Secret of the 7th Scarab (The Mummifier's Daughter Series Book 4) Page 9

  "He would not hurt someone!" Khabo insisted.

  "Perhaps the Thoth we thought we knew would not, but he was not the same person that night."

  "Then a demon took hold of him," Khabo insisted. "He was not a violent person."

  "Perhaps so," Neti said, "but it is not Shabaka's fault for his death. Shabaka was only fulfilling his duties to the pharaoh, you cannot think ill of him for such."

  "I try not to," Khabo replied. "It is because of him that we have been freed from Ma-Nefer. But my freedom should not have come at such a price."

  "I also wish it could have been different, but we cannot change things."

  Khabo nodded at that, "You will make for a good queen."

  His words shocked Neti, who was quick to respond, "I'm not going to be queen."

  "Shabaka is a prince; he is my prince," the Nubian affirmed. "Only someone who truly cares for him would do this," he said indicating to the desert. "You helped him, even when you did not know who he was. You continue to stand by his side, those are the traits of a true queen."

  "That does not mean I will become a queen," Neti flatly replied.

  "We will see," Khabo said, turning from her. "I will rest now. There is still a great distance to cover before we come to the water well."

  * * *

  Later in the afternoon, they approached the second dead body and Moses looked toward Neti who nodded, causing them to deviate from the path.

  When Khabo realized what they were looking at, he uncertainly looked between her and Moses. "There is something you are not telling me. One recent body, even a small group of bodies in the desert is of little concern, but two bodies that are spaced some distance apart, that is something to be concerned about."

  Neti turned to look at him, her brow furrowing, as she demanded, "Why do you say that? What do you know of it?"

  "I have traveled the desert. Lone travelers perish, groups running out of water perish, but two men this close together speaks of a curse, those brought on by desert wraiths."

  Neti looked from him to Moses before speaking, "Or perhaps transporting an enchanted funerary artifact."

  "I thought we were looking for Shabaka," Khabo exclaimed. "Now I find that you have us chasing our deaths!"

  "We believe that whoever has Shabaka possibly also has this artifact, and we have to find them before it affects everyone."

  "And you have not thought that it would affect us?" Khabo demanded.

  "Curses are complex. They mostly affect those who have reason to fear them, those who have done something to call a curse on themselves. Those with a poor heart or a weak mind, that is easily influenced, are the first to succumb to a curse."

  Khabo looked from one to the other, before speaking, "What was taken?"

  "A golden heart scarab," Moses said.

  "Those carry the severest curses!" Khabo replied.

  "How would you know?" Moses harshly demanded.

  Khabo looked decidedly chided, but looked at Neti as he spoke, "I know of several who have tried to transport them or other gold found in graves across the desert."

  "And you have no problem admitting this!" Moses seethed.

  "He traveled with Ma-Nefer," Neti was quick to counter, drawing Moses' attention to her. "It does not mean he did it."

  "He is guilty by association."

  "Do you punish a donkey if its owner stole the saddle on its back?" Neti countered, causing both men to look at her, confused.

  "I don't know what you mean," Moses said.

  "He was a slave, doing his work for fear of being whipped," Neti said, pointing at Khabo. "He did not take those things. He was—is—a scribe."

  "He should have known!" Moses countered.

  "Even if he did, what was he to do? You have not seen how badly Ma-Nefer would beat his slaves when they defied him," Neti choked on the last few words, knowing that Shabaka had experienced just such a beating.

  Moses looked at her, his shock evident. His shoulders dropped for he understood her reaction, Desa's disclosure having said enough.

  Neti took a deep, shuddering breath before she spoke, "I think we all need some time to think." She turned to face the camels as she continued, "It does not help if we argue. It will not help us find Shabaka, and we have a long way to go."

  * * *

  All through the morning, Shabaka's body had felt tender, his stomach again burned, having been somewhat soothed after they had reached a well and refilled their skins. They had started just after the evening sky had lightened, the men anxious to press on, which gave Shabaka a reason to suspect that there might be robbers about. Looking over the group, it was more than obvious that there was not enough skill among those present to ward off an attack. Even he, who was a skilled fighter, was too tired and sore to offer much of a fight, not that he would even be willing to.

  Ever since sunrise, a group of the slaves kept close to him, several of them mumbling the same chants as he did, although they still kept a steady distance of two cubits between themselves and him. Not that he minded, he preferred his space, but their sudden change in behavior confused him. He had not said anything and as the morning had progressed, he had grown accustomed to their presence, it was somewhat welcoming, the heat within the group being less than that of walking on his own.

  A piercing whistle filled the air and he felt a rush of relief, as they all stopped and lowered their crates. His muscles protested the change and, like the others, he did not need another invitation to lower his weary body to the earth.

  The men closest to him gathered together in a group and started mumbling, he could not make out much of their conversation; however, he noticed the glances they cast in his direction. He again looked over the group and noticed how the women were kept off to one side; none of the men were permitted close to them. He had originally thought it was only because of the curse, as their owner often glanced in his direction, but he had since come to the conclusion that they were kept from speaking to anyone, even among themselves. He could not ever remember traveling with a group of women where they remained so silent; there was always some level of chatter or singing.

  His train of thought was disturbed when Gishup once again approached him, and although he came closer than he had the night before the boy still remained a respectable distance from him, eyeing the crate near him. He stood there for some time, a frown finally marring his brow before he shook his head.

  Shabaka tilted his head, asking, "Why do you look at me like that?"

  The boy glanced at the men around him, and then swept his hand to indicate those nearby as he spoke, "They believe you are protected from the curse, but I know better."

  "Really," Shabaka challenged him, "how so?"

  The boy pointed to the crate, stating, "That thing should have killed you already. You have thrown the contents into the desert and now they believe you are somehow protected."

  Shabaka looked at the crate, and replied, "I have done no such thing, how would I have opened this? I do not have the tools."

  The boy looked at him in disbelief, "I do not believe you! None of the other men could carry it for more than half a day without falling to the ground, yet you have carried it for nearly two days and nothing has befallen you."

  "So why are you here?" Shabaka demanded of the boy. "Are you also seeking protection from a curse?"

  "The man," the boy started, pointing toward the whip wielder, "said I must come here and demand of you to shake the crate."

  "And why would I do that?" Shabaka asked in reply.

  "So that I can tell them if it is empty or not."

  "And you do not fear me triggering the curse."

  "Only if you have not cast it into the sand," the boy replied.

  Shabaka looked at the men surrounding him, noting their concerned glances, before turning his attention to the crate. Raking his mind he tried to remember one of the chants but found it difficult to remember them, while his thoughts seemed scattered. Remembering only snippets of some and in al
l probability not enough to protect him if something were to happen, he mumbled a few words as he moved to pick up the crate. The boy's eyes widened when he shook it and a thumping within was audible.

  The men near him chanted something similar to what he had, while the boy stepped back.

  "Well, seems I will get a good price for you then," the whip wielder said, stepping closer to the group. "They will pay handsome for one who can cheat curses, or at least more than the lot you were supposed to be sold to."

  Shabaka felt his anger rise at the man's address, but tempered it when the man shoved the boy back toward the others, harshly commanding, "Get back there or I will skin that back of yours, you have served your purpose."

  Shabaka remained silent for a while, thinking over his options. His original plan of escaping on approaching the coastline suddenly seemed selfish, for he knew the fate the young boy would suffer, much the same as the one he would have, but he had no intention of assisting them with their dealings, or for being sold as a tomb raider. He could also not leave the boy to their mercy, for he had done nothing to deserve it.

  Another whistle pierced the air and everyone rose from the sand, one of the men who took too long received a lashing, as they again gathered up their crates.

  They had just started to set off when a breeze started to blow. Shabaka was grateful, as it cooled them some. However, it soon enough started building momentum and caused him to scan the horizon. He gasped as the darkened cloud of dust approached.

  "Sandstorm!" one of the men shouted, causing everyone to scatter.

  The whip wielder grabbed Shabaka's upper arm, demanding, "What did you call up!"

  Shabaka looked at him in confusion.

  "The chant you said—what does it mean?" The man's hand tightened around his arm, pinching the bruised flesh.

  "It is for protection," Shabaka finally said.

  The man pulled back his hand that was wrapped around the whip stub and swiftly punched Shabaka in the face. Shabaka stumbled, dropping the crate as he tried to remain on his feet.

  "You brought this sandstorm on us!" the man exclaimed, stepping forward to again punch Shabaka, who managed to field the blow by returning one of his own. The impact jarred his body, reminding him of his bruised ribs, while the man stumbled a couple of paces, just as the sandstorm reached them.

  Shabaka closed his mouth and grunted in agony as the sand hit his exposed body. A multitude of stings simultaneously shot through his body, causing him to drop to the ground. He had no fabric cover to protect his skin and the innumerable grains of sand battered its surface, until it felt like it was raw. He clenched his teeth as he tried to steady his breathing without breathing in too much dust. He knew that sandstorms could last from a few minutes to an entire day.

  He could barely hear the other's shouts and calls above the noise of the wind, as instead he focused on his breathing, cupping his hands around his nose and mouth while the sand shifted and settled around him.

  * * *

  Just as the sun lowered on the horizon, Neti, Moses, and Khabo neared the almost deserted watering well. The scent of cooking meat filled the air, causing Neti's stomach to contract in response. It had been days since she had last eaten a proper meal.

  Khabo instructed the camels to lower. The sound must have alerted the men who appeared. Neti quickly glanced them over, however, there was nothing noteworthy in their appearance and she turned her attention back to Khabo.

  The men neared and addressed Moses. Neti made to join, however Khabo lightly captured her arm and drew her back. Lowering his voice he said, "Let them speak with Moses. They will think him your husband."

  "But he's not," Neti insisted.

  "It does not matter; it is for the best," Khabo calmly spoke.

  "How can that be?" Neti demanded.

  "They are desert travelers. They know this part of the desert. The only women who travel this way and are unmarried are those who are to be sold. If they like you, they will make him an offer, and he will have to name a price."

  Neti felt a bolt of dread shoot though her, a tightening sensation closing around her heart.

  "That djellaba you wear identifies you as a married woman to them. They will not address you, nor would they expect you to address them."

  Neti looked at the robe covering her.

  "Things out here are different than they are in the city. There you are allowed to mingle and haggle for goods, but out here it would be seen to revile your husband."

  Neti felt her brow mar, shaking her head before asking, "But how will we question them?"

  "Desert travelers are very talkative, but they don't like questions. I have said to Moses to portray himself as spice merchant." Neti made to say something, however Khabo shook his head, "It is the only viable reason to travel east and it will also explain the camels."

  "And neither of you thought to tell me this!"

  "I am telling you now," Khabo countered.

  Neti turned to look at where Moses was speaking to the men. "But how will we know if they have seen anything?"

  "It is the way of the desert for people to warn others of possible danger. If there is something wrong, they will tell him. But for now, we set up for the evening," Khabo concluded and took the tent from the camel's side. .

  "Neti unfastened the woven reed-grass sleeping mats and followed him. Placing them on the ground, while Khabo started unfolding the tent.

  Sometime later Moses joined them and helped Khabo tighten the tent lines, before turning to Neti, "I have managed to trade some of their food in exchange for some of our flatbread."

  Neti nodded in response, before taking their water skins to fill at the well.

  Just after sunset Moses approached the other men's tent and was heartily welcomed. He handed them the bowls to fill with food for Neti and Khabo along with the flatbread. The men in turn invited him to settle on the mat and join them for dinner.

  Moses glanced at the door flap when one man spoke, "Ah, yes, what it is to have a young and beautiful wife," causing Moses to sharply look at him.

  "I too would be reluctant to be from her side," the other commented. "She will be safe with your man, so you can eat in peace, unless she has tried to run from you."

  Moses frowned at that, but settled on the mat and accepted the bowl of spicy meat. Inhaling the scent of the warm food, his mind drifted to Yani, thus he spoke warmly when he replied, "She is a good woman."

  The men settled with him, each with their own bowl and reached for some of the flatbread, breaking off pieces to soak in the sauce.

  "She is a good cook, few women can bake bread this good," one man said, nodding in approval.

  "Although with one such as her, it would not be the cooking that matters," the other remarked, "especially given that she is not Hebrew."

  "What do you mean by that?" Moses demanded, his temper rising.

  The man quickly replied, "Nothing, I meant nothing. Hittite women are more . . ." however, he grew silent on noticing Moses' scowl.

  "What my friend here means to say is that he has been too long without a woman," the other man started, "and is possibly too appreciative of someone's wife." The latter was said in a harsh tone. "Be that as it may," the man calmly continued, turning to look at Moses again, "It is uncommon for a Hebrew to take a Hittite as his wife, but given that you are a traveler, like we are, perhaps it is not that unlikely. Beautiful women will do that, especially after the lonely nights one spends while traveling, no?"

  Moses nodded his head in agreement and continued with his meal.

  "By the way, where did you get your man? He looks familiar somehow."

  Moses' grip for a moment tightened on his bowl, however, he slowly looked up at them, asking, "He does? I thought Nubians all looked alike at a distance."

  The men laughed, "That they do, my friend, however, he seems familiar."

  "I traded for him in Thebes. His owner said he knows this part of the desert and could get me to the trading posts on the
other side of the desert."

  "You have not traveled this way before?" one man asked, surprised.

  "I have heard that some of the finest spices and cloth come from the east, so decided to see if it is true."

  "Yet no one told you of the dangers?" the other man asked.

  "My man assured me that there would be little disturbance on this path. Why? Have you seen anything?"

  "There was a large group we passed two day ago. The man was unpleasant; he insisted on them moving on."

  "I see, and you think they are a concern?"

  "For your wife, maybe," one man said, appearing suitably chided when the other glared at him.

  The man then turned and looked at Moses before he spoke, "You do not appear to be a credulous youngster. You carry about yourself the poise of an experienced traveler, thus you would be familiar with pleasure women, possibly even having found yourself between their thighs, no?"

  Moses remained silent, lifting one brow.

  "Oh, yes, sorry, as one who has a wife, I can understand your reluctance to own up to something like that, but you do understand."

  Moses nodded his head.

  "Then you will also understand that there are some who trade these women," the man continued.

  Moses shrugged his shoulders at that, before answering, "I am aware of such things, but as you have said, they are nearly two days ahead of me, so I do not think our paths will cross."

  The man nodded, "Those are the type of traders you will find on this route, and they prefer to be left on their own."

  Moses nodded, "Thank you for your counsel," Moses said, looking at his half-finished bowl, "If you do not mind, I would prefer to return to my wife."

  "By all means," one man said, gesturing to a pot nearby. "Take that with you, no need for bowls, we will collect it in the morning before we leave."

  "Thank you," Moses said, rising from the mat

  * * *

  Moses returned to Neti and Khabo, handing Neti the pot of food, "It is nice, a bit more spicy than I'm used to, but filling."

  Neti took it without saying a word, causing Moses to look in question at Khabo. Khabo shook his head and watched as Neti filled a bowl with the spicy meat mixture, before moving toward the satchel filled with bread. She extended the bowl and bread toward Khabo, who took it from her and mumbled his thanks.