“Probably.” Bak rested a shoulder against a wooden col umn carved to resemble a tied bundle of papyri. “What task do you have, Meryamon, that delayed you in leaving the sa cred precinct?”
The young priest sat on the ground near Amonked. His eyes darted frequently toward the portal and the men hurry ing along the lane outside on their way to the gate, eager to watch the procession. Whether intentional or not, his desire to follow was apparent. “I distribute to the officiating priests items used in the sacred rituals: censers, lustration vessels, aromatic oils and incense, and whatever else they need.”
Pride blossomed on his face. “I perform the task throughout the Beautiful Feast of Opet, yes, but also for the regular daily rituals and the various other festivals.”
“A position of responsibility,” Amonked said.
Meryamon flashed a smile. “I daily thank the lord Thoth that I was diligent in my studies and learned to read and write with ease and at a young age.” Thoth was the patron god of scribes.
The leaves rustled in the tall sycamore tree in the center of the court, and Bak spotted a small gray monkey swinging through the upper branches. “So you’re not a man who serves the lord Amon periodically. You earn your bread within the sacred precinct.”
“Yes, sir. And I dwell here as well. I share quarters with several other priests who, like me, have yet to take a spouse.”
Bak glanced at Amonked, thinking to defer to him, but the
Storekeeper of Amon urged him to continue with a nod of the head. “Tell me of the men who helped put out the fire.
Why did they remain behind?”
“Most were passersby, heading out to watch the pro 34
Lauren Haney cession. The three guards, I assume, were ordered to stay, to keep an eye on the gates and patrol this sector of the sacred precinct.” Meryamon smiled ruefully. “Bad luck for them, having to stay while their mates were given leave to play.”
Bak felt as if he were fishing in a muddy backwater, pok ing his harpoon at random in a place he couldn’t see. “The room where Woserhet was found. What was its purpose?”
“It’s a records storage room, sir, a place where we keep scrolls on which are recorded activities conducted in that particular block of storage magazines. Each object is tracked from delivery to disposal. Like other men with similar tasks,
I make a note of each and every object I remove and return, and many of my own transactions are stored there.” A shadow passed across the priest’s face. “Or were.”
“The room received a moderate amount of damage, but a considerable number of scrolls lay on the floor. Do you have any idea how many records might’ve been lost?”
“I noticed a number of empty spaces-fifteen or twenty,
I’d guess-on the shelves along the walls and quite a few broken storage pots on the floor. So many jars would’ve con tained a significant number of scrolls, but the vast majority, I thank the lord Amon, were saved.”
Amonked broke his silence. “How well did you know
Woserhet, Meryamon?”
“Not at all, sir. I’ve seen him now and again and I knew his name, but I didn’t know he was responsible for the rever sion of offerings.”
Amonked looked skeptical. “Are you not the man who’ll supply ritual implements and incense to that ceremony?”
“Yes, sir,” Meryamon said, looking uncomfortable, “but I must deal with Ptahmes, the chief priest’s aide, not the man who performs the ritual. I had no need to know who he was.”
“There goes a singularly uninquisitive man,” Amonked said later as they watched the priest hurry away.
Bak and Amonked strolled into the lovely limestone court in front of the imposing pylon gate that rose before the man sion of the lord Amon. The last of the procession had moved on, leaving the enclosure empty and quiet. The banners flut tered lazily atop the tall flagpoles clamped to the front of the pylon. Birds twittered in a clump of trees outside the court, and a yellow kitten chased a leaf blown over the wall by the breeze. A faint floral aroma rose from a slick of oil someone had spilled on the floor.
Built fifteen or so years earlier by Akheperenre Thutmose,
Maatkare Hatshepsut’s deceased spouse and Menkheperre
Thutmose’s father, the court contained two small limestone chapels. In each, a central stone base supported a statue of the lord Min, a fertility god identified closely with the lord
Amon. One structure was of an ancient date, built many gen erations ago by Kheperkare Senwosret, and the other more recent, erected just fifty years earlier by Djeserkare Amon hotep, grandfather to Maatkare Hatshepsut.
“Were the scrolls set on fire deliberately to burn the body?” Bak asked, thinking aloud, “or to get rid of informa tion the slayer wished to destroy? Or did the slayer-or
Woserhet himself-accidentally tip over an oil lamp and set them on fire?” He did not expect an answer and he got none.
“Woserhet was a senior scribe who reported directly to the chief priest.” Amonked’s face was grave. “I never met the man, merely saw him several times at a distance, but ac cording to Hapuseneb, the chief priest, he was extremely competent and adept at dealing with difficult situations.”
“Not adept enough, it seems.”
Ignoring the mild sarcasm, Amonked rested his backside against the balustrade wall that rose up the outer edge of a broad but shallow stairway giving access to the older of the two chapels. “I fear I wasn’t entirely forthright when I stopped to chat with you earlier today. I’d received a disturb ing message from Woserhet and thought to have you go with me when I met him. Unfortunately, with the procession up 36
Lauren Haney permost in my thoughts-and in everyone else’s, I as sumed-I saw no need for haste.”
Bak gave him a sharp look. “You’d never met him and yet he wrote to you?”
“Hapuseneb must shoulder many tasks through the length of the Beautiful Feast of Opet. As a result, he’ll be unavail able much of the time. He told me he’d given Woserhet a special assignment and asked me to be available should he need me. He said Woserhet would explain if necessary.”
Amonked glanced at the kitten, his expression troubled. “I agreed and thought no more of it. Much to my regret now that we’ve found him dead.”
Bak leaned against the low outer wall of the beautifully symmetrical building, indifferent to its rich reliefs of the an cient king and the lord Min. The colors, though no longer as vibrant as they once had been, were still lively enough to please the eye and lighten the heart of a man far less preoc cupied than he. “Can you tell me what the message said?”
Amonked released a long, unhappy sigh. “It was short and direct, and I fear it deepens the mystery surrounding his death. He said he’d learned something quite shocking and requested a private meeting before nightfall this day.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.” Amonked stood erect and signaled that they must leave. “I feel I’ve let Hapuseneb down, and I don’t like to think of myself as a man who fails to live up to his prom ises.” He paused, obviously reluctant to speak out. “I hesi tate to ask you, as you must be looking forward to the festival as much as everyone else. But I wish you to discover what the message refers to and to snare Woserhet’s slayer.
Hopefully before the end of the festival when the lord Amon returns to Ipet-isut and you must travel on to Mennufer.”
Chapter Three
“Like the priest said, most were headed out of the sacred precinct. They were all in a hurry; didn’t want to miss the start of the procession.” The older guard, Tetynefer, glanced at his two companions, who nodded agreement. “Like us, they heard him yell and came running. None of us wasted any time talking. That fire had to be
