in stylized hands. The glowing sun disk poised in the air, then descended quickly as the guard set the hot metal to Meren's arm.
There was a brief moment between the time the brand met his flesh and the first agony. During that instant, Meren smelled for the first time the odor of burning flesh. Then he screamed. Seared flesh screamed along with him. Every muscle he had spasmed while the guard held the brand to his wrist. When it was taken away, Meren's whole body broke out in a sweat. He shivered as the pain from his wrist rolled over him.
He lost consciousness briefly, and when he opened his eyes, the men who held him were gone. The one who had branded him was smearing a salve on his burned flesh. The pain receded. Hands lifted him to face the king. Akhenaten's black fire eyes burned into him as no brand ever could. Pharaoh took Meren's hand, turned it to expose the mutilated wrist, examined the crimson symbol of his god. He placed Meren's hand in Ay's.
'He is yours now. But remember, my majesty will know if the boy is false. If he falters from the true path, he dies.'
He dies. Meren covered his ears to block out the voice he still remembered after sixteen years. He twisted, lifted his legs, and set his feet on the cool tiles of the floor. Standing, he took three steps, swept aside the filmy curtains that sheltered his bed, and stepped down from the dais. Moonlight spilled into the room from the open door that led to the reflection pool. Meren went out into the garden and knelt by the water. Yie dipped his hands in it and splashed his face. His eye caught the white scar on his wrist, and he quickly
Murder in the Place of Anubis 7 turned his arm so that he couldn't see it. Sometimes the old wound would itch for no reason, and he would go through torture trying not to touch it. He never touched it unless he had to.
Returning to his chamber, Meren went directly to the niche where the statue of the god Osiris rested. He knelt and said a prayer in which he begged the god to intercede for him with the other gods. That done, he turned to a casket inlaid with turquoise and ivory, took three leather balls from it, and tossed them, one after the other, into the air. The spheres sailed up and down. The only sound he listened to was the soft pat of the leather hitting his palms.
He'd tried magic charms to ward off dream demons. He had once tried his physician's sleeping draught. He had tried wearing himself out with a woman. Then his son had given him the leather balls, and Meren had discovered peace. He couldn't think of anything else if he wanted those spheres to stay in the air.
Faster and faster he tossed the balls, until his heart was filled with the motion of his hands and the flight of the small missiles. Gradually his breathing slowed and the strung-bow feeling left him.
Once he was calm, he heard the rapid slap of bare feet on the floor outside his room. Meren caught the balls and put them on the floor. He went still, straining to catch the direction of the sound. Slithering to the opening that led to the courtyard, Meren put his back to the wall and edged around the door.
In the shadow of a palm tree he spotted a black fig ure, which stooped and picked up something with both hands. Meren smiled when the intruder straightened and almost tottered backward. A honey pot clutched to his protruding belly, mouth screwed up in concentration on his task, the son of his son dipped a fist into the vessel and jammed it into his mouth. Meren called softly, 'Remi.' Remi looked up, saw Meren, and grinned a sticky grin. Meren laughed. Striding to the child, he picked him up and rested the boy on his hip. The honey pot jammed into Meren's stomach, and Remi shoved it in front of his face. Rescuing the pot, Meren squeezed the child to him.
'Greedy little bee, you're the first one up as usual.' Oblivious to the slumbering quiet of the household, Remi began to chatter in a loud voice. 'I want to play, and I can't find my bow and arrows. Nurse hid them.' 'Quiet! If you're good, you may watch me juggle.' Meren went back to his room with the boy in tow. Remi was his best audience for juggling. Count Meren, Friend of the King, one of Pharaoh's confidential intelligencers, couldn't forgo his dignity in public by juggling like a common entertainer. Kysen had long since lost patience with watching Meren's antics, but Kysen's son had not.
Setting Remi on the floor with his honey pot, Meren took up the juggling balls once more. As he tossed them from one hand to the other, the first light of dawn filtered into the room. Often-when he was troubled over what mischief the Hittites were up to with Pharaoh's Syrian vassals, or whether the death of a rich Babylonian merchant was an accident or murder-he would put aside his worries and juggle, only to find that turning his thoughts away from the problem had somehow helped him see it differently.
He needed the serenity that tossing the spheres brought; soon he would wash, dress, and go to the palace to attend Pharaoh. A gold band would cover his wrist, blocking from the king's sight the mark put there
Murder in the Place of Anubis 9 by Tutankhamun's brother. For the king could bear the sight no more than could Meren; it was a reminder of madness, of near civil war, and of death.
The honey pot sailed at him. Meren dropped a ball and snatched the jar. It bounced in his hand. A sphere hit his head. Another hit his foot, but he kept hold of the honey pot. Brown goo spilled over his hand and through his fingers. Remi crowed, and Meren danced out of the way of a stream of honey. Righting the jar, Meren set it on the floor and wiped his hands on the lip.
'You little demon, for that you must pay. You'll shower with me.' Remi turned over from his sitting position, climbed to his feet, and started running. Meren caught him at the door. 'Got you. Where's your nurse? Did you put her in a clothing chest? Lock her in with the cattle?' His answer was a smirking giggle.
With Remi in his arms, Meren walked out into the courtyard and headed for the women's quarters. As he passed the dining hall, he heard pounding at the front door. It had to be loud to reach him through the dining hall, reception chamber, and entryway. Servants were stirring; a maid ran up to take Remi from him. Meren was heading back to his room to bathe away the honey that coated his hands when the old man who served as his porter scurried up to him.
Bowing, the man rubbed his hands on his kilt. 'Par don, lord, pardon, pardon.'
Meren stopped and waited patiently. It did no good to lose patience with old Seti. He only panicked.
'You know I don't want to see anyone until after I've dined with my son and Remi.' Meren turned away.
'Pardon, lord. It is a priest, an embalmer priest.' Seti made a sign against evil and lowered his voice. 'He seeks help, lord, for there has been a murder in the Place of Anubis.'
Meren held out his hand for the king's falcon collar. Gold, turquoise, and malachite bead strands curled into his palm, and he stepped back with his eyes lowered. The king stood with his arms at his sides, his gaze fixed on the double doors of his robing chamber. His lips pressed together so hard that their fullness almost disappeared. One hand clenched and unclenched around the belt that secured his kilt.
Since Pharaoh hadn't given permission for anyone to speak, the loudest sounds in the room were the click of gold against stone and the rustle of pleated linen. Meren took an engraved electrum armband from a casket and handed it to the vizier Ay. The king's arm shot out, stiff, the hand balled in a fist. Ay fastened the hinged band. The arm swung down. At the same time a muscle, in Pharaoh's jaw twitched. Meren offered the matching band to Ay; he looked up at the king's face. As he did so, Tutankhamun abandoned his pretense of studying the door and looked at him. Meren winked, and the king's solar smile burst upon him.
'The Lord Meren has permission to speak to my maj esty,' the king said.
Meren tried not to look at the vizier. Refusing to allow his chief minister to speak was one of the king's small vengeances taken upon the man who was his foster father. It served Ay right for piling too many duties on a boy who was only fourteen, for all he was the son of the god. This morning Ay had foiled the king's attempt to steal from the palace and sail his skiff on the Nile. Instead, Pharaoh spent the morning in ceremony and listening to the avaricious howling of the priests of Amun.
'Sovereign, my master, what is thy will?'
Tutankhamun grinned at Meren while holding out his
Murder in the Place of Anubis 11 hand so that Ay could slide a ring on it. 'You are one of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh. What happenings are there to report?'
'Nubian bandits in the south, majesty. And the prince who absconded with the serfs of Lord Soter has been persuaded to return them.'
'Prince Hunefer would rob the night of its stars if he could,' Tutankhamun said. He twisted one of the rings on his hand.
'And there has been murder, divine lord.'
The king lifted his eyes from the ring. He waved his hand; servants and lords faded away through the double doors.
