Such a privilege meant nothing if he couldn't find the king. Finding a living god wasn't usually a problem, since he was bound by dusty, creaking tradition that worked against deviations from the set royal schedule adhered to by noble servitors, ministers, and everyone else around him. Wherever he went, Tutankhamun moved in a cumbersome swarm of people-bodyguards, high-ranking priests, royal servants, courtiers, family, government ministers, and a host of slaves. But Tutankhamun had developed the ability to elude this suffocating hindrance.
Sometimes he simply rose before anyone else and left the palace with his bodyguards. Sometimes he ended an audience and vanished before his courtiers could come after him. At other times he waited until the middle of the night and stole out of the palace with only Karoya for protection.
Thus, when Meren went to the palace, he sought the king in the royal chapel, not knowing for certain if he would find the living god in his appointed duties or off on some unexpected excursion with the court in a frenzy of alarm. Luckily, he arrived just as Tutankhamun emerged from the dark inner chamber that held the altar and the sacred shrine in which the image of the king of the gods, Amun, was kept. Only the king and priests of the highest rank were allowed in this chapel.
Tutankhamun walked into the light of dozens of alabaster lamps. Heavy doors covered with sheet gold swung shut behind him with a boom. Linen-clad backs bowed low, Meren's among them. Pharaoh hurried down a corridor formed by slender wooden columns painted to resemble tall papyrus plants, but stopped and turned back to stand before Meren.
"Eyes of Pharaoh," the king said.
Thus addressed, Meren straightened. He didn't expect what he saw. Tutankhamun's skin had been painted in gold with magical signs of warding, protective symbols, an idea that probably had come from the magician priests. He held a golden net such as would be used to catch harmful spirits in a magical ceremony.
The king came nearer. "You have news."
"Of a privy nature, O golden one."
Tutankhamun turned around and addressed his waiting councillors. "My majesty will confer with the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh."
He waved a hand in dismissal, which caused a murmur of surprise. The dozens of people surrounding the king began to move all at once, except for the Overseer of the Audience Hall and one of the chief judges of the kingdom. The judge whispered to the overseer, who approached the king.
"Great king, thy majesty is to preside in a hall of judgment at this very hour."
"The judges and the complainants will wait, overseer."
Soon Meren was in the uncomfortable position of having to sit in a small pleasure boat while the king rowed on one of the vast palace pleasure lakes.
"This is the answer?" the king asked as he pulled his oars out of the water. "A mad, petty noble who imagined himself greater than he was? It wasn't Eater of Souls?"
"Reshep was possessed, golden one, but I don't think Eater of Souls was in him. I can't believe Eater of Souls would serve such as he."
Tutankhamun looked thoughtful. "True. If Eater of Souls were to come among the living, she'd serve me."
"Thy majesty speaks with the wisdom of his father Amun."
"My majesty will order his name erased wherever it's found. Get rid of him, Meren, and I'll put it about that an outlaw was caught masquerading as Eater of Souls in order to rob the citizens of Memphis."
Meren bowed, and they fell into an uneasy silence. Such was the fate of evil ones. Their names were erased from documents, monuments, family tombs. Their bodies were cast into the desert to become the fodder of hyenas and jackals. Denied their eternal house and the repository of the soul, these spirits were left to the terrible judgment of the gods. When their names were erased from the land of the living, their final avenue to existence vanished, and their souls perished.
Tutankhamun was staring at the reflection of a lone cloud in the water. "I'm glad you refused to admit him to my presence. Do you think he would have taken offense at me?"
Meren went cold as he realized the king's meaning. Reshep had envied Meren's power; how much more hatred would he have had for a living god.
"Never mind," Tutankhamun said. "I can see it in your face. A danger escaped. Which reminds me. My scouts have returned and reported vicious bandit raids on villages just north of the great pyramids. Libyan tribes, they say. Testing my strength, trying to encroach upon my kingdom when they think I'm too young to defend myself. My majesty will not tolerate such transgression."
"General Nakhtmin will send troops at once, divine one."
"Oh no," Tutankhamun said. He shipped his oars, stuck his hand in the water, and doused Meren with a spray of water. "Your promise, Eyes of Pharaoh. I'm to go on the first suitable raid. This is the first suitable raid, and you're taking me, as you promised."
Meren regarded the king solemnly, then sighed and leaned against the side of the boat. He touched his fingers to his brow and allowed his head to droop.
"It's of no use," the king said.
"Majesty?"
Tutankhamun shoved an oar into Meren's arms and laughed when his courtier nearly lost his balance. "Admit it. You were thinking of pleading weariness."
"Thy majesty thinks I would deceive him?"
"If it suited you, yes. Fortunately, you've done yourself the ill favor of teaching me most of your tricks and wiles." The king thrust the second oar at Meren. "Resign yourself, my lord. We're going on a raid. As soon as my scouts can find the bandit camp-and you're not leaving the city until that happens."
"Thy majesty's will is accomplished," Meren said with a scowl.
"This time it is."
Meren shoved the oars in the water. "I should not have given the divine one my promise."
"No, you shouldn't have, but it's too late. Now row my majesty back to the water steps, Meren. I must sit in judgment before Ay hears of my absence and comes looking for me."
Meren guided the boat to the great stone staircase that descended into the water at one end of the lake, and they climbed ashore. Meren watched pharaoh disappear into the palace and stared across the ornamental gardens, annoyed that he'd lost the battle of delay so soon. He should have anticipated that Tutankhamun would maneuver around him and been ready with a creative excuse for further postponement of the king's battle initiation.
"Ah, well. What cannot be changed must be endured."
He returned home to an unusually quiet house. For hours he'd been avoiding any thought about Isis and her role in last night's near-disaster. She needed curbing, and he was going to have to do it. Which made him even more angry and hurt than he already was. She was forcing him to be unpleasant, and he hated being that way to his children.
But he couldn't deal with her now. He needed time to think about what was best. Relieved that he'd thought of a reprieve, Meren went to the hall where Bener had ordered food and beer set out. Kysen was waiting for him, his hands restlessly twisting a papyrus roll. He greeted Meren as his father sat down and picked up a water jar.
"All went well with the Hittite?"
"As well as any matter can go with a Hittite." Meren poured water into a large cup and drank all of it.
Kysen's fingers closed over the papyrus. "And pharaoh?"
Meren furrowed his brow.
"Father, there's news about the cook."
"Good. What is it?"
Kysen looked over his shoulder, and Abu appeared, leading the chief of watchmen, Sokar. When Meren saw him, he almost groaned. Sokar approached and threw himself at Meren's feet.
"O mighty Eyes of Pharaoh, have pity on this poor miserable servant. I am beset with countless duties. I have no relief, too few men, a vast city to patrol. How was I to know?"
Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Meren snapped, "Be silent. Kysen, what is he doing here?"