Imhotep (55 page)

Taki
had been ill this morning. 

Last
night her brother had brought them the hindquarters of an ibex he had
killed.  They had roasted it and after their guests had gone, Taki had
said that she didn’t feel well.

She
had gargled with a garlic mixture and gone to bed, but Paneb had heard her get
out of bed several times during the night. 

“Should
I get the doctor?” he had asked her in the early morning after she had returned
from the courtyard where she had thrown up again.

“Not
yet,” she had answered weakly. “I think the meat was bad.  It will pass.”

“I
don’t know, beloved.  I ate it and I am well.”

“You
would eat anything.  Your belly never gets sick,” she had moaned as she
lay back down.  “You could do something,” she had added softly.  “I
have an amulet.  It is by the loom, I think.  It is small and wrapped
with a red string.”

“I’ll
get it,” he had said.

Now it
was midafternoon.  Taki seemed better and Paneb was restless.  The
painting was going well and he was eager to complete the hallway and begin work
on the other rooms in the tomb.

Standing
in the doorway of his home, looking through the courtyard toward the dusty
street he saw a savage-looking man stop by the outer gate.  He was hard
muscled and dirty, the expression on his face was angry.  When he turned
to look into the courtyard, Paneb saw that the man’s one ear was mangled.

He
took a step toward the courtyard. 

“Are
you Paneb, the tomb artist?” he shouted.

Paneb
nodded.

“Djefi,
First Prophet of Sobek, commands you to come to Kanakht’s tomb.  Now.”

Paneb
saw movement out of the corner of his eye.  Ahmes, who had been on the
roof practicing his drawing, was coming down the outside stairs to see what the
shouting was about.

“Is he
your helper?” the man called.

Paneb
nodded, puzzled why the coarse man had been sent to fetch him, rather than a
court official.

“Bring
him, too.  Djefi said so.”

“Who
is it?” Taki asked.

“I
don’t know,” Paneb answered quietly.  “Let me gather my tools and I’ll be
right there,” Paneb called to the man.

The
man shook his head.  “You don’t need them.  He said to just bring you
and your helper.”

P
aneb knew this day would come.

When
the gods first had arrived and Djefi had taken them, threatening to feed Ahmes
to Sobek if Paneb revealed the existence of the new gods, Paneb had known Djefi
would return.  He had known the fat priest would want more, he was a man
with a boundless appetite.

Tim
had stayed and worked with Paneb for a few days, asking questions about the
artwork, the meanings behind the symbols.  He had been a quick student,
hampered only by his inability to speak Egyptian.  But in a few days that
had improved.

Although
he tried to hide it, Tim had been especially interested in one of the false
doors.  Paneb hadn’t given away that he noticed Tim’s interest, but after
he had returned from the Festival of Re in His Barge, Paneb had studied the
false door closely.

The
invocation above the door panel was different.  Paneb had shaken his head,
trying to remember if the priest who drew them had said anything about them
being different.

As he
studied them, the light entering the tomb from the brass reflecting disks
shifted and a thin echo of the light bounced away from something above the
lintel.  Reaching up he came away with a smooth tiny stick that had been
wedged in a crack between the stones.  With a thrill, Paneb guessed that
the gods had passed through this doorway and marked it with the smooth stick.

He had
looked more closely at the false doorway’s inscription.  He was sure it
looked different than in previous tombs.  He would ask the priest when he
returned.  Until then he would leave these inscriptions unpainted.

N
ow Paneb stood before Djefi outside the
tomb, trying to control his fear.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw
Ahmes standing uncomfortably beside the man who had brought them out to the
tomb.  The man’s hand was resting on the back of Ahmes’ neck.  From
the way his stepson was squirming, Paneb knew the man was gripping Ahmes’ neck
tightly.

“Paneb,”
Djefi said, “you remember the last time we spoke.  The two strangers
emerged from the tomb.”

“Yes,
First Prophet,” he answered.

“Excellent. 
And then a third came out.”

“Yes,
First Prophet.”

“They
came from another land.”

“Yes,
First Prophet.”

“Show
me how they got here.”

Paneb
pointed to the tomb entrance.  “Through there,” he said.  He spun
around when he heard a sudden smacking sound and a yelp.  Ahmes was
holding the side of his face.  The man beside him was smirking.

“I was
here when they walked out of the tomb, Paneb,” Djefi said, his squeaky voice
rising as he became impatient.  “I want to know how they got into the
tomb.” He snapped his fingers in front of Paneb’s face to draw his attention
away from Ahmes and Siamun.

“Don’t
hurt him,” Paneb pleaded.  “He hasn’t done anything.”

Djefi
nodded at Siamun who hit Ahmes again, harder this time.

“You
don’t understand, do you?  I ask the questions.  I give the orders,”
Djefi told Paneb.

Paneb
was not used to being treated this way.  He was chief artist of the
necropolis, and he had never treated the men who worked for him with such
arrogance and disrespect.

“I
will answer your questions,” he told Djefi.  “But please, First Prophet,
do not hurt my son.”

“Then
answer better.  How did they arrive here in the Two Lands?”

Paneb
turned to the tomb entrance.  “I will show you what I know,” he
said.  He glanced over his shoulder at Ahmes as he entered the tomb.

Together
Paneb and Djefi walked down the hallway, the light failing as they went
farther.  Paneb stopped in front of the false door.  “I believe they
came through here,” he said, pointing to a false door in the tomb wall.

“How?”

Paneb
shook his head.  “I do not know, First Prophet.”

Djefi
studied Paneb.  There was something the man wasn’t saying.  He was
sure.  “You know something,” he said.  He turned and walked toward
the tomb entrance.

“Wait!”
Paneb shouted.

Djefi
turned and waddled back to him, coming so close, the artist could smell the
stink of the priest’s own fear.

“Do
not waste my time, Paneb.  If you hold your son’s life dear, you will not
waste my time.”

Paneb
gulped and nodded.  “I am sorry, First Prophet.  I truly do not know
how they came through this tomb,” he said, and then added quickly as Djefi’s
eyes grew small, “but I will tell you everything I know and perhaps you can
understand what I do not.

“When
the last god came through . . . ”

“They
are not gods!” Djefi interrupted.

“Yes,
First Prophet.  When the last one came through, he stayed with me a few
days.  He also is an artist.  I showed him the drawings and the plans
for the tomb.  He had a book with a very smooth papyrus that he used to
make his drawings.  They were wonderful, so life-like that they seemed to
float over the pages.  There was one . . . ”

He
stopped as Djefi snapped his fingers in front of his face.  “I don’t care
about his drawings,” he said.  “Tell me about this door.”

“Yes,
First Prophet.  Understand that I am chief artist, not a priest.  I
am responsible for the paintings, the sky, and the representations of the
gods.  Sobek, for example.  A priest trained at the temple of Thoth,
by, oh, I can’t remember his name, the very old priest.”

Djefi
felt a chill, as if Waja-Hur’s ka had entered the tomb with them.  He snapped
his fingers at the artist again.  “The door, the door,” he said.

“Yes,
First Prophet,” Paneb said nervously.  He was trying to tell the priest
everything he knew, to show that he was cooperating, that there was no reason
to hurt Ahmes.

“The
paintings on the false door show Hathor welcoming Kanakht into
Khert-Neter.  I drew those,” he said, pointing to the paintings that were
barely visible this far into the tomb.  “The old priest drew the
hieroglyphics on the lintel above it.” He pointed to the symbols.  “I
painted them black, following his outlines.  They were not yet painted
when the three gods, I mean three strangers, came through.  If they indeed
came through here.”

Djefi
was so exasperated his voice came out as a tiny squeak.  “That is all you
can tell me.  They are painted now, but then they weren’t?  That is
meaningless!”

Paneb
almost touched the fat priest, trying to stop him from turning.  Djefi
looked at the man’s outstretched hand in distaste.  Paneb slowly withdrew
it and bowed his head.  “No, First Prophet.  What I mean to tell you
is that they are different now.

“I
have painted other tombs and I have never seen the inscription written the way
it was here.  I pointed it out to the old priest when he came to check on
the progress, before I painted them, of course.  He shook his head and
said he didn’t know how those symbols came to be on the wall.  Even though
he had drawn them himself!  I swear. He rubbed them out and drew in the
proper symbols - the ones that are on the wall now.”

Djefi
studied the symbols closely.  He had never learned to read them, that’s
what scribes were for.  There was a secret here, he thought.  Some
powerful incantation, some magic that had made this false door real and opened
it to a different world.

He
needed to get to that world, to escape this one where the king was bound to
kill him.

“What
did the other inscription say?” Djefi asked.

“I do
not know, First Prophet.  I only paint over the lines the priest
draws.  I noticed that they looked different and in a different order, but
I didn’t know their meaning.”

Djefi
wanted to pound his fists against the wall.  He was so close.  His
escape was just on the other side of this stone wall.  He knew it. 
Only a few inches of stone stood between his certain death and freedom.

He had
to get through it.

“Do
you remember what the symbols looked like?  Can you paint them over
these?”

Paneb
nodded.  “I can try.  I have sketches of all the symbols at my
home.  I keep them so I can compare them to what is drawn on the
tombs.  Sometimes the priests get sloppy in the drawing, a hand turned so
instead of this way.  A head at the wrong tilt.  These are little
things, but they are important.  They are the symbols of eternal life and
they  . . . ” He stopped as Djefi snapped his fingers at his face again.

“Siamun
will take you back to your home.  Get the drawings and return here. 
You will re-create the inscriptions for me.”

“Ahmes?”

“He
will stay here, Paneb.  It will help you to focus on your work if you know
Ahmes is under my protection.”

I
mhotep ran through the small courtyard to
Taki, who looked pale and worried.  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

He
felt a wave of relief as she shook her head.  “No, Lord Tim,” she said,
addressing him as she had so many months ago when he was a guest in her home.

Imhotep
embraced her and then held her at arm’s length.  “You look troubled,” he
said.  “Are the girls healthy?  Has little Hapu been playing with
scorpions again?” he asked with a smile.

As she
shook her head, Imhotep saw her eyes stray past him to look at Brian and Bata.

“I’m
sorry,” he said.  “These are my friends.  Brian is one of my
countrymen and Bata is a friend I’ve made here.”

Taki
hugged each of them and then offered them food.

“No,
Taki, not now, thank you.  I’ve brought Brian here to show him the tomb
where I met your husband.  Is Paneb here?”

“He is
out at the site.  He and Ahmes.  A man came by unexpectedly and told
him First Prophet Djefi was there and needed to see him.” She looked out at the
courtyard gate as she spoke and missed Imhotep’s frown.

“He
was rude,” she said. 

“He
stood at the gate over there and just shouted for Paneb to come with him. 
What has happened to manners?  And he looked so rough.”

“Rough?”
Imhotep said.

She
squinted as she remembered.  “He was dirty, but perhaps it was only
because he was working.  But there was something about his face.”

“His
ear?” Imhotep prompted.

“It
was Siamun,” Neswy said.  “He is here.”

“Siamun?”
Taki repeated. 

She
turned to Imhotep.  “Do you know him?”

“I haven’t
met him, but I know who he is,” Imhotep said, trying to keep the concern from
his voice.  He didn’t want to worry Taki.  “When did they leave?” he
asked.

“It
was just after noon.  I was ill last night and Paneb stayed with me this
morning.  He was eager to go to the tomb, but he stayed until he was sure
I was feeling better.  Then this man came by, so they left.”

Imhotep
looked up at the sky.  The sun was midway to the western horizon; there
were probably four hours of daylight left.

“Brian,”
he said, “what do you think?  We can be there in less than an hour. 
If Siamun is there, it’s possible he caught up with Diane and Yunet and they
will be there, too.” He left unspoken his fears that Siamun could have found
them and killed them.

“We
ood oh,” he said, nodding his head toward the street.

Bata
shook his head.  “We should get help.  If Djefi is here, then he has
decided to live outside the law.  Your word as vizier will carry no
weight.”

“Lord
Tim, what has happened?” Taki asked, picking up on the concern in their
voices.  “Who are Diane and Yunet and Siamun?  Are Paneb and Ahmes in
danger?”

Imhotep
shook his head.  “I don’t think so,” he told her.  “Siamun is trying
to find Diane, she came here with Brian.  Did Siamun say anything about a
woman?”

Taki started
to answer and then pointed toward the gate that opened between the head-high
walls that surrounded the courtyard. “We can ask him,” she said.  “There
they are now.”

They
all turned to look toward the gate.  Brian recognized Paneb as the man who
had drawn the camel outlines in the sand outside the tomb so long ago.  He
also recognized the man who was standing just behind him.

“Iamun!”
he shouted and began to run across the courtyard.

Siamun
was shocked to see Brian, alive and looking leaner and stronger than
before.  He had a brief thought of staying and finally killing him, but
then he saw Bata draw his knife and join the chase with Brian. 

Turning,
Siamun ran back down the street as Brian reached the gate.

Paneb
grabbed at Brian as he pushed past him, trying to stop him.  “No, stop,
they have Ahmes,” he said.

Brian
jerked away from him, his mind filled only with catching Siamun.  When he
looked back up the street, he saw Siamun turn onto a side path.  Quickly
he ran after him.  Bata pushed through the gate a second later and raced
after Brian.

Worried
that Ahmes would be in danger if Siamun were hurt, Paneb turned to join in the
chase when he felt a hand grip his arm.

“Paneb,”
Imhotep said.  “You will just endanger yourself if you chase them. 
Tell me what Djefi is doing at the tomb.”

Paneb
looked at Imhotep.  He had changed so much from the young man who had
emerged from the tomb, uncertain where he was, drowning in an unnamed sorrow,
dressed in strange clothes and unable to talk the language of the Two Lands.

Now he
spoke with confidence and authority, he was wearing a beautiful linen kilt, its
hem embroidered with the spread wings of a vulture, divine protector of the
king.  A wide beaded strand wrapped around his neck.  With wonder,
Paneb recognized it as a menat.

Imhotep
saw the confusion in his friend’s eyes.

“We
have a lot to talk about, Paneb.” He touched his fingers to the beaded strands
of the menat.  “Life has been very good to me here,” he said with a
smile.  Then he looked past Paneb to watch Bata turn down the alley where
Siamun and Brian had run.  He knew that he couldn’t catch them and that he
wouldn’t be able to stop Brian from trying to kill Siamun even if he did reach
them in time.  After what Brian had suffered at Siamun’s hands, he wasn’t
sure he would try to stop him.

He
looked back at Paneb and gave him a tight smile.

“You
said something about Ahmes?”

A
fter hearing what had happened at the
tomb, Imhotep said, “I speak with King Djoser’s authority, Paneb.  Take me
to the governor’s home and I will ask him for help.  Then we can go to the
tomb.  Don’t worry,” he said, resting a hand on Paneb’s arm.  “Ahmes
will be safe.”

Paneb
nodded agreement, although he knew he wouldn’t relax until they had secured
help from the governor.  He hugged Taki good-bye and led Imhotep through
the town toward the governor’s home, which overlooked the river.

They
walked quickly, not noticing the man who was watching them from the shadows of
the alley beside Paneb’s house.  As they crossed the dirt street, Siamun,
who had doubled back after losing Brian and Bata, stepped out of the
shadows.  He jogged into a parallel alleyway and ran to get ahead of them.

B
rian stood at the edge of town, staring
down the path that led into the desert.  He heard Bata’s heavy breathing
as the guard joined him.

He
knew it was useless to try to talk to Bata.  No one but Imhotep understood
his slurred English.  He waited until Bata caught his breath, then he
pointed into the desert and shrugged.

“He
was going this way, I know,” Bata said.  He looked around at the edge of
the village.  There were some huts here, marking the edge of the village’s
intrusion into the desert.  There were a few palm trees, but no tethered
animals or pens of geese.

“We’ve
lost him.  He must be hiding someplace back in the village, waiting for us
to leave.”

Brian
shook his head.  He knelt in the sand and made a furrow, then made his
fingers walk through it.

“Yes,
of course,” Bata said.  “The desert here isn’t flat.  If the path
ahead leads into a wadi, then Siamun could be there out of sight.”  He
looked at Brian.  “We should wait for Imhotep.  Then we can go to the
governor and get more help.”

Brian
shook his head, thinking of Diane.  He patted his chest and pointed into
the desert, his face set with determination.  He touched Bata’s chest and
pointed back to town.

Bata
had been ordered to guard Imhotep, not Brian. He looked at the giant man and
nodded.

“I
will look for Imhotep and find help from the governor, as we had planned. 
You should come with me, but you won’t.” He squeezed Brian’s tight bicep. 
“Be careful in the desert.”

Brian
nodded, but he was thinking that it was Siamun who would need to be careful.

B
ata hadn’t jogged far when he heard
Imhotep’s voice. 

He
stopped and ducked between two buildings as he realized that Imhotep should not
be coming this way, toward the desert.  Imhotep had planned to ask Paneb
to take him to the governor and seek help.  It was impossible for him to
have gone to the river and returned this far already.

Bata
heard a strange man’s voice say “Shut up.”

“You
should listen to me, Siamun,” Imhotep said.  “The king knows Djefi was
part of the plot, he’s just letting him live to draw out the other
conspirators.  If you go with me to the governor, then I can  . . . ”

“I
said, ‘Shut up!’ ” Siamun growled.  He slapped the back of Imhotep’s head.

Imhotep
kept his composure.  “You don’t know what you’re doing, Siamun.  I
can help you.  Turn around, take us to the governor.”

There
was another slap.

They
walked past Bata’s hiding place.  Siamun had tied a rope around each of
their necks and was walking close behind them, holding the ropes in one
hand.  His other hand held a knife pressed against Imhotep’s back.

Bata
knew that if he tried to surprise him, Siamun would simply pull on the ropes
and as Imhotep fell back to relieve the pressure, Siamun could stab him. 
There would be no way for Bata to stop it.  Even if he were able to throw
his knife, it wouldn’t guarantee Imhotep’s safety.

He
waited until they disappeared past him, then he took to the street and ran as
fast as he could toward the river.  Once he reached it, he would find the
governor’s house and get help.

P
rince Teti stepped on shore and
stretched.  He turned and watched as the other two boats came to a stop
and the king’s guards disembarked, the men swinging their arms and twisting
their aching backs.

After
learning about Waja-Hur’s murder at Khmunu, Prince Teti had continued
downriver, putting in at each town to see if King Djoser had sent any change of
orders.  When there had been no word at Tehna, the men had bent harder at
the oars, pulling with the current, racing each other as they flew down the
river.  There was no word at Medum nor at Tarchan, so they had pulled even
harder, racing for Ineb-Hedj, where the king surely would have sent a message.

While
there had been no news from the king, neither had there been word of Imhotep.

Because
Hetephernebti and Tama said he was heading for To-She to find Diane, Prince
Teti had debated making a side trip there to make sure Imhotep was safe. 
But his father’s orders were to go to Ineb-Hedj, so Prince Teti’s three-boat
fleet had sailed past the canal without pause.

Now
they had reached Ineb-Hedj, capital of Men-Nefer, gateway to the delta.

When
they had left Khmunu they were three days behind Imhotep.  Prince Teti
looked over at his men, sore and tired, but young and strong.  They had
rowed without break, churning the river’s water so hard the boat seemed to skim
above it.  Prince Teti wouldn’t have been surprised if they had passed
Imhotep on the river.

Looking
at the other boats in the harbor, he spotting one decorated with a golden disk,
the emblem of Re.  It looked like the boat Hetephernebti had given
Imhotep, which meant that Imhotep had come here instead of going to To-She.

Prince
Teti smiled; it would be good to see the strange physician who had captured his
father’s trust.  He was so open, yet so mysterious.

The
men had finished stretching and kicking their legs and were gathering their
weapons from the boats, when Prince Teti saw a familiar figure running along
the waterfront.

“That’s
Bata,” he heard Meryptah say.

“Go
catch him,” Prince Teti told him.  “Find out where Imhotep is.”

As
Meryptah ran off, Prince Teti turned to his men.  “Follow Meryptah. 
I want to find out where Imhotep is and then go see the governor.”

“Is
there a tavern along the way?” one of the men said.

“Forget
a tavern,” another answered.  “I want a woman.”

“You
want a bath.”

Prince
Teti listened to their banter, wishing he could join in.  This was his
first real command and he felt more distant from these men than from his
personal bodyguard.  These were older, more seasoned men.  He knew
that if he began to joke with them, their view of him would begin to change and
he would become one of them and not their leader.

And so
he listened and tried not to smile.

P
leasant memories tugged at his mind as
Imhotep walked through the familiar wadi toward Saqqara.  He had traveled
this pathway with Paneb and Ahmes, when he was first learning about their
world.