but Ketty—! You don’t
look well at all. Something ails you!”

What was he to
say? He
could not tell her that the food he ate might be poisoned or drugged,
or that he was afraid to sleep at night because death lurked in his
dreams. So he said, “I’m fine. Really.”

“What are you
doing
here, Ketty? Your note said it was vital.”

He looked
about the
stable, trying to phrase what he had to say. “It’s a long story. I’m
investigating a crime, a murder—”

She put her
hand to
her mouth in happiness. “Are you back with the courts, then? Ketty,
that is good news.”

“Naia—”

“It’s just
what you
need to get your life going forward again.”

“Naia—”

“You don’t
know how
I’ve worried about you—”

His voice was
more
severe than he meant it to be. “Naia, stop!”

She was
instantly
silent, her eyes growing large.

“I’m here
because I
suspect your husband is involved in it.”

She continued
to stare
at him, silent, with the same terrible expression on her face, cradling
the child closer to her breast.

He spoke
rapidly.
“Naia, I saw him. Last night. Nakht met them— the men I was following.
Naia, they’re bad men. There’s one, a beggar—without a nose—who even
tried to kill me once. He’s dangerous, Naia. Another is a foreman from
Pharaoh’s tomb, and the scribe— there’s been a murder of a priestess,
and we think there’s tomb robbery going on in the Great Place, and now
Mayor Paser…”

He stopped. It
was all
coming out wrong, a great incoherent jumble. Naia was still looking at
him with the same wide-eyed expression. She thinks I’m mad, Semerket
told himself.

“Naia…” he
said
helplessly.

“What do you
want from
us, Semerket?” It was the coldest tone she had ever used to him.

He blinked. “I
need to
know what’s going on.”

She shook her
head
slowly. “And so you come here today, out of nowhere, and expect me to
inform on my own husband.” She sat on a bale of straw as if her
strength had failed her. “I thought…” She sighed and did not continue.

He sat next to
her,
trying to explain. “Naia, if Nakht is involved in this, the
consequences will be terrible for everyone. You know the law in Egypt.
Your entire family will be punished. Everyone will be at risk— you,
your servants. Even that child in your arms.”

Her mouth
opened in
astonishment, and her dark eyes sparked with fear and indignation. “And
you think to make me do what you ask— by threatening my baby? Oh,
Semerket! No!
No!
”

She fled the
stable.
Semerket caught up with her by the well and reached out to catch her
arm. It was the first time he had touched her in months, and the shock
of it was electric for them both. She stopped, breathing hard, but did
not turn to look at him.

Semerket spoke
in a
low voice. “I did not come to threaten your child, sweetheart—I would
kill anyone who did that. I came here to help you, help your husband,
if he will have it.”

She was silent
for a
moment, still refusing to look at him. Then she spoke in a tiny voice.
“What do you want me to do, Semerket?”

“Go to him.
Tell him
that however he is involved, whatever he has done, it can still be
undone. The best way would be for him to tell me what he knows.”

The child at
her
breast began to wail, and the sound seemed to galvanize her into
movement. “The child must be fed, Semerket.” She hurried to her gate
and pulled it open.

“Will you tell
your
husband… ?” he called after her.

But she was
already
through the door of her house.

THE MOON WASa sliver that evening.
Only the black silhouette of the Gate of Heaven against its blanket of
stars served to guide him from the temple landing to the tombmakers’
village. Strange that he should be relieved to see the torches atop the
village ramparts. Had his life become so lonely that he looked forward
to the company of people who hated him?

He went
through the
smaller southern gates into the darkened enclosure of the village.
Though the hour was early by tombmakers’ standards, the village was
deserted. Doors and gateways were firmly bolted against the night and
whatever lurked in it.

Semerket
stepped
slowly through the dark corridor of the main street, advancing toward
the priestess’s house, his fingertips brushing against the walls on
either side of him. He felt about with his foot, careful to avoid the
jars and brooms that waited outside the doorways.

As he inched
forward,
he gradually became aware of another noise. Every time he took a step
forward, he heard a distant echoing step behind, as if someone tried to
match exactly the pace of his footfalls. He turned to peer into the
dark, but all he saw were the distant torches at the southern gate.

“Yes?” he
called into
the darkness. “Who’s there?”

No voice
answered him,
but when he stepped forward again, the faint echoing noise came again
to his ears. Suddenly the image of a slashing lioness rose in his mind,
and he saw beside it the evanescent figure of Hetephras,
blood-spattered and grisly. He broke into a run, heedless of any pots
or brooms lurking in the corridor ready to trip him.

Semerket
streaked to
the door of Hetephras’s house, shaking and breathless. Swiftly he
pushed the door open and slid its bolt into place, then waited with his
ear pressed to the wood, listening. When Semerket heard no other sound,
he forced himself to take deep breaths. Gradually the fear within him
subsided.

A small voice
spoke to
him from the dark. “Do you believe she is really here among us?”

Semerket
twisted
around, a gasp caught in his throat. Hunro was sitting on the tiles of
the front room, a shawl pulled over her shoulders against the chill.
She held Sukis in her lap. Companionably, the cat ambled to where
Semerket stood, to twine between his legs.

Calming his
racing
heart, he bent to stroke the cat’s fur, all the while watching Hunro.
She seemed small and afraid, not at all her usual bold strumpet. Her
face was bare of paint, and her robe was a simple one.

He took a step
forward. “I’ve seen how remorse can so eat away at the guilty, they see
ghosts and demons everywhere.”

Hunro
shivered,
holding her head in her hands. She had forgotten to drench herself in
sandalwood fragrance, as was her custom, and Semerket was suddenly
struck by how infinitely more attractive she was when barren of all
emollients and paints and goddess’s garb.

Semerket
brought his
finger to her face and stroked her cheek. He was surprised to find it
wet with tears. “Aren’t you afraid that Hetephras might be waiting here
in the dark?” he asked gently.

She ignored
his
question, but her breathing was ragged. “I came here to tell you that
I’m leaving tomorrow. I have my jewels.” She pointed to a small
alabaster chest on the tiles. “I’m going across to the eastern city at
first light. I wanted to ask if you’d help me find a house there,
somewhere where they can’t find me again. They’ll make me come back if
they know where I am.”

“Hunro…”

“If you won’t
help me,
I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve no one else to ask.”

The words
slipped out
before he had even thought about them. “Yes, I’ll help you,” he said.

Hunro looked
at him in
wonder. “You will? Truly?”

He nodded.
Quite
simply, she was the only person to whom he felt close. But that was not
the main reason. Why shouldn’t one person get what she wanted out of
life, he asked himself.

Semerket saw
the heat
in her eye that kindled when he answered her. She was parting her lips
and leaning in so closely that he could feel the warmth of her body. As
she tilted her head, their lips met and her breath was flowing into
his. He groaned, trying to pull away, but found he could not.

Suddenly he
heard the
same soft footsteps that had trailed him in the corridor, now stopping
outside the door. Snapping his head up sharply, he gazed into the dark.
He sensed that Sukis had gone suddenly feral, her back arching and her
ears flat against her skull. He put a finger to his lips, warning Hunro
to be silent, and he tiptoed to the door, listening. No longer afraid,
for the sounds were distinctly human, he pushed it open.

Of course, he
should
have suspected who it would be. “What are you doing out there,
Khepura?” he asked loudly.

The head woman
gaped
for a moment like a hooked fish. “I heard sounds coming from
Hetephras’s house tonight,” she said at last, somewhat defensively. “I
had to see for myself if
she
was here.”

Semerket knew
he was
supposed to think Khepura had come looking for Hetephras’s ghost. But
it was more than likely, given Khepura’s ability to scent out such
things, that she knew Hunro was behind the door.

“She isn’t.”
Semerket
was as unspecific as the head woman, and his black eyes were hidden in
the dark.

“I thought I
heard
more than one voice,” Khepura said innocently. “Are you not alone?”
Khepura bent her head to peek past him. Semerket thrust his body
between her and the rooms behind. Behind him he heard the soft noises
of Hunro retreating into the distant kitchen. Khepura heard the sounds
as well.

“I’m not
alone,” he
said.

“Oh…?”

“The cat is
here with
me.”

“Oh.”

She flashed
him a lewd
smile. “Good night, Semerket,” she said, and in those innocuous words
she somehow implied that a universe of shamelessness existed behind the
door.

Repulsed, he
backed
away from her, and at that moment Khepura saw the alabaster box that
Hunro had brought with her. It sat on the tiles, iridescent in the
starlight. There was no doubt she recognized it, and the same knowing
smile became wider on her face, as if all her suspicions had been
confirmed. Chuckling softly to herself, she turned and retreated down
the alleyway. For such a hefty woman she moved with a certain grace,
Semerket thought, elephantine though it may have been.

Semerket once
more
refastened the door and joined Hunro. He noticed that Sukis had relaxed
her stance, but nevertheless stood alert and wary.

“She knows
you’re
here,” he told Hunro.

“What of it?
After
tomorrow I’ll be free!”

“She saw your
box of
treasures on the tiles.”

Hunro’s face
became
momentarily panicky, and she ran to the reception room to gather up the
small chest in her arms, cradling it as Naia had cradled her infant.
Then her face grew savage. “That hog—I hate her! She’s half the reason
I want out of here—always spying on me, telling lies.”

“You have to
hide
them,” Semerket said. “You can leave them here with me, if you want.”

He saw the
involuntary
flash of distrust that lit her eyes. She clung to the box even more
tightly. “N-no,” she answered. “There’s a place in my house where I
keep them, behind a loose brick. Only I know where they are.” Then her
voice again took on its customary light-hued purr. She began to speak
about the kind of house she wanted for them in Eastern Thebes. “And
when you come home, you’ll lie upon our bed and I’ll rub your feet,”
she said, “and our neighbors will sensibly hide behind the gate.”

He was
astonished.
“Hunro,” he began awkwardly, desperation beginning to make his tongue
once again unserviceable, “when I said I’d help you, I didn’t mean…
what I want to say is… I’m bad luck for any woman—a terrible risk.
You’d only end up cursing me.”

Hunro merely
smiled
confidently and brought the alabaster box under his nose, as if the
mere sight of the treasures hidden within it would smother any protests
he might have. She lifted its lid and when Semerket saw, speech indeed
died in his mouth.

There, in
front of
him, were the royal jewels he and Qar had sought—the ones Nenry had
vainly searched for in the bazaars—rings, loops, bracelets, amulets
massed together in the box, a medley of colors that flashed brilliantly
even in the dark. From their workmanship alone Semerket would have
recognized them as royal jewels. But more than this were the telltale
glyphs of inlaid gold and silver and ivory and electrum, each
proclaiming them to be the property of pharaohs, queens, and princes
from Egypt’s distant past, names as legendary as the gods’ own.