Faster, faster, but take care . . .
One of the diggers stumbled on a threshold and his heavy basket lurched sideways, spilling a stream of gold. With a curse Sheftu was on his knees, scooping up chains and amulets, a fragile bracelet, a necklace ornamented with golden bees.
“Leave it!” gasped Djedet, himself snatching up a handful or two and stuffing them into the basket. “Leave the rest! Go on!”
Sheftu groped once more, swept a fortune into a fold of his cloak, and left another where it lay as he staggered to his feet. They fled on, past the pile of dismantled chariots and the great couches, away from the mysterious painted presences of the servants on the walls, through a corridor, around a murky bend. . . . The gloom swept closer suddenly, loomed like a monster over them. Sheftu stopped, unable to see the passage at his feet. All eyes went to the torch, just as the last flame sickened and dropped to nothing. A red coal glowed on for a moment, deepened to crimson as the swirling dark closed in, then died.
Blackness engulfed them.
CHAPTER 19
Fatal Mistake
The big common room of the Inn of the Falcon blazed with light and resounded to the usual clatter of crockery and conversation. Though it was well past midnight, Ashor was still waddling here and there with platters of stew and mugs of Kede beer, and the juggler’s balls wove a glittering pattern in the air before one of the larger and more boisterous cubicles.
Mara sat alone in the booth at the far corner, slowly twisting the ring which winked up at her mockingly from one finger. A cup of wine stood untouched on the low table before her; it was stale, and flecks of dust had gathered on its surface. She had been waiting for Sheftu since the mark of seven—five weary hours.
The torch flames dipped in a gust of air and she started up quickly, glancing toward the entryway door. But it was only Nekonkh who appeared there, for the third time in as many hours. She sank back upon her mat as he lumbered across the floor toward her.
“Seen naught of him yet, I suppose?” he grunted, sagging in the entrance to her booth. She shook her head, and he ran a hand wearily over his stubbly jaw and up under his wig. “By Amon, I’m about at the end of my hawser. He should have been back by—”
“Nekonkh, he’ll not come back! Something’s happened. I doubt we ever know what, but something’s gone wrong.”
“You mean to give up, do you?”
“I’ll wait a bit longer, but it’s folly. You know that.”
Nekonkh slapped his wig back into place and scowled down at her. “Perhaps I do, but he bade me stand by to sail sometime tonight, and the night’s not done yet. I’ll wager he’s not either. I’ve yet to see the snare Sashai can’t wriggle out of, one way or another—”
“Nekonkh, do you know where he is this time?”
The captain shook his head uneasily. “Nay, he doesn’t tell me everything, maid. I presume it’s dangerous.”
“Aye. It’s dangerous. He was ten thousand kinds of a fool to attempt such a thing, that’s how dangerous it is!”
“Aye, well, now don’t look so, little one. It may be all will come right yet. . . .” Patting her shoulder abstractedly, Nekonkh glanced toward the door. “I’d best be starting back. If he should come, with me not there to take charge of that cargo . . .”
He hurried away, his big shoulders drooping. The torch flames dipped once again as he went out.
Mara sat on, with her legs cramped and numbing under her, swirling the dusty wine in her cup. Finally she, too, rose, groped for her discarded sandals, and slipped them on. Then she flung her cloak about her and wandered slowly across the room. As she passed the fire pan, Miphtahyah’s thin, strong fingers reached out to clutch her arm.
“Where is he?” whispered the old woman fiercely. “You know, don’t you? Why is he so late?”
“Mistress, I can’t tell all I know. But only he knows what’s keeping him.”
“You could give me some notion, if you would! One word as to when he’ll be here—”
“I’ve told you I know not!” Mara jerked free. “It may be he’ll never be here! It may be—”
Something in Miphtahyah’s face cut her short—a curious puckering. She realized suddenly that the old woman’s eyes were glassy with tears. Mara bit her lip, and moving closer, touched the tense shoulder. “Mistress, my heart is with yours. I’d comfort you if I could.”
The unexpected sympathy was almost too much for Miphtahyah; she pressed a skinny hand to her lips, half turning away. For a moment painful to both of them, she struggled visibly to gain control of herself. Then her hand slid from her mouth down to her strange shell necklace, and her face settled stiffly into its usual network of wrinkles. “We will not give up, Blue-Eyed One. He will—come.”
“Aye, he will come.” The lie tasted bitter on Mara’s tongue. Turning abruptly, she went on across the room.
The courtyard was still empty of everything but moonlight, and even that seemed dim and spiritless. Mara stood on the doorstep a moment, with the torch sputtering behind her, then turned back into the inn. She would order a plate of stew, and if he had not come by the time she had eaten it . . .
Fool! she told herself angrily as she settled down again in her cubicle. Why do you keep hoping? He’s lost. You’ll never even know what happened.
She could not eat the food Ashor brought any more than she could answer the anxious, unspoken question in his face. She sat toying with the big chunks of meat. It mattered little, now, what she told her master. She would tell him everything. Without Sheftu, the king was ruined, no one else could possibly . . . Oh, mother of truth, why had she ever met him? For a moment she longed to turn time back, undo everything, even go back to the fluting irons and Teta’s familiar scolding.
She flung the spoon down, then stiffened, as a shadow fell across her. The juggler, Sahure, was leaning in the entrance to the cubicle, smiling his twisted smile. Three gilded balls circled furtively above his hand.
“Live forever, Face of the Lily,” he greeted her. “Thou’rt long alone tonight. Where is our friend Sashai?”
“I know not. Begone!” Mara picked up her spoon and started eating.
“Strange,” purred Sahure. “Often he comes here when you do not, but never before have I seen you, save at his side.”
Mara glared at him, but preserved a stubborn silence.
“The maid of mystery,” the juggler went on dreamily. “Invisible to poor mortals save in the hours of darkness, in this one spot. Where do you hide in the daytime, Eye of the Turquoise, that my heart is never gladdened by your countenance, whether in the marketplace or the villas of the Great Ones?”
“That is none of your affair!” Mara pushed her plate away, seething. “You take my appetite, juggler! Be off with you!”
He only smiled. With an air of pleasant leisure, he shifted his crooked body, and the balls danced lightly to the other hand.
“Aye, aye, one must be discreet. And you are the very flower of discretion, are you not, Lovely One? Not a word have you said about your troubles tonight, though it’s obvious they weigh heavy on you.” Suddenly he bent close to her, his breath in her ear. “Where is he? He is late. You may trust me, I’m in his confidence, like you—”
Pushing him away, Mara scrambled to her feet, swatting his golden balls in every direction and spitting a stream of invective which included several Babylonian phrases Inanni could never have heard of. “Get thee gone, I said, you son of forty devils! I’ll not listen to your cursed babble! Be off! Be gone!”
She broke off, breathless, aware that every head in the inn had whirled toward her. There was a pause; then Sahure picked up his gilded balls, and with a faint shrug, drifted away across the room.
Mara drew a long breath and eased down upon the mat. Trust that kheft-man? As well trust the red-haired Set himself! “It’s only curiosity,” Sheftu had said. “He’s loyal.” A
ye, perhaps! And perhaps his loyalty was not as freely for sale as onions in the marketplace, but she doubted it!
Still trembling a little, she watched him coolly begin his juggling again in another corner. Why, she reflected, should I not admire this rogue, instead of hating him? He seeks only to know which barrel holds the fish, and have I not always lived thus? Nevertheless, I do hate him, and what’s more, I’m afraid of him. . . . Ai, forget him, she told herself wearily. Forget all of it.
Nothing was to be gained by sitting here longer. She reached for her cloak and rose, moved for the last time through the din of tambourine and conversation and the thick smell of meat, into the chill fresh wind of night.
But this time the courtyard was not empty. Even as she left the torch behind and started across the dark pavements, she heard the click of the gate, and saw the tall, cloaked figure just inside it.
She stood one moment in startled disbelief. Then with a cry she darted toward him, stumbling on the uneven ground, reaching out to make sure . . . “Sheftu?” He was no wraith. He had come, he was here. She felt a relief so intense it made her almost dizzy. “Mother of truth, what kept you, what kept you? I thought you were dead!”
“So did I, little one,” he whispered.
He was leaning against the wall as if too weary to stand. She put out her hand to touch him, but hesitated, awe-struck by where he had been and what he had done since she saw him last.
“Sheftu, are you—well?”
“Aye, I’m well enough.”
“But something went amiss?”
“Everything! Mara—our torch burned out.”
“Burned out? Before you—”
“As we were leaving the inner chambers.”
Mara felt goose flesh crawl up her arms as the full meaning of that came home to her. “Osiris!” she whispered. She drew her cloak about her, shivering.
“We tried every passage—some of them twice, three times. Amon! It seemed years. We ended by stumbling on the right one. Sheer chance.”
It was a moment before she could make her mind go on to anything else. Then she lifted her head quickly. “But you were successful? You brought the gold?”
“All we could carry.”
“Then it’s done! It’s finished and over.”
“Aye. It’s finished.”
Mara drew a long, shaky breath. “And you’re back safe. Do you swear all’s well with you? Sheftu, come where I can see you. It’s so dark.”
“Dark? This courtyard dark? Merciful Amon! You know nothing of the dark.”
“Nay, perhaps I don’t. But I can’t see you.”
He was quiet a moment. Then he spoke in a different tone, very softly. “I can see you. As clear as in the sun.” He lifted one hand and touched her cheek, the lotus in her hair. Suddenly he pushed away from the wall and gathered her in his arms. “I believed I would never see you again,” he whispered. “For five hours I believed that. Ah, Mara, what a difference five hours can make in the way a man thinks!”
He’s going to kiss me, she thought, he can’t help it, he must, he must! “Sheftu,” she breathed. “It would have been hard, then, never to see me again?”
He twined his fingers in her thick hair and, pulling her head back, looked down into her face. Then, murmuring something under his breath, he set his mouth against hers, hard.
Triumph swept over Mara, giving way immediately to something so much stronger and deeper that every other reality dropped away. She found herself clinging to him fiercely, caught up in an emotion more compelling than any she had known. For once she did not plan or scheme or use her wits, since it was quite impossible. She did not even think.
It was a long time before he released her reluctantly and pulled her head onto his shoulder. The minutes went by, and Mara drifted back slowly to the ordinary Egyptian night, the courtyard—and cold reality. She was a little frightened. What was it that had happened, in the space of one kiss? This was not something she could play with as she chose. Nay, it was quite the opposite. . . .
His arms still held her. She became aware of them as a separate sensation, like the rough linen of his headcloth against her cheek, like the pebble pressing through the sole of her sandal. She stirred, and at once his arms tightened.
“Let me go, Sheftu, this is—”
“I’ll never let you go. Never.” He turned his head against hers, brushing his lips over her hair, her ear, across her cheek. “I love you, Mara.”
“Oh, Amon, I would that were true!” she whispered.
“It is true.”
For a moment of pure happiness she closed her eyes and let herself believe it. Surely he meant it. . . . Aye, he meant it—tonight. He had kissed her, he needed her—tonight. But tomorrow? She knew quite well how these things turned out. She opened her eyes. “Impossible,” she said bluntly. “You’re a great noble. A lord of Egypt.”
“None of that matters. Not after five hours in the dark.” He pushed her away enough to look at her, but kept tight hold of her arms. “I’m not speaking lightly, do you understand?”
“By tomorrow morning you’ll forget you spoke at all.”
His voice roughened. “I’ll not forget! I know what I want. Lotus-Eyed One, I’m weary of dueling with you. You’ll share my life, as long as it lasts—and such as it is. Is that clear enough?”
“Quite—clear. But you must be mad. Tomorrow—”
He seized her chin between thumb and fingers and twisted her face up to him. “Be quiet,” he whispered. He kissed her, at first gently, then again, not at all gently, and she gave herself up to it.
Never mind tomorrow, she thought. Never mind anything. . . . She was building dreams like palaces.
Sheftu loosed her abruptly and dropped both arms to his sides, moving away a step. “Little one, this must stop.” He drew a deep, irregular breath. “I still must show myself inside there, lest they begin to mourn me as dead, and you must get back to your boatman.”
“Aye,” said Mara shakily. The dreams were still there, turret on airy turret. “I hope he waited for me. Did you see Nekonkh?”
“Before I came here. He’s already off down the river with his passengers. As to the rest of it—” Sheftu moved closer, lowering his voice. “You must seek audience with the prince tomorrow.”
“Aye, Sheftu.”
“Tell him all’s well. The door’s plastered over and sealed as we found it, and the stones rolled back into place. The tomb has a second occupant now, but . . .”
“It has—what?”
He met her eyes in silence, and she shivered. “No matter,” he said quietly. “Mention none of that—naught about the torch or any problems. It’s done and finished. I want only to forget it. Tell him the gold’s hidden—safe at hand to pay our promises when the time comes. Aye, and tell him Count Kha-Kheper is one of us, I talked to him . . . Osiris! It was only this afternoon. It seems a year ago.”
“Ai, Sheftu, how tired you must be!” She reached out impulsively. “You’ll seek your couch soon?”
“Never fear!” He smiled, folding his hand over hers and pressing it tight, then tighter. “Mara,” he whispered.
Suddenly his face changed. He opened his hand and looked down at her finger. Too late, she was aware of the hard shape of the ring as if it were a circlet of fire burning into her flesh.
She could no more prevent her involuntary attempt to jerk away than she could break the iron grasp which suddenly held her. She stood paralyzed, as he slowly raised his eyes to hers. It was the dangerous Sheftu of old who stood there now.
“I am touched,” he said softly, “that you should treasure this little keepsake for so long.”
“You’re angry,” she breathed. “Oh, Sheftu, I should have told you long ago. The old man in Abydos would take naught for helping me. But I was afraid if I told you, you would make me give it back. . . .”
Thanks be to the gods, her voice was reasonably steady, for all she was giddy with fear. “It was stupid of me, perhaps wicked. Here, take it, Sheftu—”
“Nay, please!” He was silent a moment, then gently loosed her hand. “Keep it as a token of my—esteem.”
Mara tried to smile. Why did he stand there so still, just looking at her? He was thinking. Thinking what? She could never tell anything from that impenetrable face.
“I will, if you’re certain you wish it. . . . It has brought me luck all day. I think it bears a powerful charm. I wore it tonight to bring you back safe, and it may be that—”
“That I owe my life to it?” he finished smoothly. “Aye, perhaps you’re right, little one. Perhaps I do.” He straightened, deliberately relaxed, and smiled—warmly, intimately, as only he could smile. “I must leave you, Lotus-Eyed One, though tonight I confess I am especially loath to. Be here tomorrow, as soon after nightfall as you are able. It cannot be too soon, for me.”
How much of that was irony? He gave her no chance to find out, for he turned quickly, strode across the courtyard and through the inn door.
Mara stood motionless where he had left her. The moon inched imperceptibly higher in the night sky, and a little breeze sprang up to stir a fold of her sleeve. She shivered. Suddenly she tore the ring from her finger and hurled it with all her strength across the courtyard. Whirling, she started blindly for the gate, then slowed, then stopped. After a moment she turned back, searched carefully for the ring, and found it at last. A guttersnipe did not fling away a fortune, even to satisfy the wildest disappointment. Such gestures were for the rich and secure, whose airy palaces were real.
Tucking the ring into her sash, she hurried out of the courtyard and along the dark and evil streets to the river.
I am secure, she told herself. He believed me. Surely all is well. Could he have smiled like that if it were not?