'You were more worried than I.'
Kysen stood and helped the woman to her feet. Then he guided her to the chair. Rubbing her throat, she sat down with a groan. Her hands began tugging at the folds and pleats of her gown.
Studying her red flesh, Kysen asked, 'Are you well?'
'Don't insult me with your concern.' Her voice broke, but she cleared her throat. 'You're like too many other men-pretty but with a ka more suited to a crocodile.'
He protested, but Ese's indifference showed in the way she stared at the opposite wall and rubbed her neck without responding.
'Oh, very well,' Kysen said. 'I can see you treasure your ill opinion too much to accept any amendment to it.'
Ese turned to smile slyly at him and incline her head in assent. 'You wanted to know about the list you gave me. I really have little to say at the moment. There were sixteen names, and I haven't received word on most of them. It was quickest to find out about the dead ones.'
'What dead ones?'
Ese was removing her necklaces now, with grimaces and sharp little intakes of breath. 'The queen had many, many attendants. So far, one of the three personal maids is dead, as is one of the five dressers. One of the privy door openers and a sandal bearer, these two have gone west as well.'
Kysen asked, 'How did they die?'
Dropping the necklaces in her lap, Ese began to massage her neck. 'Let me think, let me think. The privy door opener was filling a water jar at the river and a crocodile got him. All too common a fate, I'm afraid.'
'What of the dresser?'
'She died of old age.'
'And the personal maid?'
Ese wrinkled her brow while her fingers intertwined with a beaded necklace. 'Oh, yes. An ailment of the gut. A pity. She wasn't that old. I think she had twenty years. And the sandal bearer was even younger, but he died of a putrid scorpion sting.'
'There was no hint of any of these deaths being more than accidents or illness or old age?'
'No. The only remarkable thing about them was that they all happened within a few weeks of their mistress's death.'
'All within a few weeks.'
'It will take more time to find out about the rest,' Ese said. 'But I can't until I'm paid.'
Abu spoke up. 'Don't worry, woman. You'll get your wages upon the morrow.'
'Don't talk to me of wages as if I were a stone breaker, you son of a-'
'Please, Ese,' Kysen said as he stepped between the two. 'I've already saved your life once tonight.'
Ese rose and sent a flaming look at him. 'Just don't send him with my fee. And don't bring him with you ever again.'
'I won't send him with the fee, but I don't think I can prevent him from coming with me.'
Coming close, Ese lowered her voice so that only Kysen could hear. 'I accept mishandling from no one. Do you understand? How do you think I survive among men like Othrys?' Her voice gained in force from the rage she held in check. 'By being even more vicious than they are. Ask anyone on the docks or in the streets who they would rather face. They'll all choose anyone but me.'
'I believe you,' Kysen said. 'But you can't-'
He stopped; Ese had already turned her back and vanished into the second room. He heard a door slam. He was thinking about Ese when Abu interrupted.
'The hour is late, lord. We should go home.'
'Do you fear encountering Eater of Souls?'
Abu opened the door to the landing and stood to one side so that Kysen could pass. 'The hour is late.'
'Very well,' Kysen said. 'But even with Ese after us, it's bound to be safer in here than in the streets with a demon.'
Chapter 12
Once Kysen left Ese's tavern, Abu insisted upon going ahead of him.
Knowing it was useless to protest, Kysen said, 'Go, then. Perhaps you have a good idea. This way I can watch your back.'
Abu hesitated, to Kysen's amusement, but evidently could think of no objection. They set out, and Kysen kept a set distance from Abu until they entered an older section inhabited by Syrian traders. Here the streets deteriorated into mere tracks made treacherous with dried-up gullies from previous high floods and troughs dug by those in need of mud for bricks and too lazy to go to the river.
This was the portion of the trip Kysen disliked, for the tracks reversed on themselves, then suddenly twisted at a right angle, then reversed again, causing him to confuse his location. His could navigate well during the day, but night seemed to increase distance and stretch time as though he had been cast into a dreamworld. And the night was black, the color of the netherworld, and of death.
Kysen hopped across a gully and tried to remind himself that black was also the color of the fertile soil, life of Egypt, that gave to her the name Black Land. A name so old it was lost beyond the time before the delta and Upper Egypt became one kingdom. But not older than the gods, or their servant, Eater of Souls. Kysen darted glances into doorways, over awnings, down alleys, and up stairways to roofs.
'Take heart,' he muttered to himself. 'You might only meet one of the others, like Blood Drinker, who comes from the slaughterhouse, or Backward-facing One, who comes from the abyss.'
Abu took another track, one in which they nearly had to turn sideways to make progress. Feeling penned, Kysen closed the gap between them and hurried after the charioteer as the older man veered suddenly at an angle between an old drying rack and the half-demolished garden wall of a deserted house. Kysen plunged down the new track, but as he passed by the wall, stepping over chunks of mud brick, he stopped. Then he quietly moved away from the wall, putting his back to the side of a house. His hand slipped to his side, and he drew his dagger.
Trying not to make a sound, he hardly breathed in his effort to see. Something was wrong. He scoured the area, noting the high, blank walls that crowded in on him. He couldn't see the moon, but his eyes had become accustomed to the dark. It was possible to distinguish shapes.
Whatever had caught his attention was in the old garden. The west wind had calmed, but he could still perceive the movement of the date palms within. He forced himself to remain as still as any of the dead shrubs and flowers behind the crumbling wall. Surely if someone were stalking him, Kysen would hear him step on dried leaves. Then he heard a footfall on loose dirt. Whirling aside, Kysen ducked and pointed his dagger.
'Lord, it is I.'
'Quiet, Abu.'
Abu melded himself to the wall beside Kysen. Pointing to the garden, Kysen lapsed into his watchful state again. Abu's sudden appearance had startled him and caused his heart to gallop. He drew in a deep breath, then let it out quickly and sniffed; motioning to Abu, he dropped to a crouch and stole to the garden wall. Abu slithered toward Kysen; they were separated from each other by a gap in the wall.
Kysen picked up a clod of mud and tossed it over the wall, where it landed at the base of a palm tree. Immediately dried leaves crackled, bushes quivered. A disembodied howl sounded behind him. Then a black silhouette eclipsed the stars above Kysen's head. Kysen launched himself into the air, hurled his body into the gap, and grabbed. His hand closed on something pliant, moist, greasy. A hyena's shriek issued from the thing, but Kysen yanked hard, and it hurtled over the gap to land between Kysen and Abu.
Releasing his grip, Kysen peered down. 'If you want to track someone, you shouldn't go around smelling like rotting hippo meat, Tcha.'
The thief scrambled around in the dirt, whimpering. 'Never had no fine house with baths and slaves to pour water over me. Never had no house at all. Just a hut, a miserable hut. Sometimes a corner in a yard, or a place in the street.'
