Never had Kysen been so grateful for Meren's schooling in the ways of the imperial court. He mastered the impulse to draw his dagger. He wasn't wearing it anyway. Instead, he regarded the painter solemnly. Though Useramun moved closer, so close that he could feel the heat of the man's body, he remained where he was. At the last moment, just as Kysen was losing the battle with his control, Useramun veered around him, circled, and came to rest in front of him again.
He was still far too close. Finally Kysen allowed himself to react. He lifted his brows and widened his eyes in an expression of disbelieving astonishment at this trespass. He heard another soft laugh, and Useramun stepped back out of striking range.
Kysen's voice cut through the sound. 'I give you leave to address me by name. I am Seth.'
'Seth,' Useramun murmured, 'god of chaos and tur bulence. Has the name given you restlessness? Are you of a perturbed and dissolute spirit, like your namesake?'
'Goat's dung!' Thesh loomed at the painter's side, spitting his words. 'Curb that lewd tongue of yours before you invite the cane and the whip. This is a royal servant, not some guileless apprentice.'
Useramun gave the scribe not a glance, but continued to examine Kysen as he would a sacrificial bull. Kysen stared back at the man, who was of an even height with him. The painter was one of those men whom the gods had filled to the brim with sensuality. High cheekbones, drew one's gaze to his eyes, which burned like molten obsidian. His lower lip was fuller than the upper, giving his face an expression of readiness, of utter willingness.
Kysen fought the urge to curl his fingers into fists. The fool had deliberately taunted him, secure in the knowledge that his person was as beautiful as his paintings. He'd risked a beating, at the least. Perhaps he was as enamored of risk and danger as he was of attempted seduction.
Thesh was chattering to him. 'And he isn't usually so insolent.' The scribe glared at the painter, who was still staring at Kysen. 'Beltis's arrival has discomposed him.'
He'd had enough. Without preamble he snapped at the painter, 'What were your doings of the last week? Begin with the five previous days.'
Useramun's smile faltered, then, to Kysen's annoyance, appreciation of a different sort entered his gaze. The painter gestured to the cushions ranged behind him and called to his apprentice for beer. Kysen cut him off.
'Your answer.' He dropped onto a red cushion oppo site the painter while Thesh took one beside him.
'Five days,' Useramun mused. 'Five days. Hmmm. But I was in the Great Place five days ago, and then in the nobles'-' The painter stopped abruptly and glanced at Thesh. 'There is much work to do on the tomb of the Great Father, the king's vizier Ay, and on the walls of the tomb of the old king, which is being restored even now. And then there is the tomb of the Princess Isis. The foreman of the gangs on these tombs will testify that I was with them.'
He'd remembered that the artisans worked for wealthy patrons in addition to their regular work. However, the longer he was in the village, the more he realized that Thesh and his fellow artisans worked more for themselves than for the king. How could he have missed the significance?
The king was a strong youth who gave little thought as yet to his house of eternity. He had given his permission to a few of royal blood to commission tombs in the Valley of the Queens, where princes and royal women were buried. The artisans had much free time, and Thesh had filled it with lucrative commissions from the nobility that would surely displease the vizier were he to hear of them. And Hormin most likely had known this. Had the man threatened Thesh?
Private commissions obviously supplied the artisans with luxuries; Useramun's house was filled with soft and costly cushions, his beer excellent and served in faience drinking vessels of Egyptian blue. Kysen glanced at the painter's hands. They bore no telltale jewels, but he wore an armband of bronze inlaid with turquoise. He glanced from the armband to Useramun's now-wary face.
'And two days ago?'
'Ah, by then I was free from my shift and back here at home.' Useramun gestured toward the piles of sketches strewn around the room. 'As you can see, there is much work to be done before a scene is painted on a tomb wall. I could have done more work, but that sheep Woser is ill. His bowels, you know. And fighting with that wretch Hormin did him no good.'
'So you were working here two days ago.'
Useramun smiled and said gently, 'Yes, servant of the Eyes of Pharaoh. Thesh has no doubt told you I was here when Hormin came the last time. As everyone else, I heard his battle with the concubine, our succulent Beltis, as I worked on a draft of a scene from The Book of the Dead. Geb was here as well, and another who has since gone. Later Hormin came to me to discuss work to be done once his tomb had been completely excavated.'
'I would know the whole of it, Useramun.' Kysen met the man's inviting gaze with growing annoyance. 'At once.'
Useramun sighed in pretended disappointment and leaned on a cushion. 'He came to complain of the price of my paintings.' He directed a glance over his shoulder at a lush depiction of himself beneath a grapevine. 'The man had the soul of a goat and dared complain of the fees. He was lucky I'd considered touching my brush for him at all. The old king prized me above all other painters, as does the living god Tutankhamun, may he have life, health, and strength.'
'And your response?' Kysen asked.
The corner of the painter's mouth twitched, but not in amusement. 'I told him he could hire someone else and be damned to the netherworld.'
He was leaving out much, Kysen could tell. The painter had been at ease in the beginning of his narrative, but now his body had gone stiff and his lips pressed together in a straight line. He could force Useramun to say more. But would it be the truth? The painter got his attention with another of those soft and unsuitable chuckles.
'You want to know where I was two nights ago,' Useramun said quietly. 'Like Thesh and poor Woser, I was here. We were all here, beautiful servant of the Eyes of Pharaoh. Even Geb.'
For the first time since he'd begun to speak, Useramun glanced at his apprentice. The youth had settled in a shadowed corner in readiness to attend his master and guests. Geb flushed so darkly Kysen could see the stain on his cheeks despite the shadows. He folded his body in obeisance, touching his forehead to the floor, and muttered something about bringing fresh beer. At Useramun's nod, he vanished through a doorway to the back of the house. Kysen rose and thrust a staying hand at the painter and Thesh.
'You will remain here.'
Before either man could protest, he followed Geb out of the room. He passed through another chamber, nearly stumbling over a large, low bed carved of gilded wood. The dim glint of gold surprised him, as did the width of the bed and the ornate, lion's-paw legs. He heard the clatter of pottery and entered the kitchen. Geb was lifting a beer jar from its stand. As Kysen approached, his grip slipped and the jar thunked back into the stand. The youth bit his lower lip, then ducked his head to Kysen.
'Is what your master says the truth?'
The boy nodded without speaking, quickly, as if he hoped his agreement might spare him Kysen's attention. Kysen regarded the youth speculatively. He was pleasing of appearance, with a roundness about the jaw and fragility of build that spoke of his meager years.
'How old are you?'
'Fifteen, master.'
'Fifteen?'
'In a few months.'
'Are you sure your master was here two nights ago, Geb?'
'Aye, he was here.'
'How can you be sure?' Kysen asked, knowing the answer.
Geb licked his lips and whispered, 'We were together.' His gaze was on the floor, but he nodded toward the sleeping chamber. 'In there. All night, and the same the next night.'
Reciting a curse to himself, Kysen whispered back. 'If you wish I can send you to Memphis, or to Helio-polis. I know the chief of artisans of Ra.'
'Please, master, no.'
'You would stay with him?'
All he got was a nod.
