Secret of the 7th Scarab (The Mummifier's Daughter Series Book 4) Read online

  The Secret of the 7th Scarab

  Nathaniel Burns

  Heiken Marketing

  Copyright 2014 by Nathaniel Burns

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed "Attention: Permissions Coordinator," at the address below.

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  Publisher's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Other Books in This Series

  The Mummifier's Daughter

  Princess of Egypt

  The Curse of Anubis

  Chapter One

  The guards on either side of the embossed doorway inclined their heads in greeting as Neti passed through the main entranceway to the assembly room. Her heart was pounding as she stepped into the seemingly empty room. The uncharacteristic and eerie silence that filled the room was not lost to her, as she could not once remember entering Ramesses' assembly room without some heated debate or discussion being underway.

  The heavy gilded doors closed behind her and she turned around, searching the darkened corners of the room, but found nothing. Halting in the middle of the room, she tried her best to still the trepidation that filled her, wishing either Shabaka or Moses were there with her. Moses had gone in search of Shabaka and although she had wanted to join him, she got the distinct impression from Moses that she would not like the places he would search. Thus, she had headed to the palace instead.

  The periodic tap of a walking staff, followed by the rustle of grass sandals scraping on the stone floor drew her attention to where Ramesses, leaning heavily on his stick, appeared. His stride was slower than usual, stiffer, and for the first time his age resonated.

  "My lord, you have called," Neti said, lowering onto her knee as he neared.

  "My child, rise up," Ramesses said, however his voice was strained and held a note of concern. "Where is Shabaka?"

  "Moses has gone to find him. He told me that your summons was urgent."

  "Yes, my dear, it is," Ramesses replied, as he moved over to his throne. "But first let me sit down, the events of the last few days have caught up with me. I am surprised to see you so well recovered this morning."

  "Thank you, my lord."

  "You young ones always recover from these events quicker than I do," Ramesses bemoaned, "What I would not give to be young again; the feats I could then still accomplish."

  Neti, uncertain as to how to address the matter, simply looked at the pharaoh as he carefully lowered himself onto his throne.

  "But then, my dear, I did not call you here to listen to the ramblings of an old man," he continued once seated. "As you know, I will be leaving tomorrow, once all the captives have been secured on a bark. I again thank you for your assistance with this matter."

  "I did not do it alone," Neti replied.

  "Of that, my dear, I am well aware. But you are an important part of the team and I would like to acknowledge the training you have done with Moses. I received counsel from the priests of Deir-el-Bahari that you not only taught him the skills of reading the dead, but also the respect that should be bestowed to those passing to the afterlife."

  Neti blushed. "It was nothing my father would not have insisted on."

  Ramesses nodded, "You father was an honorable man, and he has raised an honorable daughter."

  "Thank you, my lord."

  Ramesses looked around the room, his brow furrowing, "I wonder what is taking your companions so long?"

  A few moments later Moses burst through the door, breathing heavily, "My apologies, my lord," he managed to get out between breaths. "I could not find Shabaka; he was not at the barracks or at the guardhouse. I have requested that the guards notify him of our meeting the moment they see him." Moses said, as he again closed the door, lowering onto one knee. Ramesses gestured with his hand that he was to rise, to which Moses complied and then approached the throne.

  "Thank you, Moses. It seems I will have to start without him. I am pressed for time as several of the elders want an audience with me before I leave, and you know how tedious they can be," Ramesses said, looking at Moses, who nodded in reply.

  "During my visit to Queen Nefertari's tomb, it came to my attention that her golden heart scarab is missing." Even though Ramesses spoke calmly, there was an obvious strain in his voice, indication of his barely contained anger.

  "What!" Moses and Neti both exclaimed in disbelief.

  "I have not told the medjay or any of the elders. In my years I have learned that it would only result in everyone claiming to have found it," Ramesses calmly spoke.

  "But a golden heart scarab?" Neti asked bewildered.

  "Yes, my child, I know you are familiar with the funerary scarabs, therefore you will understand the significance of a golden scarab."

  Neti nodded in response and Moses looked with uncertainty at her, asking, "Is there something I should know?"

  Neti turned to look at him, "Heart scarabs are traditionally carved from stone. Each one is unique, with the name of the person it has been made for chiseled on the underside. The process of making theses scarabs is listed in Section 30b of the Book of the Dead. These scarabs prevent the heart from speaking against the person during judgment. Golden scarabs are unique, for not only do they carry the name of the person that has passed into the afterlife, there is a series of chants that are spoken while they are made. These are repeated during the opening of the mouth ceremony to create a curse on anyone who removes or handles the scarab after it is placed with the mummified remains."

  "I have not seen you handle such a scarab," Moses countered.

  "It is not part of my practice. I only place the small funerary scarabs or amulets among the final layers of bandages. The heart scarab is commissioned by the family and handed to the high priest before the opening of the mouth."

  "I see," Moses replied doubtfully. "But if this scarab inflicts a curse, then it is fair to assume that whoever took it would be easily identified—for he would be affected by this curse."

  "That is a reasonable assumption to make," Ramesses said. "Only I have no idea as to when it was taken. This person could long since have fled the Thebian valley, possibly before the curse even took full effect."

  "That means this scarab could be anywhere," Moses replied.

  "I am aware of this. I had, however, hoped that Neti and Shabaka, having dealt with jewel thieves, would have some idea as to how to go about looking for such a scarab."

  Neti silently contemplated for several moments before Moses asked her "What's on your mind?"

  "I think the most obvious action would be for the thief to have the scarab recast, but none of the craftsmen in Thebes would touch a heart scarab—especially if it bore Nefertari's name. They would know that it carries a curse. In all likelihood the person who took it would seek someone outside the city, possibly outside the valley to recast it."

  "But you think it will be possible to find it?" Ramesses asked hopefully.

  "There might b
e craftsmen we could question, those who would know of others willing to perform such tasks," Neti replied, nodding. "But it does not mean we would be able to recover it. Whoever took it could have fled across the desert before the curse took hold."

  "If that were the case, then the artifact could be lost in the desert," Moses spoke up.

  Neti nodded in reply, "Which will make it difficult, if not impossible to find."

  Just then the doors to the hall opened. They all turned in expectation of seeing Shabaka enter the room, only for a guard to step inside as an escort to a messenger.

  "I said that no one was to disturb us," Ramesses loudly chided the guard, who flinched at the pharaoh's harsh tone, although he still lowered to one knee before speaking; the messenger following suit.

  "My lord," the guard hesitantly spoke up, "this messenger bears news of Shabaka."

  Neti looked the messenger over and a tightening sensation overcame her heart, when Ramesses, his hand indicated them to rise, irritably demanded, "Well, speak up!"

  The man was dressed in tatters, the dirt streaks on his body made him far more likely to be a slave than a true messenger. He hesitantly looked around the room and swallowed, all of which rendered Neti even more nervous about the news he was to deliver.

  Moses addressed the man in Hebrew and the man rapidly replied to him. His body language becoming more agitated with every word he spoke. Neti noticed the frown that formed on Moses' forehead before he asked another question.

  The man answered, and Neti swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat as Moses turned toward them with a confused expression on his face.

  "What is it?" Ramesses demanded.

  Moses at first shook his head before doubtfully replying, "He claims that Shabaka has been abducted."

  "What?" Neti asked in disbelief, turning toward the messenger.

  "He was sent," Moses gestured to the man, "to inform us that Shabaka is being held captive."

  "Who?" Ramesses demanded.

  Moses looked toward Neti, "That is the confusing part. The messenger said something about your husband seeking recompense for your disobedience."

  "You are married?" Ramesses asked in disbelief, but then immediately countered, "But I was told you are unmarried."

  "And so I am," Neti firmly replied, turning to Moses. "What does Ma-Nefer want this time?"

  "Ma-Nefer?" Moses replied in shock. "Why do you think it is him?"

  "He is vindictive enough to do such a thing. Besides, he is the only one who would claim I was to be his bride and that he is owed compensation for my refusal to marry him."

  "Was he not one of the men involved with the theft of the jewels?" Ramesses asked.

  "Yes, my lord. He is the merchant who oversaw the movement of the jewels from within the city. He escaped capture."

  "His property and slaves were then confiscated and used to repay his debts," Moses said.

  Neti could see Moses' concern, knowing that his thoughts had in all likelihood shifted to Yani. Neti nodded in agreement, but asked, "What does he want?"

  "The messenger said that he would send a scroll with his demands. He was only sent to inform us that if we fail to comply, Shabaka would receive the same treatment as his slaves."

  A jolt shot through Neti, her entire body turning cold as she looked toward the slave, who lowered his head. She only too well remembered what Thoth's body looked like after Ma-Nefer had gone into a rage. She knew him to have a bad temper and Thoth had always served as his whipping boy. With Thoth and the others gone, she could only imagine what Shabaka could be in for, regardless of the fact that Ma-Nefer disliked Shabaka and her for what they had reduced him to. Whichever way she thought about it, it did not bode well for Shabaka.

  "Neti?" Ramesses questioned, causing her to look at him. "You know this man?"

  "I know him to be a cruel and vindictive man, who governs his people with the threat of a lashing," Neti replied, her voice laced with fear and anger.

  "And this is what you fear for Shabaka?" Ramesses coaxed.

  Neti nodded her head in reply.

  To that, Ramesses looked at the messenger, while addressing Moses. "Tell the messenger that his message has been delivered and heard. You can also tell him to convey to the sender that I await these requests, and that if he has inflicted any harm on my prefect I will personally see him fed to the lions."

  Moses nodded and translated it for the slave. They watched as the man left with the guard.

  Chapter Two

  Shabaka stirred, his body protesting every movement. The skin along his back stung and burned, its intensity increased with the slightest shift he made. He was stripped of his sash and anything that could identify him as one of the pharaoh's men, something that had occurred before he had lost consciousness. A woman had given him the barest of loincloths, which ended high on his upper thighs. Strangers had groped and prodded his aching body. His hands were still bound with a crudely fashioned rope that cut into his wrists whenever he tried to move.

  Grunting, he shifted onto his side and tried to straighten his stinging legs, however, he found the pain unbearable, as his back and thigh muscles protested even the slightest movements. The rank scent of stale body odor filled the air surrounding him and he sensed that he was not alone; however, he could not see anyone. For a moment he thought he was in a darkened chamber and again tried to move, only to feel a hand softly land on his shoulder

  "Lie still," a woman's voice commanded. "You will only pull open the wounds on your back."

  Shabaka tried to find to whom the voice belonged, but instead heard a murmur of voices. The hand on his shoulder remained and, as comforting as the touch had been at first, he wished that whomever it belonged to would remove it, for it felt as if she was pushing down and the touch was extremely painful.

  "They beat him up bad," he heard one man say, and again heard some shuffling around him, the rank scent increasing.

  "What did he expect? You do not cheek your owner," another hacking voice said.

  "Is it dark here?" Shabaka asked in alarm. He could not make out anyone, could not seem to see anything.

  "Crazy, that is what he is," the hacking voice once again professed. "It is the full of day and he thinks it is night."

  "Hush, you old fool," the woman softly spoke.

  "And now I am the old fool!"

  "When last were you beaten as badly?"

  "I am not foolish enough to incite my owner's rage."

  "Yes, but foolish enough to end up here," the woman harshly spit out. "So do not think that you are any better off than he is, you could end up with such an owner."

  The man remained quiet after that, and the woman softly spoke to Shabaka, "You must have angered your owner a great deal for him to beat you so badly. It is midday; your eyes are swollen shut. It is best not to try to open them." The woman said and then remained silent for some time. However Shabaka could feel her carefully pressing against his skin in places. "It does not make any sense. You are a strong slave, there would have been no reason for anyone to beat you like this . . . unless you tried to seduce one of your owner's women, and he caught you."

  Shabaka thought about answering but instead remained silent, for he had no idea as to how best to respond to her. He did not know her or any of the others present and could not even look on their faces to determine whether she or the others were sincere in their intent, even though her actions seemed to be.

  "Where did you come from?" Shabaka managed to ask, although his voice was hoarse.

  He felt her hand stiffen on his shoulder at that and wondered whether it was wise to ask too many questions.

  "Where I come from no longer wants or needs me, so I am to find a new owner."

  Shabaka felt a scowl form on his face, only the pain that arose from the action stopped it.

  "They must have hit your head too hard?" the one with the hackling voice said, before continuing, "This is Apisit Ripisit's holding chamber."

  Shabaka wondere
d whether the name should mean anything to him, but he could not remember any place within Thebes with such a name. "I have never heard of this place."

  "It is where they send slaves whose owners no longer require them or have used them up. If we are lucky, we will be sold or traded."

  "And if not?" Shabaka asked.

  "We do not talk of that."

  Shabaka again tried to move, but hissed as his whole body tensed in response. He had heard of such places, large trading yards where slaves were exchanged and sold, although did not know that Thebes had such a place anymore. The original need coincided with large construction projects.

  "Why are you here?" Shabaka asked no one in particular, however the woman moved closer.

  "I am too old for my lady—her clients prefer younger girls," the woman softly but flatly replied.

  "They do not whip you then?" Shabaka asked, trying to open his eyes. He needed to know his surroundings; needed to see those to whom he spoke.

  "I know my place. I am not foolish enough to challenge them. Besides, they know I will be worthless if I am marked, which is why I cannot understand why they have beaten you so badly. It will only tell your future owner that you are a difficult slave and he will not pay much for you."

  "I am not a slave," Shabaka firmly countered. "I am the pharaoh's prefect, Shabaka."

  "Sure you are, and tonight we will all have meat and lighten our hearts with wine," one of the nearby men jousted.

  "Your mind is addled, which is possibly why they have beaten you so much, needing to get such a silly notion out of your head," another bitter voice added.

  "Gospgh, be quiet, you old fool!" one of the others commented. "You only seek a beating for yourself."

  "He be the son of the Nubian king," the malicious voice continued. "If that were the truth we would again be at war with the Nubians. I have heard nothing of such a war."