Eater of souls (6 page)

Bending over her grain sack, Anat opened it and took out a small bundle wrapped in a scrap of old linen. Inside lay trinkets from the men—faience ear studs and a kohl tube of the same dark blue material, a small oval bottle of scented oil for the skin, and a set of copper tweezers, a hair curler, and a tiny spatula for mixing eye paint.

The scented oil was the most valuable gift, for it was oil of lilies scented with myrrh, cardamom, crocus, and cinnamon. She remembered the one who had given it. A splayfooted, sweaty old priest of Ptah who chafed at the requirement of his profession that when on duty, one practice celibacy.

Anat replaced the bundle inside the grain sack, picked it up, and resumed her walk to the village. It had indeed been a good night, but a hard one. She had entertained three scribes, a coppersmith, a physician's apprentice, a brewer, a goldsmith and an incense roaster, the priest, and two of his fellows who served the goddess Sekhmet. Then there had been a scribe from the mortuary temple of one of the dead pharaohs, with his friend the stonemason. And she couldn't forget that hot-bellied woman who had burst into the tavern looking for her husband.

It had been Anat's ill luck that he'd been the second priest of Sekhmet. The wife, whose arms and legs might have belonged on the body of a quarryman, had chased Anat and the priest out of the upstairs chamber, wielding a stave longer and thicker than a warrior's javelin. Dodging that stave had wearied Anat. She'd left early, much to the annoyance of her next customer, a man of fine clothing but not so fine manners. And the tavern keeper, he'd been furious. Anat didn't care if he was angry. There had been plenty of customers, noble ones and prosperous merchants, to whom he could serve his watered beer.

Her mother's house stood on a patch of level ground at the outskirts of the village. It was a simple, flat-topped rectangle with a small front court. The court was used for everything from grain storage to cooking. The gate in the front wall of the court hung slightly askew. Its latch had fallen off, and Anat hadn't had the time to repair it.

She shoved the door open. The end slat touched the ground and slid along the dusty groove it had worn into the packed earth. Anat sighed and called to her pet cat. He was a foul-tempered menace, but he waited for her on top of the court wall each night. No sleek black body leaped down and came padding toward her. She called again, listening for his irritated yowl.

Then something sailed through the air past her shoulder to land at her feet. Anat bent down to scold the cat, squinting in the light of the full moon. She touched something wet, smelled blood and fur. Gasping, she jumped up and backed away from the lacerated carcass of her pet until she hit the rickety door. The panel rammed into her back with so much force she was propelled forward.

She stumbled and fell to her knees beside the cat's body. As she fell, Anat heard a deep-throated snarl. Terrified, she pushed herself to her feet and whipped around to face her attacker. She still had her grain sack. Grabbing the top in both hands as she spun, Anat drew her arms back, ready to swing the bag in a blow that would stun. Then she saw what was in the courtyard with her.

Anat hesitated, her mouth opening in a wordless scream. There was a blurred movement of razor claws. Anat's mouth worked. She dropped the grain sack, spilling and shattering its contents. She remained on her feet, poised between life and the unknown, staring at the thing that had waited for her. Then she plummeted to her knees again. Her eyes were sightless when the blood-drenched claws descended.

The chief of watchmen was ensconced in his cushioned chair, rush pen poised over a sheet of papyrus as he listened to the summaries given by the night's watch leaders. He wiggled his sagging belly until it fit beneath the fragile writing table. His wig was already askew because he'd stuck a stubby finger beneath it to scratch his sweating scalp.

The last of the watch leaders withdrew. The first of the private citizens with complaints entered. A silver-haired old one wearing more wrinkles than a thrice-worn kilt hurried in. To Sokar's annoyance, the old one didn't wait for him to bark questions. He launched into a babbled tale of the death of some woman from one of the outlying villages.

Sokar pounded on the table, producing a loud crack. "Peace, old one!"

The villager started and fell silent to gape at Sokar. Mollified by the old one's fright, Sokar smoothed his sheet of papyrus. Carefully and with time-consuming leisure, he swirled his rush pen in the black inkwell of his scribe's palette. With the pen poised over the sheet, Sokar grunted his satisfaction.

"You may continue, aged one. Begin with who this woman was."

"Anat, master."

"And who is this woman Anat?"

"She—she was employed at the beer tavern called Mansion of Joy. She came home late, in the middle of the night."

The old one stopped when Sokar glared at him and held up a hand.

"Wait." Sokar drew his thick oily brows together and snarled, "Are you speaking of some tavern woman? Some unknown woman who prances about the streets alone at night? Do you know how many petty tavern brawls erupt every night in this city?"

"But she's dead!"

"In her village, you said. It's not the concern of the city watch."

"But there is a feather, and her chest—"

"By the gods!" Sokar leaned toward the old one, and his belly shoved the table as he moved. "Aide!" he bellowed, causing the old one to jump and retreat. Sokar's assistant appeared. The chief of the city watch had turned the color of raw beef. "Throw this fool out, and see that he doesn't return."

The aide grabbed the visitor by the arm and thrust him from the office. Sokar pulled his writing table back. Wiping his face with a scrap of linen he used to clean his pens, he grumbled to himself, "Bothering a great man like me with such vulture's dung. Must be more than a hundred taverns, countless tavern women, all making trouble, disturbing the order of the city, making me write reports."

Commiserating with himself for his burdens, Sokar picked up a water jar and drank from it in big gulps. Water dribbled down his thick neck. Breathing hard, he set down the jar, wiped his face and neck. A drop spilled on the papyrus.

Sokar carefully blotted the water, took up his pen again, and made an entry in the section for deaths. "A tavern woman, not of the city."

Eater of Souls had fed, and now she slept. But the gods had bestowed upon her a link to the favored one, and this connection brought wisps of memory, like tendrils of smoke fed by damp wood.

There is a mother. She is like a newborn bird, ravenous, demanding, never filled. The favored one tries to satisfy the hunger. The hunger doesn't ebb; it grows and grows. The bird clamors for more,
cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep
. The noise careens around inside the favored one's head, growing louder, more shrill, more painful.
Cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep
. Something inside the favored one breaks. He bashes in the mouth that will not close, stopping forever that ravening appetite and those maddening
cheeps
.

Kysen was on the loggia that sheltered the entry to Golden House, waiting to escort his sisters to the family's private quay. Meren was holding a banquet on his pleasure yacht to become better acquainted with the newcomer, Lord Reshep. In the drive not far away, a groom held the reins of Kysen's restless thoroughbred team, which was harnessed to a chariot decorated with scenes of a desert hunt. In the deep golden light, the acacias and sycamores that surrounded the house cast long shadows on the horses and vehicle. Evening was almost here, and Bener and Isis were late.

He was about to send a servant to fetch them when Reia, one of the company of charioteers that served Meren, hurried around the corner of the house, raced up the stairs, and saluted Kysen.

"Lord, Abu has arrived from Thebes. He wanted to see you at once."

"Yes. I'll come now."

They made their way through the house and across the grounds, cutting through the garden, skirting the pleasure pool with its complement of small boats. Kysen led the way through a door in the long wall that separated the family's quarters from the barracks that housed the charioteers. Unlike the smaller residence in Thebes, Golden House possessed quarters for over thirty charioteers who assisted Meren as the Eyes of Pharaoh. Next to the low barracks that stretched almost the length of the guard wall lay a modest two-story house. This was the home of Abu, Meren's chief aide, who, until Kysen had sent for him, had been overseeing Meren's affairs in Thebes.

A servant was holding the front door open. Kysen hurried inside while Reia dismissed the servant. Abu was waiting in the reception hall in a chair amid piles of leather document cases, several caskets, and a discarded scimitar. He rose when Kysen entered.

"
You
sent for me, lord? I left Iry in charge at Thebes as you instructed."

Nodding, Kysen didn't miss the emphasis. Abu had trained Meren in the arts of a warrior. He'd saved Meren's life in battle, and Meren had saved his. Perhaps no one knew Kysen's father so well, or held close to his heart so many secrets. Few had the rank to give orders to Abu at all, and up to now, when Kysen had occasion to do so, it usually had been on behalf of his father. Kysen glanced over his shoulder at Reia. The charioteer was standing in the middle of the room where he could see anyone who tried to enter from any of the side chambers that opened onto the hall.

Drawing near Abu, Kysen spoke quietly. "Has my father spoken to you of this matter concerning the Great Royal Wife Nefertiti?" He waited impatiently while Abu hesitated. "I can see that he has, so don't bother lying."

"I would never lie to the lord's son."

"You would if my father ordered it. Oh, don't argue. There isn't time." Kysen went on to tell the charioteer what had happened in the past few days. "So I can't convince him to leave this evil undisturbed."

Abu remained impassive. "When he has reached a decision, the lord is as unwavering as the path of Ra in the sky."

"By the blood of Osiris, I think you know more about this than I do." Abu merely gazed at him. "You do! Damnation to you. I suppose it's useless to order you to tell it to me."

"Yes, lord."

"Then you understand even better than I that Lord Meren will be in danger from the moment he makes this journey to see the queen's former cook. And he insists on going alone. Great lords do not travel unaccompanied, especially not the Eyes of Pharaoh."

"There is nothing that can be done to prevent the lord from steering this course," Abu said. His face still held no expression. "The lord will risk his life in this quest, even should the gods try to prevent it."

Kysen studied Abu and at last caught a fleeting look of concern before the charioteer masked it. "You know why I called you here."

"Yes, lord. To protect your father."

"He won't allow me to go with him. He's ordered me to conduct my own inquiries. Among my special acquaintances."

"Then your life is in danger as well."

"Oh, no. You're not dispatching a squad of giant nursemaids after me. They'll send every thief and drunkard scurrying from sight. Just make sure someone follows Lord Meren at all times." Before he could go on, Reia signaled and nodded in the direction of the front entrance.

"Why?" Bener was standing in the doorway in festive garb, her gleaming black wig falling over her shoulders. "Why is it necessary to have Father followed without his knowledge? What is happening?"

Kysen uttered a sound that was half groan and half sigh while Abu and Reia bowed to his sister. "Bener, you shouldn't be in the barracks."

"If Father is in danger, I want to know about it," she replied as she walked into the hall.

Her filmy gown rained pleats down to the floor. The smooth sweeps of kohl that lined her eyes, the glistening green malachite on her lids, the gold, turquoise, and lapis broad collar draped from her shoulders, all combined to make her look older than her sixteen years. Bener wasn't as beautiful as her younger sister. Her almond-shaped eyes tended to bore into people's characters with the precision and facility of a bow drill. Her chin, though small, recalled the strength and outline of a stonemason's mallet, and her nose was endowed with a little of the strong thrust of her father's. Nevertheless, her observant humor attracted the friendship of aged servants and young princely warriors alike. At the moment it was Kysen's regret that Bener had also inherited her father's strong will.

When he didn't answer, Bener walked over to Kysen and folded her arms over her chest. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, by my ka."

"Oh, of course," Bener said with a guileless smile and wide-open eyes. "Nothing is wrong. Father moves about the house like an abandoned soul in the desert. You alternately glare at him and plead with him for hours. Abu appears mysteriously without Father's knowledge or orders. And my powerful sire, the Eyes of Pharaoh, one of those few in all the world who have the honor to be called Friend of the King, my father has suddenly decided to leave court in the middle of a perilous diplomatic skirmish with the Hittite emissary. In order to visit his old nurse."

"Yes," Kysen snapped. "Now find Isis and go to the chariot. I'll be there in a moment. And stop interfering. These affairs are not in a woman's domain."

He should have expected this of Bener. She had a clever heart and more than a little of Meren's circuitous reasoning power and abiding suspiciousness. Kysen wished she was still distracted by the steward and his excess watermelons.

Bener narrowed her eyes, and he caught a glimpse of shining green-and-black paint that only enhanced the glint she directed at him. "That is what you told me before I discovered who killed Uncle Sennefer."

"Women manage households and bear children," Kysen said. "They do not concern themselves with the tasks of men."

"Kysen, you're a fool. Do you really think that the wives who bear sons to their husbands, the mothers who nurse all male children, be they kings or water carriers, do you think these women have no influence upon the actions of those husbands and sons?"