Lynda Robinson: Murder in the Place of Anubis

Raneb shut his mouth in midscreech.

"Many thanks for your priceless assistance. The justice of Pharaoh is greatly aided by the authority of one such as you."

It had taken him years to learn the use of flattery, to learn how to spy out one susceptible to it, to say ridiculous phrases as though they were as weighty as sacred chants from The Book of the Dead. Meren had taught him. The greatest difficulty lay in believing his father when he said that the receiver of the flattery wouldn't see through to its real purpose. To Kysen the end was transparent.

Chest puffed with self-importance, nose and cheeks red, the priest glanced about to assure himself that everyone had heard the words of the son of Lord Meren. Rocking back and forth, toe to heel, he folded his hands over his belly and asked what else he could do.

"At the moment, little." Kysen shook his head in re gret. "Much as I wish to remain, duty calls me away. But I would speak once more with the water carrier."

The servant was brought forth, the others dismissed. Getting rid of Raneb was more difficult, but Kysen accomplished this task and set about the chore of allaying the fears of a peasant faced with a great lord. He couldn't do much about the charioteer's bronze corselet strapped across his chest, the warrior's wristguards, the weapons at his waist. The youth was one of the thousands of children of the poor who served in menial capacities in the temples, palaces, and households of the Two Lands. He would fear Kysen because he was common, landless, and of no importance to anyone but himself.

"Sit up, boy. I can't talk to you if your nose is in the dirt."

The youth raised his upper body, but kept his eyes downcast as was proper. He wasn't much younger than Kysen. His face was wide from forehead to chin. He was short, and thin from too little food and too much work. His bottom lip had been chewed raw in the time since Kysen had last seen him. It wasn't surprising, since the poor water carrier was the only one at the Place of Anubis who had recognized Hormin.

"Your name is Sedi?"

Sedi's nose burrowed into the dirt again.

"Don't do that!" Kysen bit back a curse as Sedi's body went stiff and then trembled. "By the phallus of Ra, they've been filling your head with silly tales of being carried off to a cell and beaten. Well, you can cast such fear from your heart. I don't beat innocent children."

Sedi's mouth opened in astonishment, and Kysen grinned at — him. He lapsed into the slang of his childhood.

"Steady your skiff, brother."

"Oh."

Kysen dropped to one knee beside Sedi. "Oh? You sound like a washer maid whose lover has thrown her down among the reeds at the riverbank. Surely you heard my origin in my speech." Kysen held out his right hand, palm up. "Do you think I got these scars from such light work as hefting a sword? And stop chewing your lip. It's bleeding."

"Yes, lord."

"You may speak freely to me. I give you permission, Sedi."

"I did nothing! There was a crowd around the body, and I came to look. It's not my fault. I did nothing."

Kysen put a hand on Sedi's shoulder, and the youth jumped.

"I asked you to speak freely, but I do expect you to make sense. You're beginning to sound like Raneb."

Sedi made a choking sound and then lost the battle not to laugh. Through the hand that rested on the water carrier's shoulder, Kysen could feel tense muscles relax.

"Brother, don't you think I know the courage it took for you to come forward with your knowledge? Everyone knows it's best to leave the affairs of the great alone. If you speak before great men you are as a reed before pylons, no?"

"Yes, lord." Sedi wet his lips and swallowed. "But Raneb has been good to me, and I couldn't let evil flourish in the Place of Anubis."

Kysen eased his body down to sit beside Sedi, and eased into his question as well. "Then you understand that it's important for me to know how you recognized Hormin."

"I've seen him perhaps three times."

"Here?"

"No, lord, in the village of the tomb makers of Pharaoh."

Kysen felt the strength drain from his arms and legs, and he was glad that he was sitting down. 'Tell me."

"We came to Thebes last Drought in search of work and found it at the tomb-makers' village. My father is servant to the painter Useramun. Raneb has allowed me to visit him on feast days, and I saw Hormin there. I think he was paying the servants of the Great Place to decorate his tomb. You know they take on extra work to be done after their service to Pharaoh is done each day."

"I know," Kysen said. "So you've only been at the village a short time. How often did Hormin go there?"

"I don't know, Lord Kysen. I only saw him briefly, and by chance."

"What was he doing?"

"Once he was yelling at the chief scribe, once he was yelling at a draftsman, and another time he was walking down the path to the landing at the river."

"Hormin yelled a lot."

Sedi nodded.

"But you know nothing else of his business at the vil lage?"

Murder in the Place of Anubis 49

"No, Lord Kysen. I am but a water carrier, son of a humble cup bearer, but…"

Kysen watched Sedi chew on his lip. "You won't suf fer for your honesty."

"I don't think anyone in the tomb-makers' village liked Hormin."

"How do you know?"

"I'm not sure, lord." Sedi squinted and stared out into the white heat of the afternoon. "I think it came to me because whenever I saw Hormin, I noticed that everyone else seemed anxious to find something to do elsewhere. He must have been an unpleasant man."

Kysen smiled. "Someone found him unpleasant indeed. You've done well, Sedi."

Rising to his feet, Kysen motioned for Sedi to get up. Over the youth's shoulder he saw the approach of his men. They'd finished their examination of the Place of Anubis. He glanced at Sedi, and found the water carrier watching him anxiously. Kysen knew what it meant to feel helpless in the face of happenings one didn't understand. Before his men came within hearing distance Kysen whispered to the youth, "If you remember something else, come to the house of my father in the Street of the Falcon near the palace. And listen, brother. Should you need help, or if you lose place because of this evil, come to me."

This time Kysen didn't object when Sedi fell to his knees. When his men reached them, he had assumed the proper attitude of a lord receiving the obeisance of an inferior. Without looking at the water carrier on the ground beside him, Kysen walked out of the drying shed and stepped into his chariot.

On the way back to the palace district he tried not to think of the possibility that he would have to go to the tomb-makers' village. He hadn't been back there since his real father had dragged him from it ten years ago. The village lay a short distance north and west of the offices of the government of Pharaoh, yet Kysen managed never to see it even if he happened to look in that direction. The good god Amun had given him new life on the day his father sold him to Meren. The old life was as dead as the ancient ones in their pyramids.

As he approached the great walled house that had sheltered the count's family for generations, Kysen's spirit lifted. Perhaps Remi would be awake from his nap. Leaving his team in the hands of a groom, he forsook the ovenlike day for the darkness of the entryway. The difference in temperature was so great that he shivered. A maid came forward with cool water to drink and wet cloths to bathe his face, hands, and feet.

Kysen was bending over to slip on a sandal when he heard the clatter of metal wheels. A miniature bronze chariot raced across the tiled floor. Kysen snatched up his sandal and hopped over the vehicle before it rammed his toes.

"Father, I slay you!"

Small feet planted apart, body turned sideways in im itation of an archer's stance, Remi let fly a blunt-tipped arrow that hit the floor in front of Kysen. Kysen groaned, clutched his chest, and crumpled to the floor on his back. Remi gave a loud whoop and flew at his father. A three-year-old sandbag landed on his chest, making Kysen grunt.