Lynda Robinson - Drinker Of Blood

Ese saw him, gasped, and nearly dropped the eggshell-thin ceramic cup she was holding. "Ass's dung. What are you doing here, Tiros?" She addressed him by the Greek name Othrys had given him.

"My thanks for your concern for my welfare, Ese, but no, I'm not wounded, just drenched with someone else's blood."

"Get out. You'll ruin my fine floor mats and furniture."

"I need a room, Ese."

"I said get out. Out of my tavern."

"Don't you want to know whose blood this is?"

"I don't care." Ese whisked past him and opened the door. "Leave, or I'll call some of my men to throw you out."

"Will you do that before or after you explain to Othrys why you've denied me the help you promised?"

He waited while Ese debated whether his presence posed a greater danger than the pirate's wrath. Again, her fear of Othrys won.

"Follow me."

She led him to the chamber beyond the archway. Tired as he was, Meren paused in astonishment to survey delicate, hazy curtains billowing in a breeze. They were draped across a long balcony that overlooked the courtyard. The room itself was painted with a pastel blue over which had been drawn frescoes of the sea and its creatures. Placed about the room were caskets and chests worked in ebony, ivory, and cedar. He caught a glimpse of tables bearing embossed silver cups, goblets and flagons trimmed in gold, and an open jewelry casket. A necklace trailed over the rim, its beads in the shape of sun disks with spiral rays. Ese pointed impatiently to another door.

"Bathing chamber," she snapped. "Be clean by the time I return. I'll find something for you to wear. You'll frighten my patrons if you go about in that bloody tunic."

When she was gone, Meren looked down at himself. His tunic, his leggings, and one foot were smeared with blood and dirt. His arms were no better. He screwed his face up in distaste, then stripped and entered the bathing chamber. He stepped into the plastered stall, picked up a jug, and began pouring water over himself from the tall vat that stood nearby.

As the cool water hit him, Meren began to feel the tightness in his body loosen. Weariness followed this release, and he dumped water over his head to keep alert. It was then that he remembered the wig. Pulling it from his head, he tossed the wet mass to the floor. He scooped up soap paste from a dish and rubbed his entire body.

Whoever sees Nefertiti's killer dies . The words chased themselves around and around in his heart. Those who might know something would die; even those who knew nothing of the queen's death were killed if they posed a threat. Othrys had been right. Whoever was responsible was one who fed on evil, enjoyed seeing others trapped, helpless, desperate. Meren paused in rinsing the soap paste from his body. At least part of the reason for his disgrace must lie in the nature of this unseen enemy. Could Dilalu be such a man? He seemed too foolish, but the foolishness might be a guise. Or had he been chasing phantoms? Was the killer much closer-among his friends and enemies at court? Most had been at Horizon of the Aten when the queen died.

Yamen's last words must hold a key to the identity of the enemy. What were they? Ah, yes. He'll sacrifice you as he does all who know him . What else? Meren grabbed a bathing cloth from a pile in an open chest. What had so amused Yamen that he'd laughed even as he died? It had been strangely familiar. He is in my heart. There is no other who knows him . The feeling of familiarity teased him, then vanished. Meren uttered an oath and stepped out of the bathing stall.

"You're in a foul temper, lord."

Meren whirled around to find Naram-Sin leaning against the door, smiling. Without thought Meren's hand had gone to his side, where a dagger should have been. He noticed the direction of the intruder's gaze. Scowling, Meren reached for a dry bathing cloth and wrapped it around his waist.

"What do you want?"

Laughter like the gentle lapping of water against a river-bank made Meren want to hurl the water jug at Othrys's scribe. Naram-Sin vanished for a moment and returned with a pile of clothing. Shutting the door, he placed his burden on top of a chest and picked up a tunic of dark green. Before Meren could protest, Naram-Sin gathered the fabric in both hands and dropped it over his head. Meren had no choice but to drop his towel and thrust his arms through the sleeves. Dragging the tunic down, Meren emerged in a fury, only to find that Naram-Sin had turned way to pluck a braided cloth belt from the chest.

Before his self-appointed body servant could touch him, Meren grabbed the belt and pulled it around his waist. "Go away."

Naram-Sin picked up a pair of leather sandals.

"What happened, lord?"

"My affairs are not yours."

"Ese complained to Othrys that you were in her chamber, getting blood all over her valuable possessions. You're in danger, lord, and the master has made me your guardian."

Meren looked up from tying his belt. "I need no guard."

"The master disagrees. This evening he has had reports of many soldiers in the city, and there are rumors that pharaoh will reward the man who finds you."

Meren stared at Naram-Sin, who smiled his intimate smile. He knelt with the sandals and reached for Meren's foot. Meren stepped back, bent, and snatched the sandals from his unwanted servant.

Sliding into the footwear, he said, "Othrys wants to be rid of me because he fears for his own head. That's why he's so anxious to help."

"He considered giving you to pharaoh," Naram-Sin said softly.

Meren paused in running his fingers through his wet hair. "Oh?"

"But I convinced him that in doing so he would invite inconvenient royal attention. I said that pharaoh is wise beyond his years and might ask himself why you sought the protection of a man who is supposed to be but a Greek ship captain and trader."

Meren didn't reply at once. He studied Naram-Sin, trying to divine the man's motives. Was his obvious interest that of one who preferred men, or was it but a ruse?

"What do you want, Naram-Sin?"

"Only for the lord to allow me to aid him."

"And in return?"

Meren stiffened as Naram-Sin came closer, but the scribe stopped when he was within a pace of him.

"In return," Naram-Sin whispered, "I want… friendship."

Turning, Meren walked to the door and opened it. "I can't be the friend of a man whose very name is a lie."

"Kysen told you my name is that of an ancient king," Naram-Sin said.

"Yes."

"But that doesn't mean that the spirit of the name is a lie."

"I have no time for or interest in this game," Meren said. He pushed the door open wider. "Wait outside while I finish dressing."

With Naram-Sin out of the bathing chamber, Meren put on a new wig that the scribe had provided, along with a clean loincloth. Meren would have traded either for a dagger or scimitar. Outside, Naram-Sin was draped across Ese's sleeping couch. He got up as Meren entered and spoke before they reached the antechamber.

"If you live…"

Meren glanced at him and lifted a brow. "Yes?"

"If you live, perhaps I'll tell you my real name. If that will bring your friendship."

"I don't care what your real name is. I'm going to find Ese and arrange to sleep here tonight."

Naram-Sin shook his head. "Othrys commands that you return to his house. You can be better concealed there. I know a safe route that runs through the houses of friends."

"As long as I don't have to step in any more dung piles."

Meren followed Naram-Sin downstairs and into the main tavern room. They were passing the great circular fireplace when someone crossed their path. Flame light touched a robe of crimson sewn with roundels of gold. A hand burdened with rings of amethyst, green jasper, and chalcedony flashed out and caught Naram-Sin by the shoulder. Meren was forced to stop behind his escort.