The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle (13 page)

Huni lowered his voice. “It is a pit of blackness, broken by the glitter of eyes.”

Khonsu folded his arms, remembering the charioteer he had glimpsed in the night, going along the crest of the hills north of the city. “And why does he appear?” he asked.

“Who can say?” Huni replied. “Some say he's searching for aid that never comes. He looks north, always north, and over the sound of the wind you can hear him wailing in despair.”

XX

“Very affecting,” said Lord Nebamun late that afternoon after he had heard Perineb's report of their journey to Khebet. Khonsu caught an uncharacteristic ring of sarcasm in his voice. “What is this ghostly fellow trying to do? Did Huni say?”

Seti shook his head. “Huni tells us he's trying to save his father. 'Crying most piteously for assistance that never comes'.”

“Touching,” Nebamun said. His brows drew together. “You'd think the ghost would be smart enough, if he knows his father needs help, to be seen, rather, at his father's side.' He added, “But perhaps Huni's near-sighted.”

Khonsu examined his fingertips. “His description was careful,” he said. “Right down to the details of his horses.”

“What does he drive? Matched sorrels?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Perineb replied.

“I see,” Nebamun said. “I had better post a guard around my team, then, or else risk them being stolen and having Huni claim they were abducted by this ghost.' His frown deepened. “But Mayor Huni's rather cool-headed,” he said. “Confronted by a weird, wailing apparition, with all his friends scampering back to Khebet in mortal terror, he apparently paused to take notes.”

Seti's choke of laughter was hurriedly changed to a cough.

Khonsu smiled.

“So this phantom wails,” Nebamun said at last. “It doesn't sound so dreadful, unless you're a musician and the specter is completely tuneless. Very well, Commander: what does this fool of a mayor say happens next?”

“The ghost covers his face with a shriek-”

Nebamun's brows lifted again. “I thought Huni said the fellow was faceless.”

Khonsu's voice was beginning to quiver. “-crumples to his knees-”

“Better and better,” Nebamun said. “He must be driving a big Hittite rig. He'd fall out of one of our chariots if he went to his knees.”

“-and vanishes,” Khonsu finished, careful not to look at Seti.

“Leaving his horses behind without a driver,” Nebamun said. “Do they stampede? Or do the horses scream and vanish as well?”

“Huni didn't say,” Seti replied.

“I see,” said Nebamun. “Upon coming encountering you, the ghost claps its hands over what passes for its face, shrieks and vanishes. It seems rude but pointless. Whatever does he do it for?”

“Huni says he's learned of his father's death,” Seti said.

Nebamun hooked a finger about the gold chain that circled his neck and drew the carnelian udjat amulet up. “His father's death?” he repeated. He looked down at the amulet with an odd quirk to his mouth and began to laugh.

The full-throated sound was contagious.

Seti was beginning to smile widely. “That's what he told us, Your Grace.”

“And this fearsome specter has the entire town of Khebet terrorized,” Nebamun said, wiping at his eyes with quivering fingertips. “A creature that moans, wails, covers its eyes, shrieks, falls to its knees, and then disappears. It seems a silly ghost. Does it cause any harm after it screeches and vanishes, pray?”

“Huni seemed to think the wailing and shrieking were enough,” Khonsu said.

Nebamun looked over at Perineb. “Your Reverence is silent,” he said. “Does this dreadful ghost have you frightened?”

Perineb smiled and shook his head. “I would think it piteous-if I believed it existed. I certainly wouldn't be afraid of it.”

Nebamun was still chuckling. “I should think the greatest danger any ordinary mortal could possibly fear from this idiotic apparition is that he might split his sides laughing,” he said. He considered and then added judiciously, “Or maybe soil his linen, if he was taken unawares.”

The comment led to a fresh gale of laughter. Nebamun drew a deep, shaking breath. “Well, then,” he said. “Since Huni knows so much about this ghost's history, perhaps he has given it a name.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” said Seti.

Nebamun looked down at his fingers. The chain was twined through them like a game of cat's cradle, the pendant dangling between his thumb and forefinger. “Tell me,” he said.

“Huni says it is Neb-Aten,” said Seti. “He was the nephew of the heretic, Akhenaten, and the son of Nakht, the Vizier.”

Lord Nebamun's gaze seemed to shorten, as though he were gazing at something standing directly before him. His faint smile hesitated, then deepened as he let the amulet fall against his breastbone. “Neb-Aten,” he said. The name was spoken slowly, as though it were moving into being through a mist of years.

“Nakht died in this city, didn't he?” asked Khonsu.

Nebamun sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “Yes,” he said. “He did.”

Seti shook his head. “I've heard a great deal about Nakht,” he said. “He was an able and intelligent man, but he served the wrong king, and once the king was gone, who was there to blame but his closest servant?”

Nebamun was silent.

“Nakht deserved a better lord,” Seti said. “To serve a master who lounges limply in a chair, smiling weakly upon cringing courtiers, cuddling his children in his lap while his empire crumbles around him-'

“You have children, I believe, General?” Nebamun said slowly. “And a large family?”

“Why-yes, Your Grace,” Seti replied, flashing him a surprised look.

“How would you behave if within less than two years you lost four beloved daughters, a son, a grandchild, a wife whom you treasured, and your mother, whom all revered as a great woman? And if those losses were followed by a string of deaths among your friends and close kinsmen, what then? Would you go striding about your business? Or would you remain where you are, huddled in upon yourself, wondering when the next blow will fall? For that is what happened to Akhenaten, and it is a wonder, in the face of such a string of tragedies, not that he allowed matters to deteriorate as they did, but rather that they weren't allowed to deteriorate more.”

“I think we have Prince Nakht to thank for that,” Seti said. “My father has often spoken of him. A powerful prince and a great man, he said. I met him, but I remember little about him. Now his family is gone as well.”

“Yes,” said Nebamun. “They're all dead. Neb-Aten was his only child. We were the same age. He was as foolish and headstrong as his father was wise and noble. He had nothing to recommend him but a pretty face.”

Nebamun's vehemence made Perineb raise his eyebrows. “A man may change over the years, Your Grace,” he said with quiet firmness. “He might have become like his father in all respects.”

Nebamun looked at Perineb for a long moment and then shook his head. “Not him.”

Perineb only smiled at him.

“Your Grace is too severe,” Seti said firmly. “My father liked Neb-Aten, and he respected him, too.”

“It is good of you, General, to speak in defense of one you didn't know,” said Nebamun. “But I did know Prince Nakht's son. And that young fool is Huni's ghost. Not Akhenaten, who built this city and lost everyone he loved here. Not Prince Nakht, who was hounded into taking his own life here. Not all the other mighty ones who passed through here on the way to their deaths, from Prince Nakhtmin, Akhenaten's brother, to Queen Ankhesenamun, his daughter, murdered after she appealed to the Hittites for help. None of these have returned. Only an overgrown brat of a man who was scarcely great enough to fill a room with his personality while he lived, much less terrorize a city after he died. And such a ghost!”

Nebamun, laughing again, sat back and looked around at the others standing before him and staring at him. “Listen to me, all of you,” he said when he had caught his breath. “There is no ghost. But if one exists, then upon my life Neb-Aten, son of Nakht, son of Ahmose, poses no threat to anyone in this city, alive or dead. It is close to nightfall now. Huni says the ghost appears every night, patrolling the distant heights north of the city? Why do I get the feeling that we'll be seeing it tonight? Very well: I'll spend this night on the heights. I promise you all that this Neb-Aten won't come face to face with me, and I'll return in the morning unscathed and without fear. That should take care of that particular specter.”

Khonsu felt a thrill of alarm. “There may be no ghost, Your Grace,” he said. “But there might well be another explanation. I told you last night that my men have reported seeing a chariot patrolling the northern heights of the city.”

“And does the charioteer cover his face, shriek and vanish?” Nebamun asked with an amused smile.

“He drives away.”

“Not the ghost, then,” Nebamun said. “I'll do as I have said.”

“There are rich tombs north of the city,” Khonsu said. “Rich tombs-and possibly tomb robbers. You shouldn't tangle with their sort unless you have a strong force at your back. I can't say it strongly enough, Your Grace: stay in the city!”

“It's impossible,” Nebamun said. “I'll pass the night along the northern track. Neb-Aten's ghost can settle with any tomb-robbers there may be.”

“But Your Grace-' Khonsu began.

Perineb had been listening with a disapproving frown. “Your Grace is unwise to put yourself in danger,” he said. “If the Commander, who is familiar with this area and all its dangers, advises against it, then I'd listen to him. You're being irresponsible.”

“I am sorry to hear Your Reverence say so,” Nebamun said with an ironic bow. “But I repeat it: I won't be in any danger. You'll see.' His smile eased a little. “Send word to the stable-master: I want the sorrel team harnessed to my chariot at once.”

**   **   **

“I certainly
will
see that he isn't in danger!” Khonsu said through his teeth to Karoya later. “It's beyond me how such an intelligent and sensible man can step into a dangerous situation like this without turning a hair! And after he chewed out General Seti and me so thoroughly yesterday!”

Karoya watched him string his bow and then shake out his quiver full of arrows and frown at them. “He said clearly that he wants to go alone,” he reminded Khonsu. “We both saw a sample of his temper when he dealt with that idiot priest Seneb. I don't think I'd want to chance crossing him!”

“Don't worry,” Khonsu said, removing two flawed arrows from his quiver and replacing the rest. “I'll stay out of his sight! But I'm going to make certain no intruders go anywhere near him, ghost or not!”

“His Grace was specific in his orders,” Karoya said doubtfully. “I suspect he could make himself unpleasant if he knew you had disobeyed him. I hope you won't regret it.”

“So do I,” said Khonsu. “But I'd regret it more if His Grace were harmed in any way!”

“We'll see,” said Karoya. “I just hope you come out of this with your hide in one piece!”

Khonsu lifted an ironic eyebrow at him.

Karoya added, “Oh, by the way, Commander, this message came to you from Khemnu.' He offered the folded and sealed sheet of papyrus. “I suspect it's like the last one. I hope it's good news. It seems to be a regular thing now. Why don't you see about sending a reply?”

XXI  Along The Northern Track

The night was strangely restless, the heavy air murmured with the hint of a rising wind, as though a storm were approaching. The sigh of the breeze through the cracks and hollows of the surrounding cliffs seemed to bring the sound of distant voices. Khonsu had the eerie notion that if he only leaned forward and listened, he would hear what was said, and he was suddenly convinced that if he looked over his shoulder he would see Horus and Set towering above the earth, battling out the eternal conflict between loyalty and destruction.

He peered upward along the track.

Blackwing, the tall, white-footed stallion that had been trained to carry riders on his back, snorted and sidled for a moment before lowering his head to snuff at the path. He was a strong horse, as Neb-Iry had said; they had been circling north of the city for some time, crossing and recrossing the rough, rocky terrain, and he was showing no signs of fatigue yet, though he, too, seemed on edge.

It had been a mistake to come, Khonsu thought. He had no place in this unsettled, shifting night. No place, and yet he could not turn back, for he had to protect Lord Nebamun against whatever threatened. He settled himself more deeply in his saddle, took a steadying breath, and looked toward the bend in the path that overlooked the Nile. Khonsu had often paused to watch the river in the moonlight. But this night it was almost as though the Nile were actually made of silver, hard, gleaming and flat, strangely altered from the landmark he had loved all his life.

Khonsu began to shiver. He felt as though he were trying to swim in a murky river. It frightened him. Pressure seemed to be building at his temples and in his chest, making it difficult to breathe or to think. The murmurs grew into a roaring in his ears, too strange for him to bear. He should never have intruded. And Nebamun was alone in this.

The tension eased a little: he had someone to protect. Khonsu found he could breathe and hear again, and he was alone beneath a black sky blazing with stars, listening to the sound of approaching hooves. He turned Blackwing with the pressure of his knees and rode quietly behind an outcropping of rock, where he dismounted and hobbled the horse, his heart pounding.

The hoofbeats were slow and quiet in the nighttime stillness, underscored by the creak of leather harness. The sound approached Khonsu's hiding place, passed him, and continued toward the bend in the track that skirted the edge of the cliffs, where they came to a halt.

Khonsu heard the chime of the harness ornaments and the sound of one of the horses snorting and drawing its hoof slowly through the rocks and dust of the path. He peered cautiously around the rocks at the newcomer. A chariot stood just out of reach. Khonsu could see the driver clearly when he turned to look back along the track. He was a young man wearing the garments that a soldier would have worn twenty-five years before. A gold-mounted bronze plaque hung about his neck. Khonsu saw the names of King Tutankhamun molded on it. And the four-spoked chariot wheels were outdated, as well. These and a dozen other incongruous details grated on Khonsu's mind, bringing the strangeness crowding back upon him like a wall of smoke, making his shoulders stiffen as he wondered if he had tumbled into a dream.

A chariot from twenty-five years before-driven by a man who gave ample proof of his mortality by suddenly sneezing as a swirl of wind spun dust into the air, and gave off the faint and mortal scent of healthy horseflesh.

Khonsu felt his shoulders relax. He drew a slow, eased breath. He had been right: there was no ghost. Living people were behind the “haunting', pursuing their own ends, probably smuggling or grave-robbing. It was all part of a plot that could be stopped. Khonsu's fingers eased on the reins and he watched the man. He carried no bow that Khonsu could see, and the only visible weapon was a knife at his belt. He debated in his mind whether he should speak now, or try to follow the man.

And then the hair at the back of his neck rose and his heart began to thud in his ears as he felt, without even a hint of doubt, the imprint of a new presence upon the night.

Why are you driving my chariot?

The voice seemed to roll through the cliffs with a note of thunder, though it was scarcely louder than the rising wind. Low and clear as a trumpet, soft as the sound of the wind, at once near and distant and terribly detached.

Blackwing snorted and shied. The sound sent the startled horses clattering sideways. The slap of leather mingled with hissed curses as their driver struggled to control them.

Khonsu spun around, trying to see who had spoken, but the rocky surroundings were as empty as the sky above him.

“Who's there?” the driver demanded. His face was pinched and white in the moonlight.

Why are you wearing my armor and my badge of rank?

“Who are you?” the driver demanded. His voice had risen slightly.

It was you who summoned me,
the voice said.
Don't you know me?

“I tell you, I don't know who you are!”

Then look at me and learn!
the voice commanded.

Khonsu's eyes flew up to the cliff that overhung the path and the figure that stood there, motionless in the wind that whipped about it.

Its form was that of a young man, as archaically armed and garbed as the driver. The moonlight picked out the gleam of gold at wrists and upper arms, shimmered along the finely pleated folds of a military kilt of royal linen, flashed from an archer's gold-mounted copper bracer and glinted from the bronze tips of a great, curving bow. The man's face was still and expressionless, the eyes pools of blackness set beneath straight, frowning brows.

The driver dragged in a loud, rough gasp that sounded as though it tore his chest. His hands tightened on the reins, sending his horses backing frantically toward the cliff. “Who are you?” he demanded.

I am the one whose tomb you rifled,
the other said.
The one whose name you caused to ring in infamy through these hills and throughout this land.

“Neb-Aten!” the driver breathed.

That is my name, and here I am. Now explain to me what you meant by calling me
!

“W-we meant no harm by it!”

Then tell me what you did mean!
The wind had heightened, straining the other's hair straight back from his face, whipping his kilt about his knees.

“It was just a prank!” the driver said.

Do you call it a prank to dishonor the dead? To lie and cheat and steal and murder?

“That was none of my doing!”

The question came back cold and harsh.
Wasn't it?

Khonsu, watching, felt his fear begin to fade even as his sense of strangeness grew. The threat was not directed at him: it was as though he were listening to a voice he had known long ago, or hearing a song that he had once sung, half-forgotten but somehow familiar.

The driver tried to gather the reins in his shaking hands.

Stay where you are!
the other commanded.
If you are to play my part, you must be prepared to feel what I felt and receive the payment that I received. You must feel the anguish of waiting day after day in vain hope. You must be torn between the fear of discovery and the determination to go ahead no matter what the cost, even if it be your honor and your life. You must be racked with the terror of flight, drown in the dread of a hunted thing hemmed in on all sides, seeking shelter. And you must see your friends revealed as enemies who sold you for gold. You must know the sudden, metallic taste of your own blood at the back of your throat as the hard, sharp, cold blade slides in beside your breastbone and brings you down into silence-

“No!”

-
where you open your eyes to the final nightmare of the place where there are no lies, where your heart and your soul are weighed and judged before the unblinking gaze of the terrible ones cloaked in lightning and crowned with flame-

Khonsu could hear the rasp of the driver's breath above the wind. “I tell you,
no
!”

-and you watch in helpless terror as your heart is balanced against truth and courage and honor, and the forfeit is the very life of your soul. If you can feel that horror and that grief as you patrol these paths and lie in wait for the fearful, gullible ones, then you can take my part and I can rest in peace. If not-

The driver's voice came rough and distorted. “What do you want with me?” he demanded.

Khonsu, listening, realized that the young man had reached the point where fear gives way to defiance.

You called me and I came,
the other said
. And now you and your fellow conspirators must deal with me. The murderer cannot escape retribution. Soon or late, in this world or another, the Avenger of Blood will always exact the blood-price. And Huni knows this.

“I don't believe in you!” the driver said with growing force. His horses sidled and stamped. “You're a fraud!”

Khonsu, eyeing the track, decided that the driver was probably weighing his chances of escape.

It is you who are the fraud,
the other said. His voice was still calm and imperious.
And the time has come to end it. Remove my plaque and drop it on the roadway. Then step out of my chariot and begone.
The voice paused as the night seemed to grow colder.
Or be prepared to pay the price.

The words were suddenly obscured by the clang of bronze upon rock, the crack of a whip and the rattle of chariot wheels upon rough road.

Halt!
the voice thundered.

The only sound was the diminishing clatter of the wheels upon the road. The musical twang of a bowstring was followed almost at once by a thud and a scream. Khonsu heard another twang followed by a horse's shriek that faded into the distance.

All was silent for a moment. Khonsu, gazing anxiously up at the man standing motionless on the rock, could feel the shadowed eyes turning toward him. His heart hammered at the back of his throat.

“And now it is your turn, O Watcher in the Shadows,” the man said. The ring of menace was gone from his voice; Khonsu could catch the hint of a smile. “Come where I can get a look at you. And bring that badge of rank with you.”

Khonsu took Blackwing's reins and obeyed. He paused to kneel and retrieve the plaque from where the driver had dropped it.

Footsteps approached him. When he straightened, he faced Lord Nebamun.

The illusion of youth was gone, but Nebamun was smiling as he unstrung and shouldered his bow. “I was wondering when you'd show up, Commander,” he said. “Since you're here now, you had best wait out the night with me. We can follow that fellow's tracks tomorrow and see what we find. Now come along and have some supper.”