Lynda Robinson - Drinker Of Blood

"And I can't get word to Abu or Reia, because no one is allowed to leave, and anything I write is read before it's sent."

There was a tray of food between them, and Bener was spreading date paste on bread with an ivory knife. "I've been thinking about that."

"They'll read your letters too, want-wit."

Bener nibbled at her bread. "There are some things into which even royal guards dislike sticking their fingers."

"Oh?"

"Tell me, Ky. When you were married, did you inquire into the details of your wife's monthly time?"

His jaw unhinged as he stared at his sister. Bener returned his look of horror with a nasty little smile.

"Sometimes men are so stupid," she said.

"I–I don't see-"

"We can send messages through my laundry maid, concealed among bloodied cloths."

"But-

"I'm not going to hear about your weak stomach, am I?"

Kysen licked his lips and shook his head.

"Good. Because I've already arranged things."

"Have you, by the gods?" he asked faintly.

"I had to," Bener said. "They're watching you too closely, and the only charioteers we have left are inexperienced." She made a little sound of disgust. "That Irzanen and the other one, Amenthu. We have to stop Abu and Reia from coming here."

"They won't. If they get as far as Memphis without being arrested, they'll hear of the trouble and avoid the house."

"But that means we won't know where to find them," Bener said.

"They'll go to Father."

Bener surveyed her date-covered bread. "Out of Egypt."

"Perhaps."

"Wherever they are, we're on our own," Bener said. "And we need help."

"No one at court can help us without being accused of treachery."

Bener brushed crumbs from her gown and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Then we shall look for aid outside the court."

Kysen eyed her suspiciously, then shook his head rapidly. "Oh, no. That is madness."

"It is not. Ebana is perfect. Even Horemheb won't suspect."

Kysen rested his head in his hands and groaned. "I never should have told you."

"Nonsense," Bener said cheerfully. "Who better to help solve the mystery of a woman's death than another woman?"

He would have argued with his sister, but someone pounded at the door to Bener's chamber. His head shot up as a maid scurried in from another room on her way to open the door. Before she could reach it, the portal was bashed open to reveal a Nubian guard.

Kysen got to his feet as he recognized Mose, the counterpart of Karoya. The king's Nubian bodyguards intimidated not only because of their height and muscularity but also because they affected a severe, brooding silence. Kysen had never heard more than a few words pass Karoya's lips, and less from Mose. When the Nubian did speak, it was with an accent that belied the fact that he'd spent most of his life in Egypt. Behind him stood six more of his fellow bodyguards, their wrists and ankles encased in leather studded with gold, their belts of electrum, carnelian, and malachite, their spears tipped in gold.

Ignoring the maid, Mose stalked over to Kysen. "Pharaoh summons Lord Kysen." Without another word and with no acknowledgment of Bener's existence, the bodyguard turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

With a glance at Bener's alarmed face, Kysen followed him. As he reached the door, Bener called out to him.

"Kysen?"

He smiled at her. "I'll return soon."

It was a lie. He wasn't sure he'd return at all.

Meren threaded his way through the groups of laughing, chattering, and drunken patrons of the Divine Lotus. Two days ago, when he'd sought refuge with Othrys, he hadn't thought it possible for him to walk freely among men as he did. That was before Othrys persuaded him to allow the pirate to turn him into a Mycenaean Greek.

Meren had been handed over to the pirate's trusted aide and scribe, Naram-Sin, who summoned tailors and hairdressers and maids. With their help, the scribe accomplished the transformation with the ease of practice. To Meren's dismay, Naram-Sin made him wear a wig of curling locks that hung over his shoulders and down his back. It was of that strange hair color-a gleaming dark brown tinged with red. The scribe was pleased with the results, but by then Meren had had enough of him. Naram-Sin took entirely too much pleasure in his new duties as a body servant. He wore an expression of mocking humor that Meren suspected to be at his expense.

Meren's disguise was completed by a new wardrobe. He'd been furnished with tunics of foreign design cinched with braided belts and embroidered with geometric or leaf designs at the neck and short sleeves. Worst of all were the leggings. They were tight, and they itched.

While Meren was being disguised, Othrys sent men to rescue Wind and Star and take them to a safe hiding place. The stallions were too noticeable to be brought into the city. The pirate also sent agents in quest of Abu and Reia, but nothing had been heard from them. They did bring word that Meren's family was being guarded. He'd expected it, but the news that his children were imprisoned and watched still sent him into a fit of helpless rage.

Shouldering his way through the crowd around a couple of dancers spinning to the music of flute, cymbals, and drum, Meren stopped short when an Egyptian woman stepped into his path. She was dressed in the Greek fashion of flounced skirt and tight bodice cut to reveal the breasts, and was obviously one of the owner's servants.

"Greek," she said. "Do you miss your homeland? I can give you a taste of it."

Othrys had instructed Meren in a few words of the language. He responded with them, but the woman wasn't deterred. When he tried to go around her, she moved in his way again.

"All merchants and sailors speak my language, tall one." She came closer, took his hand, and put it on her hip and held it there.

He pulled his hand free and shook his head. Once more he tried to move away, but she blocked his escape, frowning.

"By the charms of Hathor, another one who likes not women. You have no interest in me, but I know a young man who's as pretty as he is talented, tall one."

Annoyed, Meren bent and whispered to her, "I have nothing to pay you, so be off."

"Ha! Now you speak." The woman whirled around, clamped her hand on the arm of a Babylonian merchant, and began her entreaties again as if Meren had never existed.

Resuming his search, Meren glanced around the main room of the tavern. There was a round central hearth with a blaze going to keep out the night chill. The air was hazy with smoke and thick with perfume and the odors of beer and wine. Cushions and mats were scattered around the great chamber for the customers, and there was a long table on which had been set tall wine jars and vats of beer. Wealthier clients sat at small tables, but those who wished to avoid expense or revealing light kept to the shadows along the walls. Customers came and went through the front door and up the stairs to rooms on the second level.

Still searching, Meren edged out of the crowd around the dancers and finally saw what he wanted. He went to the serving table, where the attendant handed him a cup of beer. Othrys had an arrangement with Ese, the tavern owner, which afforded his men a share of her hospitality. Meren sought the shadows against the wall opposite the dancers. Walking slowly by clusters of Ese's less illustrious and law-abiding clientele, he reached the corner and lowered himself to a cushion between Abu and Reia.

"I wasn't sure you'd think to come here."

When they didn't answer, he glanced at them. They were staring at him.

"Lord?" Abu searched his face.

"It's a wig, you fool."

"Of course, lord, but you look like a-"

"A womanish Greek!" Reia exclaimed.

Meren glared at his charioteer. "Another word from you, and you'll be the one who's womanish."