Lynda Robinson: Murder in the Place of Anubis

Meren received the greetings of the lector priest while perusing the scene. Teams of embalmers went about their chores with little sign that they feared the presence of a soul dispatched from its body in violence. The drying shed was a long tunnel filled by two rows of embalming tables reserved for the wealthier citizens, who could afford the more expensive process of preservation. Along the edge of the open, roofed structure lay tables laden with the tools of the embalmer's craft- spoons, knives, probes, needles, and thread, all in boxes or on trays. An ornate table set apart from the others held a casket carved with hieroglyphs and the image of the jackal god Anubis. The lid of the casket was askew.

Squatting near the casket, looking miserable and frightened, was a young laborer. Meren could scent fear as a hound scents a wounded gazelle. His curiosity was roused, but he knew better than to let it loose. Kysen was in charge, and his son had left the youth by himself for a reason.

Having responded politely to the formal words of the lector priest's greeting, Meren followed the man to the fourth embalming table on the left row. As he approached, Kysen dismissed the laborer he was questioning with a nod. Meren was proud of that nod. It was one of the first signs that the boy had accepted his new position in the world when Kysen first used the gesture of acknowledgment of a noble to a commoner.

Meren and Kysen met at the natron table. Immediately and without words, they fell into their working habits. Like a skilled artisan and his best apprentice, they worked and thought in complementary directions. Kysen knew what tasks Meren would want done; Meren sensed when Kysen needed direction or advice. Stand Murder in the Place of Anubis 17 ing side by side, they gazed down at the body nestled in the crystals.

"They haven't touched him since they found the knife," Kysen said. "You're here earlier than I ex pected."

"Pharaoh commanded me to hurry."

Kysen sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. "The living god is wise."

"The living god is bored." It was difficult not to smile at Kysen's awe. "Don't wheeze as though you had swallowed a whole pomegranate. Tell me what you know."

"This man is Hormin, scribe of records and tithes in the office of the vizier." Kysen nodded in the direction of the frightened laborer. "As they were digging him out, that water carrier recognized him." He pointed to an engraved bronze bracelet on the wrist of the dead man. "Then the lector priest found his name and titles on that. There are also a signet ring and wig."

Kysen leaned over the natron table and touched the obsidian blade that protruded from Hormin's neck. "This is a ritual embalming knife. It is used to make incisions when the bowels-"

"I understand," Meren said. "And this Hormin, is he known to the embalmers?"

"No, only the water carrier admits to having seen him before. I'm going to talk to him after we get rid of the body and that pigeon-witted lector priest."

Kysen shoved away from the natron table and walked over to the side of the shed, and Meren followed. Kysen stopped beside the table containing the Anubis casket.

"The knife was kept in here," he said. He took a blade from the casket. Even in the shade of the embalming shed the facets of the black glass reflected light. Kysen pointed to the ground around the table.

"Blood has soaked into the earth. You can see the stains beneath the footprints, and some of it splattered on the legs of the table. The evil one couldn't remove all the markings in the darkness. I think Hormin was killed here and put on the nearest table that contained enough natron to cover him."

"Very well. Shall we dig Hormin out of his nest?"

Meren stood at the head of the natron table while Kysen supervised the removal of the body. Hormin was lifted onto a carrying board, and two assistants began dusting crystals from the corpse. Kysen withdrew the knife to the accompaniment of a prayer by Raneb. Meren stopped the priest from carrying the blade away.

"Lector, you may have the body after my physician sees it, but I will take the possessions and this blade."

"But it must be purified," Raneb said.

"After I have found the one who killed this man."

The priest bowed, and Meren turned back to the natron table. The two men were shoveling natron away from the darkened remains of Lady Shapu. Kysen jumped down from the table, and Meren shoved an arm in front of his son.

"Don't move," Meren said. He bent down and picked up something from beside his son's foot. He held it out in his palm.

Raneb came over to them and looked at the small stone in Meren's hand. "An ib amulet. We have hundreds of them. This one is carved from carnelian. Some are of lapis lazuli, and some are of gold. One of the bandagers must have dropped it."

Meren closed his hand over the amulet. Such talismans were vital to both living and dead, for they protected the wearer's heart, the seat of emotions and intellect. This amulet wasn't made to be suspended from a necklace. Perhaps Raneb was correct, and it was one that belonged in the Place of Anubis.

Meren gave the amulet to Kysen. "Put it with the possessions of Hormin. Don't worry, priest, it will be returned. Lighten your heart. After all, I'm giving the body back to you."

"That is of no comfort, my lord. We will have to say spells and prayers for weeks to rid the area of evil."

Four men lifted the carrying board and body. As they passed Meren lifted a hand to stop them. Meren sniffed. He bent over the corpse, lifted a fold of the man's kilt, and sniffed again. Through the mingled smells of natron and body waste released at death he detected a faint, sweet odor-perfume. On the linen there were light yeL-low smears. Dropping the kilt, Meren touched the signet ring on Hormin's right hand. It bore engraved hieroglyphs that spelled Hormin's name. Meren straightened and waved the bearers on.

"Kysen, see that they remove everything from the body. I'm going to the offices of the vizier, and then to the house of Hormin. I'll see you after I've finished there."

Meren received his son's respectful inclination of the head. Unspoken was the knowledge that each of them looked forward to their end-of-the-day talk, when they would go over each event, every conversation, winnowing through contrived and honest appearance in search of Maat-order and truth. Leaving Kysen to harry the unhappy Raneb and his fellow priests, Meren and his men drove back to the palace district, away from the realm of the dead.

When a man was murdered in a sacred place, it was the concern of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh. When that man was also a servant of the king, the crime merited the scrutiny of the hereditary prince, master of secrets of the Lord of the Two Lands, privy councillor and Friend of the King, Meren, Lord of the Thinite Nome. And because the evil touched the business of the king, Meren went first to the office of the vizier.

Instead of looking for the records and tithes office where the man Hormin had worked, Meren went first to a room filled with stacks of papyri and swarming with clerks. At a table on a raised dais sat an elderly man whose hands were swollen at the joints. The skin of his palms and fingers was soft and permanently stained with red and black ink. Meren approached, sending clerks scurrying out of his way by walking steadily forward without looking to see if anyone was in his path.

The old man looked up from a papyrus when Meren routed three of the men hovering over his table. The old man returned to his papyrus and barked at Meren, "Quick, boy, what is immortality?"

Meren smiled and said, "A book, for though a man's body is dust, and all his kin perish, his words make him remembered through the mouth of the storyteller."

"Adequate," the old man said. He shoved his papyrus at one of the clerks. "Come here, lad, and tell me what brings the Friend of Pharaoh to his old teacher."