Nubenehem looked up as he pushed the door open. She was not alone. Standing by her table was a black-skinned girl from the far south, eyes and teeth dazzling white; breasts and buttocks mirroring orbs. Apart from gold chains around her neck, waist and ankles she was naked. So firm and perfect was her body that there was something unearthly, even unsexual about it. She shone in the lamplight like the black wood from Punt, and might have been carved from it.
‘Tell me you’ve come to spend some money,’ said Nubenehem in greeting.
‘I’m still earning it.’
‘What about this one?’ The fat Nubian nodded at the little girl from the south, who primped and giggled. There was a freshness and gaiety about her which lit up the brothel, making it appear dismal by comparison.
Huy smiled at the girl. ‘At any other time…But now I need one more favour.’
‘You want to sell me the wig back? No.’
‘A valuable wig like that? Are you joking?’
The black girl laughed and skipped away behind the curtain which led to the interior of the City of Dreams. She seemed possessed of an inviolable grace. Huy wondered how long she had been in the capital, and how she had got there.
‘What favour?’
‘I’m looking for a girl.’
‘Another one? What’s wrong with the ones I’ve got?’
‘This girl’s from the Land of the Twin Rivers.’
‘Oh,’ said Nubenehem sarcastically. ‘Easy. You sure you only want one?’
‘She might have gone missing from wherever she works.’ Huy tried to pick his words carefully, but Nubenehem was on the defensive immediately.
‘A place like this?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Two days ago. Perhaps three.’
‘You still working for the Medjays?’
‘No,’ he told her truthfully.
‘Good. Didn’t seem like your style, somehow.’
‘Have you heard anything?’
‘How fast do you suppose news travels?’ Nubenehem remained cautious.
‘There aren’t that many girls from there.’
‘I’ll ask around. See if anybody’s lost one.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’ll cost you two silver pieces.’
Huy stepped out into the warm night, smelling the heavy, dusty odour of the air appreciatively. Still rested, he was disinclined to return to his solitary house, and although the thought of visiting Taheb came to him, he rejected it. He wanted tonight to himself, and the idea of the wealthy formality of her house oppressed him.
He returned to the quayside, content for a time to walk up and down, allowing his thoughts to marshal themselves. His eyes wandered from object to object; the facades of the buildings with their dark, secretive entrances, the boats again, the glitter of the restless water, the fishermen’s lights out in the middle of the stream, the faces of the other people taking their evening stroll. Again he found himself wondering how much contentment there was behind any one among this sea of faces; but the pursuit of such reflection was vain. For most of those around him, life was a simple matter ordered by the pharaoh and the gods, by the annual rise and fall of the River and the three seasons, by the narrow strip of green in the desert along which they existed. Complexity was neither necessary nor desirable; it was of no practical use and it solved nothing in the end.
Someone touched his elbow so timidly that he thought it had been accidental, until the gesture was repeated with more insistence. Now he turned and saw Nebamun walking beside him.
‘Hello,’ said the boy, looking at him with hollow eyes.
‘Hello,’ replied Huy, not slackening his pace.
They continued in silence for several paces, part of the crowd and lost in it. Few people were talking and the silence of night cast its pall over the city. The occasional cry of laughter, or a voice raised in anger, seemed shocking, like a violation. But the silence was not complete; it never was, here, for there was always the insistent murmur of the river and the laborious, unending sawing of the crickets.
‘Do you have a message for me?’ said Huy finally, recognising that the boy looked to him to break the silence.
‘From whom?’
Huy spread his hands. ‘I don’t know. From your father?’
‘No. What would he have to say to you?’
‘That is true.’ The thought of Reni sending any sort of word to him amused Huy; but the boy continued to look at him seriously.
‘Then what is it?’ Huy asked after a moment longer. Nebamun hesitated before replying. When he spoke he looked ahead, only occasionally glancing at Huy, though whether for approval or in anticipation of an interruption, Huy could not tell. ‘We heard today that Kenamun has sacked you. We heard because Kenamun and my father are friends. Business associates. Colleagues. You know. A finger in every pie.’
‘Yes?’ Huy would not be drawn into criticising either Reni or Kenamun. Life here had taught him that much caution, strongly as it ran against his nature.
‘I believe he was wrong to do so.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes. Aren’t you angry?’
‘He wasn’t satisfied with the work.’
‘Are you going to leave it – just like that?’
Huy looked at him, but there seemed to be nothing to read in the face, beyond a curious anxiety, and a curious devotion. ‘I have no choice.’
‘But can you bear to?’
There was an insistence in the voice which irritated Huy. What need did he have to justify himself to this pampered youth? But then that thought was replaced by another: was not there agony in Nebamun’s voice as well?
‘It is not a question of what I can bear, but of what I have to put up with.’
Nebamun licked his lips and swallowed. ‘If you cannot find out who killed my sister, no one can.’
‘What about your brother Ankhu? I thought he had plans.’
‘Ankhu is good at starting game. He is not good at stalking it.’
The crowd milled around them. Huy took the boy’s arm and guided him through it, to the edge of the quay, where a short, broad jetty jutted out into the water. Resting a foot on the bollard, he faced Nebamun.
‘Now we can speak in more comfort. What do you want?’
‘I want to help you.’
Huy smiled inwardly. After so long alone, now he was surrounded by people eager either to enlist his help or offer theirs.
‘You cannot.’
‘Why?’ There was a touching air of innocence about the boy.
‘Your father would not approve. Kenamun would not approve. It would be bad for me. In any case, I can have nothing more to do with the investigation.’
Nebamun looked at him defiantly. ‘I cannot believe that you are the kind of man who can just stop working on something, leaving it half-finished like this.’
‘What do you want from me? I earn a living the way I have to, not the way I choose to.’
‘But don’t you care about the people? Don’t you want to put an end to this?’
‘The Medjays will do that.’
‘The Medjays! They are donkeys.’
‘No, they are not.’
‘I do not believe that you will simply drop this case.’ Nebamun spoke more quietly, but his tone was desperate.
‘Because you do not want me to. But you must trust Merymose. He knows what to do.’
‘Let me help you.’
‘I am sorry. There is nothing to help me with.’
The boy fixed him with a final look, but said no more, and slipped away into the crowd, only turning back once more. Huy wished that he could unravel the message in his eyes. Might there have been a challenge there?