The garden was his attempt to capture the beauty and teeming life of the Nile and bring closure to his life. This way he could renew himself, drawing strength from pleasure in the water, the animals and plants. The moon sprayed silver light across the water. Undulating dark shapes were barely discernible in the depths, but he caught a glimpse of a talapia, a fish that hatched its eggs in its mouth, a symbol of rebirth.
A heron with a smooth, ornamental crest behind its head goggled at him from the water, then stalked away on its measuring-rod legs. Several Egyptian geese paddled by. The trees and pools in his garden, along with the reeds and lotus plants, were the haunt of pintails, rock pigeons, doves, and pied kingfishers.
Satisfied that he was alone, Meren lifted the hinged lid of the box. Within lay another hinged lid that swung open to reveal four paneled compartments. Each contained an orb that gave off a golden luster in the lamplight. Meren took three of them, two in one hand, one in the other. He tossed the single orb in the air and caught it, then repeated the action, establishing a steady cadence. Quickly he threw the second and third into the air so that they spun above his head.
Then, his juggling rhythm established, he walked slowly down the paved path that bordered the reflection pool. He moved toward the shorter end nearest the gate in the wall. The orbs made a satisfying pat as they hit his hands briefly before he tossed them again.
A breeze arose suddenly, making the limbs of the sycamores and acacias scrape against each other, thousands of leaves breathing hissing murmurs. Swaying flowers and shrubs accompanied them with the whisper of their leaves and petals. Seeking to empty his heart of agitation, Meren continued to juggle while listening to the refrain.
At his feet dead grass blades and leaves danced as he reached the corner of the pool. Then he hesitated, juggling in place while he frowned. Catching the balls as they fell, he held them and listened. Beneath the gentle creaking of limbs and the mesmerizing strain of leaf and petal he had heard something else. Something faint, but as discordant as a snapped harp string. It hadn't been a bird. Holding still, Meren concentrated, keeping his breathing shallow to eliminate any distracting sound.
Still nothing. He turned, looking around the garden at the secluded arbors, the tree-shrouded pavilion, the small orchard filled with more pomegranate as well as persea and
'You fool,' he whispered aloud. 'You're imagining demons and spirits where there are only fish and birds.'
He turned and flung the first golden ball in the air. Without warning the wind surged, sending a furious blast across the garden. With it soared the biting desert grit. The west wind howled through the desert escarpments, soared through steep valleys created by the stylized mountain ranges that were the pyramids and cemeteries of Memphis. And under the howl came a noise like an animal's grunt. Meren heard it, caught the orbs again, and turned to the west.
Had he heard the rasp of metal, or was it simply branches scraping together? The air smelled of water, dust, and some animal odor. Perhaps it was wet duck or decaying water plants. The garden was alive with movement, but the west wind subsided. Trees and reeds settled down. After a few moments, Meren decided the only thing he'd heard was the wind and resumed his walking and ball tossing.
After one circuit of the reflection pool, the wind picked up again, but not enough to stop him from juggling. He had to pursue this interest in secret, for great nobles did not perform feats of entertainment like commoners. Meren wasn't certain what pharaoh would think if he learned that his Eyes and Ears tossed brightly colored balls like the troupe in the royal palace.
And Zar disapproved. He acquired a look like a bilious toad and said things like, 'Great lords do not toss balls like naked children' and 'One so noble of lineage cannot sustain his dignity while chasing after toys as the baboon chases cats.' Zar had served royalty and understood the importance of decorum, splendor, and reserve in supporting a great one's power.
But Meren needed this pastime. It forced him to concentrate on balance and rhythm while it relieved his heart of burdens, fears, and confusion, if only for a brief time. So he juggled when he was alone.
Unfortunately, this time he couldn't distract his heart from the deaths, the missing hearts, the feathers. If he tried, he ended up trying to make sense of old Satet's demented opinions about where her sister could be. Every time he pressed the old woman for answers, she gave answers that were increasingly absurd. He dared not press her too hard for fear of permanently confusing her wits.
He'd been forced to take the men assigned to searching Memphis for her sister and divert them to the hunt for Eater of Souls. Unsnarling the tangle of Nefertiti's death was going to take a long time. Every day that passed in which he sent out requests for information, asked friends about old memories, and culled old records of the household of the Great Royal Wife increased the chance that the wrong person would discover that Meren was interested in a queen long dead.
'Cease!' Meren hissed to himself. 'You're to think of balance and speed, not killings.'
He turned a corner of the pool and started down the long side of the rectangle. Moving slowly, he approached the next corner. There an artificial papyrus marsh had been constructed on a base of Nile mud. Rising to double Meren's height, the thicket of triangular reeds with their frothy, tufted crowns bowed and bobbed in an isolated gust of wind. Meren reached out to catch a ball that had been blown slightly off its course and tossed it up just in time to catch the one that followed.
As he neared the papyrus marsh, his foot came down on something soft, wet, and cold. He cried out, withdrew his foot, and staggered sideways. The golden orbs bounced in all directions. He heard a plop as he regained his footing and watched one of the balls sink into the water. As the wind ceased, a giant toad croaked at him. It scrambled to the edge of the pool and jumped in.
'Cursed water monster.' Meren rubbed his ankle. His foot was wet from the toad, so he went to the pool and dipped his foot in the water.
As he bent his knee, the papyrus reeds stirred, producing a rattlelike sound. There was no breeze! Meren pulled his foot out of the water and reached for his dagger, but he was too late. Several dark figures erupted from the marsh and rounded the corner of the pool. As Meren drew his weapon, a fist hit his arm. He dropped the dagger, but three swords jabbed him.
Expecting to feel metal pierce his flesh, Meren froze. When the sword points remained embedded in his robe, he pulled himself up, dropped his arms to his sides, and turned to face a man who stepped closer.
He looked like a mastaba, one of the short, wide tombs of ancient nobles that resembled benches. His eyes bore an expression that said he understood his own importance in the world, and that it was greater than that of anyone he'd met so far. Bronze armor was wrapped around his torso. It covered his lower legs and encrusted his helmet, but his body seemed hard enough that the metal protection might prove unnecessary.
'General Labarnas,' Meren said. 'I wouldn't have expected you to be so foolish as to attack one of pharaoh's servants in the middle of his city.'
The Hittite threw back his head and laughed once. Then his smile vanished. 'Perhaps, Egyptian, I've come to avenge Prince Mugallu, whom you slaughtered like one of your sacred bulls.'
'Have you ever heard of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh attacking anyone like a hyena after a carcass?'
Labarnas was only a silhouette of lighter darkness in the night. Meren watched him twitch his head to the side as an eagle does when scouting for prey. He heard him slide his sword into its sheath.
'I didn't come out in the evil breath of this desert wind to listen to the poison and lies of an arrogant Egyptian prince.'
'I cannot understand why you're here at all,' Meren said. 'My son told you we were doing everything we could to find the one who killed Prince Mugallu.'
Labarnas darted toward Meren, shoving aside one of his men. 'My father died at the hands of an Egyptian dog at Kadesh.'
'Neither he nor any Hittite should have been in Kadesh,' Meren said. 'Kadesh belongs to pharaoh.'
'Miserable perfumed catamite!'
Meren smiled his indifference and touched one of the Hittite sword blades. 'Enough of this useless and petty debate. What do you want?'
Labarnas said something in his own language to one of Meren's guards. The man dashed behind the papyrus thicket and returned with a basket large enough to hold half a bull's carcass. He set it down near the general and
