"You have brought the will of the scribe Hormin yourself, good Keeper."
"Don't I always when there's a good murder?" Seb asked with a cackle that ended in a cough. "Would have come sooner, lord, but this addled gander here had mis-filed the original and we were a time hunting it down."
The youth, who had been devouring the weapons and gear of the charioteers, brought his gaze back to Meren and flushed. Having himself been embarrassed by his elders, Meren made no comment. He held out his hand to the youth. The boy gaped at it, then dove for the leather case slung over his shoulder, delved inside, and produced a roll of papyrus.
Meren broke the clay seal of the House of Life, unrolled the papyrus, and read. The room filled with the sound of Seb's labored breathing. Meren skimmed the list of possessions, then noted the half-dozen witnesses. Most were from the House of Life, including Seb, but old Ahmose's name was there as well. None of Hormin's family seemed to have signed; nor had Beltis. No doubt Hormin had kept his intentions to himself as a weapon.
Letting the will snap shut, he held it out. Abu took it from him.
Seb cackled again. "A grand design for cataclysm, is it not?"
"What do you know, you old gossip-monger?" Meren asked.
"Naught, lord. Naught of murder. I only know that this dead one, this Hormin, caught my interest. As you see, the will is only a few months old. Even so, I
Murder in the Place of Anubis 107 wouldn't have remembered it, or him, if he hadn't offended all my assistants by the time the will was ready for witnessing. That one, he ate and drank furor, survived on the animosity he created more than on the food he consumed. I knew he'd end up standing before the gods, done in violently."
Meren sighed, hardly surprised at the news. "Have you anything of substance to tell me, or have you come to pry knowledge of this murder from me?"
"An old man has few joys in life, my lord."
Seb was whining now, which meant he had come for gossip. Unfortunately, Meren would no doubt need his cooperation in the future. Reluctant to send him away unsatisfied, he spent much more time than he would have liked satisfying Seb's curiosity without giving away important details.
When the old man had gone Meren retreated with Abu to his office, where he reviewed the notes taken by his scribes. Abu read to him reports of inquiries to Hormin's neighbors and household.
"The maids of both Selket and the concubine swear their mistresses were at home asleep," the aide said. "They were pressed hard, and both remained adamant."
Meren pinched the bridge of his nose and laid aside a sheaf of notes. "Curse it, no witnesses to either murder, no witnesses who saw Hormin go to the Place of Anubis."
"But Bakwerner was seen lurking about Hormin's house several nights before the murder. A maid next door was entertaining a lover and saw him on two separate nights."
Nodding, Meren rose and stretched. "So Bakwerner could have been planning to kill Hormin, and finally did, but then who killed Bakwerner? And why?"
"Perhaps the young one, Djaper," Abu replied. "After all, Bakwerner charged into his house bellowing that he 'knew things' and calling for Djaper's blood."
"Or Djaper could be the murderer, and Bakwerner his second victim. Curse it, Abu, I detest being in the midst of an abundance of possible killers."
"Aye, lord. Rarely have I seen a man so hated, or a collection in one place of so many capable of murder."
Meren smiled grimly at his aide. He was about to suggest dinner when a charioteer rapped on the door and entered.
"Well?" he snapped. His men knew him better than to disturb him when he was in one of his pondering sessions. There was news, and it was most likely bad.
"It is the concubine, lord. The concubine Beltis. She packed herself and her boy and left the house. She went to the village of the tomb makers after another quarrel with the family. You should have heard the screaming and howling."
"I have. Was there aught of interest among the screams and howls?"
"No, lord. Only the same accusations and threats. She only threw a few vases and pots this time. The old woman did kick her ass as she stomped out of the doorway, though," The charioteer grinned, evoking a smile from Meren.
"Gods, I would have liked to have seen that."
"Aye, my lord. It was a pleasing sight."
After dismissing Abu and the charioteer, Meren went to the house in search of food, though his appetite had waned. He knew the cause. Beltis had gone to the village of the tomb makers. Beltis was a dangerous woman, possibly a murderer, and like a spider she'd scrambled and scurried away from a place of exposure to make a nest and cast her web-much too near his son.
9
Kysen stood on the roof of Thesh's house watching the horizon turn a deep turquoise, then ignite with a soft, creamy orange. Behind him stood several beds used by the household on hot nights. The one behind the wicker, screen was his. Voices of women and their laughter came to him from open doorways and the street below as they worked to prepare the evening meal. He took a long sip of beer from a glazed cup. His first day in the tomb-makers' village was almost over, and he had yet to speak with the draftsman Woser. The beer turned sour in his stomach as he remembered going to Woser's house with Thesh.
The scribe had warned him of Woser's illness, which had been growing upon him for over a week and had worsened during the previous two days. Thesh attributed Woser's inability to keep food in his belly to his dissatisfaction with being a draftsman. Woser longed to become a sculptor, to the amusement of the whole village. Woser sculpted as if he were blind.
Kysen had insisted upon seeing Woser, but when Thesh conducted him down the main street past curious servants and artisans' wives, they could hear retching sounds from a house near the end of the road. Kysen exchanged glances with the scribe as they paused on the threshold of Woser's residence. Like most of the houses in the village, it consisted of four rectangular rooms running one behind the other.
Thesh stuck his head in the doorway. Beyond him Kysen could see a family common room strewn with cushions along one wall. High, narrow windows close to the ceiling let in little light, but he noticed a block of limestone in one corner around which were littered a sculptor's tools. Near the door lay a table, ink pots, pens, and sketches of a tomb shaft. He heard Thesh suck in his breath. The scribe drew back from the doorway abruptly, grimacing. Kysen glanced at him in surmise, only to clamp a hand over his nose and join Thesh in withdrawing several paces from the door.
"Hathor's tits," Thesh mumbled through the hands that covered his mouth and nose.
Kysen lowered his own hands, took a cautious sniff, and moved several steps farther away from the house. "Woser's sickness isn't only of the belly, it seems."
"I forgot," Thesh said. "His wife mentioned he hadn't been able to go far from his chamber stool yesterday. She had me check the calendar to see if it was an unlucky day, but I could find no evil signs. She says he's run afoul of a demon."
Kysen cocked his head to the side and listened to the renewed sounds of gagging and moaning issuing from Woser's house. Clearing his throat, he said to Thesh, "Perhaps if we wait until this evening, he will feel better."
"Yes, yes." Thesh nodded violently. "I expect a phy sician from the city this morning who will attend him. By this evening, yes."
They had quit the vicinity of Woser's house immediately. After that, Thesh had informed him that several of the artisans who dealt with Hormin were on duty in the Great Place, the Valley of the Kings, restoring the walls and interior of an old tomb of the last dynasty. And so it was that Kysen found himself in the resting place of Pharaohs, where the dead kings mediated between the forces of chaos and order.