Imhotep (20 page)

He had
told her about Diane and Brian, how he had followed them from his country to
Saqqara and Ineb-Hedj, where he had learned that they had gone with Djefi to
To-She.  He told her that they were lost and he had come to help them find
their way home.

Now
that he was in To-She, he was eager to find them.

“Djefi
is angry with you.  He is dangerous, Netjer Tim,” she said.

Tim
nodded, remembering how Yunet had tried to restrain him at Iunu when he spoke
with Diane.  Meryt had told him that Djefi had demanded that Hetephernebti
search the camp for him and how he had accused him of being a thief.

“I am
with you and Hetephernebti,” he said.  “She will protect me.”

Meryt
shook her head, completely serious for once.  “We are in To-She, Netjer
Tim.  Hetephernebti cannot protect you here.  If Djefi finds you and
takes you, we can do nothing.  Nothing, Netjer Tim, nothing.”

Tim
was silent for a minute.  He knew that Hetephernebti was King Djoser’s
sister and he had assumed that the relationship would give her some kind of
power over Djefi.  He knew that they had traveled with a small party, just
the priestess, her immediate attendants, a few boatmen, who would double as
guards, and himself.

Hetephernebti
doesn’t need a large guard to protect herself, she is the king’s sister, after
all, but her power here at To-She will be limited by the small number of guards
in her group,
he
thought.  He shook his head.  He wasn’t used to thinking of life in
terms of naked power.

Where’s
Jim Kamin when I need him, he thought, remembering the security official at the
American embassy.

He
realized Meryt was watching him, waiting for him to decide what he wanted to
do.  He had no idea what that would be.

“Netjer
Tim,” she said, “I know people who live here.  Let me visit them and find
out about Brian and Diane.  When we know more, then we can decide how to
help them.”

He
nodded agreement. 

She
saw him looking at the palm trees and the people walking through the grove
headed toward the center of the settlement.

Meryt
shook her head.  “Please stay here, or visit with Hetephernebti.”

“Why?”
he asked.  “Don’t I look like everyone?  Don’t I talk like everyone?”

She
smiled, the expression making her face young again, and Tim wondered how old
she was.  He hadn’t asked her, unsure if women five thousand years ago
were as sensitive of their ages as they were in his time. 

Her
body was slim, her breasts small.  He guessed she was no more than
sixteen, perhaps as young as thirteen, a thought that made him feel guilty when
she flirted with him. 

Although
he knew that women in ancient Egypt married in their early teens, he couldn’t
help but think of Jerry Lee Lewis and his twelve-year-old cousin.  He knew
it was simply a cultural difference that women, and men, married later and
later in life as living became more complex.

She
seems so mature, so much older, he thought. 

And
I’m rationalizing.

“No,
Netjer Tim, you look and talk like a god.  You will fool no one.”

“I’m
not a god,” he said.  “A god would not listen to you.  I will.”

She
reached up and touched him softly on his bare shoulder.

“I
will not be long.”

She
turned and walked toward the village.  He watched her, admiring her shape
and the way she moved.  He realized what he was doing and turned away,
ashamed and angry with himself.

He
pulled his backpack from the small pile of possessions they had brought with
them.  Digging out his notebook, he settled against the palm tree and
opened to a blank page.

“Addy,
I’m at a place called To-She, where the crocodile god Sobek was
worshiped.  I’m traveling with a priestess of the god Re.  We’ve come
here for some sort of festival, but I’m really here to see if I can finally
meet up with Brian and talk to Diane when she’s not drunk.  Oh, and I’m
traveling with a girl who’s been helping me.  She reminds me of you.”

He
paused and looked at the last sentence.  He had written it without
thinking.  He wondered if it was true or if he was rationalizing again.

T
here was no one at the temple entrance to
welcome Hetephernebti. 

Never
mind,
she thought,
I
can find my way to Djefi’s chambers.

She
had come alone, walking among the villagers, pausing to talk with some women
and their children who were carrying water from the lake to their homes beyond
the temple entrance.

Djefi
should have had someone at the canal to greet his guests,
she thought.  The Cutting Out of
Sobek’s Tongue was the major festival for the crocodile god.  But To-She
was off the river, away from the mainstream and not as many priests and royal
officials would be attending.

Hetephernebti
knew that her brother wouldn’t be here.  He was in the south, meeting with
priests near the first cataract where the river narrowed, tumbling against
rocks, pushing its way through the desert into Kemet. 

She
knew he would be cajoling, flattering and, if necessary, threatening the
priests.  He would show them that he was concerned about the meager
floods, that he was acting to bring the water and its rich black earth to The
Two Lands and that if he failed it was because they had not done enough to
persuade their gods to help him.

As
long as he enjoyed the loyalty of Sekhmire and the army, he would sit secure on
the throne.  But if the priests or the governors or dissatisfied officials
of the royal court were able to persuade Sekhmire that King Djoser was not a
god and that Kemet would prosper without him on the throne, then his life would
be in danger.

Ah,
Teti, she thought, thinking of him by his childhood nickname, I hope you are as
persuasive and commanding as you ever were.  I pray that Re looks upon you
as a brother and gives you his blessing.

Hetephernebti
was mildly surprised to find the hallways of the temple empty.  Then she
realized that most of the workers would be in the kitchens and bakeries
preparing for the beginning of the feast.

She
walked unhurriedly down the hallway that led to Djefi’s chambers.  As she
got closer she heard voices.  She recognized Djefi’s high-pitched voice
and the low, stately rumble of Kanakht.

For a
moment she thought to wait outside the doorway, but a priestess of Re does not
eavesdrop, she thought.

She
pushed open the wooden door and abruptly the talking stopped.

“I
said I was not to be interrupted,” Djefi shouted.  Then he saw that it was
Hetephernebti who had entered the room.

He
blanched and stopped talking.

Kanakht,
ever the diplomat, came toward her, his arms extended in greeting. 
“Hetephernebti, blessed of Re,” he said.

“Lord
Kanakht,” she said, embracing him and feeling that his solid frame had grown
thinner in the weeks since she had last seen him.

He
pulled back and looked into her eyes.  She saw the same intelligence and
strength there she had seen when she was a little girl and he had been adviser
to her father.  But there was a tiredness there she had never
noticed.  He broke eye contact first, nervously glancing at Djefi.

“Greetings,
First Prophetess of Re,” Djefi said.  “We were just talking …  ”

“About
your dear brother,” Kanakht interrupted.  “I was telling Djefi that King
Djoser could not be here and that he sends his apologies.  And me,” he
laughed softly.

“Yes,”
Djefi agreed.

Hetephernebti
looked at Djefi.  He touched his forehead with a cloth, sopping up the
beads of sweat that had appeared.

Suddenly
there was a loud noise from the hallway, a voice shouted something they
couldn’t understand and there was the unmistakable sound of a body hitting a
stone wall.  The wooden doors swung open and a huge man wearing a torn
kilt, his skin sunburned, his lips bloodied and cracked, pushed through.

“Where
Siamun?” he demanded in a strangely accented voice.

Djefi
shrank back from the stranger and glanced around looking for help. 
Hetephernebti waited calmly, looking from Djefi to the stranger.

The
man looked at her, dismissed her with a glance, and did the same with Kanakht.

He
started to shout now in a strange tongue, his voice rising louder and
angrier.  The only word that Hetephernebti could understand was Siamun’s
name.  Then the giant sank to his knees, his eyes rolled up into his head
and he fell face forward on the floor.

B
rian woke up angry, confused, and
exhausted. He opened his eyes to a dark room with the sound of scuffling
footsteps approaching.

He
didn't know where he was.  The last thing he remembered was pushing into
Djefi’s chambers, screaming that he wanted to kill Siamun.

The
footsteps came closer.

He
moved his right arm, making sure it wasn’t tied down.

He
tried to look in the direction of the sound without moving his head. He didn't
want the intruder to know he was awake. He knew it wasn’t Pahket, he would have
recognized her footsteps. These were softer and more cautious.

Siamun?

When
he had first arrived here, Brian had noticed how much brighter the night sky
was, seemingly packed stars. At the same time the nights were darker because
there were no artificial lights, just torches or campfires.

Apparently
there were no windows in this room. Brian couldn't see even the dark outline of
whoever was approaching him, even though they were so close now that Brian
could hear the person’s breathing.

The
darkness would be as extreme for the other person, Brian realized.

He sat
up quickly and turned, stretching his arms out to grab or stop the attacker.
His hands found the intruder's arms, which felt small and only lightly muscled.

It's a
woman or a boy.

Holding
the person tightly, Brian rolled off the bed, pinning the attacker beneath him.

“Don't
hurt me,” the intruder said in almost a whisper.

“Did
Siamun send you?”

“English.”

“I
don't care if you're English or French or German.”

“Speaking
English.”

“I am
speaking English,” Brian answered. “Oh my God, so are you.”

He
relaxed his grip and reached out to help the intruder to his feet.

“Are
you OK? Who are you?”

“Not
so loud, Brian.”

“How
do you know my name?”

“Shhhh.”
Tim coughed softly and looked over his shoulder. “If I get caught, they'll,
well, I don't know what they'll do.”

There
was a light scraping sound and a flair of light as Tim lit a match. The two men
studied each other in the flickering light. Tim thought that Brian was much
more gaunt than the tourist he had watched swagger across the sands at
Saqqara.  His face was sunburned and his lips scabbed and bloody.

Brian
broke the silence.

“You
look familiar.”

“My
name is Tim Hope. I was at the Step Pyramid when you and Diane went into
Kanakht's tomb. I followed you and ended up here.”

Brian
looked worried.

“Where
exactly is here?”

“Yeah,
it's more of when than a where.”

Brian
shook his head.

Tim
leaned closer. “I don't have a lot of time, Brian.  Djefi is looking for
me.  And there is no one here to help us.

“This
is going to sound unbelievable, but when you and Diane went into that tomb and
through that opening in the wall, you went into the past, about five thousand
years into it.  We’re in ancient, I mean, really ancient Egypt, back
before the pyramids, back before the Sphinx, back before Moses, before King
Tut, way back … ”

Remembering
the hunt and his useless cell phone, Brian nodded his head.  It explained
everything, but it made no sense at all.

“I was
sitting against the wall at Saqqara when you and Diane went into the
tomb.  You even looked at me and winked.”

Brian
remembered now, the little guy writing in a notebook.

“When
you didn’t come out of the tomb, I did some checking around.  I found your
room at the Mena House and waited there, but you never came back.  I got
in the tomb and followed you here.  I’ve been trying to find you for a
couple weeks now.  I saw Diane last week, but she was too drunk to
talk.  I’m not sure I can get close enough to talk to her here, she’s
always with some woman.”

“Probably
Yunet,” Brian said.

“So,
we have to figure out how to talk to her and then sneak back to Saqqara. Then
we get back into the tomb and get back to our time.”

Brian
realized that, now that the adrenaline rush had worn off, he was almost too
weak to stand.  The last day in the desert had drained him, left him
exhausted and shaking.  The only thing that had driven him on had been his
desire to find and strangle Siamun.

“I
don’t understand,” he said.

Tim
nodded.  “I don’t either.  I have no idea how to explain it. 
All I can say is that we’re here, in this now and the only thing I can think of
is to get back to the tomb and try to open the wall the other way.”

No,”
Brian said.  “I don’t understand about Diane.  I don’t understand
what you said either, but I don’t know what’s going on with Diane.  She
got really pissed at me when we were riding camels out in the desert on the way
here.  Then when we got here, she just ignored me.  I haven’t talked
to her; I haven’t even seen her.  Now you say you saw her and she was
drunk?”

Tim
glanced at the doorway.

“I
shouldn’t stay here much longer.  Look, I have a friend, her name is
Meryt.  I’ll ask her to figure out how we can talk again and how to get a
message to you.  Meanwhile, try to talk to Diane, tell her what I told you
about where we are, I mean in the past.  If you can figure out how to get
away from here, we’ll get to Ineb-Hedj, that’s the town near the tomb we came
through, and we’ll get back to our time.

“Djefi
isn’t a problem, but Siamun is,” Brian said.

“You
said his name before. Who is Siamun?”

“He’s
like Djefi’s enforcer.  He’s a heartless bastard.  He left me and an
old man out in the desert to die.  The old man had a broken leg.”

“I
heard a little about what happened. Neswy is telling people that you have the
strength of a god, that you carried him through the desert without feeling the
heat, that you brought down a charging antelope with the wave of your hand.”

“I
felt the heat. Believe me. Is Neswy OK?”

“I
guess. He's certainly able to talk.”

Brian
nodded. “Good.”

Tim
shook his hand as the match burned close to his fingers. The small flame went
out leaving them again in total darkness.

“Look,
I really have to go, Brian.  Somebody will talk to you and set up a time
for us to meet again, maybe in two days after this ceremony is over. 
Meanwhile, try to talk to Diane, OK?”

Brian
nodded.  “Yeah, I’ll try to find her, maybe Pahket will help me.  I
don’t know.  I don’t know.”

Tim
reached over and gripped Brian’s shoulder.

“We’ll
get out of this.  Djefi may be a bad guy, but I’ve made some
friends.  We’ll be OK.”

“Tim,
right?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks,
Tim.  I just need a little rest and I’ll be ready.  You’re right,
we’ll be OK.”

T
im stayed in Hetephernebti’s camp the next
day, passing the time restlessly, waiting for Meryt to return, hoping for news
about Diane or Brian.

In the
middle of the afternoon he saw some people run past the camp toward the
village.  There was a sense of excitement in the air.  Tim wanted to
follow, to find out what was happening, but now that he had made contact with
Brian he felt a responsibility toward him and Diane.  He didn’t want to
make things difficult for them by being caught by this Siamun.

When
Meryt returned she was bubbling with excitement.

“Perhaps
you are not a netjer,” she teased, “but Brian must be.”

“What
happened?”

“You
know that he saved the old man, well, now he has saved a child.”

The
story of Brian's heroic rescue of Neswy had continued to spread through the
village, gaining more details with each retelling. Brian now had the power to
chase away enemies by merely staring at them, the ability to fly across
impassable dunes and the courage to stare down desert lions.

“They
say that he arrived with Neswy on his back and waited patiently for the
villagers to help him. Then, although he could hardly stand, he began to run so
fast, faster than anyone had ever seen anyone run.  They say Sobek was
calling him to the temple.  But now, after today, they think he is a god,
greater than Sobek.”

“What
happened?”

“He
was standing by the lake, under a tree.  It’s a place they say he often
stands, just looking over the water.  Some children were playing near the
water.  Suddenly a crocodile, some say it was Sobek himself, others say
that no, it was just a crocodile, but even so.

“The
crocodile stood up on its legs.  When they do that, Tim, they can run very
fast.  It started to run at one little girl, her name is Kiya.  Brian
saw this, but even as fast as he can run, he could not get to Kiya before the
crocodile.

“Then
he raised his arm over his head, swung it forward and at the crocodile, so
fast, his arm was a blur.  This is what people say, Netjer Tim.

“Suddenly
the crocodile stopped.  It plopped on its belly, oomph, and it didn’t
move.  Kiya’s mother ran up and picked up the little girl.  Brian
went back to looking over the lake.

“How
could he do this, Netjer Tim, if he is not a god?  He just points at
things and they stop?  How?  Can you do this, also?”

Tim
shook his head.  He had suspected when he first saw Brian from the way
that he carried himself that he was an athlete.  He could be a baseball
pitcher.  If he could throw a rock a hundred miles an hour, it could stun
a crocodile.  That would explain it, but still, Tim thought, that was an
incredible throw.  He found himself feeling proud of Brian.

If the
people think he’s a god, it might also give him some protection from Siamun.

“W
hen evil Set defeated Osiris, he cut the
god into pieces and scattered them across the Two Lands.  Isis, the
beautiful wife of Osiris, was beyond despair but she was also devoted beyond
understanding.  She refused to believe that her immortal love was
lost.  She traveled for many years, gathering together the pieces of her
beloved.

“She
found all the parts of Osiris that his evil uncle had spread across the
world.  Well, not all the parts.  She could not find his tongue.

“She
searched, Netjer Tim, she searched everywhere.  How can you not know this
story?

“Seeing
the great devotion of the beautiful Isis and seeing that she was beginning to
fear that she would never find all of her beloved, a hippopotamus told her what
had happened.

“Sobek,
who has a great appetite and will eat everything that comes before him, had
swallowed the tongue of Osiris by accident.  He would never have done it
on purpose, what god would?  But he had, and now he feared what Isis would
do.  And well he should.

“Do
you know what happened, Netjer Tim?  I think you do.  I think you
just want to hear the story from my beautiful lips?  Are my lips not
beautiful?  Yes?

“Isis
stalked Sobek.  She was fearless and she was powerful.

“She
caught him and she pried open his massive, toothy jaws and she forced him to
disgorge the tongue of her beloved.  Now Isis had recovered all of her
husband.  But what of Sobek, that great, sullen god?  He had known of
the pain Isis felt.  He had known she was searching for the tongue that he
had swallowed.  And he had kept it secret.

“And
so Isis had her revenge.  She cut the tongue from Sobek.”

Tim
and Meryt were alone, sitting in the shade of the orchard, away from
Hetephernebti’s encampment and away from the villagers at To-She.  It was
the day after Brian’s miraculous rescue of the child and they had gone there to
be alone to talk about how he would meet again with Brian and to find out what
Meryt had learned about Diane.

She
had taken his hand as she led him along a worn path and then off onto a winding
trail that ended at the edge of the orchard.  Tim had carried a small sack
that held some bread and a jar of beer.  They were sitting on the soft
grass, the jar of beer beside them, the sack curled open to show some of the bread
cakes.

“So
Djefi will cut out the tongue of a crocodile tomorrow?” he asked.

“No,
Netjer Tim,” she shook her head and rested a small hand on his leg.  “That
is what happened before the ceremony.  I mean, no one cuts out a
crocodile’s tongue.  They may have done that long ago, but now we don’t do
that.  We celebrate what happened after the cutting out of Sobek’s
tongue.”

They
were both aware of her hand on his leg. She moved her fingers slowly, touching
the smoothness of the skin beneath her hand.  He reached down and casually
took her hand in his, removing it from his thigh.