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Authors: P. C. Doherty

BOOK: The Assassins of Isis
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‘Shufoy,' she cooed, wiping the juices from her double chins. She lifted a jewel-encrusted wine cup and toasted him. ‘Would you like to work with me? Dwarfs are always popular. Some of my customers would like you to stand and watch.'
Shufoy smiled briefly and squatted on the cushions. ‘Do you still smuggle goods?' he asked.
The Queen of Pleasure paused in her gobbling and fingered the Nekhbet around her neck, as if the jewel-encrusted vulture could protect her against this dangerous little man.
‘You are here on official business?'
‘From the mighty judge the lord Amerotke, who might like to question you about smuggling, receiving stolen goods, kidnap, bribery, blackmail,' Shufoy kept his voice to a monotone, ‘blasphemy, sacrilege, ridiculing the Divine One …'
‘What do you want?'
‘Have there been any slayers?'
‘Slayers?'
‘Men who like to kill young women before they take their pleasure.'
‘The last one was impaled two seasons ago on the order of your master.' The Queen of Pleasure wiped her fingers on her robe. She didn't like the look in Shufoy's eyes and wanted to be rid of this little pestilence. ‘There are no slayers, no killers. Oh, the occasional priest or official who likes to slap and hurt, but there again,' her fat lips parted to reveal gold-plated teeth, ‘some of my girls enjoy that.'
‘Is there a hunger for fresh flesh?'
‘Fresh? People always want fresh.'
‘Virgins,' Shufoy explained. ‘Voluptuous young girls, nice and ripe for some wealthy client who, perhaps,' Shufoy narrowed his eyes, ‘is not too keen on the mature woman?'
‘Oh, we get those from the slums.'
‘What about hesets? Temple girls of Isis?'
The Queen of Pleasure picked up a fan and tried to cool herself.
‘I know what you are saying, Shufoy, I've heard the rumours. Everyone visits the Temple of Isis. But I have nothing to do with that business, it's too dangerous. Anyway,' she shrugged one plump shoulder, ‘they could have been killed, their bodies secretly buried.'
‘And if they weren't?' Shufoy persisted. ‘Come on, dearest,' he cooed mockingly. ‘If they weren't killed, what could have happened to them? Kidnapped?'
‘For what?'
‘For a special customer,' Shufoy explained.
The Queen of Pleasure shook her head. ‘Wouldn't you like to stay, Shufoy? I have a girl from Punt who can perform the most incredible—'
‘A special customer,' Shufoy repeated.
‘It's been heard of but it's very, very dangerous. I mean,' the Queen of Pleasure swallowed hard, ‘they could have been kidnapped, sold to a flesh-seller and transported up the Nile to Memphis or the Delta. But if the kidnappers were caught or those who bought them arrested, they would scream their lives out on the end of a stake.'
‘The Sebaus?'
The Queen of Pleasure shook, a mound of quivering jewelled flesh. Eyes staring, she raised a finger to her lips. ‘I know nothing.'
‘You're a fat liar. I'll tell my master about your little customs. Do your girls still steal from their clients? Perhaps,' Shufoy gestured around, ‘the Medjay could visit here. Who knows,' he leaned forward, ‘they might even find items stolen from the tombs.'
The Queen of Pleasure picked up her goblet, quietly vowing she would never welcome this little man again. She slurped the sweet white wine and pressed the goblet against her hot cheek.
‘The Heret,' she snarled. ‘The scorpion man who lives in the Mysterious Abode.' She fluttered her fingers. ‘Now get out before I call one of my lovely boys.'
Shufoy left the House of Deliciousness and threaded his way through the narrow streets. At the end of a lane he was accosted by a troop of Wild Ones who served the goddess Hathor, Mistress of Drunkenness. At the sight of the dwarf they shouted in glee and tried to seize him as part of their procession, but he side-stepped, ran along the Street of the Bead Makers, past the stalls of the purveyors of skinned mice and into the Square of Mystery, the Mysterious Abode. Here, a teller of tales standing on a stump of a tree was regaling a small audience about the journey to the kingdom of Osiris, visible in the sky, so he said, in the north-east part of the heavens.
‘A perilous journey,' the teller bawled, ‘across fiery plains infested by serpents, savage animals and rivers of boiling water. Great monkeys lurk there armed with nets to trap your soul …'
Shufoy caught the teller's eye and made a sign with his fingers. The teller of tales hastily brought his story to an end, asked for alms and, once his audience had dispersed, jumped down from the tree stump. He led Shufoy into the courtyard of a house where workers were busy mummifying the corpses of cats. The stench was so offensive Shufoy grabbed the perfumed rag from his purse and covered the lower part of his face.
‘I thought you couldn't smell,' the teller taunted. ‘You've got no nose!'
‘You've got no brain, but you still think!' Shufoy bellowed back. The teller laughed and led him into the beer shop, a small comfortable chamber with reed matting on the floor.
It smelt richly of meat juice and spices. A man sitting with his back to the far wall paused in his scrutiny of a pile of precious stones.
‘Who is it?'
‘Shufoy, servant and herald of the great lord Amerotke.'
‘Ah yes, Shufoy, I've been expecting you. I trust you haven't brought the Sebaus with you? I mean, they would follow you like hyaenas would a trail of blood.'
‘No one has followed me.'
‘Well, come.' The Scorpion lifted a hand. ‘Come and tell your old friend what you want.'
Shufoy settled himself on some cushions and stared across at the Scorpion. He was of middle age with a lean face, harsh cheekbones and staring, mocking eyes. A luxurious beard and moustache, coated in balm, hid the lower half of his face, whilst his forehead and cheeks were emblazoned with tattoos of a scorpion. Similar insignia marked the back of his hands, and the costly robe he wore was decorated with silver snakes and other venomous reptiles. Shufoy gazed around.
‘Business must be prospering.'
The Scorpion scooped the precious stones into a sack. ‘A little here, a little there; a man works from dawn until dusk to earn a crust. What do you want, Shufoy?'
‘The Sebaus?'
‘I don't like them.' The Scorpion moved restlessly, his gaze shifted. Shufoy realised that, in the shadows on the far side of the room, this robber king's bodyguard was watching him intently.
‘I thought you wouldn't,' Shufoy agreed. ‘You see them as business rivals?'
‘They are what they are, a bloody nuisance. They have attracted the attention of the Medjay, not to mention the imperial palace, the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh and now that great meddler in mischief Lord Amerotke.' He leaned across. ‘The last thing I want, Shufoy, is eastern Thebes being ransacked by imperial troops.'
‘Who are the Sebaus?'
‘I don't know. I'm telling you the truth, so don't threaten me with your master.'
‘But you must have suspicions?'
‘Yes, I do, and they are yours for a price.'
Shufoy opened his wallet, took out the piece of hard black rock and handed it over to the Scorpion; he seized it greedily, turning it over in his hands, banging it hard on the acacia-wood table before him.
‘Stone from the heavens,' he murmured. ‘I've heard of this, even owned a few splinters, but nothing as big as this. I'll talk to the merchants, those who've done business with the Hittites in the north. They talk of a new metal which can shatter bronze and copper. I would like to take this and smelt it, if I can, and see what happens. Is this payment?'
‘It's a gift.' Shufoy smiled. The black rock disappeared into the leather bag.
‘You've been to the Queen of Pleasure?'
‘You've heard about the hesets who disappeared from the Temple of Isis?'
‘Probably murdered,' the Scorpion scoffed. He turned to a side table, filled two goblets of wine and thrust one into Shufoy's hand.
‘Don't worry, it's not drugged.' He sighed and exchanged his for Shufoy's. ‘The temple girls haven't been murdered,' he whispered. ‘They've probably been kidnapped. Why is a mystery. If they were brought to me to sell to a pleasure house, I would curse and run like the wind.'
‘And the Sebaus?'
‘The problem is, Shufoy, no one knows who they are. Contrary to popular rumour, they are not another gang from the slums. They've emerged recently. They have assumed a name and receive orders from whoever controls them. More than that I cannot say, except for one thing. I would wager my best amethyst to a ruby that something, or someone, links them all together.'
‘What do you mean?'
‘They … all have something in common. You see, Shufoy, there are gangs in Thebes, guilds of assassins, usually they know each other, but the Sebaus are different. From what I've learnt, it's possible for a man to be a member but not even realise his brother also belongs to the same group. There will be ones more trusted than the others. They will be given a few names, told to gather at this place or that, carry out this task or that. I only wish they hadn't chosen to plunder royal tombs. I heard a Sebaus was captured, taken to the House of Chains?'
Shufoy described what had happened. The Scorpion nodded wisely, like some Priest of the Ear listening to the confession of a penitent.
‘It was the finger,' Shufoy declared, ‘which puzzled my master.'
The Scorpion stared at Shufoy and began to laugh. ‘Haven't you realised, little man, the Sebaus wasn't murdered, he committed suicide! Someone went down to the House of Chains.' He smiled at Shufoy's exclamation of surprise. “Think, little man, you are a prisoner. You are going to be handed over to the torturers to be questioned. Suddenly a severed finger appears in your cell, along with a dagger. I wonder whose finger they took: the Sebaus'wife, one of his daughters, perhaps a son?'
‘But how?'
Shufoy closed his eyes. He thought of that heavy wooden door and the narrow slats; the prisoner in his chains.
‘Of course,' he breathed. He recalled the door to the prison cell. No one had thought of looking for a gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. ‘The guard,' he whispered. ‘The guard on duty outside, he must have been bribed or threatened.'
The Scorpion grinned from ear to ear. ‘That's right, little Shufoy, welcome to the world of the Sebaus!'
KEFA: ancient Egyptian, ‘to uncover'
The guard from the Temple of Ma'at whom Amerotke had questioned regarding the mysterious death of the Sebaus felt secretly relieved to be taking the assassin's corpse down to the Place of Slaughter near the Wall of Death which overlooked a desolate stretch of the Nile. The corpse had lain in the cell until Captain Asural decided to have it thrown into the crocodile pool before it began to stink. The cadaver, now bound in sheepskin, so as to inflict further indignity, was dragged on a hurdle drawn by two oxen through the Gate of Anubis and down through the city. An executioner walked either side, macabre in their black leather tunics, jackal masks covering their faces; a third one led the oxen, now and again prodding them on with a jab from a goad. A few of the curious watched it pass; most city dwellers believed such processions to be accursed and unclean. They hastily drew aside and the executioners were soon out of the city, going down into the dusty palm grove, following its winding path.
The inhabitants of Thebes regarded this entire area as a place of abomination to be avoided at any cost. At the far end of the grove, rising above the trees, was a crumbling limestone wall which stood on top of a bluff overlooking the lush papyrus groves and the crocodile pool, a place where the river monsters gathered to feast on what was thrown
there. No one knew who had built the wall. The ancients said it was the great Pharaoh Ahmose, many years ago, when he had launched his attack on the Hyksos, those invaders of Egypt, during the Season of the Hyaena. The wall soared six yards high, with steps cut into the land side. The condemned were often hung there until the ropes rotted and the remains fell for the crocodiles to finish. Sometimes the mercy of death was withdrawn and criminals were hung alive. It was not unknown for a crocodile to reach up and snatch a body from its gibbet.
The guard noticed how silent the grove had become. No birds clustered there, probably because the pool which had once bubbled in the centre had either dried up or been deliberately dammed. It was like some eerie mausoleum, a place haunted by ghosts, which was why the executioners wore masks, and why the guard had also been given one, to conceal his face lest the demons recognise him. He hadn't worn his, however, but had hung it on the end of the hurdle so that he could sweat more easily and breathe the early-morning air.
The guard was truly frightened. He had enjoyed working in the Temple of Ma'at until that visit by his cousin a few days previously. Cousin was always welcome, a veteran of the Osiris regiment who had won the collar of valour and fought under the standard of General Omendap. He'd plucked the guard by the sleeve of his tunic and invited him down to one of the riverside beer shops, where he had plied him with beaker after beaker, making sure his platter was piled high with delicious spiced quail. Cousin had reminded him how he had recommended him to General Omendap for the post at the Temple of Ma'at, and how he would always look after his career in the service of the temple. The guard, half drunk, had nodded in agreement. The evening had worn on. Cousin had raised the problem of the tomb robbers. He had been loud in his condemnation but claimed there were two women who, unlike the rest,
had received a commuted sentence. Only then was the pouch slipped across the table.
‘Everyone drinks water.' He smiled. ‘Just make sure that's mingled in it.'
The guard had opened the pouch and sniffed the acrid smell. He was about to object, but Cousin had filled his beaker again, edging closer to explain how the women were liars and daughters of liars. They would try and implicate innocent men, good comrades, former veterans, and that wasn't fair, was it? The guard had taken the pouch and the quarter of ounou of silver, any doubts overcome by his cousin's promises of more and the heady prospect of further promotion. Cousin had winked and tapped the side of his nose.
‘You're doing what's right,' he urged, ‘and you will make very good friends.'
Now the guard sighed so noisily that even one of the executioners stared at him. Well, he had done it. That silly bitch who had murdered her companion had almost upset matters, but when she was taken up for questioning, the guard had realised water would be needed and had made sure the powder was mixed into the jug before it was taken in. Afterwards he had almost been sick with fright. He hadn't realised Chief Justice Amerotke, not to mention Lord Valu, had also been in the cell. What if they had drunk from the water? The guard had been too terrified even to tell his betrothed.
He had thought it was the end of the matter until that assassin had been brought in and he was chosen to share guard with Captain Asural. Once again his cousin had appeared, just before noon, offering bribes, but this time he was more menacing, pointing out that he had already killed once, so why not again? There would be more silver given and guaranteed promotion before the end of the year. Cousin had even made a veiled threat against the guard's betrothed; that had settled matters. He couldn't refuse. In
the early evening he had met his cousin and taken the severed finger and that needle-thin dagger. He knew what was being planned; just a look at that bloody stump convinced him. He had studied the cell door and found the gap between the floor and the wood wide enough for both the dagger and the severed finger. He had waited until the corridor was empty and used the tip of his spear to push both towards the prisoner. The assassin had remained quiet. He had, eventually, cried a little, a low, heart-rending moan, before plucking up the dagger and taking his life. Afterwards the guard had taken a vow to Ma'at. He told his cousin that was enough. Once the corpse was disposed of at the Place of Slaughter, he'd never allow Cousin to pluck him by the sleeve again.
The guard looked up. They were close to that forbidding wall, its crumbling steps covered with lichen and moss. The oxen stopped. One of the executioners unhooked the goat skin full of animal blood which he would first sprinkle over the wall to attract the beasts. The guard dropped his spear and shield. He was about to crouch down and rest when the figures came slipping through the grove behind him. A rustle in the undergrowth betrayed their approach. One of the executioners spun round in alarm; after all, this place was haunted. The guard looked over his shoulder, fear freezing his body sweat. Five men, all garbed in black, each carrying a heavy Syrian bow, arrows already notched. The guard died first, then the attackers turned on the executioners. One took off his mask and tried to flee through the grove. The assailants killed him, and the other two. Then they took the skin of blood, raced up the steps and sprinkled it wildly, splattering the rocky ground which stretched down to the river and that lush papyrus grove where the water bubbled and cruel snouts hovered just above the surface. Finally they tossed in the bodies of their victims, whilst that of the assassin was cut from its shameful canvas covering and carried away.
 
 
By the time Shufoy reached the House of Chains beneath the Temple of Ma'at, the news of the massacre at the Place of Slaughter was common knowledge. Shufoy found Captain Asural praying for the victims in one of the small temple shrines.
‘Very little,' the captain declared, coming out and wiping the ritual dust from his forehead, ‘very little was found of them: a skull and a few bones.'
‘What are you talking about?' Shufoy asked.
‘Isn't that why you are here?' Asural demanded, ‘the Place of Slaughter?'
Shufoy shook his head in bewilderment, so Asural briefly explained what had happened. Shufoy groaned and described what he had discovered. Asural sat down at the bottom of a pillar and put his face in his hands.
‘You're saying the guard, the one who was murdered this morning, was responsible for the death of the assassin? But he was one of my most trusted men.'
‘And he also killed the woman Sithia.' Shufoy muttered.
Asural found this difficult to accept, so Shufoy insisted they both return to the cell where the assassin had been held. Shufoy, crouching down, peered through the gap at the bottom of the door.
‘We wouldn't have noticed it at night,' the dwarf exclaimed. ‘Now I do. It's obvious. Look, the central paving stone even dips a little.'
Asural fetched the dagger and a peg of wood about the same thickness as the finger. Shufoy showed him how they could both be pushed under and, using his long Libyan dagger, moved them even further so that they fell within the reach of the prisoner.
‘The assassin was being warned.' Asural grasped Shufoy, getting to his feet. ‘That finger was removed from a wife, a sister, a child, a lover. The assassin was not meant to be taken as a prisoner or to be questioned. He was invited to take his own life, and yet,' he scratched his head, ‘they came
back for his corpse, as if that was part of the arrangement, to receive an honourable burial.'
‘And the guard?' Shufoy asked.
‘A former soldier. He served in one of the city garrisons and did good work out in the Red Lands. Like me, he was recommended to this post by General Omendap. What's happening here, Shufoy?'
‘I don't know.' The dwarf walked to a side door of the temple and stared at the elaborate carvings on a pillar. ‘I truly don't know, but I'm sure my master will.'
 
Amerotke's anger at Shufoy's abrupt departure from the mansion soon disappeared as the little man knelt on a cushion in his writing office and told him all he had learnt. The judge was still angry and disappointed at the assassin's death, yet he openly wondered if the Sebaus had not made a mistake.
‘They killed their comrade,' he declared slowly, ‘then stole his corpse for burial. They also used that guard.'
‘Couldn't he have been one of them?'
‘I doubt it.' Amerotke shook his head. ‘My impression is that the guard was either bribed or threatened, but later killed because he couldn't be trusted. We must concentrate on that.' He patted Shufoy on the head and handed him a goblet of wine. ‘And it was good of you to barter your rock.' Amerotke smiled. ‘I shall not forget that. Now, let's go back to the Queen of Pleasure. She's steeped in villainy and knows what could happen. I agree with her, and the Heret, that those four hesets were not murdered. If they had been, their corpses would have been found. The same is true if they had fled: one of them would have been discovered. So, let's argue that they were kidnapped. The first question is why, and the answer is simple: a virgin, soft-skinned, well fed and pampered, would command a high price in the flesh market. But a heset is consecrated to the Goddess. If anyone was found
selling or buying such a girl, both they and their family would face excruciating and humiliating punishment. The girls would have to be transported to some other city, yet I doubt if they would remain silent. One word and their captor, as well as any who supported them, could face death by impalement or burning alive in a bush.'
‘Nevertheless, you believe they were kidnapped?'
‘Yes, Shufoy, I do, but why and what has happened to them remains a mystery.'
‘And their kidnapper, possibly Mafdet?'
‘Possibly,' Amerotke agreed. ‘He was Captain of the Temple Guard, a man who liked to flirt with the ladies - but how would he get them out of the temple? Why would they go so quietly? Who would receive them?'
‘Mafdet may have been a member of the Sebaus,' Shufoy argued. ‘Again we have no proof. It's possible they killed him, burnt his house and left that scarab as a signature of their work. But there again we must ask the question, why? More importantly, what would the Sebaus need with temple girls? They are not pimps. Unlike the Queen of Pleasure, they do not run a brothel. They are more interested in the treasures of the dead.' Amerotke tapped his foot on the ground. ‘And even if it was Mafdet, he apparently did what was asked, so why should the Sebaus kill him?'
‘Perhaps his murderer was someone else in the temple?'
‘Again,' Amerotke smiled, ‘the question is, who? According to all the evidence, and I have no reason to disbelieve it, Impuki, Lady Thena and Paser were busy in a meeting the night Mafdet died. Anyone can take a sleeping draught, put it in a jug of beer and wait for the drinker to become vulnerable. We also know that the High Priest, his wife and adopted son were talking to us the night Mafdet's house was burnt down.'

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