Steven Saylor - Raiders of the Nile

The chamberlain rolled his eyes.

I blinked, and blinked again. Surely I was dead, or dreaming, or transported to another realm of existence. Any explanation seemed more likely than the impossible reality that I found myself aboard a royal barque in the presence of the king of Egypt.

Before me stood one of the fattest human beings I had ever seen. He was also by far the most elaborately dressed mortal I had ever laid eyes on. On his head, rising like a stem from a gourd, was a ridiculously tall atef crown. He had many chins, and each chin seemed to be festooned with its own fabulous necklace. His sheer bulk demanded many bolts of linen for its adornment, and these vast garments were so richly spangled with jewels and precious stones and golden accouterments, all lit by the lowering red sun, that I had to shield my eyes to look at him.

To rest my eyes from so much brilliance, I looked around me. The ship was a match for its owner, for never had I seen anything made by men that could rival it for sheer magnificence. Every surface was decorated with the costliest materials and the most exquisite craftsmanship. The result was so beautiful and so ornate that the vessel hardly seemed to be a ship at all, but rather a floating temple or palace. Thus would a god take to the water, if gods had need of ships.

Despite my weakness and light-headedness, I started to get to my feet, but the chamberlain indicated with a poke of his bejeweled staff that I should stay where I was.

“The Cuckoo’s Child is on the wharf, you say?”

“Yes. And I think that’s not the only part of your scheme that’s taken an unexpected turn,” I added. As befuddled as I was, I was beginning to sniff the truth.

“What do you mean?”

“The fake sarcophagus is on the wharf. The real sarcophagus is on the pirate ship.”

Zenon turned stark white, as if every drop of blood had been drained from him in an instant-and been infused into King Ptolemy, whose round, fleshy face turned ruby red. The king’s lips began to blubber. A variety of sounds issued forth, but none that resembled speech.

The chamberlain also spewed and stuttered before finding his voice. “Your Majesty, we know nothing about this man. Why should we believe him?”

“Why should you not?” I said quietly. “I have no reason to lie to the king of Egypt.”

“Head for the wharf!” the king shouted. “Immediately and at full speed. We’ll see if what the Roman says is true.”

The ship gave a lurch and swung about, propelled at astounding speed by unseen rowers. Behind us I saw the Pharos Lighthouse and the sail of the Medusa, not yet clear of the harbor. Ahead of us, the wharf loomed closer and closer. King Ptolemy stepped behind a screen of gauzy curtains, as if to shield himself from the gaze of unworthy mortals. I heard a chomping sound, and realized that the king was noisily eating something.

On the wharf, Artemon was lying on his back. Several soldiers knelt over him, as if treating his wounds. There was no sign of Cheelba. The wagon with the fake sarcophagus was nearby, where Artemon’s men had left it. As the royal barque came within earshot, the commanding officer on the wharf stepped forward and came to attention. He looked grim.

“Report!” shouted Zenon.

“The sarcophagus was taken,” said the officer. “We did our best to hold it, but the bandits outnumbered us-”

“Outfought you, you mean!” snapped Zenon. “There was never to be a battle at all. How did such a thing happen? Bring forth the artificer!”

From among the soldiers a figure stepped forward. I gave a start. By the stripe of white that split his beard and the hair on his head, I recognized the man known to some as Lykos, to others as the Jackal.

The chamberlain pointed his staff at the artificer. “This is your fault, I’ll wager. Your fakery failed to fool them!”

Lykos gestured to the wagon and the crate that held the forgery made of lead and gold foil. “My copy was perfectly adequate. You yourself saw and approved it, as did His Majesty. No, it was the Cuckoo’s Child who betrayed us. The substitution took place in the customs house, just as we planned. None of the bandits suspected a thing. They were about to load the fake, when suddenly Artemon changed his mind. He led his men back to the customs house. They fell on us, slaughtered the soldiers, and seized the wagon. By the time more soldiers arrived, the bandits had loaded the sarcophagus onto the ship and set sail. Somehow Artemon was left behind. The lion attacked him, then ran off. He fainted from his wounds before we could question him. Otherwise, I’d be able to tell you-”

“Never mind!” shouted Zenon. “Why and when and how don’t matter now. We must stop what’s about to happen, and we have very little time.”

Zenon yelled orders at the captain of the barque. As the boat turned about, Lykos spotted me sitting on the deck, and Bethesda next to me. I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, followed by a frown of puzzlement. I couldn’t resist giving him one of the secret signals of the Cuckoo’s Gang, poking my little finger into my ears, first on one side, then the other. Reflexively he reached up to give the response-three taps of his thumb to his chin-then stopped himself.

The royal barque quickly reversed course and went plunging through the waves. The wharf receded behind us. Before us, the towering lighthouse loomed larger and larger. At first I thought we were pursuing the Medusa, and indeed, as the pirates’ distant sail began to grow, I saw that the speed of the royal barque was more than a match for the bandit ship. Then I realized that our destination was not the open sea, but the Pharos Island.

We drew alongside a small but ornately decorated pier that was clearly reserved for royal use. The king, who had remained behind the gauzy curtains during our transit, reappeared on the deck, smacking his lips and holding in one hand the greasy remains of a roasted chicken.

“There is no need for Your Majesty to go ashore,” said Zenon. “I myself will-”

“You yourself have made a mess of things so far!” snapped the king. “Of course I’m going. Bring up the royal wagon!”

A few moments later, with a loud clattering of hooves, a magnificent vehicle drawn by gaily caparisoned horses arrived on the pier. Assisted by attendants on either side, the king waddled down the gangplank onto the pier, and then up a wide ramp and onto the plushly appointed wagon. The attendants had to get behind him and push the king up the last few steps. The awkward process was painful to watch, especially since the king kept barking at his attendants to hurry.

Beside me, I heard Bethesda suppress a giggle. Impulsively I covered her mouth with a kiss to silence her.

The king, who had just fallen back onto a mass of cushions, observed us. “Bring the young lovers, as well.”

“But Your Majesty, there’s no need-”

“How do you know? This Roman may know something you don’t. That seems quite likely, since there’s plenty you’ve failed to anticipate in this sorry affair! And bring along some food, as well. You know how hungry I get when I’m nervous. Now hurry, as quickly as you can! To the lighthouse!”

With a clattering of hooves, the king’s wagon sped off, heading toward the long ramp that led up to the lighthouse entrance. A moment later, a second wagon appeared, this one not quite as magnificent as the first. Several retainers quickly stepped on board, including one who carried a large silver vessel crammed with delicacies.

The chamberlain grabbed my arm, pulled me to my feet, and hurried toward the wagon. I held Bethesda’s hand and pulled her along behind me. As soon as we were in the wagon, the vehicle sped after the king.