Jamie Buxton - Sun Thief

‘Hurt the girl and I hurt Jatty. Then it’ll be just you and me, Nebet,’ the Quiet Gentleman says, ‘and we all know how that will end: me staring down at you, and you staring down at your guts.’

‘Shall we see?’ Nebet says.

My mother’s wailing now, sounding more like an animal than a human. And then I’m running. It’s partly because I can’t stand it and partly because I just know something’s got to happen and I reckon no one can stop me.

I’m in the shrine and behind the statue and hauling up the flagstone before I’ve taken a breath, and then it’s back up into the sunshine and into the middle of the stand-off.

I rip open the bag and hold up Hathor so she gleams in the sunlight. No voice in my head, just a storm of madness.

‘PUT YOUR KNIVES DOWN!’ I scream so high my voice cracks. My breath is heaving like I’ve run round the town twice, but I feel as light as a feather. ‘Put your knives down or this is going over the wall. I mean it!’

I look from Nebet to the Quiet Gentleman and I can see doubt in their eyes.

‘Do that and you’ll regret it,’ the Quiet Gentleman says.

‘I don’t care,’ I say. ‘I’m warning both of you.’

A long pause. Horribly long. At last the Quiet Gentleman says, ‘Nebet, the boy’s shown us a way out. Shall we?’

They watch each other like dogs, then Nebet takes the knife from Imi’s neck and the Quiet Gentleman takes his from Jatty’s. They rest the blades in their open palms then lay them on the ground, all done slowly like a dance.

Jatty collapses. Imi runs across to her mother. I put the statue down and swallow.

‘So now we talk,’ the Quiet Gentleman says.

The knives might be on the ground, but the danger isn’t over. They leave Imi, but tie the rest of us up with strips torn from my father’s best tunic and bundle us into the kitchen. The fire is out and the evening’s bean stew is going cold.

Bek is the slow and stupid one the Quiet Gentleman knocked out. He’s standing in the doorway, staring at us. His nose is swelling and his eyes are blackening. He stinks like an old drunk because he rolled in the spilled wine.

My mother is still crying; my father has screwed his face up and is pleading for our lives in a continuous, whining moan. Imi is all snot and sniffs and I’m wishing they would all shut up so I can make out what the others are saying in the next-door room. I can hear the sound of voices rising and falling and it’s clear they’re arguing. I hear words that don’t seem to go together: horizon, workshop, and a name: Thutmose.

I’m thinking bitterly that if I’d just dropped the wine in the street and run here as fast as I could, I might have stopped all this happening. Now Imi is looking at me and I wish there was something I could do. I screw my face into a sort of smile. She disentangles my mother’s clutching fingers, wriggles over to me and curls up in my lap.

Then the voices next door stop and Jatty appears, pushing Bek out of the way.

‘All of you come next door,’ he says, his eyes darting around nervously. ‘Bek, untie them then keep watch at the courtyard gate. For the rest of you, things are going to change, but if you’re good you’ll have everything back as it was. One day.’

My mother starts to wail again. ‘What have we done? How have we offended you? Is it the boy? Take him away. He’s yours. He’s been no good from the day we found him. Snivelled as a baby and never done a decent day’s work in his life. Take him!’

‘Right,’ says Jatty, like a man trying to sound in control. ‘Time to get serious. We could kill you all, but then we’d have to get rid of your bodies and that’s always harder than people imagine. So we’re going to make a deal. You and you’ – he points at my parents with the tip of his knife – ‘will stay here. You’ll run the inn and look after Bek and Nebet who will also stay to make sure you behave.’

He nods at the Quiet Gentleman and continues. ‘Hannu and I are going on a trip and we’re going to take the girl as hostage. The boy comes too because he’s old enough to understand the situation and, according to Hannu, he’s good at looking after his sister and we might be busy.’

My mother screams. My father says: ‘Hush, hush. It’ll be all right. They won’t be going far. Tomorrow everything will be back to normal.’ He appeals to the Quiet Gentleman. ‘You’re not going far, are you, sir?’

‘We’re going upriver,’ Jatty says. ‘We’ll be away for as long as we need to be. It may be a month. It may be a year. But if word reaches us that you’ve talked, we’re going to take this little girl to the Great River and throw her to the crocodiles. Are you clear about that?’

My father’s skin is suddenly ashen. ‘A month? A year?’ is all he says.

‘As long as it takes,’ insists Jatty. ‘You behave, nothing will happen. Talk and she dies.’

My father opens his mouth then closes it. He looks like a fish gulping for air.

‘But why?’ I say. ‘You’ve got what you came for.’

Nebet glares at me. ‘Which is what?’

‘The statue.’

‘Oh, that,’ Jatty says. ‘You think that’s all we’re after? No, that’s more of a . . .’

‘Enough!’ the Quiet Gentleman snaps. ‘The less everyone knows, the better.’

‘Indeed,’ Nebet says. ‘And let no one forget it.’

And that’s that. My mother is crying and clasping Imi, who looks really scared. My father takes me to one side and says: ‘Look after her, boy, or I’ll follow you through the Two Kingdoms and into hell.’

For the first time in his life, he looks like he means it.

And I have no idea where we’re going. All I know is that it’s got something to do with the horizon, a workshop and a man called Thutmose.

We’re travelling up the Great River on a cargo boat.

The river is milky smooth and earthy brown. There are fields on either side and dusty date palms droop in the heat. The boat is long and wide, low in the water, weighed down with cargo. Small fishing boats hug the banks. I see a horse running across a field of grass so green it makes me want to laugh with joy because the horse is beautiful and the rider looks so free.

I’m standing right at the back of the boat, where the giant helmsman nestles the steering oar under one massive arm. I stand next to him, my own arm wrapped round the sternpost. When the helmsman moves the rudder, eddies bloom and the water chuckles. I feel happy.

If I walk from one end of the boat to the other, climbing over the bales of hay, sacks of grain, jars of oil and wine, stacks of wood, rolls of linen, that’s thirty big paces. If I walk from side to side, right in the middle where the mast is, that’s ten big paces. The sailors look at me, call me mad monkey and laugh, but not unkindly. Even though my world is ten paces wide and thirty paces long, I feel free.

Then Imi joins me. Her skin is dull as if the sun has dried it. My happiness turns to dust and falls away. She needs looking after and that’s my job, but I don’t know what to do. The helmsman glances down at her.

‘Water,’ he says in a deep voice. ‘The little girl needs a drink.’

I dip a ladle in the pitcher of water he keeps by him and hold it to Imi’s lips. At first she presses her lips together, but I remember how she used to do that when she was a baby. Always started off by saying no. I persist. She takes a sip, then another, then takes the ladle and tips it into her mouth and drinks deeply and the relief I feel is like a drink of cool water.