'She invaded his chamber!' Selket's ire turned her brown face a ruddy hue. 'She invaded his chamber yesterday morning, the harlot. He rejected her, and she screamed at him and clawed at his eyes. And she threw a bowl at him, which hit his head. Imsety and I came to see what has happening. Poor Djaper was on the floor holding his head, so Imsety grabbed Beltis and tossed her out of the room. She fled to her own chamber, and later she packed herself off to the village of the tomb makers. Poor Djaper had a headache for the rest of the day.'
Meren snapped at Imsety, 'What was the fight about?'
Imsety shrugged. 'She'd found out about the broad collar yesterday. She wanted it.'
'Eloquent as ever, Imsety. How did she discover it?'
'She climbed the palm outside Djaper's chamber and spied on us when he told me to take it to the market for repairs.'
'A sentence of over five words,' Meren said. 'You amaze me. So, you battled over the necklace. Then obviously she discovered that it was you and your brother who had robbed your father's office.'
'She wanted the necklace,' Imsety said reluctantly. 'She claimed he gave it to her before he fetched her from the tomb-makers' village the last time.'
'And was she telling the truth?'
Imsety glanced at his mother, whose color had returned to normal. She nodded stiffly.
'Aye, lord,' Imsety said. 'She came home dangling it from her fingers and was furious when Hormin took it from her to keep in his office.'
'And later?' Meren asked.
Selket spoke up again. 'Djaper went to the office of records and tithes while Imsety-'
'I know what happened to Imsety,' Meren said.
'And that evening Djaper came home complaining of his head,' Selket said. 'When he spoke to Imsety and learned of your wrath, he became distraught. By nightfall he was so bothered by his head, he asked to be left alone and retired. Does his head still hurt?'
'Mother,' Imsety said while staring at Meren, 'Djaper should be here. Lord, where is my brother?'
'He's dead.'
Imsety blinked at him as Meren darted glances from the man to his mother. Although her son remained quiet, Selket shook her head, turned, and tried to rush from the room. One of the charioteers caught her. Meren remained seated, keeping watch as the woman struggled and her voice rose to screams. The sound nearly destroyed his ears, and as she wailed Meren decided that his news had indeed been a surprise to her.
Imsety was still blinking at him when he returned his attention to the man. To Meren's disbelief, a tear appeared at the corner of one of Imsety's eyes and rolled down the side of his nose. He heard a choking sound. Stolid Imsety began to cry, his face crumpling and folding into grooves and troughs of grief. All the while he remained standing in front of Meren as if it mattered little where he was or in whose presence he wept.
Meren had a choice. He could believe that the mother and son possessed the ability to deceive him as far more experienced intriguers did not, or he could believe they hadn't known Djaper was dead and truly grieved. As he watched Selket collapse on the floor, tear at her hair, and wail while her son cried silently, he was struck with the contrast between their reactions today and the morning after Hormin's death. Djaper had been loved. Hormin had not.
Had the mother sacrificed one son to save the other from suspicion? Was he meant to believe that Djaper had taken his own life in remorse for his crime of patricide? Perhaps he'd frightened Imsety far more than he had realized, thus stampeding him into another crime.
Or perhaps, during his fight with Beltis, Djaper had threatened her with banishment again. He could easily imagine Djaper trying to suborn his father's will and casting Beltis out of the house forever. Still, if such had happened, he didn't think Beltis would have left the house with Djaper in residence. Unless she knew he wouldn't be living there much longer.
The physician arrived, out of breath and sweating. With him came his staff, whom he set to work reexamining the dead man's room and the rest of the house. Meren could do no more himself, so he returned home to send a message to Kysen; as he sat in his office penning it, Meren felt another twinge of apprehension.
The boy must be on his guard. He was much afraid that, having gone to the tomb-makers' village as his father's servant, Kysen was in even more danger than before. Beltis was there, and the artisans themselves hadn't been removed from suspicion. No doubt by the morning's end Kysen would have sent word of the results of his own inquiries.
How difficult would it be for a tomb maker to slip out of the village and make his way over the desert hills and across the river to Hormin's house? It could be done if one were desperate enough to take the risk. If one were forced to go in secret, hiding and skulking all the way, one might still reach the destination in an hour or two. The trip to the Place of Anubis could be made by foot in that amount of time as well, perhaps faster if one braved a night journey by skiff.
Meren laid aside his reed pen and blew on the ink forming his signature. He folded the paper, sealed it with clay, and impressed it with his signet ring. Calling for a messenger, he entrusted the letter to him, then sat back in his chair to resume his worrying.
Too many were dying. Hormin, Bakwerner, Djaper. He'd given orders for a close watch on Selket and Imsety. Most likely one of them was the murderer. Kysen was to watch Beltis closely as well. Now he wished he hadn't sent Kysen to the tomb-makers' village. Concerned as he was for Kysen, however, he must allow the boy to do his own work.
Meren reached across the table and grasped the obsidian embalming knife that had killed Hormin. Someone feared neither him nor the judgment of the gods. Anyone that desperate or that stupid was dangerous in deed. If he didn't solve this mystery soon, he would cause all of those suspect to be brought to him and examined without mercy until one of them confessed. He
would have no choice, for the High Priest of Anubis would soon howl for vengeance and blood. His adversaries at court would begin to spread word that he no longer pursued Pharaoh's enemies with diligence. The moments passed, and as they did, the risks grew.
Rubbing his eyes with his fingertips, Meren lay the embalming knife aside and reached for the stack of pa pyri containing the summaries of the inquiry for the past few days. Somewhere among all the recordings was the knowledge sought. Somewhere.
11
Roused from slumber by a scream, Kysen bolted erect on the long cushion that served as his bed and jumped to his feet. The scream came again-an angry woman's scream.
Whirling around, Kysen looked over the rooftops of five houses to one of those with a childbirth arbor. Lamps lit and placed on the top of the walls illuminated shadowy figures moving about purposefully. Kysen's tension eased as he realized that the wife of the sculptor Ptahshedu had commenced her labor. He could see Yem entering the light structure of poles and green boughs erected for the birth.
Though it was still dark, the labor had stirred the vil lage. He could hear children chattering and the splash of water as a servant poured jugs of it over someone in a bath stall. Beneath these sounds hissed the familiar scrape of grindstones as bread was prepared. The village was awake. Nevertheless, he found himself alone. Then he remembered.
After leaving Useramun and Beltis, he had decided to keep watch over the two from this roof. He'd feigned weariness to Thesh and Yem and retired to bed. Yem had been in a silently resentful mood, no doubt due to the arrival of Beltis. She'd ensconced herself on the cushions in the common room without addressing a word to her husband.
Thus Kysen had been alone several hours later when, from his rooftop concealment, he saw Thesh leave the house. Useramun's door was still open, but much less light issued from the interior of his house. Thesh stood in the middle of the street and stared at the painter's threshold, then turned. As he left, someone sidled out of the alley between Useramun's house and the next. Beltis.
She called to Thesh, who started, then whipped about as she caught his arm. Dragging the scribe to her, she
