a feast.
'He crawled to the back gate, where the porter called for help. Guards dragged him inside, but left him in the kitchen yard because of his state.'
'What do you mean?' Kysen asked.
'He was bleeding from all his body openings, and even from small cuts that should have healed. There was a torrent of blood.'
His voice faint, Kysen stared at Naram-Sin. 'So he died soon after he reached you.'
'Yes.' Naram-Sin's lazy smile provoked the suspicion that he enjoyed Kysen's uneasiness.
Kysen refused to respond to that smile and barked one word. 'Plague?'
'Oh, no,' came the purring response. Naram-Sin tossed his head to make a shining lock of hair fall away from his face. 'No, he had fits and blood in his piss. No, this wasn't a plague. It was poisoning.'
'I find your manner of drawing out your tale un-amusing, Naram-Sin. Get on with it.'
The Babylonian glanced at Othrys and chuckled. 'You were right, my friend. He is more noble than peasant. He has barely outgrown the sidelock of youth, yet he treats me like some common musician who plays a tune too slowly.'
Othrys scowled at the scribe. 'This isn't the time, Naram-Sin. Play your games later.'
'Very well.' Naram-Sin stretched his arms and yawned before resuming. 'The man complained of burning in the mouth. He vomited along with his other miseries. All together these are signs of poisoning by the fruit of the castor oil plant.'
Kysen began dusting off his arms and legs while he considered the meaning of this new murder. 'How do you know this? Are you a physician?'
Again he was subjected to that hot-oil smile that made him want to backhand the scribe.
'No, not a physician. An old woman whom I knew from infancy taught me about medicine and plants and their uses.'
'Fruit of the castor oil plant is used for pains of the head and illness of the belly,' Kysen said. Bener had given one of the slaves some for an ache in the head not long ago.
'And it eases afflictions of the skin,' Naram-Sin said with a look of patient endurance. 'But six fruits ground up and mixed in food that has already been cooked, such as a stew or soup, will bring on illness within hours.' The scribe shoved himself away from the wall and turned to examine the drawings. 'I would say that our man ate the poison no more than a day or two ago.'
'I will find out who has done this to my men,' Othrys said.
'I have no doubt,' Kysen replied, 'nor would I wish to be present when you find the evil one, but heed me, Othrys, I also must know who does not wish inquiries made about the people we discussed.'
To Kysen's annoyance, Othrys didn't seem to be listening. He was engaged in some wordless communion with Naram-Sin, to which the Babylonian replied with a slight shake of his head. The pirate's gravity increased, and he faced Kysen.
'Leave this matter. You don't understand it, and the ones behind it are beyond your power.'
'My father won't abandon his search,' Kysen said, 'and no one is beyond his power.'
Naram-Sin wasn't smiling anymore. 'If you refuse, you endanger yourselves and us as well.'
'Why do you think I must pursue this?' Kysen snapped at Othrys. 'Is this the same pirate who showed me his boar's-tooth helmet and boasted of slaughtering thirty beasts with naught but a sword?'
Othrys's eyes became slits the color of faded cornflowers. 'Have a care for your irreverence, my lord.'
He turned his back on Kysen and walked down the plastered corridor. Pausing where the light failed, he lowered his head and remained still for some moments. Then his head came up, and he turned on his heel. Stalking back to Kysen, he spoke once more in a strong whisper.
'You must heed me well, for I fear you will be allowed but one chance to grasp the danger that approaches.' Othrys pressed his lips together as if he wasn't certain he could find the words he needed. 'There are certain ones among us-not many-who are without sorrow of heart. I have shared bread with men so vile that they would couple with a fiend if the result was to their gain. Among these are a very few who move among the shadows of the world, who love the crooked trail, the hidden path that conceals their direction. Such ones feed themselves by spreading corruption and evil wherever they go, contaminating whatever they touch. A man like this nourishes himself on the power that secret corruption gives. He thrives by sullying the pure, corrupting the innocent, destroying the strong.'
Othrys's voice grew quieter as his description continued. 'A man like this increases his power by using others while he remains undetected. He sits in darkness growing strong on sin, flourishing on the strength of those he destroys. The more puissant his victim, the more power he steals for himself and the greater his pleasure in victory.' The pirate's words were almost inaudible now.
'And if you intend to do battle with one such as this, I can promise you that the Nile will flow with fear. You will find that your heart's friends plot your destruction, and your name will be cursed by those who once praised it. The taste of life will turn to bitter vetch, my young friend, and not even the Earth Mother will come to the aid of the Eyes of Pharaoh and his son.'
Kysen felt the skin over his skull stretch tighter than a hogging truss. The pirate's words gave him a glimpse of a life spent wading in eddies of horror, of swimming against a current of putrid evil. How was he going to make his father understand such danger? He shook his head and caught Naram-Sin looking at him. There was that expression of wicked amusement again, but this time it was tempered with pity. Kysen felt his cheeks grow hot and clamped down on his unruly emotions.
'Othrys, how do you know that one of these monsters is concerned?'
'Such a devastation of my men is beyond the power of most of my-rivals. And it happened so quickly and in such a skilled manner that I knew immediately that there could be only a few who might be responsible.'
'Among your acquaintances, perhaps.' Kysen brushed grit and dust from the folds of his kilt. Removing his headcloth, he folded it so that the inner side faced out, drew his dagger, and wiped the blade on the cloth. As he drew the edge along the cloth, the fibers split. 'However, it is clear that you've never lived at court. There such men are as numerous as flies on a slaughtered oryx.'
The blade sliced another path through the cloth. Then Kysen tossed it in the air. Catching the weapon by the hilt, he slipped it into his belt.
'You're a fool,' Othrys said.
Naram-Sin's soft laughter echoed down off the plaster and stone. 'But a brave fool.'
'The names of the criminals, Othrys. I'm not going to waste more time listening to menacing tales.'
The pirate suddenly dropped his air of apprehension to smile nastily at Kysen. 'By the blessed gods, you need subduing. I almost wish I could be there to see it. Follow me.'
Othrys walked into the darkness once again. Kysen went after him, stopping before all light faded. He waited, growing more irritated as the moments passed. Then a hand shot out and pulled him into blackness.
'Curse it, Othrys, you're not performing a festival play. Give me the names and be done with it.'
'Keep your voice down, boy.' The words came out of the obsidian void, sharp, like cobra's fangs.
Kysen held his tongue, and Othrys continued in a whisper. 'If you reveal that it was I who gave you these names-'
'I already know what you're capable of.'
'Then remember it.'
Kysen felt Othrys's breath near his ear.
'Three names. These are the ones with the mighty grasp, the will, and the appetite. There is one called Dilalu. If you wish to acquire large numbers of weapons, he can find them. Dilalu is never in one place for more than a few months-in Alalakh, Ugarit, Kadesh, and of course, in Memphis. I think he played a part in the Hittite destruction of the Mitanni, but of course, I can't be sure. And he's in Memphis at the moment.'
'Who else?' Kysen asked.
'An Egyptian called Yamen, an officer and scribe in the Re division.'
'An officer?' Kysen asked. 'What kind of officer?'
Othrys chuckled. 'The kind that serves generals and sometimes is sent to foreign lands as an envoy, which gives him opportunities to meet generous people who seem to give him many gifts. Many, many gifts. And these gifts Yamen generously bestows upon his numerous friends, some of whom I would not trust should my other
