Imhotep (21 page)

“So
what does happen?” he asked through a suddenly thick throat.

“Well,
Sobek became very upset.  He had lost his tongue after all.  And he
likes to eat more than anything.  He grew quiet and sulky, not like Sobek
at all.  He didn’t bellow and thrash in the water, he didn’t mount the
young maiden crocodiles and ride them, he didn’t chase the young males away
from his lake.  He just floated in the dirty water near the edge of the
lake and brooded.

“Then
a young crocodile was chosen to help Sobek.  He was sent to find the
Master of Flavors.  They thought that if something so tasty and appetizing
could be brought to Sobek, perhaps his tongue would regrow and he would once
again be the great and powerful god Sobek.

“Oh,”
she jerked her hand away from his and covered her mouth, “I forgot part. 
They couldn’t sew his old tongue back on because Isis had it ground up into
little pieces.  She is a very beautiful goddess and very devoted to Osiris,
but very vengeful.”

Meryt
stretched and then smoothly twisted to lie on her back, resting her head on
Tim’s lap.  She looked up at him and smiled.

“So
the Master of Flavors rode on the back of the young crocodile and came to the
place where Sobek was.  He brought with him a bag filled with the freshest
herbs and the most unusual and tasty spices.

“He
used coriander and mint and sesame and parsley to flavor a roasted leg of
lamb.  The aroma from the meat was so strong and so delicious that Sobek’s
eyes began to water, perhaps in regret, perhaps in longing.  But the magic
of the food was so great that his tongue began to grow back.  Who could
resist such a treat?

“Then
the Master of Flavors prepared a sea bass and then a pigeon.  Each of them
were flavored exactly how they should be flavored.  You will see
tomorrow.  And with each bite, with each inhalation of the fragrance of
the food, Sobek’s tongue grew and grew.”

She
nestled her head against his lap and reached up with a slim arm to touch his
face.

“Why
do you not desire me, Netjer Tim?  Am I displeasing to you?”

Tim
shook his head, unable to speak.  He put a hand on her bare shoulder,
careful to avoid brushing against her breasts.  He softly squeezed her
shoulder and then helped her to sit up.

“Meryt,”
he said softly, “you are very beautiful, very pleasing.”

“Oh,”
she said.  “You look so sad, Netjer Tim.  I have upset you.” She
started to rise.

Quickly
he reached out and held her wrist.  “No, stay, Meryt.  You haven’t
upset me.  You have been only good to me.”

She
settled back in the grass beside him and looked at him expectantly

“Are
you like Isis?  Are you devoted to some goddess?”

He
looked away and felt his eyes brim with tears.  Suddenly he found himself
crying, quietly and fully.

Meryt
slid close to him and put her arms around him, drawing him to her to comfort
him.

After
a few moments, he sighed deeply and using the heels of his hands, wiped his
eyes dry.

“A
long time ago, there was a woman named Addy.” He felt strange saying her name
aloud to another woman, as if the words he was about to say would form an
epilogue to the love he and Addy had created.

“We
were together for only a little while, but we knew it was just the beginning of
a long life together.  Our lives were stretched out before us and we knew
that wherever we went, whatever we did, we would have each other.  And
then, she died.”

“Could
you not bring her back, Netjer Tim, like Osiris and Isis?”

He
shook his head.  Meryt was so innocent and trusting, so filled with the
beliefs of her time.  It was part of why he cared for her so much.

“There
was an accident.  I wasn’t there.  Other people were there, but they
didn’t help.  They didn’t even call for help, they just turned away,
afraid to get involved.” As he spoke, he remembered the weeks after her death
as he badgered the police for information and recklessly haunted the place she
had died.

The
highway exit Addy normally took to get to the restaurant where her friend was
stranded was closed by an overturned tractor-trailer.  So she entered the
city a few blocks away, driving through a part of town she normally would have
avoided.

A week
earlier in that neighborhood a fourteen-year-old boy who called himself Master
Nation had decided to increase his profits by heavily cutting some coke he was
selling.  Word got around that his product didn’t deliver.  His
dealer immediately knew what had happened.  Deciding that his reputation
had been damaged, he told Master Nation to give up the extra profit he had
made.  The boy had refused.

Addy
was sitting in her car at a stop light when the dealer drove by and emptied the
clip of an automatic pistol at Master Nation before speeding away.  The
boy managed to get off one shot in return before he fell.  That bullet hit
Addy in the shoulder and ripped through the subclavian artery, a medical term
he never would forget.

She
went into shock.

There
were people on the street and in the houses who had seen or heard the shooting,
but no one came near her car.  All it would have taken, he learned later,
was one person to push against the spurting wound, one person willing to reach
through the shattered window.

She
had quietly bled to death, growing colder and weaker with each beat of her
heart.

“She
died alone, away from me,” he told Meryt.  “I couldn’t help her and now,”
he drew in a deep breath, “she is gone from my life forever.”

He was
relieved that Meryt didn’t say anything in response.  She accepted his
pain and his loss without trying to minimize it.  After a moment, he sat
up, pulling himself away from her.  She looked at him, her expression a
mixture of sadness and love.

Opening
his arms, he drew her to him and held her, his arms around her smooth, soft
back, her arms encircling and embracing him.

“T
hey think he’s a god,” Kanakht told
Djefi.  “Who is he, where did he come from?  What is he?  Why
wasn’t I told about him?”

Djefi
squirmed in his chair.  He wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a
direct, threatening manner.  This was To-She, he was supposed to be in
charge here.  But Kanakht was vizier, second only to King Djoser, so Djefi
tried to compose himself.  He knew that his voice would be squeaky if he
didn’t calm himself before he spoke.

Kanakht
hadn’t been at Iunu, so he hadn’t seen Diane.  Djefi didn’t know if he
should keep her presence a secret; he didn’t even know why he wanted to, only
that he had found in the past that it was good to know things that others
didn’t.

“We
haven’t talked since he arrived.”

“No,
Djefi, we talked just yesterday.”

“But
Hetephernebti arrived and then he broke into the chamber.”

“Yes,
Djefi, I was there,” Kanakht said.  He was suddenly tired, tired of the
energy it took to deal with Djefi without losing his temper, tired of the
traveling he knew was ahead to keep his plan moving toward its fulfillment.

“I
found him in the desert a few weeks ago.  He didn't speak our language and
seemed confused.  I brought him back here and gave him shelter. 
Siamun took him hunting and they got separated.  I thought he was lost in
the desert until he arrived yesterday.” Djefi was gaining strength now,
bolstered by the logic of his half-truths.

“I
didn’t see any reason to trouble you about a lost stranger.”

Kanakht
paced slowly in front of Djefi.  He knew the priest was hiding something,
everyone always did.  He tried to decide if it mattered, if investigating
this Brian was worth the effort. 

Not
today,
he thought

“First
prophet, you and I and Waja-Hur, we each have a role, a destiny.  The fate
of the Two Lands is something we cannot leave to chance.  You understand,
don’t you?”

Djefi
nodded his head slightly.  It would be unseemly to act too eager, he
thought.

“Yes,”
Kanakht continued.  “As you know, King Djoser has been preoccupied with
his self-elevation to godliness.  However, you will be dedicating a new
temple at Kom Ombo.  That is close enough to Waset that Djoser must
attend.  I’ll make sure of it.  It would be too great an affront if
he didn’t.

“Now,
First Prophet, I wonder how the mighty Sobek, Rager of the River, will treat a
man who is pretending to be a god.  Because, Djefi, this is the heart of
the matter.  Djoser has offended the gods.  We know this because the
gods have not sent the great flood ever since Djoser declared himself a god.

“I am
just a man, you are just a man, we know that.  We know that we will enjoy
eternal life in Khert-Neter.  But now, Djefi, now we are just men, mortal
men.  So is Djoser, despite his pronouncements.

“So,
how will Sobek welcome this impostor?”

Djefi
shook his head without thinking.

“No,
Djefi.” Kanakht came closer, so close that Djefi could smell the onions the
vizier had eaten at breakfast.  “That will not be good enough,
Djefi.  Not good enough,” he hissed.  “We will not let events rule
us, Djefi.  We will rule them.

“The
Two Lands are not held together by chance.  We are not playing games,
Djefi,” he rounded on the priest.  “Djoser will be at your
dedication.  You have an opportunity to let Sobek show the Two Lands what
the gods think of Djoser’s posing.  You will not let it pass.”

If
you want Djoser dead, just kill him,
Djefi thought.  But Djoser would have bodyguards, of course.  Did
Kanakht expect the crocodile to attack and devour the king on the spot? 
How was he supposed to make that happen?  Djefi’s mind was spinning. 

He
wanted to talk to Yunet.  They had talked a little on the trip to Iunu,
but she had been preoccupied with Diane, assuring Djefi that even if the
red-haired woman wasn’t a goddess she was something so unusual that she had to
be protected.

Now
that he thought of it, Yunet had warned him about Brian.  She had said
Diane was afraid of him, that he was dangerous.

I
shouldn’t have sent Siamun to Kom Ombo,
Djefi thought.  He had needed someone to make sure the
temple grounds would be prepared for the dedication and no one motivated people
like Siamun, so Djefi had sent him south to oversee the work. 

He
wondered suddenly if he should tell Kanakht about the other stranger, the one
who had approached Diane at Iunu. 
But no,
he caught himself. 
If I do that, then I have to tell him about Diane and then explain why I
didn’t mention her before.

He
sighed.  So much to remember.

“You
can sigh all you want, Djefi, but there is work to be done.  After Djoser
is gone and the balance is restored to Kemet, then there will be time to return
to the rhythms of the Two Lands.  Everything will return to normal. 
But first, Djefi, first there is work to be done.”

“Yes,”
Djefi answered.

“Now,
this Brian.  Get rid of him.  Taking him into the desert didn’t kill
him.  Find some other way.  I don’t like strangers in the Two Lands
and I especially don’t like strangers here during this time of unrest.”

“I
don’t have anyone ...  I have sent Siamun to Kom Ombo … I don’t know … ” Djefi
stammered.

Kanakht
turned to walk away.

“Take
him to Khmunu, to Waja-Hur.  There are plenty of men there who are not afraid
to kill a stranger, or a god.  His embalmers will be happy to have this
Brian as a new specimen,” he said over his shoulder.  Then he
stopped.  “Yes, take him to Khmunu.  You and I and Waja-Hur should
all talk together.  You’ll have time to think about our conversation, to
divine what Sobek will do at Kom Ombo.  Yes, Djefi.  Come to Khmunu.”

B
rian emerged from the night shadows.

Tim
and Meryt were awake waiting for him.  The rest of To-She slept and
snored, bellies filled with the food from the day’s feast and the many jars of
beer that accompanied it.

“She’s
asleep, drunk.  Just like she must have been at that other party,” Brian
said as he squatted beside them in Hetephernebti’s encampment.

“Did
you talk to her?” Tim asked.

He
nodded.

“Just
for a little, before Yunet took her away.  She said she’s not going
anywhere with me.  I didn’t tell her about you.  I don’t trust
her.  I’m positive she tells everything to Yunet, and Pahket said that
Yunet and Djefi are close.  So,” he shrugged.

Tim
and Brian looked at each other, each hoping that the other would have an idea.

“Did
he say anything about going to Khmunu?” Meryt asked.

Tim
shook his head.

“What
did she say?” Brian asked.

“She
asked if you said anything about a place called Khmunu.”