Eater of souls

'The dead found unworthy of the afterlife,' Kysen replied. He continued reluctantly. 'She eats the living soul, the body, all. One dies again, for all time. One ceases to exist.'

'Does one, by the Earth Mother? Eaten alive, so to speak.'

Kysen was suddenly angry with himself. What was he doing, taking seriously the ravings of an ignorant teller of tales like Tcha? The man sold the crimes of his friends to the city police. The only reason he was still alive was that he possessed just enough sense not to try his tricks on Othrys.

Smiling, Kysen broke the fearful silence. 'Tcha makes sense. Where else would Eater of Souls be drawn than to the Caverns in mighty Memphis, a place stuffed to the ramparts with thieves, ruffians, corruption, and evildoers of every description? So many to devour in such a small space.'

'Ha!' Othrys threw back his head and guffawed. The scribes exchanged rueful glances and laughed along with their master.

Tcha stared at them, shaking with indignation so that his amulets clacked.

'I knew it,' Othrys crowed. 'He tells this tale to conceal his own deeds. Tcha, you killed Pawah, and now you spin this lying yarn to hide behind the Eater of Souls. An original notion, I admit.'

All mirth fled Othrys's visage. 'But you still owe me my tithe. Pay it, or by the time I'm done with you, you'll welcome the Eater of Souls.'

'I spin no yarns!' Tcha squawked. The two guards who had escorted Kysen grabbed the thief by the arms and lifted him off his feet. Tcha's legs whirled in the air. The last that was heard of him was a high whine. 'Everyone thinks I'm offal, goat's dung, hippo muck. Everyone despises me. I'm surrounded by malice and disgust!'

Othrys poured wine into a bull's-head rhyton. 'Now, that is a man who knows the truth of himself.'

Kysen couldn't restrain a grin.

The Greek gave him a tolerant smile. 'So, my friend. I didn't frighten you away the last time we saw each other. I've never met a young man who would give himself over in the house of a man who had held a blade to his throat.'

'I assumed the blade was your accustomed greeting for those who win games of senet and five deben of copper from you.'

Othrys handed him the rhyton. It was silver with a gold rim. 'You have the facile tongue of a bard, Nen, but your character is shrouded by perpetual mist.'

Kysen's heart did a somersault in his chest. He looked over his shoulder at the scribes. They had resumed their work, but Othrys clapped his hands once, and they left.

'I'm what Ese told you I was,' Kysen said as he turned back to his host.

Othrys lifted a double-handled drinking cup, drank some wine, and said, 'Facile of tongue, dauntless of heart, swift of wit. Being all these things, you should know I would find out who you really were.' The cup slammed down on a tray. Wine sprayed out, splattering Othrys's tunic and Kysen's kilt.

'Tell me, Lord Kysen. Why should I not eviscerate you and stuff your body beneath the floor of my bedchamber?'

This was one of those moments for which Father had trained him. Kysen sighed and brushed drops of red wine from his kilt with leisurely strokes. 'I suppose because you know that my father would impale you on his spear, taking care not to kill you, then hang you from the prow of Wings of Horus. Just above the water, where crocodiles could take turns snapping chunks of flesh from your face and body. At least, that's what he did to the last pirate he caught. Perhaps he would be a bit more angry should you kill me.'

'As I said, my lord. You're dauntless of heart and swift of wit.' Othrys picked up a cloth and wiped wine from his arm.

'Then shall we discuss my need for information, and your need to keep silent about it and me?'

'So long as you understand me,' Othrys said. 'I reverence not the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh. See that helmet on the shelf? It is made of the tusks of more than thirty boars. I killed each of them with my sword. Not a spear, a sword.'

Kysen inclined his head. 'Then I think it is you who are dauntless of heart.'

The pirate held Kysen's gaze for a long moment before grunting and bidding his guest state his request. It took little time to make Othrys understand what was needed. The Greek was accustomed to doing such delicate tasks for his customers of the distant cities from Hattusha to the Aegean Sea, the spice lands of Punt, and down into wild Nubia. They arranged to meet again in a few days, by which time Othrys hoped to know something of the fate of Nefertiti's household. Kysen was taking his leave when Othrys put a hand on his arm. Surprised, he withdrew from the grasp.

'I've been thinking about Tcha,' Othrys said as he allowed Kysen to escape his hold. 'I would forget his ranting if it weren't for the rumors.'

'What rumors?'

'Of late the streets have been full of rumors of a demon who strikes at night. Some say it isn't a demon but an animal, a monster. The whole of the Caverns is ripe with talk of evil. I've seen magicians warding off evil from three different houses in two days. And my men are more and more reluctant to venture forth after sunset.'

'I suppose Tcha isn't the only one to suddenly begin wearing a multitude of amulets?'

'You're right.' Othrys pulled on a leather cord beneath the neck of his tunic. From it was suspended a figurine of the Earth Goddess carved of ivory. 'I started wearing this a few days ago, on the night all the animals in my stables and pens tried to escape in fright at the same time. The same night one of my best hunting hounds disappeared.'

An inward shiver rippled up Kysen's body, leaving him cold. 'Perhaps you should send Tcha to me.'

'I will, if I can find him.'

'And be careful,' Kysen said. 'You're in Egypt, where men are judged after death according to their deeds in life. If you die, you may meet the Swallower of the Dead, Eater of Souls.'

'I'm swift of foot. She won't catch me.'

'Perhaps, but Eater of Souls isn't even a god. Unfortunately the condemned face an abundance of punishments should the Devouress fail. I would hate to think of you being slaughtered with knives, dismembered, and your blood drained away, or cooked like a heron, or burned in a fiery pit.'

Othrys's hand closed around the Earth Goddess figurine. Something primitive flashed in his eyes, but he managed a smile. 'I bow to your courage, my lord. And your ability to recover from a stumble. The Eyes of Pharaoh has a worthy successor.'

Kysen nodded and turned away. 'Then I wish you a peaceful and safe evening.'

Chapter 8

Of all of the souls she'd eaten, the father had tasted best. His flesh had been aged in the finest mortal wines. His bones had been brittle; they snapped loudly when she brought her mighty jaws together. She liked crunchy bones. But aside from the pleasure of eating, devouring the father had ended the exquisite torment of the favored one. Devouring the father was one of her most worthy acts.

When the father ended, the condemnation ended, bringing relief to the favored one. No more ceaseless disapproval, no more drunken shouting. The father had been vile carrion fouling the palace of the favored one's soul. Eater of Souls still heard echoes of the bile he spewed at the chosen one of the gods-witless, ugly, clumsy, more lackwitted than a pig, lazy, dirty, womanish, thoughtless, lack-mannered. Every mean little word slurred and carried on a stinking breath.

Eater of Souls growled, clawed the air, and wished she could devour the father again. This time she would do it slowly, so that the creature felt each snap of a bone, endured the agony of her teeth piercing the meat of his stomach, his arms, his chest. Then the favored one's pain would become his pain and bring relief. It was unfortunate that devouring other transgressors against the favored one was but a pale shadow of this first great annihilation.

Tentamun waited for his employer in the shade of a date palm. He had sailed the short distance south to this sprawling estate in order to report Satet's removal to Memphis. This was the kind of event for which he'd been told