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

  "Neti?" Moses questioned.

  "I think you are in for the silent treatment," Khabo said, as he moved to exit the tent.

  "But you're staying here?" Moses asked the man's retreating back.

  "Slaves eat outside," Khabo said, as he reached the door flap. "We also sleep outside, wouldn't want it to look otherwise."

  Moses turned to look at Neti, who had settled on the mat and started her meal.

  Shaking his head he moved to the side of the tent where she had placed his sleeping mat.

  "Khabo said to bury your valuables under your sleeping mat," Neti said, causing him to turn and look at her, noticing that she had not lifted her gaze from her bowl.

  "Are you going to be like this the whole trip?" Moses finally demanded.

  "Like what?" Neti challenged him.

  "This!" he said, gesturing toward her.

  "I might have to play the part of a wife. But that does not mean I have to like it or the treatment."

  "How does Shabaka manage it?" Moses asked no one in particular, before turning to move his mat.

  "What does that mean?" Neti was quick to demand.

  "Nothing," Moses was quick to reply.

  "Nothing! It did not sound like nothing!" Neti said, rising to her feet.

  Moses turned toward her, lifting his hands, his palms open, facing her. "Look, it has been a long day, let us just get some sleep."

  Neti glared at him through narrowed eyes before turning her back on him, "I will put out the light when I'm done.

  Chapter Ten

  Shabaka moved, wrestling the dead weight pressing on him. He opened his eyes, his mind foggy, as he tried to establish his whereabouts. His eyes felt scratchy and grainy, and he quickly closed them as tried to shift his hand, intending to rub his eyes, however, it too seemed trapped. He stilled his body and twisted his wrists; there was no piercing pain, thus no indication that they had been rebound.

  He remained silent and still for several moments, trying to establish where he was and if he was alone. His body felt heavy, but not as pained as it had the last time he had woken up in a foreign place. Uncertain whether his eyes were swollen shut or if it was dark he again tried to open them. The graininess returned with his sight blurry, however, he could make out enough to confirm that it was indeed dark and that he was surrounded by sand. He again closed his eyes and reassessed his body, moving different parts and feeling the sand shift, its weight lessening.

  He blinked several times, encouraging his eyes to well up and clear away the grit, not wanting to move too much, so he wouldn't give away that he had woken. His mind registered the coolness of the sand over him, leaving him to wonder how long he had been there and what had happened to the others. He had been tired when the storm had struck, had taken whatever precautions he could, but realized that he must have lost consciousness.

  Nothing moved or there were no sounds around him and he again tried to move. The landscape was dark, with only the slight sliver of moon illuminating the area. He knew that few would attempt to travel in such conditions, especially on the trade routes, as they would be more vulnerable to an ambush by thieves.

  He clenched his jaw and grunted, remembering the skirmish he had gotten into just as the storm had escalated. Gathering his strength he pushed against the sand, bracing on his hands and knees before straightening his back and looking around. The landscape was still, the sand undisturbed, although he could not see for any great distance. He looked up at the moon trying to establish what time it could be, but not knowing, he settled on his haunches.

  He looked down at the sand surrounding him and tapped the side of his body where his water skin had been. His skin burned at the touch and he lifted his arm to better assess its condition, although the heat and itchiness along his shoulders were indicative enough that he had seen too much sun.

  He bent toward the sand, his hands searching just below the surface for the water skin. After several moments his hand came into contact with something hard, which he immediately identified as the crate he'd been carrying. Shifting the sand, he despondently looked at it, wondering what he should do with it, or why they would leave it and him behind. Although he reasoned that with the sand covering him and the crate, they would have considered him dead, or they too might have succumbed to the storm, although seasoned travelers would be familiar with sandstorms.

  He thought about the afternoon's events and scanned the nearby area, looking for anything in the landscape, although he knew that the sand would have covered and rearranged everything. The men probably regrouped after the sandstorm and continued to the nearest oasis; although he was uncertain as to when that had been or which way they would have gone, for there were no visible tracks.

  His gaze returned to the crate before him and tempted as he was to discover its contents, he refrained. He would return it to Thebes, where the priests could tend to the matter and return the relics to their rightful owners, although he had no idea which way Thebes was. He looked at the sky, trying to determine a direction, although the moon's position had not shifted much since he had awoken. A cool breeze blew over him, his skin immediately prickling. He swallowed, only to find the action difficult, reminding him why he had been searching the sand.

  He resumed his search and sometime later his hands brushed the skin, having been buried much deeper than he had originally anticipated. He pulled it from the sand, dusting it off before pulling the stopper from the neck and lifting it to his lips. The water was surprisingly cool and he took several deep drags before checking himself, the cooling sensation was also welcomed by his stomach, but it also drew his attention to the burning sensation within. He needed to eat, and then had to figure out what he was going to do. Events had turned in his favor and whether it was because of the contents of the crate or the will of the gods, he was uncertain.

  The cool evening air brushed his skin and caused him to shiver, the coolness caused some of his back muscles to contract, causing his back to stiffen, the deep bruises aching. The cooling air was an indication that sunrise was not too far off, with the desert sands having cooled for most of the evening. He weighed his options and knowing it would be best to conserve as much body heat as he could, he started digging a hole in the sand to cover himself.

  He decided to check the area in the morning and then determine what he would do. There was no telling how far he was from water and a city. His thoughts lingered on the boy, wondering what would happen to him. He wondered if he should go on to find the city and the traders who were responsible for the stolen tomb artifacts, or whether he should try to return to Thebes. It had been something Ramesses had once mentioned to him—had requested him to look into when they had left the palace in Pi-Ramesses. It was also one of the reasons why the pharaoh had assigned Moses to him and Neti.

  Thoughts of Neti caused his mind to shift and he felt a band tighten around his heart. Because even though she had not flung herself at him, as so many others had on learning his birthright, she had not pushed him away either. Neti had always been patient and considerate, sometimes playful, but never demanding, and it confused him. He knew she was attracted to him, but she did not indulge in the teasing games other women resorted to.

  He had wanted to give her some time to get over the violent loss of her parents, but he felt that he had nearly lost her in the process. Then on her return from the palace, the citizens of Thebes had shown their true colors, for while she had been despised before, they now embraced her because she carried the rank of one close to the pharaoh. It had been a welcome change, especially after having witnessed the demeaning behavior she had been subjected to before.

  With her new rank came the inevitable interest of potential partners, something he was familiar with. There seemed little opportunity, outside their official duties, to really engage with her. And whenever things seemed to line up for them, the gods had other plans for him. And here he was again—in a precarious situation.

  Shabaka sometimes wished that he'd had the
opportunity to approach her parents, to discuss a bride price; at least that part of their culture was simple. It would have been so much easier. However, with them gone, she could decide for herself, could do as she chose, and he wanted her to be certain of her mind when she chose, she deserved to be happy.

  He shifted the sand over him again, a layer to assist maintaining his body heat. In the morning he would decide what to do; until then he needed to regain his strength.

  * * *

  As the sun rose over the Thebian valley, Ma-Nefer kept to the shadows and looked across the road. The small mud house was familiar to him, although he could not understand the continued presence of a reed covering at the door. Certainly being one of the pharaoh's esteemed prefects would allow for luxuries, such as a wooden door? A sense of glee overcame him. His informants had been resourceful. The knowledge that the Moses had left with a guard had quickly moved through the streets, the fact that the man had taken Khabo with him had not even served to aggravate Ma-Nefer in the slightest, especially since it was evident that there had not been a guard assigned to Neti. It was the opportunity he had been waiting for to finally get his revenge for her involvement.

  Once done, he would reclaim what was rightfully his and demand that the pharaoh have her stoned at the city gate. The irony of the situation caused his heart to race and his palms to sweat in anticipation. They wanted to accuse him of breaking the law, but there was no law against trading goods, He had not killed anyone, he had not stolen anything, he had only moved goods, bartered their trade . . . where she and the Nubian prefect had broken the moral code of one betrothed.

  He watched the house as the light increased, it would not be long before the citizens started moving along the streets. Already the air was filling with wood smoke, which would soon be followed by the scent of baking bread. The thought of flatbread had his mind shift to Yani. She was one of the first slaves he would reclaim. Her food was useful for bartering simple services, and it was those services he would need if he was to retake his position in the city, another matter that would be ensured with the Nubian prefect gone.

  He sniggered at the thought, even if the other prefect managed to make it across the desert, by the time they found him, he would be of little use to any woman . . . if the Nubian prince even made it. But then he had ensured that chances of that occurring would be very slim, although Horti knew nothing of it.

  The benefit of working with men like Horti was that their insatiable greed for more could be used against them, often to their own detriment. And while the man thought he was conveying the sacred golden heart scarab of Nefertari, little did he know that what was contained within the crate was far more treacherous than the curses chanted for a heart scarab, even a golden one. Besides, he was not foolish enough to entrust such a valuable artifact to the hands of an ill-gotten son of a whore, who had no loyalty and had undermined him before. Thus whatever befell Horti and his men was just. The man had been consumed by his greed and had readily agreed to take the troublesome Nubian slave to the coast, although Ma-Nefer knew the chances of them identifying Shabaka as the prefect would increase once the swelling on his face subsided, but he hoped that by then it would be too late.

  He looked down the street, several older children, each with a pot, had appeared and grouped together as they walked toward the river. None of them even glanced his way. He watched the entrance of the house, knowing that Yani would soon leave and that Neti would then be alone. His sources had informed them that they had visited Suten-Anu the previous evening, and although he could not understand why Neti would want to take the slave with her, it made sense that the woman would cook, while the old scribe and his scholar went about their business. Although he doubted there would be little to discuss, for from appearances and her position with the pharaoh, she was better off than her parents had been. What his informants had not told him was whether the women had returned that evening, or if they had remained with Suten-Anu, although he could see no reason for them to remain there.

  He looked up toward the roof, and noticed the thin line of smoke curling from the oven, enough of an indication that they were awake. He stepped from the alcove he had been standing in and crossed the road, quickly glancing sideways before slipping through the doorway, barely moving the reeds out of the way. The room was darker that he thought it would be at that time of the day, and he turned his gaze toward the narrow windows. Perhaps the darkness was the reason why the little witch had not yet risen from her bed, but it would make giving her what he intended so much easier.

  A hand firmly gripped one arm and he made to shrug it off, preparing to reprimand whoever dared handle him in such a manner, when another hand grabbed the other arm. He turned his head to look at who dared to restrain him. His blood ran cold on recognizing the uniform of the palace guard, and he jerked against them. The shock was quickly followed by a burning rage, for none of his informants had told him that Neti had been assigned a set of guards. Had he known this, he would have been more discreet and apprehended her in a crowded area where it would be easier to get away. He fought against their grips, only to be restrained more.

  "Well now, this is a good start to my day," he heard a somewhat familiar voice say and turned his head in the direction of the sound. His eyes, having adjusted to the light, allowed him to identify the captain of the guard.

  "Hapith," Ma-Nefer acknowledged the man, demanding, "Let me go!"

  "And why would I be foolish enough to do something like that?" Ma-Nefer glared at the man, although in the dim light and from the captain's tone of voice he knew the man was not perturbed. "So your day has finally come, you can only run for so long," he said, looking Ma-Nefer over.

  Of all the high-ranking men in Thebes, this was one who had not been willing to look the other way, there was also nothing in his history that could be used against him to ensure some level of compliance, thus Ma-Nefer knew he was at a disadvantage.

  "I suggest you let me go," Ma-Nefer said, the loathing in his voice evident.

  "And why would I want to do that?" the captain tauntingly replied, "I was given clear command that you were to be captured and taken to pharaoh's court."

  "I have done nothing wrong," Ma-Nefer replied, knowing that they had nothing but the word of the prefects against him. Neti's word would be considered as irrelevant, because of her betrothal to him, which could be construed as a means to be rid of him.

  "You are in a prefects' home without invitation," the captain said, making a sweeping gesture around the room.

  "I now need an invitation to see my betrothed?" Ma-Nefer countered, resisting the restraining guards.

  The captain of the guard laughed at that, "Even having lost weight, there is little chance of the prefect Neti having any interest in one such as you. You are here without invitation, possibly with foul intent, but that is not for me to determine."

  "How do you know I do not have an invitation?" Ma-Nefer challenged.

  The captain looked him up and down before replying, "You are pathetic. There would be no reason for one such as you to pay her a visit, especially this early in the morning, unless your intent is ill."

  "Now my intent is ill, if she is as good as my lawful wife. Her parents named her bride price, which has not been returned."

  "That is enough," the captain said. "You are no more betrothed to her that I am. Any rights to her would have been voided by the pharaoh when you became a wanted man. And as your wife, she would have been sent to the lions for your misdeeds along with Pa-Nasi. So I fail to see your reasons."

  "You have no proof," Ma-Nefer, quickly, vehemently, countered.

  The captain shrugged his shoulders as he spoke, "I always suspected that you and he were up to no good, your sudden increase in status was not something shutties can accomplish."

  "You dare to compare me to a shuttie?!" Ma-Nefer exclaimed in disbelief.

  "Only the pharaoh trades; you merely barter or steal." the captain calmly replied, before indicating for the men
to exit with Ma-Nefer.

  "You have no proof of such claims," Ma-Nefer professed, again fighting the men on either side of him.

  "That is not for me to judge," the captain said, indicating for the men to precede him.

  "I demand to see her first," Ma-Nefer fought against their hold.

  "You cannot," the captain said, as he moved to pull the reeds aside in the doorway, allowing light into the darkened room, adding, "She is not here."

  "How can she not be here? This is where she lives," Ma-Nefer disbelievingly replied.

  "It is of no importance to you," the captain said, as the guards led him from the house.

  "Yes, it is. If I find her not to be a virgin, I will demand her stoning," Ma-Nefer professed loudly, causing several people to turn and look toward him.

  "Stop your foolish display," the captain instructed, as Ma-Nefer once again fought against the guards.

  "Where are you taking me?" he demanded, kicking against the forward momentum of the guards.

  "To the palace," one of the guards restraining Ma-Nefer seethed, roughly jerking him uptight and half dragging him forward.

  "Brutality, I tell you, this is brutality!" Ma-Nefer shouted, causing the captain to turn toward him.

  "Be silent, you fool, unless you want the whole of Thebes to know your fate."

  "My fate!" Ma-Nefer scoffed. "You are just a naysayer for the pharaoh. And she has bewitched the old fool, just as she has you and everyone else in Thebes. Do these people not remember how it was, how her parents were murdered!"

  "You should have left the embalmer's daughter and the Nubian prefect be," the captain said, turning away from him and setting off along the street. "They carry the pharaoh's approval. I have no time for your foolish garbles. The pharaoh will decide your fate."