Steven Saylor - Raiders of the Nile

Though I had done nothing but stand all day, I felt exhausted and was ready to find lodgings for the night, the cheaper the better. The least expensive accommodations, so Tafhapy had told me, would be the farthest from the center of town, out on the road that led to the westernmost branch of the Nile. To get there, we would have to walk through the very heart of Canopus, with its crowded streets, tightly packed shops, and pleasure establishments.

I set out, feeling a bit intoxicated by the sheer vibrancy of the place. Beautiful dancing girls beckoned from doorways. In other doorways, men wearing more jewelry than was seemly rattled dice in their fists and promised that a fortune was waiting to be made inside. I passed perfume shops and purveyors of exquisite bronze ware, bakeries and wine merchants, sellers of fine furniture and plush fabrics, and even a small and very expensive-looking slave market where the man in charge announced that any sort of slave could be rented for an hour or a day, from a humble body slave to a highly trained scribe, “in case you left yours at home in Alexandria and can’t do without.” Curio shops sold amulets to ward off the Evil Eye, along with souvenir images of the Great Pyramid and the Pharos Lighthouse.

Simply getting through Canopus proved to be a challenge. Instead of running straight, the crowded streets meandered and doubled back on themselves, mazelike. Again and again we passed the same curio shop, the same dancing girls in doorways, the same slave market. So many lamps were lit that twilight seemed to linger indefinitely, forestalling the coming of night. Thus the saying: Canopus never sleeps. As my stomach growled, and my weariness increased, and my feet grew tired, this endless circular progress took on the character of a nightmare. I seemed to be trapped in a place where everything imaginable was for sale, yet I had no money to spend; where the sun never set, yet I longed only for a bed where I might sleep.

At last I came to a standstill, not knowing whether to go forward or back, since either direction led to the same place. It was Djet who took the matter in hand.

“Give me three copper coins,” he said.

“What?”

“Do you want to get out of this place or not? Give me the coins.”

After a bit of hesitation, I did so, and Djet vanished into the milling throng.

He was gone for a long time. I began to think he had abandoned me, but how far could he go with three copper coins? At last he came back, and with him was one of the boys who had pestered us at the dock.

“Who’s this?” I said.

“The most honest of the bunch, if I’m any judge.”

“What is he good for?”

“Leading us out of here!”

The newcomer put his hands on his hips and looked up at me. I had the uneasy feeling that I was outnumbered by precocious and willful boys, but I nodded and made a gesture that he should show the way.

Just past the curio shop, the boy took a turn that I had repeatedly missed. What I had assumed to be a recessed doorway was in fact a narrow passage between two buildings. As the way twisted and turned, we left the glow of the lamps behind. The sudden darkness made me uneasy, but I was relieved to be away from the crowds and the endless, maddening circuit of Canopus.

The way grew less narrow. On either side, taller buildings gave way to shorter ones. The space between buildings grew larger. We passed sheds and goat pens. Vague moonlight showed the outskirts of what could have been any quiet little village anywhere in Egypt.

We set out on a road that ran eastward, toward the Nile. The village ended. The open land around us was sandy and dry, peaceful and quiet, with only a scattered palm tree here and there. Then we came to a stretch of road with large estates on either side, most of them surrounded by high walls, from behind which I could hear the faint sounds of conversation and laughter, and occasionally the splashing of water. These must have been vacation estates where the Alexandrian upper classes took refuge from the hurly-burly of Canopus. The estates grew farther apart, and at last we seemed to leave civilization altogether.

I was exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes open, but Djet looked wide awake, as did our guide.

“This is all very lovely,” I said. “But I’m not sure why you’ve led us here. Unless I’m to sleep on the ground. Or…”

Unless you intend to hand us over to bandits who’ll take my purse, cut our throats, and leave our bodies for the vultures, I thought. So much for Djet’s abilities as a judge of character!

“It’s just ahead,” said the boy.

“What?”

“The inn.”

“I don’t see any inn.” I squinted at the darkness before us.

“It’s just up there, where you see those palm trees.”

The outline of the palm trees I was barely able to discern, but I saw no lights or any sign of a structure.

“Are you sure?”

“The inn that’s farthest from the town-that’s what your boy told me you wanted.”

“The cheapest inn, more to the point.”

“Oh? I see.” The boy sounded slightly chagrinned. He turned to Djet. “But you said-”

“Never mind what I said. You’re the local guide!”

“And you’re the customer, you little fool!”

“Stop squabbling,” I said. “Now, young man, if I were to tell you I wanted the cheapest possible accommodations-”

“I understand. Well, that would be the Inn of the Red Sunset, all the way back through town, on the side toward Alexandria-”

“No, no, no. After hiking all this way, I’m not going back through town. What is this place up ahead? What sort of establishment is it?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll love it!”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Well … it’s not the cheapest inn outside Canopus, that’s for sure. But it is the farthest east, and you’re heading for the Nile, aren’t you? When you wake up in the morning, the river will practically be right outside your door! Come on. Follow me. Come and see!”

Reluctantly, I trudged after him.

The palm trees loomed larger. There were so many of them, with such masses of foliage clustered beneath, that I took the location to be a small oasis. At last I glimpsed two points of light, which turned out to be lamps set on either side of the door of an inn, just where the boy had said it would be.

“This is it,” said the boy.

The place seemed to have no windows. Above our heads, the fronds of a palm tree rustled in the faint evening breeze. “I’m not sure I like the look of this place. What is it called?”

“The Inn of the Hungry Crocodile.”

I frowned. “I don’t care for the name. But I suppose, having come all this way…”

As we approached the door, I reached for the knocker, then pulled my hand back with a start. The bronze knocker appeared to be a crocodile’s head, though a small one, with the snout pointing down, so lifelike that it might have been cast from an actual crocodile. It was in two parts connected by a hinge, with the bottom of the jaw fixed to the door and the top serving as the knocker. The nostrils provided finger holds. When I raised the knocker, rows of sharp bronze teeth glinted in the lamplight.

I let the knocker drop. The noise reverberated in the stillness. There was no response. I raised the knocker again, but before I could let it drop, from within I heard the sound of a bolt thrown back.

The door opened, and I stood face to face with the strangest mortal I had ever seen.

For a long moment the man who had opened the door stood there, staring at us. He looked first at me, then lowered his eyes to Djet, and then to Djet’s companion, whereupon I saw a flash of recognition in his heavy-lidded eyes, and the man’s face cracked open-I can think of no better way to say it-to display a wide grin.