By the time he had got to his feet and turned round, the square was empty again. Evidently Surere’s caution was still one step ahead of his madness.
Huy wanted a bath, to wash the fatigue away, and put some order into his thoughts. It seemed several days since he had seen the girls’ bodies in their mockery of repose at the embalmer’s shed that morning. As for Surere, Huy had surrendered to the thought that the man had left the Southern Capital long ago. The discovery that he was still here, that his heart had found time, in that sinister cell he inhabited, to entrench itself in the obsessions of his lifetime, and that he believed himself to be in contact with the ghost of the dead king, were complications Huy could have done without. He could not admit to his own heart that Surere was involved with the girls’ killings; though perhaps – the dark thought was there – Huy was afraid to admit such a thing was possible, as he would then, however innocently, have played a part in their deaths.
There remained the question about whether to tell Merymose that he had seen Surere. If he were captured, the former district governor would be executed, by the cruellest method prescribed in the Black Land: impaling. Whatever their differences, could Huy hold himself responsible for sending him to such an end? He found himself glad that he did not know the location of Surere’s hide-out.
Huy made his way home, but, still finding no message there, he forced himself to set off again, heading for the City of Dreams. He would talk to Nubenehem about his discovery of that morning. If he drew a positive result from his questions, he would have something else to tell the policeman, as well as the manner in which he believed the victims had been killed.
But as he walked, he became more and more convinced that he would also have to tell him about Surere. Would Merymose believe that he had no idea of the man’s whereabouts now?
‘Are you here for business or pleasure?’ scowled Nubenehem from the couch where she appeared to live. Rolls of dark fat lolled over the little sofa’s back and sides. More than ever, it seemed to have become a part of her body.
‘Business.’
‘I see. So, not my business then. My business is your pleasure. You should take some. You didn’t spend any time at all with Kafy last time you were here.’
‘How is she?’
Nubenehem scowled. ‘She’s gone.’
Huy was surprised. ‘Why?’
‘None of your business.’
‘I noticed she was badly bruised. Was it a client she didn’t like?’
‘I said it’s none of your business.’
‘Where has she gone?’
Nubenehem looked at him. ‘You’re really concerned, aren’t you? Well, don’t worry. She’s gone back to her village, near Saqqara. But not forever. She hasn’t been killed, like those rich tarts the whole town’s gossiping about.’
Huy felt an emptiness in his stomach. He had been concerned for Kafy; more than he would have thought, for someone whose interest in him stretched no further than his wallet.
Nubenehem was in a bad mood, reaching for her liquor jar and belching. A stale smell hung in the air. ‘So, what do you want? If all you want to do is talk, there are plenty of other places you can go. Bees don’t make honey by talking.’
‘I want to ask you about Nefi.’
The woman’s eyes became clever. ‘What about her?’
‘Has she been back?’
‘No. Anyway, I thought you found her.’
‘I lost her again.’ Obviously the town gossip had not revealed who had been killed.
Nubenehem relaxed. ‘There’s plenty of girls besides her and Kafy. I might take you on myself.’
‘Oh yes. And Min’s erection’s gone soft, too.’
Nubenehem cackled. ‘You shouldn’t talk about the gods like that.’
‘About Nefi,’ Huy continued, carefully.
‘I haven’t seen her.’
‘I wondered – something about her – something you might remember.’
‘You described her to me. That was her. Little slut, all puppy fat and innocence. You should have heard the way she talked. I tell you, she even shocked me.’
‘But she was a good looker, wasn’t she?’
‘Plump little lips. Cheeky little tongue. Give a man the best kind of pleasure he’d get this side of the Fields of Aarru.’
‘Pity you never saw her naked.’
Nubenehem was getting careful again: ‘What are you driving at, Huy? Of course I saw her naked. She wanted to work here.’
‘Did anyone else see her?’
‘Couple of the clients. Whistled. Told them she wasn’t on the market yet.’
‘You never got her full name?’
‘No.’
‘One thing I’ll always remember about her – that little cat tattoo just above her navel.’
Nubenehem clammed up. ‘We’re not talking about the same girl.’
‘Oh?’
‘Nefi had a tattoo all right – they all do – but it wasn’t a cat, and it wasn’t anywhere near her navel. It was a scorpion, and it was on her shoulder blade.’
‘Oh,’ said Huy, certain of Nefi’s identity now. ‘Can’t have been the same girl then.’
He turned to go, but halted at the door.
‘Where did Kafy get that bruise?’
‘I told you – ‘
‘I know. None of my business. But I’ve got friends in the police now. Merymose. Heard of him? I could get you closed down. Who was that client I saw in here? The richly-dressed one who paid you over the odds?’
Nubenehem started to sweat, and half rose.
‘Don’t call out the cavalry,’ said Huy. ‘That’ll only make things worse. Who was it?’
Nubenehem was silent, but there was a hint of fear in her eyes.
‘You put on a show for him, didn’t you? A special show. With Kafy. That’s how she got that bruise. And that’s why she’s left. She didn’t want any more. But you don’t have a licence to operate that kind of brothel. Now, who was he?’ Finally the fat Nubian looked at him. ‘Don’t give me any trouble, Huy. We’ve known each other for a long time.’
‘Who was he?’
‘You can have any girl you like, free.’
‘Who was he?’
She spread her hands, but her look was defiant. ‘All right! He was someone from the palace compound. I don’t know why he decided to come here, but they do, now and then, and he paid well. You’re right. Things got out of hand.’
‘His name.’
‘He didn’t give it.’
Huy was not sure if she was lying or not, but she read his thoughts and continued, ‘Even if I knew it I wouldn’t give it to you – and you may have enough clout to shut me down, but even Merymose couldn’t reach high enough to touch him.’
‘What did he do to Kafy?’
She spat out the words. ‘Nothing. He just watched.’
SEVEN
‘With a needle?’ asked Merymose, intrigued.
‘Yes. Or something similar. A very fine knife, perhaps, or even an embalmer’s chisel,’ replied Huy.
‘But how can he have done it? There wasn’t any sign that any of the girls struggled.’
‘What do you think?’
Merymose spread his hands. ‘That they didn’t want to struggle?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you mean they were drugged?’
‘It might have been simpler than that. They might have trusted him.’
‘What, to stick a knife in their heart?’
Huy shrugged. ‘They might have been embracing. Perhaps the furthest idea from their hearts was that they were going to be attacked.’
‘But why?’
‘If we knew the answer to that!’
‘But there might be no motive at all. Where would that leave us?’
‘Oh,’ said Huy. ‘I think there’s a motive. However strange it is, I think there’s a motive.’
‘The only thing that’s consistent is the way these girls have been killed.’
‘There is much more,’ said Huy, convinced that Merymose must have seen the other similarities too. ‘They all come from similar backgrounds, they all live within the palace. They’re all the daughters of rich officials. They’re all the same age. They all had…a look of innocence.’