sought the obscurity of the alley again. Kysen craned his neck and found her again as she thrust Thesh against a wall and pressed herself against him. Thesh tried to pry her from his body at first, then dove for the blackest shadows with the concubine in his arms. Kysen had listened, but heard nothing from them. He'd waited, drumming his fingers on the wall and surveying the street.
Eventually the two emerged. Thesh looked as flus tered as a virgin, while Beltis resembled a sated cat. While the scribe returned to his own home, the concubine waited for him to close his door. When he was gone, she sauntered down the street. Kysen had been surprised when she stopped at Woser's house and mounted the stairs to the roof. Did the woman never sleep? And Woser ill. His thoughts upon Hormin's busy concubine, Kysen watched the women moving about the childbirth arbor, his hip resting on the wall top.
'You're awake.'
Kysen spun around to face the object of his reverie. Beltis came toward him looking as rested as if she'd spent the night asleep, which he doubted. For the first time he regretted being unclothed before a woman. He should have slept in a kilt, or at least a loincloth.
'Does Yem know you're here?' he asked.
Beltis smirked. 'I came up the outside stairs, and anyway, most of the women are busy with the labor.'
She floated over to him and stood so close he could feel the heat of her body.
'You aren't like your master,' she said.
He only stared at her.
'Have you caught the one who murdered Hormin?'
'Would I waste time here if we had?'
He quickly appraised his situation as she moved closer to him. She must have a low opinion of the intelligence of men to approach him so. Useramun, Thesh, Woser, Hormin. What was she about? He needed to know, and to find out he would have to refrain from spurning her. Kysen allowed himself to forget for a moment that she might be a murderer and let his gaze drift from her oiled and painted mouth down to her breasts, her thighs. The appraisal signaled an invitation to Beltis-and she accepted it.
The solar orb had risen by the time she left him. Exhausted, he dozed for a few moments while the village came fully to life. Soon Yem roused him for a meal of fresh bread and roasted fish. It was eaten in silence; Yem refused to speak to Thesh, who refused to speak to Yem. Kysen broke the stalemate by asking Thesh to conduct him once more to the house of the draftsman Woser.
Woser wasn't at home. Cursing himself for his slackness, Kysen interrogated the draftsman's mother and fa ther only to find that Woser had improved miraculously upon receiving a visit from Beltis last night. Thanking the pair abruptly, he made for Beltis's home with Thesh in tow.
'Is there one man Beltis hasn't had?' Kysen snapped.
Thesh quickened his step to keep up with his guest.
'There are fewer who have received her favor than you think. Useramun, myself, Horrain, and-Woser…' The scribe frowned over this last name, then continued. 'In this village at least, there are no more. By the gods, do you think she would have time for others?'
'Perhaps not.'
Kysen added himself to Thesh's list as he strode toward Beltis's house. Someone called to them. Running down the street was a messenger clutching a folded papyrus. Kysen halted as the man reached him, accepted the letter, and noted the man's urgent gaze. Turning to Thesh, he smiled.
'I must consult with my master's man, if you would pardon me.'
Thesh bowed and Kysen led the messenger down the street, through the gate, and beneath the scribe's pavilion. Under its shelter he received the news of Djaper's death.
'When?'
'Some time after the moon had set, lord. As I was leaving, the physician told the master that there was much essence of poppy in his beer.'
'And no sign of who poisoned the beer,'
Kysen sighed and removed a letter to his father from the waistband of his kilt. Entrusting it to the messenger, he dismissed the man. His father's letter had closed with a warning of danger. Given the constant comings and goings in the tomb-makers' village, one of the artisans could be responsible for Djaper's death. Even Thesh could have gone to Hormin's house in the middle of the night.
The object of his speculation emerged from the village and came to stand beside him. Kysen was contemplating sending for more men to question all the villagers at once when the scribe began to speak glumly.
'You have had news.' Kysen nodded, but refused to enlighten Thesh, who went on. 'Yem is furious. She says she will divorce me.'
'I would,' Kysen said.
Casting him a surprised glance, Thesh sighed. 'I can't help myself. Beltis has such appetite. Her violence is like a fire in my body.' Thesh groaned. 'Yem will take all her property with her, and I owe her many copper deben from our marriage contract.'
'Perhaps she will relent,' Kysen said, laying a hand on the suffering man's shoulder. 'Come, we must find Woser.'
Thesh pointed in the direction of the path to the no bles' cemetery. 'He is there.'
Two people walked down the path from the nobles' cemetery-Beltis and a man. Beltis clung to the man's arm as if she was afraid to slip on the gravel. She and Woser drew nearer, and Kysen was able to see him more clearly.
The draftsman was one of those whose face was dominated by his nose. It jutted forth from his brow like the prow of one of Pharaoh's seagoing ships. Widening quickly, it became a brown, fleshy knob that almost obscured his mouth and chin. Shallow of chest, Woser was nonetheless tall, with stringy muscles kept toned by his use of sculptor's tools. His hair was chopped short and cut in a straight line across his forehead, which gave him a youthful appearance. Yet Kysen knew the draftsman was at least ten years older than himself.
To Kysen's amusement, the pair slowed as they rec ognized him. He was sure they would have avoided him if he hadn't beckoned to them as they came toward the gate. When they'd gained the pavilion, Beltis dropped Woser's arm and smiled at Kysen and Thesh. No blush, no downcast eyes. Kysen frowned at the woman, who seemed amused at encountering three of her men at once. He could see no cause for mirth, and for the first time he glimpsed some of the humiliation many women endured as one of a collection of amusing objects. Kysen dragged his attention back to the pair in front of him as Thesh introduced him to Woser.
'You seem to have recovered quickly from your illness,' Kysen said.
'Beltis brought a soothing potion from the city,' Woser replied. 'I am much improved.'
'And I'm told you were cast down by this illness for many nights previously.'
Woser's mouth drew down at the corners. There were lines about it, making it apparent that he often wore an expression of discontent.
'You're asking where I was when the scribe was killed. I was sick at home. Thesh will tell you how it is with me. No doubt my troubles are due to working in the Great Place on an unlucky day. I found out last week when Thesh showed me his calendar. I'm sure I was beset by a demon of the netherworld. After that day, I began to have trouble in my bowels. The demon was so powerful that none of the village cures worked. I prayed to Isis and Amun, to Bes, and even to Ptah.'
Kysen jumped in before Woser could catch his breath and begin again. 'Yes, yes. I've heard of your sufferings, but what took you to the nobles' cemetery so quickly after you regained your heath?'
'It was I.' Beltis oozed over to stand beside him and gaze up into his eyes. 'After my cure worked, I was anxious to see that the preparations for my lord's tomb were proceeding. I don't trust Djaper or Imsety to carry out their duty, despite Hormin's will.' She smiled sweetly at Woser. 'But to my surprise, the wall surfaces are complete. Everything will be ready by the time my lord is reawakened.'
'And last night, both of you were here.' Kysen's voice faded.
He hadn't really asked a question, for he already knew the answer. No doubt he'd find that Djaper had died after Beltis had arrived in the village and while Woser was still on his sickbed. He wouldn't reveal the death yet, for he still had to inquire into the movements of his other suspects.
As he dismissed the two, Thesh touched his arm. Glancing at the scribe, he followed the direction of his gaze
