'By killing me?'
'I didn't let you eat them. Unfortunately, you seem to have managed to cast suspicion on yourself anyway.'
'What! You nearly poison me and still accuse me of murder?'
'You said the berries were poison.'
'Because of your reaction, O clever one.'
'I'm trying to be fair. I'm trying to prove you innocent.'
Ra threw out his arms. 'Don't. Don't try to help me. The next time you do, I might end up dead.'
'I have to do something, brother, because all you do is dig a deeper hole for yourself. You didn't tell me about Tabes and Aset, and you especially didn't tell me about Sheftu, her grandmother, or their preparations and potions.'
'Everyone knows about Green Palm and its tavern, and anyone who has an ailment goes to Sheftu's grandmother.'
Meren sat down on the couch and said quietly, 'You could have stolen back here from Green Palm with poison from Sheftu's house and put it in Sennefer's wine jar'
'I was so drunk my friends had to bring me home!' Kysen set the bronze dish on the table. 'You could have been feigning illness.' Ra walked over to Meren and looked down at him.
'And I suppose that vomit you saw was a pretense.'
'I've witnessed stranger things,' Meren said wearily.
'You've spent too much time at court,' Ra replied. 'It has corrupted your reason.'
Lifting his gaze to Ra, Meren said, 'Perhaps my reason has only been sharpened. I learned long ago how to dissemble and conceal my true ka behind a guise as blank as a death mask. We share the same blood, Ra. If I'm capable of such deceit, I would expect my brother to be as good at it as I am.'
'Then you have a problem,' Ra said. He bent over Meren and whispered in his ear. 'By that kind of reasoning you could ask yourself another question. Are you capable of murder?'
Meren felt an inner jolt as Akhenaten's death flashed through his thoughts.
Ra gave him a taunting smile, stood erect, and walked away. 'The answer to that question should tell you if I'm guilty. Don't you agree?'
Chapter 17
Standing in the haunted temple in the midst of shrouded coffins and canopic chests, Kysen listened once again to Nento's complaints. He'd arrived several hours after sunset but wished he hadn't been forced to leave Meren, who was still reeling from the day's discoveries. But someone had to attend to the sacred guardianship; Nento hadn't proved to be much good at it. He could barely make the required sacrifices and recite a proper spell.
'And then last night I was certain I heard footsteps,' the man was saying. 'Your aide said I was imagining it, but I insisted he send the men out to search the rocks and the valley slopes. I'm sure the demons who inhabit this place are angry at us for invading their refuge.'
'But the guards didn't find anyone.'
Nento bobbed his ostrich-egg head. 'If it was a demon, they wouldn't.' He tugged on his oiled mustache. 'I tell you, we should light fires to frighten evil spirits away.'
'We've discussed this dozens of times. Campfires would be seen. Everyone has amulets for protection, and you're qualified to do the appropriate rituals of warding.'
Waddling closer, Nento crowded Kysen with his melon-shaped bulk. 'Torches, then. Small ones, like when pharaoh-may he have life, health, and prosperity-came to us.'
'No, Nento. That was a matter of extremity. We're not going to do it again. If you don't like it inside the temple, join the men.'
'Listen! You can't tell me that's just the breeze.'
The evil west wind whipped through the valley. Kysen listened over Nento's labored breathing to the hollow wail of a trumpet signaling the approach of some unseen, ghostly army. Nento darted glances around the temple. The back wall was cracked, allowing the wind to whip around the interior and toss the draperies over Akhenaten's coffin. Nento's head jerked in that direction, and he gasped as the coffin appeared to disturb the cloth that covered it. His agitation was beginning to make Kysen uneasy.
'I'm going outside,' he said.
Nento was on his heels. 'I'm coming with you.'
The wind blew grit in their faces as they emerged from the temple. Kysen paused as a particularly fierce gust brought with it a long, hollow groan that soared through the valley. Everyone knew that lost souls roamed the deserts-those whose descendants had ceased to provide nourishment in their eternal houses. They fed on hapless ones foolish enough to venture near their abandoned tombs. What if there were such eternal houses buried beneath the temple?
Excellent, Kysen thought. You're going to end up like Nento if you don't take care. Have patience. The new tombs will be ready soon, so you won't have to endure the temple or Nento much longer.
He surveyed the valley in the silver glow cast by the moon, then went over to a spray of boulders at the base of the north slope of the valley. Nento trotted after him. Iry was sitting between two of the largest rocks scanning the top of the incline.
'All seems quiet as usual, lord,' said Iry.
'Good. If things continue this way, I'll return to the house. I'm not sure what Lord Meren will do now that-'
He paused as the screech of a falcon echoed down from the slope before them.
The figure of a charioteer shot up from behind the ridge and pointed toward a rock at the top of the slope shaped vaguely like a reclining bull. Then the man sprinted for the rock. As he ran, another figure catapulted from hiding behind the bull rock, ran a few steps, and plummeted down the opposite side of the slope. Kysen let out another falcon call and sprang up the slope with fry. At the same time Nento yelped, spun around, and ran away, legs churning beneath his melon belly.
Kysen had no time to worry about Nento. He scrambled up the side of the valley, feet slipping on loose gravel and stone. Half the guards in the valley, along with Iry, climbed with him, while the other half remained on alert at the temple. Kysen reached the summit, stopped to find his bearings, and saw the charioteer who had signaled sliding to the base of the incline. Then he set off after a man who was but a darker spot in a nearly black landscape.
They were headed east, toward the river. If the invader reached a boat, he might escape. Kysen plunged down the slope along with his men. Once at the base, he set out at a run, heedless of sharp rocks and sudden dips in the ground. Whoever the spy was, he was fast. Kysen's chest heaved, and pain accompanied every breath as he sprinted across the desert toward the fields that bordered the Nile.
Kysen and Iry ran side by side. Behind him a guard stumbled and fell with a cry. Neither Kysen nor Iry looked back. They reached the dormant, baked fields. The ground suddenly flattened and became softer. Kysen realized he'd run onto a bank of one of the small canals that brought water to outlying fields. He had to watch his footing now, or he'd fall into a channel.
His progress slowed; he watched the lead charioteer cross the fields at an angle that told him their quarry had turned south. He put on a burst of speed, springing across a narrow canal, and headed for the riverbank. Soon he was at the water's edge, scrambling around palms, stumbling into water where the bank had collapsed, shoving his way through reeds with Iry still a step behind him. Abruptly he heard a cry, then burst through a stand of reeds to come upon the charioteer they'd been following. He was lying against the stump of an old palm, holding his leg.
Running up to him, Kysen asked breathlessly, 'Which way?'
The man pointed back to the west. 'He suddenly turned back, lord.'
Swearing, Kysen ran out into the fields again and stopped. Iry came running up to him, followed by the rest of
