disappointment; but before I could say more, suddenly the door opened, and their daughter appeared. Her cheerful, delicate face was quickly wide-eyed as she absorbed the strange atmosphere in the room. The sight of the child instantly released Kiya’s tears. She threw her arms open, and the child ran into them in confusion and distress, while her mother sobbed, grasping the little girl as tightly as she could.
I stood outside in the futile sunlight, feeling as empty as a clay vessel. I began walking without direction. Every street vendor’s cry and call of laughter, every snatch of birdsong, every friendly shout from neighbour to neighbour, reminded me I no longer belonged to the land of the living, but had become a shadow. I found myself eventually facing the glittering imperturbability of the Great River. I sat down and stared at its perpetual waters, green and brown. I gazed at the sun, shining as if nothing had happened. I thought of the God of the Nile, in his cavern, pouring out the waters of the Great River from his jugs. I thought of the long futility of the impossible days ahead. And I felt a new coldness take possession of me: a single-minded impulse, a purity of intention, like a blade of hatred. I would find Khety’s killer. And then I would kill him.
10
The stench from the garbage and mess in the street alone could have killed a mule. In the sowing season of
This was one of the slums’ streets notorious for the opium trade, where the low-level gang boys would sell to the more desperate addicts-those who dared to come here, despite the dangers, driven beyond fear by obsession. The slums were populated by immigrants from Punt and Nubia, originally drawn to Thebes by the lucrative southern trade routes that brought gold and copper, ebony, ivory, incense, slaves and rare animals-leopards, giraffes, panthers, little brown monkeys, ostriches-from beyond those lands. Others were drawn by the dream of a better life; the lucky ones ended up labouring on big construction projects, or being employed for their prized skills in metalwork. But in these years, the last royal constructions had been completed-such as the Great Colonnade Hall, inaugurated under Tutankhamun-or abandoned under Ay’s austerity. It was taken as a sign of the dynasty’s weakness that no new monuments or temples had been commissioned-for such triumphs in stone were symbols of power and honour. And so the children of those immigrants, with no prospect of work, and with a keen sense of their alienation from the wealth of the city, turned to the only other option available to them: crime. Not for them the business of tomb robbery, which required surveillance, organization, and effort, and which was in any case the preserve of the older thieving families. These teenagers were messengers, couriers and occasional killers for the opium gangs.
As I watched and waited, Khety’s dead face kept flashing through my mind. I remembered Kiya holding on to her daughter for dear life. And I recalled Tanefert’s desperate face as she had struggled to console me when I had finally found the courage to walk into my own yard, and sink to my knees before her. My heart was like broken glass in my chest. Would it be like this for ever? I struggled to keep my focus on the spectacle before me: the haggard shadows, the arrogant youths, and the yellow-toothed, ragged addicts, with their dulled eyes. One, obviously a rich boy, shambled along the street, his arrogance undermined by his fear and need. He had the signs of withdrawal: his legs shook with wild energy, and he was scratching at his arms, drawing blood. He wore good clothes, and gold rings on his fingers, and his hair was neatly cut. It was like watching an antelope being stalked by lions: the Nubian boys quickly closed in, tracking him along the street, and whistling to each other. One of them jauntily approached the rich boy. He was maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, already tall but still with a child’s bony thinness and awkwardness, wearing a short white kilt, leather tassels, gold earrings, and with his hair immaculately plaited. He was full of bravado. Keeping always to the shade, he nodded, and beckoned the rich boy to follow him up a side alley. The rich boy nodded back. The Nubian boys sniggered, and made their way around the back. Those rings would soon be off the rich boy’s hands, most likely with his fingers still wearing them.
I slipped up the alleyway. They were standing close together, but the Nubian boy had his dagger out, threatening the rich boy. I grabbed him from behind. His weapon clattered to the ground. He writhed in my grip like a feral cat.
‘Get out of here now,’ I hissed at the rich boy.
He was trembling, but not with fear.
‘No-I need it, I have to have it…’
To my amazement, he actually picked up the dagger and wavered it uncertainly at me. The Nubian kid laughed at both of us with open contempt.
‘You stupid idiot. Give it to me!’ I shouted.
I looked up the alley. The Nubian boys were gathering. The kid in my grip bit me hard. I whacked him on the side of the head.
‘I’m Medjay, and if you don’t give me that blade and run, you’ll be in prison,’ I said to the rich boy. He glanced at me pathetically, gave the dagger to me, and just stood there hopelessly.
‘Go!’ I yelled. He finally scarpered. I pressed the blade against the Nubian boy’s neck vein, which pulsed delicately. He was wearing a carved amulet, bearing the sign of an arrow, his symbol of belonging, and of protection. The same one the dead boys had worn.
‘What is it you want, Medjay man?’ he demanded.
‘I want you to take me to your boss,’ I replied.
He laughed in my face, a practised snarl of contempt, smirking and scoffing.
‘Who do you think you are?’ he said.
I slapped him hard across the face a few times.
‘Think you’re a soldier, a big man, a brave?’ I said, jabbing the blade harder against his skin. He stared at me incredulously, licking the blood from his lips. Now I saw a glint of fear in his eyes.
‘I’ll kill you for this disrespect,’ he said, glancing at his approaching colleagues. I shoved him around, and shouted at them all.
‘I’m a man with questions, and I want some answers. And believe me, I’ll cut out his eyes before he can blink if you come any closer.’ And I raised the dagger to show I was serious.
The boy clicked his tongue. His eyes moved from side to side as he tried to work out what to do next.
‘You’ll never walk away from this place. The shadows will kill you. You will be cut up into little pieces!’ he offered, brazening out the situation.
I punched him hard in the kidneys. He buckled up, and his colleagues drew back a little, spitting, calling oaths and shaking their heads.
‘Here’s the deal. Either I arrest you for possession of opium, which means you’ll end up in prison and I’ll personally make sure you never see daylight again, or else you take me to whoever it is runs your gang.’
The boy just laughed with contempt.
‘You’re a madman. You think you can just go on in and talk to the boss? You? You’d be dead meat before you made it through the door.’
‘That’s my problem. Show me the door. Or I’ll cut out your eye…’ I said.
And I pressed the point of the blade home right next to his eye, producing a dot of blood, to show him I was serious. Suddenly his bravado vanished, and he started to whisper, ‘Don’t don’t don’t…’
My hand was shaking, we both realized.
‘Now tell your little friends to fuck off, unless you want to let them see you piss yourself,’ I said quietly.
He motioned to the other boys to back off. They drifted away into the shadowy passages.
