We turned right, walked on through the gardens where the heat of the day was now settling, and arrived at the welcome shade of a small courtyard with high walls. At this point the guard passed us over to another guard. He saluted as dismissively as possible, and turned away. The new guard led us up some stairs and into the main house.
A large, cool, airy loggia gave on to several other still more ample and airy pillared rooms around a central space lit by high windows. The air smelled of fresh paint and wood dust. The floor was unscratched and polished to a mirror shine. And the furniture looked as if it had been placed there that very morning. There was also a similar air of efficiency and purpose in the conduct of the uniformed men going about their business. These were career men, not conscripts or mercenaries. Quiet conversations were orchestrated with crisp nods, appreciative tilts of the head, wry smiles, evidently sensible remarks, and smart glances around the room. Several Nubians of high rank were gathered together in a serious conference in the loggia on the far side of the main room.
A secretary seated at a desk noticed us. Khety addressed him quietly. He shook his head. Khety remonstrated with him, and produced the authorities from Akhenaten. The secretary nodded, and walked off crisply along the corridor. We eased ourselves into two elegant chairs, their scrolled arms ending in gilded sphinx heads.
As we waited, I looked at these men, the commanding set of their young faces, the confident manner of their conduct, the precision and understated expense of their garments and uniforms, the inclusiveness of their racial and social backgrounds, and above all the vivid sense of the secret codes of their society in their measured gestures and responses. And I began to realize that here, after all, was the future, not in crazy worship of the sun or in new cities built in the desert, conjured by treasure and labour out of the dust and the light. No, the future was the military. These were the next generation of the King’s sons, from the elite Egyptian families. Many of them had been taken from their foreign homelands and raised as child-ransom in the nurseries of the Great House-all now grown into ambitious, educated, clear-minded young men, seeing the opportunities for advancement opening quickly before them. Who knew what loyalties, grudges and ambitions they nursed? They looked like men who had a plan, who knew their entitlement and were waiting for their time to come. They looked like men who were not afraid.
The secretary approached us and murmured to me that I would be seen now. Leaving Khety to wait for me, I followed the man along more corridors and into a private chamber. He knocked on an ordinary-looking door, and I was admitted into an ordinary kind of room, transformed into a small office by a desk and two chairs. Absolutely nothing to show the status and ambition of the man, as if he had refused all superficial trappings of power.
The man at the desk was shockingly handsome. His frame was not remarkably sturdy or robust-he was no giant-and his head, on his small but powerful shoulders, was not exceptionally noble, but his body was pure worked muscle-not a
He moved away from the desk, shook my hand with a brief firmness, and looked me directly in the eyes. There was not a trace of uncertainty in his look. Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then he gestured for me to sit and offered me refreshments, which I declined. He sat down in his chair-the same as mine, on the other side of the desk-his posture poised like a heron beside a fish-filled pond.
‘What can I do for you?’
He meant: state your business. I outlined my office and my role in the investigation of a great mystery. He kept his eyes on me all the time, observing my face as much as listening to my tale. When I had finished he looked away, up at the small, high window. He stretched out his legs, put his hands behind his head. His handsomeness continued to puzzle me, as I could not locate it in any particular feature; it seemed to come from a collusion of parts that were in themselves not especially remarkable. I recalled another of Tanefert’s writers who said that most people had enough material in them for several faces. Not here. This man had one face only.
He fixed his eyes on me. ‘You have told me an interesting tale, full of great excitements and dangerous possibilities, but what I don’t understand is this. Why you are here? Why do you wish to talk to me?’ He sat up again, and leaned forward.
‘Because you are related to the Queen, and the Queen has vanished.’
‘You think I am involved in her disappearance?’ His face was cold, challenging.
‘I need to speak to everyone who knows the Queen as part of my investigation.’
‘Why?’
‘I am trying to build up a picture of the circumstances of her disappearance. Not just the forensic detail but the emotional and political background.’
‘And from this you will deduce the guilty party.’ It was not a question.
I nodded.
‘Your method is flawed,’ he said, lightly.
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Because it will not get you to the heart of the matter. Talking never does. It is overvalued in every way. Also, you have nearly run out of time. If the Queen is not recovered in time for the Festival, then you have failed.’
‘There is still time.’
He paused, then said, ‘You are Medjay. I am Army. Why should I talk to you?’
‘Because I have authorizations from Akhenaten himself, and those transcend the hierarchical distinctions between us.’
‘Ask me a question, then.’
‘What is your relationship to the Queen?’
‘She is my sister-in-law. You know this already.’
‘I know the facts. I mean, are you close?’
He sat back and stared at me. ‘No.’
‘Do you support the Great Changes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Unequivocally?’
‘Of course. You have no right to ask such a question. It has no bearing on the matter in hand.’
‘With respect-’
‘Your question is disrespectful. You imply treason.’
‘Not at all, and the question is relevant. Whoever has taken the Queen has a political motivation.’
‘I support unequivocally the suppression and destruction of corruption and incompetence.’
Which was not quite the same thing, and we both knew it. We had quickly reached an impasse.
‘Are you or are you not accusing me of having a role in the disappearance of the Queen?’ His eyes narrowed on me.
‘I am not accusing you of anything. I am trying to understand the truth.’
‘Then you are failing. This has not been an impressive display of your qualities as an investigator. I fear for the Queen. Her life is not in competent hands. I wish I could be of more assistance in her recovery, but now I must continue with my work. There are preparations to be made before the Festival.’
‘Such as?’
‘None of your business.’
He stood up and opened his office door, dismissing me. I needed to make a move. I produced the gold feather and placed it on the desk between us. He suddenly looked very interested, and quietly closed the door.
‘Where did you get that?’
‘Can you tell me about it?’
He picked it up and twirled it between his fingers. ‘It opens doors.’
‘How can a feather open doors?’
‘How literal you are. It opens doors to rooms that do not exist, and to words that are not spoken.’
Interestingly, Horemheb clearly did not possess such a feather. But I could tell from the way he handled it, moving it slowly in the light, that it held considerable attraction for him.
‘Who would possess such a thing?’
He put it down with a reluctance that betrayed his desire to possess it for himself.
