cropped hair and perfectly barbered goatee and mustache. He felt that his missing right canine tooth lent him an air of battle-hardened experience. No one had ever mentioned to him that his forehead shined as if he oiled it, or that when agitated, he flapped his arms like the wings of a pelican coming in for a water landing.
At the moment Paser was quite pleased with himself. Yesterday afternoon he'd given up following Count Meren, depressed that his strategy of spying on the Friend of the King had yielded nothing but boring days of watching the man sail that evil black ship of his. Meren hadn't, as Paser suspected, gone to some secret meeting of allies. He'd gone home, just as he'd said he would-and stayed there. Paser had watched for two days and then given up. After insisting to Prince Hunefer that Meren never simply went home to rest, Paser had been faced with the prospect of returning to court with nothing to report for his trouble.
He'd directed his ship toward the capital and was drifting slowly northward with the current when he passed a south-going flotilla of trading ships of Ra laden with cargo. He'd been lounging beneath the awning in front of the deckhouse in his favorite gilded cedar chair, his face lifted to the north breeze, when he happened to glance at one of the barges.
The two vessels passed within a few skiff-lengths of each other. As they did, a man walked around the giant mount of grain sacks stacked on the deck, and Paser jumped out of his chair. Hurrying to the railing, he shaded his eyes and peered more closely.
Kysen! Had his yacht been going faster, he might not have had time to make out that wide jaw, the rounded youthful chin shadowed with a man's stubble, and those half-moon eyes. But he'd gotten a good enough look, long enough to see the grave expression on the youth's face. Unguarded, not so well versed in masking emotions as his father, Kysen's expression revealed what Lord Meren's never did-misgiving, apprehension, uneasiness.
That look was enough to make Paser order his ship to come about once out of sight of the flotilla. Now he was trailing after the slow-moving fleet, biding his time, watching. As he plied his fly whisk in the shade of the canopy that stretched before the deckhouse, a hail signaled the arrival of a visitor. While the last ship in the trading fleet disappeared around one of the bends in the river, the visitor climbed from a skiff up a rope ladder on the side of the yacht.
The newcomer hoisted a leg over the railing, then the other, and stalked over to Paser. Retreating to his chair, Paser flapped his whisk, already annoyed without having spoken to his visitor. The intruder started talking before reaching the awning.
'What are you doing? I'm on my way to Count Meren's feast of rejoicing, and I see you skulking down the river.'
Paser turned in his chair to scowl at his guest. 'I said I was going to follow Meren to see what he was really up to.'
'But you're not following him, you fool.'
'Don't you call me a fool. I'm not the only one scram Wing for a place at court.'
'And who told you to do your stalking in a yellow and-green yacht, of all things? Do you think Meren's blind?'
'There are many craft on the river-mine's no more noticeable than most.'
The guest lunged at Paser, pulled him out of his chair, and hurried him to the railing. Pointing, the newcomer hissed into Paser's ear.
'See! See those fishermen? They've been with you for hours, and their nets are empty. Why do you think that is, Paser? I'll tell you why-because they're not fishermen. They're charioteers. Meren's charioteers, you worm- witted son of a dung beetle.'
Paser jerked his arm free, gave the fishermen a derisive sniff, and returned to his chair with his guest dogging his footsteps. 'I care nothing for those spies. My diligence has been rewarded. I saw Kysen on that trading flotilla, and I've been following him instead of Meren.'
'You're following Kysen? Why?'
Tapping his guest with the fly whisk, Paser asked, 'The question is, why is he traveling on a trading ship? He was going with the king to Memphis.'
'He's going to Meren's feast of rejoicing, you fool.'
'Who is a fool? Would you abandon a place at the side of the living god to attend a paltry feast?'
'Kysen isn't like those of us with noble blood. He knows nothing of what is proper for the son of a Hereditary Prince and Sole Beloved Friend of the King.'
'But that's it,' Paser replied. 'What if he's learned? What if he's pursuing the duties of a Sole Beloved Friend of the King? What if he's doing that right now?'
There was a long silence in which his guest stared at Paser. Having put this rude interloper in his place, Paser settled back in his chair with a smirk.
'If what you suspect is true, then I have to ask again why you would follow Meren's son in a bright yellow boat in full daylight.'
'I know what I'm doing. Say!' Paser gasped as a knee landed on his stomach and the tip of a dagger pricked the linen of his robe over his heart.
'Now you listen to me. I know Meren far better than you do, and I know Kysen. Neither will be fooled by your clumsy machinations. I'm going to the feast of rejoicing, which is where Kysen is going. You, conversely, are going to turn this green-and-yellow gourd of yours around and sail back to Memphis, or I'll dump you in the mouth of the next hippo we pass.'
Paser slapped the dagger away. 'I'm not your minion. I'll do as I wish.'
'You'll do as I say.' The guest stepped back, releasing Paser. 'I've lost much because of Ay and Meren and the changes that came with the new pharaoh. But Meren is going to alter his opinion of me, and I'm not going to let you ruin my chance for gain. Go back and report to the prince. I'll follow when I've finished with Meren.'
The guest sheathed the dagger. 'Do what I say, Paser. Any other choice would be unhealthy.'
Meren felt better after bathing and having Zar rub his skin with oil. At least in his apartments he was safe from annoying relatives and unexpected guests. And he enjoyed his rooms at Baht. They had once been his father's, but Sit-Hathor had had them refurbished.
Patterned friezes decorated the tops of the walls, long series of lotus blossoms in blue, white, and green. Brilliant blue faience tiles bordered the bottom of the walls. In his bedchamber there was a mural of a papyrus marsh depicting ducks, geese, and herons in flight. The remaining walls were plastered and bore a wash of pale blue.
He and Sit-Hathor had shared a love of simple, cool beauty. He remembered feeling so grateful to her for this gift when Djet brought him home after the nightmare of Horizon of Aten. To these rooms he would retreat if he began to lose his temper at the feast tonight.
Meantime he would slip out of the house and go spearfishing. That way he wouldn't have to play host when the trickle of arriving guests became an invasion. He was particularly anxious to avoid his neighbors in the district, most of whom-knowing that he had the trust of pharaoh-tried to ingratiate themselves. He hated unctuous sycophants. Once he was on the river, he'd send for the girls. And he'd take the opportunity to explore further Bener's relationship with Nu, for it now seemed likely he wouldn't have the chance to see the boy before the feast.
'The lord's robe is ready.'
Meren glanced at the long garment with its waterfall of pleats. Zar had laid it on the gilded bed, along with a broad collar, belt, and bracelets consisting of thousands of tiny lapis, gold, and turquoise beads.
Meren frowned at the servant. The years had eroded away his hair in two scoops on either side of his head, leaving a sparse fan of gray hair like a tongue in the middle of his forehead. In contrast, the hair of his eyebrows grew in abundance, as if to make up for its laziness elsewhere. His body was short and compact, his stomach slightly rounded from excesses at the table. He was giving Meren one of the disapproving looks that made him look as if he'd just smelled a chamber pot.
Since Zar and his family had served Meren's for generations, he considered himself an authority on noble demeanor and appropriateness. No one knew more about court ceremony, proper address and manners, appropriate dress and protocol. And he cared about these things, for Meren's distinction and importance added to his. When Meren succeeded his father, Zar's life became a series of trials, for Meren would rather avoid the luxury, ceremony, and formality that Zar considered the embodiment of a happy life.
