When whorls of blue sparks appeared in the center of the room, their reflection from the floor doubled their angry intensity.
Khamwas halted in mid-step, then backed in a perfect reversal of his previous motion. He squared his shoulders and bobbed his chin up and down as if to be sure that it was set in the correct position, firm but not outthrust in challenge.
Samlor was worried about position also. He stooped, setting the lamp on the floor with a delicacy which belied the fact that he never took his eyes off the sparks which grew and, with their afterimages, were beginning to sketch a figure. When the earthenware lamp-bowl was safely
down, Samlor dropped the wand also and rose with his boot knife half-concealed by his palm and thigh.
It was something to throw for a distraction. By now he had enough data to know that they might want a distraction which permitted them to get out of the chamber again.
Fast.
The sparks hissed like hot grease as they spread in tight arcs which wove into surfaces. They were not forming a figure but rather two figures; a slender, imperious woman and the babe in her arms nuzzling her bare right breast.
The woman was dressed in much the same fashion as Nanefer's corpse, and her features were similar to those of the stranger in the Vulgar Unicorn.
Similar also to those of Khamwas.
"You cannot prevent me, Ahwere," Khamwas said in a clear voice that bespoke enormous control. "Your fate is accomplished."
The popping griddle sound ceased, but the silence which replaced it was unnatural. When the woman began to speak, her voice did not echo. It was as if they all stood on a mighty plain instead of in a stone chamber from which sound dissipated only after hundreds of reverberations.
"Go back, man of my house," she said. She was a statue of blue fire whose face alone moved as she spoke. The infant squirmed against her and began to cry in a thin, hopeless voice. "The price of what you seek is too high."
"Your fate is accomplished, Ahwere," Khamwas repeated gently. "The price you paid is no part of me. You must stand aside."
He made no attempt to step forward.
Ahwere, who would have been attractive if she were a woman and alive, laughed. The sound began as something nearly human and ended in a clucking, like arpeggios played on dried vertebrae. "You do not think the price is for you to pay, oh man of my house? But nevertheless, you must leam just what the price is, mustn't you?"
Her mouth opened, wide and then wider than life or protoplasm would allow. "Watch!" screamed a voice from the cavern that was enveloping the world. .
CHAPTER 12
"DON'T STAND THERE with yer bleedin' thumb up, Ipis!" screamed Shay, the bosun, to the sailor at the bow line. "Belay the bloody line!"
Shay glanced with a subservient expression toward the woman beside him and the man who Samlor now was. "Beggin' yer pardon sir, madam." he muttered perfunctorily. Then the bosun's face reformed itself into a snarl as he bellowed, "And you lot! Lower the bleedin' mast, don't drop it through the bleedin' bilges!"
At the mainsheets, six squat crewmen-naked except for their breechclouts-hunched themselves against the weight they were supporting. They had furled the sail against the upper yard as the richly-appointed craft neared the quay. The fitful breeze was still making it hard enough to dock that Shay decided to lower the twin-pole mast as well. One of the temple servants on the quay had managed to get a line aboard, but the boat was drifting outward despite the efforts of the three oarsmen at either gunwale.
The baby at Ahwere's breast began to squall because of the shouting. She crooned to comfort the child; and Samlor-whose body knew he was named Nanefer, and which acted outside the control of his Samlor mind- stepped closer and put an arm around both his wife and his son.
Sailors and men on the shore began to haul the vessel firmly to its berth.
The quay was stone-built, not wooden. Though unoccupied at present, it projected far enough into the river to dock a pair of vessels the length of Samlor's on either side, i A causeway, also stone, led a hundred feet inland to the! walled courtyard and temple which stood on the firmer ground at that distance from the riverbank. Drums were beating in the courtyard, and already a group of regally-garbed priests were hurrying to join the handful of servants on the quay.
The vessel edged against the downstream side of the dock. Sailors snubbed it while Shay bawled orders and horrible threats.
"Hush, dearest," murmured Ahwere. "Hush, sweetness. Soon it will stop."
The bank to either side of the stream was a rich green backdrop of palmettoes and reeds in their Spring colors, before the sun and the lowering river dried them golden. The temple's extensive fields were hidden behind the screen of natural vegetation.
Not far upstream from the quay was a massive wall built against the bank for no evident purpose. Like the temple and its outworks, the wall was stone: but the blocks comprising it were cyclopean and of immense age. In the center of the wall-a dam backed against a section of riverbank no different from those to either side of it-was a bas-relief which seemed to be a stylized face, though mud from recent flooding and the patina of age made it impossible to be sure.
A gaggle of musicians had run to the dock with the priests. A plump man with an image of the god Tatenen on his breast gestured to them. They broke into a flute-and-drum tattoo whose timing suffered from the fact most of the performers were panting from the haste with which they'd run from the temple enclosure.
The priest shut them off with another gesture and an angry glare which smoothed to buttery slickness as he turned and bowed toward Samlor. "Prince Nanefer," he said. "Princess Ahwere, little prince Merib-come ashore, please. 1 am Tekhao the chief priest, and I offer you the full hospitality of the Temple of Tatenen."
Six other priests with scarlet sashes-Tekhao's whole tunic was dyed red-bowed in shaky unison behind their chief.
Samlor nodded to them and handed his wife to the rail ahead of him. Temple servants steadied her as she stepped to the dock, though the babe in her arms and the servants' determined obsequiousness made the job even more awkward than it needed to be.
Takhao himself offered Samlor a hand as he followed Ahwere. "Your father is well, Prince Nanefer?" he asked.
"Certainly, very well," Samlor responded. His current body did not have the aches which had accumulated with the years in his own form, though they were noticeable only now that he lived in their absence. On the other hand, stepping up to the dock was an unexpected effort: Samlor/ Nanefer wasn't fat, but neither was he used to efforts more strenuous than strolling through the gardens of his palace.
He was only socially truthful, also. King Merneb hadn't been at all well when they sailed from the capital… but that was no business of a temple functionary.
Besides, the king would cheer up as soon as they returned. His present state was mostly because of his concern about his only son and daughter, and their child, his grandson. Samlor was utterly sure that his knowledge was equal to this undertaking, but his father, King Merneb, refused to believe that.
The musicians resumed playing as the party walked toward the temple. "The banquet we have-" Tekhao began.
"And have you assembled the quantity of wax 1 require?" said Samlor, at close enough to the same time that both men could pretend the prince had not broken in to silence a yammering priest.
"Why yes, your highness," said Tekhao without dropping a beat. "That is to say, most of it is on hand at this moment, and the rest should arrive by-" he glanced at the