Imhotep Read online

  Brian glanced back at the body on the ground and then turning, he ran into the darkness.

  Khmunu was a small village spread along the river’s east bank. There was a market place, a few bakeries and a densely packed residential area that thinned quickly as it spread from the market.

  The Temple of Thoth, with its own workshops, bakery, brewery and storage rooms, lay away from the river at the eastern edge of town. The embalming mortuaries were across the river, for it was only in the western land that bodies could properly be purified.

  The Temple of Ma’at had been built on the southern end of town closer to the river so that a canal could be dug to feed the pond beside the temple's amphitheater.

  Running blindly down a dark alley, Brian turned right at the second intersection and continued at an easy jog heading back toward the river. When he and Nimaasted had walked into town from the boats Brian had been thinking only of meeting Tama. Now he realized he had no idea how far they had walked before he had been ambushed.

  He tried to remember the earlier walk when he and Pahket first had made the trip to the Temple of Ma’at. As far as he could recall they had left the boat, walked straight away from the river and then turned right on a broad avenue that had been lined with torches.

  He slowed, listening for the sound of pursuers. He could hear the river now; up ahead in the darkness lapping gently against Djefi’s three boats. He hoped Dagi had gotten back on his boat without being seen.

  Turning south, Brian followed the river, leaving Khmunu behind him as he looked for the canal that would lead to the amphitheater and the Temple of Ma’at.

  When he found the canal, he followed its flow to the Temple of Ma'at, unsure of what he would do next.

  As he crouched in the darkness by the western wall of the temple complex he saw torches moving in the darkness, their light scraping against the rough stone of the temple walls. He moved down the sloping canal bank. Looking for escape he saw a narrow opening built into the temple wall to allow the canal to enter the complex.

  He heard voices carrying down from the temple entrance, but couldn’t make out the words. It didn't matter; he probably wouldn’t understand them anyhow. The torches stopped bobbing as the men formed a circle by the temple entrance.

  Peeking over canal's edge Brian saw a small group of men, their dark brown chests gleaming in the yellow light. They waited outside the temple entrance while one of them entered.

  When he emerged, with Tama by his side, Brian saw that it was Nimaasted. Brian watched them talk and then Tama gestured for the men to enter the temple.

  They’re searching for me.

  He sat on the slanted canal bank and watched as the men entered the temple. After the last torch had disappeared into the temple, Brian continued to stare in that direction, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness while his mind adjusted to his situation.

  Baseball had always provided Brian with a way to deal with life. He worked hard, prepared and trained. He was part of a team. He never gave up. The game isn’t over until the fat lady sings, he thought.

  Absentmindedly he pulled a blade of rough grass and twirled the narrow leaf in between his fingers.

  There were no chalk lines, no rules, no umpires, no playing field here, he realized. At the end of the game, he wouldn’t shake hands with his opponents, clap their backs, and say ‘good game.’

  Men had attacked him. One had been killed and now they were looking for him. He knew that Tim had told him the truth about their situation: there was no American embassy to pull his nuts out of the fire.

  He had no idea what kind of police system they had here, if courts even existed. Were there jails?

  If he were caught by Nimaasted would there be a trial or would they just cut his head off right there on the spot? He remembered Siamun’s brutal laugh when he had turned his back and left Brian and Neswy to die in the desert.

  “Fuck,” he said softly to himself.

  I didn’t do anything, just defended myself. That’s the truth. But who do I tell?

  The thought tickled his memory and he recalled what Pahket had said: Ma’at stands for truth.

  He couldn’t throw himself on Djefi’s mercy, or Nimaasted’s either. He didn’t see any way he could survive alone without eventually being caught. The only other person in authority was Tama, priestess of Ma’at, priestess of Truth.

  The night grew lighter as the men emerged from the temple. He watched as they broke into three groups. Most of them stayed by the temple entrance, two turned and started to follow the temple wall away from him. Two more turned his way.

  He looked at the temple wall, smooth stone reaching over his head. He looked down the canal back to the river. He could follow that and stay on the run. He looked back at the temple walls. He would be safe in there, it already had been searched.

  The canal.

  The searchers were close enough now that he could hear them talking.

  He slid down the bank. The canal was chest deep. He walked down it, his feet sinking into the soft mud that lined its bottom. At the wall, he reached under the water, checking to see if there were bars or some other obstacle. Feeling nothing there, he took a deep breath of air, ducked under the dark water and pushed through the opening under the wall.

  The Truth finds Brian

  Brian dreamed that he was playing baseball.

  A jet flew far overhead, its white contrail and distant roar comfortingly familiar. He was on the pitcher’s mound, cloying brown dirt beneath his feet. Stretching away from his golden island was a carpet of grass so vivid and green it hurt his eyes. The white lines connecting the bases were so fresh he could see each particle of flaky chalk.

  His eyes swept the stands, filled with kids and their parents, teenagers talking and animated, middle-aged men and old-timers, nodding knowingly at each other’s comments. Their bright shirts and bare, waving arms were a colorful blur as they talked, pointed or reached for a beer passed hand-by-hand across the row, waiting for the game to begin.

  He leaned forward as his catcher flashed a sign at him, two gnarled fingers calling for a curve ball. The batter spit into the dirt. The stream of saliva moved in slow motion, splattering and splashing in the dust, raising a miniature dust storm just outside the batter’s box.

  In his dream, Brian straightened up, felt the taut leather of the ball in his hand, its raised stitching brushing along the edge of his index finger. As he peered at the catcher’s glove, he could smell the freshly cut grass and feel the sun brush through his uniform and warm his muscles. The batter stopped waving his bat, poised now, wrists cocked and ready to swing. The infielders stopped their chattering and shuffling. They leaned forward on the balls of their feet and locked their eyes on home plate. The crowd stopped moving, held its collective breath in anticipation.

  The world was a frozen, golden moment poised to unleash energy and action, balanced just on the lip of expectation.

  He smiled and moaned.

  “When did you find him?” Tama asked the young attendant.

  “Just a few minutes ago, Voice of Truth.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  The young girl shook her head.

  “I will see to him, Nany. Please don’t speak of him to others until I see you again.”

  The attendant nodded her head and backed out of the doorway of the small storage room where she had gone to get a jar of oil to replenish the temple lamps.

  “Nany,” Tama called, “don’t forget your oil, dear.”

  The girl came back into the room embarrassed by her forgetfulness. She picked up the ceramic jar and turned to leave. Tama reached out and brushed her fingertips across the girl’s shaved head.

  “Thank you, Nany,” she said as the girl walked out into the hallway.

  Tama stretched, extending her arms as high as she could, raising herself on her toes. She breathed in deeply and then exhaled slowly through her mouth as she lowered her arms and came back down onto her heels.

&
nbsp; It was early morning.

  Nany had come to her while Tama was in the midst of the slow stretching movements she practiced each morning before she meditated. Tama knew the little girl would not have interrupted her without good reason. After the excitement of the previous night, Tama was expecting more unrest until the disturbance was resolved.

  In her mind she pictured a heavy stone dropped from high into the still water of the pond. The stone was the killing last night. The violent splash of the water was the frantic, urgent search that had brought Nimaasted to the temple door demanding to search the grounds.

  The ripples from the splash would continue moving, spreading beyond the immediate moment, rebounding on themselves until the killing was understood, the murderer caught and punished. Even then, the murdered man’s family would continue to suffer his loss, as would his friends. The friends and family of the murderer would suffer in a different way, tainted by his guilt. Everyone affected by the killing would be changed, some would become more angry and driven by their pain would say or do harmful things to each other. The ripples would continue far longer than most people realized.

  And here, at her feet, sleeping soundly with a smile on his lips was the man - or god - who called himself Brian. He was the one Nimaasted had insisted was a murderer, a dangerous, evil demon even more fearful than Ammut, eater of hearts.

  True, his arms were fearfully muscled, his legs looked immense and powerful. He was huge, much larger than anyone Tama had seen before in the Two Lands. But his face seemed so happy and peaceful. She wondered what he dreamed. Was it a beautiful woman? A banquet and jars of beer? The feeling of power as he killed someone?

  Those were the things that drove men, she knew: sex, possessions and power. To a man, and to many women, there was little else.

  What drove this man-god?

  She squatted beside Brian. She was wearing only a short kilt. Her necklaces and bracelets were on a stand by her bed, as was the long, black wig she wore in public. Her shaved head was lightly beaded with perspiration from her exercise. She was well aware that she hadn’t bathed yet. She could smell her own musky fragrance, as well as a heavier smell that came from Brian.

  “Good morning,” she said, watching his eye lids. She saw movement behind them, the kind of restless wanderings that showed someone was dreaming. Slowly she reached out to nudge his arm and bring him awake.

  Brian sat up, jerking his arm away from the unexpected touch.

  In the split second between wakefulness and the moment when he opened his eyes, Brian saw again the man’s throat, red and gurgling after Dagi had drawn the knife across it. A wave of panic swept over him, rekindling the fear he had felt the previous night when he had stood in the shoulder deep canal and decided that his only chance was to dive into the black water to escape the searchers.

  Lurching backward, he slid across the ground floor, instinctively drawing his knees up to his chest as he opened his eyes.

  “Not the dreams of the innocent,” Tama said to herself.

  Brian raised an arm to shield his eyes from the light that streamed in the doorway behind the person who was kneeling in front of him. He guessed from the shape that it was a woman, but he couldn’t see her shadowed face.

  “You are Brian?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered, his throat rasping.

  “Did you kill that poor man last night?”

  Brian shook his head. “No,” he answered. “The man attacked me. Three men attacked me. And the priest Nimaasted. He was with them.”

  Tama studied his face. She had never talked with him before and she knew nothing about him. Was he a practiced liar? Would his face show the truth behind his words? She didn’t know. At least he isn’t pretending to not know about the killing, she thought.

  “Who did kill him?”

  Now Brian paused. He couldn’t name Dagi. The boatman had saved his life.

  Sitting in the darkness of the temple storage room last night, Brian had tried to understand what had happened. He couldn’t think of any reason for three armed men, four if he counted the priest Nimaasted, to try to kill him. It had to be Djefi’s idea. That was what Dagi had suggested when he told Brian it was not safe to return to the boat.

  Brian knew that Djefi disliked him. Djefi had hidden Diane from him. Djefi had sent him into the desert with Siamun. And now Djefi had sent assassins to kill him. But Diane was being treated well, at least as far as Brian could tell. She certainly wasn’t rushing to him for help. The only reason Brian had come up with for Djefi’s murderous hatred was that Djefi viewed him as a threat.

  He had fantasized last night about getting revenge against Djefi. He had pictured himself as the movie character Jason Bourne, somehow possessing incredible fighting skills and capturing Djefi. But he knew that all he really wanted was to return home, to be with his friends, to play another game of baseball.

  He shook his head now. “I don’t know,’ he said, looking at the ground.

  Tama knew he was lying. He had thought, decided he would not tell her and now was looking at the ground instead of meeting her eyes. God or man, he was easy for her to read.

  She should send for Nimaasted, but she knew that truth would not be served that way. Nimaasted had pretended to be full of righteous anger last night, insisting that something evil was afoot. But she had seen anger in his eyes, not fear. He had been lying to her also.

  Now the key to last night’s killing was sitting in a storage room here in her temple.

  She wondered if he was just part of the broader mystery.

  Hetephernebti had spoken of it last week when they had met: Kanakht had held secret meetings with Waja-Hur and journeyed all the way to To-She to meet with Djefi. Hetephernebti was sure that the three men were plotting to kill King Djoser. However, the three commanded no military might and had only a handful of personal guards. What was their plan?

  Tama looked at Brian, sitting quietly on the floor. He didn't seem dangerous. He hadn't tried to escape or to attack her. He knew what had happened last night.

  Could he be the key to help unlock the greater mystery?

  She knelt and sat back against the wall, her legs folded to the side, wondering what to do.

  As she turned so that the light wasn’t directly behind her anymore, Brian realized who she was. “Ma’at!” he said.

  “I am high priestess for Ma’at, Voice of Truth” she said. “My name is Tama.”

  He remembered seeing her talk with Nimaasted last night, allowing him into the temple to search for him. Had she already sent someone to fetch Nimaasted and his guards? Was he about to be arrested?

  His plan last night had been to escape the men who were hunting him by hiding in a place they already had searched. He had hoped to figure out the next step this morning.

  He saw that she was alone; no armed guards were standing by to take him. He could overpower her and run away, but where? He decided to trust her.

  “Help me,” he said.

  Tama studied him as she thought. Hetephernebti had told her about Tim, how he had chosen to stay with Meryt in her finals days of the wasting disease. Miraculously Meryt had recovered and had left with Tim just a few days ago.

  Hetephernebti also had told Tama about the other strangers, Brian and Diane. They had arrived in the Two Lands a few days before Tim had and that he had come to the Two Lands in search of them. Tim had told Hetephernebti that Brian and Diane were lost and needed his help.

  “Stand,” she told Brian.

  She motioned for him to turn. There was a streak of red on his kilt by his right hip. She thought at first that it was proof that he had cut the man last night, the dying man’s blood spurting onto Brian’s kilt. But then she saw that there was a fresh wound on his hip above the red stain. The blood was his own!

  So Nimaasted had lied when he said that the man who was attacked had been unarmed, she thought.

  She glanced around the room. There was no weapon here.

  She closed her eyes
and tried to picture what had happened, weighing Nimaasted’s words against the wound in Brian’s side and Hetephernebti’s warning that Nimaasted's master, Waja-Hur, was involved in a plot.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Brian said earnestly, interrupting her thoughts. “Please help me.”

  If he is a god, she thought, then he doesn’t need my help so by asking for it he is testing me.

  If he is only human then either he killed the man last night or he has been falsely accused. If he killed the man, then he could easily kill me and he has no need of my help. If he has been falsely accused, then he would fear Nimaasted and fear being caught.

  Tama turned the questions over in her mind. They formed a logic puzzle, a delicious mystery, something she enjoyed solving, although she realized that in this case, her pleasure was coming at a terrible expense. A man had been killed, and the man who stood before her had been accused of the crime.

  If only I truly had the power to weigh a man’s heart and see if he has followed ma’at, she thought. But I have only my eyes, my ears and my heart.

  Smoothly she came to her feet. Brian watched her, filled with excitement at finding her and hoping that she would believe him and help him.

  “Stay here,” she said, watching to make sure he understood.

  Brian nodded and sat back on the floor. He had nowhere to run, no one else who could help him. He would trust in Ma’at.

  She turned right outside the storage room, heading back to her chambers to prepare for the day and to give thought to the puzzle of Brian. She stopped at the next hallway and looked back to be sure he had stayed in the storage room.

  The hallway was empty.

  During their meeting a few days ago, she and Hetephernebti had agreed that she would journey across land to Waset, traveling not as Tama, high priestess of the goddess Ma’at, but as Tama, a widowed woman traveling to visit her family. She would listen to the workers she met, to the other travelers in the Two Lands, to the talk in the rest houses and markets along the road.