Abu reached out and clamped a hand around Tcha's neck. Tcha squawked but stopped trying to get away.
Kysen contemplated the scrawny shadow that was the thief. He'd contacted Tcha after his father returned from the palace this morning. The little burglar had been astonished and then greedily pleased that he was to be allowed to rob a merchant's house. He'd agreed to pilfer Dilalu's correspondence in the process. What had happened in the intervening time to put Tcha in such fear?
Kysen darted forward and whispered to Tcha. 'You've found out who Dilalu is, haven't you?'
'A merchant. He's a merchant, by the blessings of Amun.'
'Correct,' Kysen said. 'So there's nothing to fear. Bring him, Abu.'
Kysen led the way through the streets of the foreign quarter. Here lived traders from the Greek islands and mainland cities, artisans and merchants from the city-states of Byblos, Tyre, Ugarit, and the great lands of the Tigris and Euphrates river valleys. They passed several noisy taverns, encountering shrinking and cloaked figures that vanished as soon as they appeared. Finally they came upon a quieter street. Its only waking inhabitant was a fat, flat-headed cat sitting beside a porter asleep in a doorway. It hissed at them and stalked away in search of a feline fight.
Kysen slithered down a passage beside the cat's house and around the back of the building. There rose a pungent and mountainous refuse heap. At the foot of an exterior staircase, Kysen halted and grabbed Tcha by the arm.
'This is the house. To your work.' Tcha squirmed but Kysen tightened his grip and bent down to whisper in the thief's ear. 'Listen to me, you carrion feeder. You'll do as you agreed, or I'll send you to the granite quarries.'
As he'd expected, the threat of actual work, especially such taxing labor, caused Tcha to become as docile as an aged donkey. The wretch nodded, and Kysen released him.
'Remember, confine yourself to a few metal vessels or jewels.'
Kysen watched the thief remove a linen bag from the recesses of his kilt. Tcha hesitated only a short time before scrambling to the staircase. Kysen signaled to Abu, and they melted into the darkness beyond the refuse pile.
Waiting in nighttime always seemed longer than waiting during the day. Kysen pressed his back against a wall and slid down to crouch beside Abu, whose gaze swung in an arc, watching for any hint of trouble. Kysen's back and legs were growing numb when Tcha's head popped over the roof coping. He rose as the thief scrambled downstairs and launched into a foot-pounding run. When his quarry darted past, Abu stuck out his foot. Tcha hit the ground with a smack, but would have jumped to his feet and kept on running if Kysen hadn't grabbed him. Releasing his captive when Abu fastened his hand around Tcha's neck, Kysen snatched the linen bag.
'Empty. Tcha, you're too miserable for the quarries. I'm sending you into the desert-'
'Lord,' Abu said. 'The wretch is frightened. More than usual, that is.'
Kysen peered at Tcha, who was shaking as if he were on some foreign snow-topped mountain. Dropping the bag, Kysen folded his arms and spoke calmly.
'What happened?'
'Merciful Amun protect me.' Tcha whimpered and seemed to melt onto the ground, where he groveled at Kysen's feet. 'Let us flee this place at once, lord. At once!'
'Not until you explain.'
Constantly glancing at the house of Dilalu, Tcha said, 'I went up to the roof, me. Like always. There was another sleeping porter there, but I always slide through a roof vent or a window if it's large enough. I got inside through the door this time, and then-merciful Amun.' Tcha moaned and began to rock back and forth on his haunches.
'Curse you, Tcha, get on with it,' Kysen said. Tcha's fear was beginning to affect his composure.
'Know why there's only sleeping porters on guard? Because inside there's black giants.''
For a moment Kysen's thoughts stilled. Then he asked, 'Do you mean the merchant has Nubian guards?'
Tcha's head bobbed so rapidly Kysen was certain it would snap off his neck.
'They was awake. All of them! I went down the inside stairs and nearly ran into them at the bottom, but Amun was watching and slowed my steps. I saw them before they saw me. Dozens of them, all armed with knives and spears and bows and axes and-'
'Tcha!' Kysen snapped.
'Yes, lord.'
'Exactly how many did you see?'
Tcha held up his fingers and counted silently. 'Eight.'
'This-this merchant has eight Nubian bodyguards?' Kysen didn't listen to Tcha's reply. Dilalu employed mercenaries, which he took care to conceal from everyone. 'Is that all you saw?'
Tcha whimpered again and said, 'Yes, master.'
'Then we cannot get inside the house,' Abu said.
Kysen rubbed his chin while he thought, then he motioned to Abu. The charioteer snagged Tcha by the arm and followed. Kysen crept back toward the back stair. Once he realized where they were going, Tcha tried to dig in his heels, but his efforts were useless against Abu.
Kysen stopped between the refuse pile and the stair. He gazed up at the reeking mountain thoughtfully. 'Abu, Dilalu is an Asiatic.'
'Aye, lord.'
'Then he uses the wedge-shaped script of the Asiatics, inscribed upon clay tablets.' Kysen turned to Tcha. 'Thief, you will search the refuse heap for clay tablets.'
'But the Nubians!'
'Will not show themselves unless forced to do so. Therefore I would encourage you to be both quick and quiet.'
'But-'
Kysen gave a sharp sigh. 'Tcha, if you don't do as you're told, I will do what I've been tempted to do since meeting you. I am going to throw you in the Nile to rid your insect-like body of that foul odor. Of course, you'll probably be eaten by crocodiles before that happens.'
Tcha danced from one foot to the other as he regarded his persecutor. Evidently he perceived Kysen's determination, for he darted to the refuse mound and began searching through the fetid contents.
'Fear not,' Kysen said. 'Abu and I will keep watch. If the Nubians come, just burrow into the filth. You should blend in quite well.'
Chapter 5
Nefertiti stood in her chariot outside the great Sun Temple, waiting for her husband to finish his consultation with the royal architects. Wind whipped her robe around her legs and threatened to topple her high crown. It was dusk, and a day spent arguing with the priests of Amun had tired her. They hated the Sun Temples, all four of them, thrusting as they did against the sacred precinct of Amun.
It seemed a lifetime since she had married Akhenaten, and yet she was only eighteen. Eighteen and a failure. For although she'd become queen when Akhenaten ascended the throne to rule jointly with his father, she had yet to bear a son. Three daughters. Three beloved daughters. Failure. And even more important, she hadn't been able to prevent her husband from taking more and more outrageous steps in his journey toward chaos.
But how could she have foreseen that Akhenaten's elevation to the throne would feed his heresy? Instead of making him the incarnation of Amun, as had happened to all his predecessors, Akhenaten's kingship proved to him that the Aten's plan for him had become manifest. The Sun Temples were one result.
Massive, open, decorated with reliefs in Akhenaten's new style, they were her husband's announcement of his new religion. He even had a sed-festival to mark his revolution. Gone were scenes of pharaoh worshiping his father Amun, who gave him life. On the walls she and Akhenaten were depicted worshiping the Aten. There was
