Drinker Of Blood (26 page)

Meren shoved away from the stairway and rotated his shoulders, which had grown stiff with prolonged inactivity. Motioning for Abu to remain where he was, he slithered down the passageway to the Street of Perfumers and looked at the sky. The moon was gone. Yamen wasn't coming.

Returning to the staircase, he whispered to Abu, "He's not coming. We'll try again tomorrow night."

He slipped out of the passage with Abu at his heels. Traveling as a wanted man meant skulking down foul alleys and over the rooftops of buildings when he could be sure a family wasn't sleeping outdoors. He couldn't hop and clamber over roofs in this crowded district, however. With reluctance, Meren picked his way through side streets and alleys, trying not to step in dog and goat dung or pools of muddy piss. He made it through several noxious passages before his sandal landed in muck that oozed between his toes. It was as black as night in the netherworld, but Meren recognized that unpleasant, slimy texture. Abu stopped beside him and made a noise of commiseration.

Cursing, Meren lifted his foot and sniffed. He sniffed again. No acid odor. He smelled dirt mixed with a coppery scent he knew from the battlefield and practice yard. Forgetting his foot, he squatted and reached out. His fingers touched skin slick with blood, and then he heard a whimper.

Memphis, reign of Tutankhamun

Meren slid his hand along an arm, up a shoulder, to a neck damp with blood. Abu reached past him, searching, and found a dagger beneath the victim.

A faint voice made harsh with effort sounded loud in the blackness. "Finish it, and may the gods damn you."

"Yamen?" Meren's searching hands encountered others clamped over Yamen's belly.

"Who is—" Yamen broke off to laugh, and the laughter turned to wet coughing. "My lord Meren, by the light of Ra. You're not dead yet?"

"Rest yourself," Meren said. "I'll send for help."

"No!"

With a bloody hand Yamen grabbed Meren's and dragged it to rest on a gaping hole in his gut. There was no need for argument. The wound was deep, and of the kind for which there was no remedy. Meren freed himself and placed Yamen's hands over the wound.

"I haven't long," Yamen said, his words growing more and more indistinct. "What a fool I was to trust—"

Meren squeezed Yamen's arm to keep him alert. "Trust whom?"

The soldier began to laugh again. "I was so pleased to come to your notice. Then he came and warned me. Should have known then. Too confident."

Hearing a cough, Meren lifted Yamen against his leg, and the gasping eased.

"Who did this? Who killed the queen? Yamen, there's no time. Tell me before it's too late, and I'll avenge you."

There was a weak chuckle. "Queen? Should have known he wasn't helping me out of friendship. Stupid…"

Meren felt Yamen's body go slack. Desperate, he slapped the man's face. "Yamen!"

He heard a cough and felt blood splatter on his wrist. Blood from the mouth. There was no time.

"Yamen!"

Abu had been keeping watch. "Lower your voice, lord."

Meren bent close to Yamen and hissed, "Speak, you sodding whoreson."

Yamen gave a choking cough and garbled his words. "Avenge me? No, sacrifice me. He learned that when he… He'll sacrifice you as he does all who know him."

Uncontrolled laughter bubbled from wet lips. Meren started when Yamen grasped his wrist with a bloody hand and pulled him close to hear a harsh whisper.

"He is in my heart. There is no other who knows him." This time the weak laughter was mocking, malevolent.

A wet hand fastened on Meren's neck and pulled him to within a finger's width of Yamen's lips. If he hadn't been so close, he couldn't have heard the man's last words.

"All perish who threaten him."

"Damn you, Yamen, tell me his name!"

Meren felt the gory hands slip from him and heard the final hiss of escaping breath. Behind him Abu muttered prayers and spells against evil. Meren crouched beside the body, head bowed, frustration and rage rising in his heart. Because of this man he was an accused traitor and his family in danger. Kysen, Bener, Tefnut, Isis, all could lose their lives. He wanted to chase Yamen into the netherworld, wrap his hands around the man's neck, and wring it until he got the answer he wanted. Months of apprehension, of looking over his shoulder, of fearing for the king, for Kysen, and all the others rushed upon him, and Meren's long-held temper snapped.

"Come away, lord. He has become
mut
, one of the dangerous dead. His spirit is evil."

Meren grabbed Yamen's body and shook it. "Tell me his name, you mother-cursed ass!"

He kept shaking Yamen until he was jerked away from the body and shoved against a wall. His head hit the mud brick. The pain jolted Meren from his rage, and he lapsed into silence, breathing rapidly.

After a while Meren said, "You can release me, Abu."

Stepping back from Meren, Abu turned his head. "Listen."

"A patrol?" Meren shoved away from the wall. "We can't be caught here."

Without a thought for the body or ka of Yamen, Meren darted down the passageway and swerved around a corner into a crooked path between houses and the city wall. Walking rapidly, he headed toward the Caverns. They hadn't gone far when they heard cries of alarm from a city patrol.

"They found him," Meren said. "Hurry."

He sped up, stepped into a street of beer houses and taverns, and almost collided with someone. Meren shrank against a wall, trying to become one with the shadows cast by a torch set in a sconce beside a door. He glimpsed a cloaked man and caught a dizzying whiff of wine fumes.

"Miserable peasant," the cloaked man muttered as he wove his way down the street.

Abu, who was holding Yamen's dagger at ready, relaxed and came over to Meren. "Allow me to go first, lord. This night's deeds have upset you."

"I'm not upset, I'm furious."

"Indeed, lord." Abu set off without further discussion.

They reached the Divine Lotus with no other encounters and approached the rear entrance. The guard stared at them briefly but allowed them to enter the courtyard. Othrys's celebrations were still going on and had reached a gleeful loudness that irritated Meren. He drew his aide to a corner of the courtyard beside an ornamental pavilion.

"What should we do now, lord?"

"Listen to me carefully, Abu," Meren whispered. "The danger is even greater than we supposed. All who know the identity of this murderer perish, even warriors like Yamen. The only way to guard against such power is not to work alone. You and Reia will have to contact Ebana."

"But Ebana hates you."

"Perhaps. But we were brothers once, and I know him as I know myself. He loves me, though he has tried to cast me from his heart. He wouldn't have gone to my house if he weren't trying to help me. Go to him. Tell him what has passed, and tell him this from me. The guilty one who attacked the king must have met with Yamen immediately before we left on the raid. He probably has been known to have dealings with Yamen before. Tell Ebana he must find this man, quickly, before the hidden one who killed Yamen finds me."

"Yes, lord."

"And Abu—" Meren hesitated. "If you should hear that I'm captured or killed, you must decide whether it is safe for Kysen and the girls to remain in Egypt."

Abu grasped Meren's forearm in a warrior's clasp, which Meren returned.

"It shall be done, lord. There will be no need to leave Egypt."

"I pray to Amun you're right," Meren said wearily. "Take great care when you leave this place. I'll get Ese to give me a room for the night. I must cleanse myself, and it's too dangerous to leave with the patrols aroused by Yamen's death."

"Blessings of the gods be with you, lord."

"They haven't been of late," Meren said.

Once more keeping to the shadows, Meren gained the door to the tavern and stepped inside. The stairwell was empty, so he ascended to the second-floor landing, where he waited while several patrons passed by with Egyptian women dressed in Greek clothing. When they vanished into a bedroom, he continued to the third floor and eased open one of a pair of doors made of the finest cedar. Looking through the crack, he found the room beyond empty and went inside. As he shut the door, a woman came into the antechamber through an archway. It was Ese, the owner of the Divine Lotus. A woman of middle years and a youthful body, she had luxuriant, curling brown hair and an air of promised pleasures. When greeting customers, she exuded the mysterious attraction of Hathor, goddess of love. When she was not on duty, however, her dark, heavy-lashed eyes lost their light and became the flat, pitiless orbs of a serpent. As far as Meren could discern, her distinguishing characteristic was an abiding resentment toward all men.

Ese saw him, gasped, and nearly dropped the eggshell-thin ceramic cup she was holding. "Ass's dung. What are you doing here, Tiros?" She addressed him by the Greek name Othrys had given him.

"My thanks for your concern for my welfare, Ese, but no, I'm not wounded, just drenched with someone else's blood."

"Get out. You'll ruin my fine floor mats and furniture."

"I need a room, Ese."

"I said get out. Out of my tavern."

"Don't you want to know whose blood this is?"

"I don't care." Ese whisked past him and opened the door. "Leave, or I'll call some of my men to throw you out."

"Will you do that before or after you explain to Othrys why you've denied me the help you promised?"

He waited while Ese debated whether his presence posed a greater danger than the pirate's wrath. Again, her fear of Othrys won.

"Follow me."

She led him to the chamber beyond the archway. Tired as he was, Meren paused in astonishment to survey delicate, hazy curtains billowing in a breeze. They were draped across a long balcony that overlooked the courtyard. The room itself was painted with a pastel blue over which had been drawn frescoes of the sea and its creatures. Placed about the room were caskets and chests worked in ebony, ivory, and cedar. He caught a glimpse of tables bearing embossed silver cups, goblets and flagons trimmed in gold, and an open jewelry casket. A necklace trailed over the rim, its beads in the shape of sun disks with spiral rays. Ese pointed impatiently to another door.

"Bathing chamber," she snapped. "Be clean by the time I return. I'll find something for you to wear. You'll frighten my patrons if you go about in that bloody tunic."

When she was gone, Meren looked down at himself. His tunic, his leggings, and one foot were smeared with blood and dirt. His arms were no better. He screwed his face up in distaste, then stripped and entered the bathing chamber. He stepped into the plastered stall, picked up a jug, and began pouring water over himself from the tall vat that stood nearby.

As the cool water hit him, Meren began to feel the tightness in his body loosen. Weariness followed this release, and he dumped water over his head to keep alert. It was then that he remembered the wig. Pulling it from his head, he tossed the wet mass to the floor. He scooped up soap paste from a dish and rubbed his entire body.

Whoever sees Nefertiti's killer dies
. The words chased themselves around and around in his heart. Those who might know something would die; even those who knew nothing of the queen's death were killed if they posed a threat. Othrys had been right. Whoever was responsible was one who fed on evil, enjoyed seeing others trapped, helpless, desperate. Meren paused in rinsing the soap paste from his body. At least part of the reason for his disgrace must lie in the nature of this unseen enemy. Could Dilalu be such a man? He seemed too foolish, but the foolishness might be a guise. Or had he been chasing phantoms? Was the killer much closer—among his friends and enemies at court? Most had been at Horizon of the Aten when the queen died.

Yamen's last words must hold a key to the identity of the enemy. What were they? Ah, yes.
He'll sacrifice you as he does all who know him
. What else? Meren grabbed a bathing cloth from a pile in an open chest. What had so amused Yamen that he'd laughed even as he died? It had been strangely familiar.
He is in my heart. There is no other who knows him
. The feeling of familiarity teased him, then vanished. Meren uttered an oath and stepped out of the bathing stall.

"You're in a foul temper, lord."

Meren whirled around to find Naram-Sin leaning against the door, smiling. Without thought Meren's hand had gone to his side, where a dagger should have been. He noticed the direction of the intruder's gaze. Scowling, Meren reached for a dry bathing cloth and wrapped it around his waist.

"What do you want?"

Laughter like the gentle lapping of water against a river-bank made Meren want to hurl the water jug at Othrys's scribe. Naram-Sin vanished for a moment and returned with a pile of clothing. Shutting the door, he placed his burden on top of a chest and picked up a tunic of dark green. Before Meren could protest, Naram-Sin gathered the fabric in both hands and dropped it over his head. Meren had no choice but to drop his towel and thrust his arms through the sleeves. Dragging the tunic down, Meren emerged in a fury, only to find that Naram-Sin had turned way to pluck a braided cloth belt from the chest.

Before his self-appointed body servant could touch him, Meren grabbed the belt and pulled it around his waist. "Go away."

Naram-Sin picked up a pair of leather sandals.

"What happened, lord?"

"My affairs are not yours."

"Ese complained to Othrys that you were in her chamber, getting blood all over her valuable possessions. You're in danger, lord, and the master has made me your guardian."

Meren looked up from tying his belt. "I need no guard."

"The master disagrees. This evening he has had reports of many soldiers in the city, and there are rumors that pharaoh will reward the man who finds you."

Meren stared at Naram-Sin, who smiled his intimate smile. He knelt with the sandals and reached for Meren's foot. Meren stepped back, bent, and snatched the sandals from his unwanted servant.

Sliding into the footwear, he said, "Othrys wants to be rid of me because he fears for his own head. That's why he's so anxious to help."