Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 1 - Anubis Murders (12 page)

The wizard-priest cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head, looking very like a bird of prey as he eyed the two Lyonnessians. "Really? It is a novel idea. Had it occurred to you that the criminal might have been impersonating me in order to kidnap Rachelle? That would account for her attitude when the muffled man called earlier this day."

"That is certainly a possibility. Nevertheless, you must admit, Inhetep, that your unwillingness to account for your own movements is dreadfully incriminating," Tallesian said stiffly.

"As for that, you may rest assured that when the time is right I can and will give exact details, to the minute, mind you, as to where I was and what I was doing during the time one of your citizens here in Camelough tricked Lady Rachelle into captivity—or worse. Now, however, I must find that villain and punish him!"

"Not so fast, Magister Inhetep. I must remind you that we have laws here. Your presence in Lyonnesse is as a guest, and guests must obey just as citizens do," the Behon huffed. "You are hasty in your assumptions, too. I believe we must clear up the matter of your own alibi before you trundle off in search of the perpetrator, so-called. There are a dozen men investigating the matter at this moment, so your participation can wait. I must now insist you come with us. We'll go to the police headquarters at Penkeep and set things straight there."

"Unacceptable, my good sir," Setne snapped. "That allows the criminal too much time. Every hour that passes doubles the difficulty in locating him and my associate."

"What you think is not unimportant, Mag—"

The Behon froze in mid word. Venerable Tal-lesian was also absolutely still. Neither could speak or move because the wizard-priest had spoken words of power, uttered
hekau
in Egyptian terminology. To be more exact, Inhetep had used magickal energy drawn from the furthest Planes of the multiverse, power employed by deities, in fact, to remove himself from the stream of time. Both men were far too able and protected from ordinary dweomers to have allowed Setne to employ some lesser force to paralyze them. But they could not prevent him from shifting himself thus, at least not without preparing ahead for such magick. "That should suffice for now," Inhetep said. He stalked away down the corridor of the inn's second floor, went down the steps, and passed by unmoving people on his way to the entry doors. He seemed to move as if under water.

Actually, the tall Egyptian was being careful to go slowly, for a mundane person being outside the confines of the fourth dimension created a dangerous friction. Running when so removed from time would surely result in spontaneous combustion. Even Inhetep the wizard-priest, the most able ur-kheri-heb ever to have come from the realm of Pharaoh, was not capable of altering the danger of timeless existence.

Although he concentrated carefully on his progress, Setne was unconsciously keeping track of his heartbeats. The magick triggered by his utterance would persist for a limited span, as it operated in all the dimensions, time included. Seeing that there was nothing of interest in the frozen tableau of the inn's lobby, Inhetep moved steadily toward the door. He had about two or three minutes left before the dweomer snapped and he was back in the normal time stream of the world. The effort of removing himself from time's effect had drained Inhetep of a considerable portion of his energy, his ability to utilize heka. So great a magick demanded enough personal energy to channel the entitative-source power, the magickal energy flow of the greatest force. Only a desperate situation would bring him to utilize the power, and in Setne's mind the situation was indeed desperate. Perhaps he couldn't blame the Behon, a justiciar and judge— counsellor and policeman, too—from taking every precaution. Perhaps . . . But there was no doubt in his mind that Rachelle had been lured away and was now being held. The reason was unclear, but the culprit, at least indirectly, had to be the Master of Jackals. The power of that one to go undetected and untraceable was phenomenal. If he was not able to begin the search immediately, Inhetep was convinced that the enemy's magickal abilities would preclude any chance for rescuing Rachelle.

Setne dispelled the picture of the girl from his mind. He was ill at ease with the sudden change in attitude on the part of the Kellts—Aldriss, Tallesian, and the Behon. They had traveled a thousand miles to locate him, yet now they shifted from regarding him as the sole hope against the machinations of the Master of Jackals to a possible suspect in Rachelle's disappearance. Did they consider him an agent of the Master Jackal? The sinister mastermind himself? Unlikely ... A ruse, then? Their own lives were threatened, the royal family as well—that gave sufficient motive to be thorough, cautious, trust no one at all. Something nagged at Inhetep's mind as he pondered this, but he couldn't be sure what it was. He was missing something. It would come to the surface eventually. Right now he had to worry about staying free and active.

Perhaps a minute remained to him. Setne had gone in his slow-motion pace away from the inn, turning a corner and taking a route which gave him the best chances of escaping the hunt which would commence very soon. The three men who had been with him would take a moment to realize what had happened, and then one of them would use magick to alert the authorities under them of the Egyptian's escape—of his flight from questioning and suspicion of complicity in a matter of gravest import. Police and plainclothes agents would be swarming the streets of the city, particularly in the vicinity of the inn, in a quarter of an hour. "Ample time for—" He cut his vocal thought off short. In that instant, he understood the thing which had been bothering him: one of the unmoving figures just outside the hotel was a man he had seen last night. The fellow must have been there to watch Inhetep. It was too late to go back and investigate that now. The energies which lifted him out of the flow of time were sinking. The wizard-priest knew he had only a few seconds left. Should he be seen as he was, there would be no avoiding capture. A tall, copper-skinned and bald-pated foreigner was noticeable in even so large and cosmopolitan a city as Camelough.

Setne ducked into a narrow passageway between two large buildings. He would use yet more magick to disguise himself. Under normal circumstances he would have had a whole gallery of different personas to assume, each so natural and different as to be virtually undetectable— except by a dweomer specifically employed to discern true form and magickal alteration. But because of the recent use of hekau, and because of his need to be swift, the Egyptian had only one choice. The air rippled around him. Where a tall Egyptian had stood a heartbeat before was a shortish Phonecian whose battered and scarred face gave the impression of menace and an unsavory background. Not at all what is best, the altered Inhetep thought to himself. That face would arouse the suspicion of any law enforcer— save that they would be looking exclusively for another fellow altogether for the next few hours! He continued along the gangway, heading directly away from the inn and the royal citadel.

* * *

Damn! He felt tired and hungry. The fatigue could be remedied easily with a draught from a little flask of restorative, enchanted stuff he always carried. The hunger was another matter, for he needed to sit down and eat a full meal as the tonic worked. He took a swallow of the liquid, stoppered and replaced the flask in his girdle, and searched for a haven. How many might recognize him in this form? Not enough to worry about. The "Phonecian" had been seen closely by only a half-dozen people. The barkeep, the young whore, and a handful of those who attended the "service" of Set. Double that number had seen him from a distance or in conditions which precluded recognition and positive identification. There was an exception to all, but Setne decided there was no use worrying about that now.

After another few streets and lanes, Inhetep espied a public house. The neighborhood was plain and the buildings somewhat rundown here in one of the city's marginally middle-class sections. He smiled, knowing no one would think to look for him there. He entered and took a table under the suspicious eye of the proprietor, then ordered a large breakfast from the waitress—the owner's wife or sister from the look of her. His initial course, a big bowl of steaming barley porridge boiled in milk and swimming with plump little dried currants, was thumped down in front of him almost immediately after he had completed his lengthy list of required comestibles. He had thought how Rachelle would have been laughing at him for ordering so much—more than even the girl usually ate. The strain of using entitative powers for magick depleted spirit, mind, and body, of course.

"If ye don't object," the sour-faced waitress said, daring him to object by posture and tone and expression, "I'll be collecting the payment for t'all of yer fare now—nine spurs in coin of the realm."

Inhetep considered teasing the harridan into accepting a silver coin of foreign mintage instead of the bronze Lyonnesse ones, but resisted the impulse. Instead he reached into his tunic, took out a small purse, and carefully fished out a copper harp, a coin worth five of the bronze ones, four spurs, and then, but slowly, one more of the bronze coins. "Here's the whole of the reconin', lass," he said in a gravelly voice suitable to his impersonation. Then he put his finger on the last bronze spur. "Ya gets thissun too fer yersel' if ya hustles m'food ta me."

She wasn't impressed, for it was no more than an ordinary gratuity for good and efficient service. Of course, that was rare in this place, but the usual customers expected nothing but what she delivered. After eyeing each coin and feeling them to make sure they weren't counterfeits, the waitress took them away saying, "Ye'll get the rest when it's ready."

Grinning down at his porringer, Setne devoured the thick gruel and thought about what he must do now. The situation in the underground "temple" had almost been deadly. Inhetep had felt the magickal probing and known that someone, not the masked priest, had discovered that there was a very unusual "worshipper" present. He had to remain put. Any movement would have betrayed him, and he needed to detect the enemy and test his skills. Had the spellbinders there known that the "Phonecian" was none other than Setne Inhetep, ur-kheri-heb of Thoth? He doubted that. His own wards against aural reading and identification by thought reading or magickal detection would have prevented easy discernment of that. Penetration of all the shielding the magister employed would require either much time or very potent dweomers. "Ahhh," he sighed, polishing the spoon as he ate the last of the porridge. "Service 'ere!"

In short order, the remainder of the meal was thumped down upon the wooden table, the dishes taking up most of the small space. There was a fresh baked loaf, a small platter of smoked eels undoubtedly caught in the fall from the nearby river. Next to them was a dish of cold game pie—local pigeons, actually, for the most part—filled with eggs, vegetables, and mushrooms to give it proper volume. That was indeed satisfactory to his way of thinking. Lyonnesse folk ate altogether too little fruit and vegetables for the Egyptian's taste. Butter, a jack of stout, and a plate with two winter pears and a wedge of local cheese completed the order. Despite his resolution, Setne added a pewter coin to the bronze one. That made his tip a spur and a half, for the coin with the leaf on its face was but half the value of the bronze one. There was a sniff from the sour-faced woman, but she took them both and stumped off. She'd ignore him now. Inhetep desired that very much.

Eating ravenously didn't prevent him from returning to his thoughts. He hadn't actually discovered the depth of the enemy's ability to probe his cover, but the sudden appearance of the two "megajackals" indicated that they were either fairly capable of ascertaining things, or prone to excessive display and force. The business with the coalesced light was out of the ordinary, too. That sort of casting required use of a great deal of heka, and considerable art, too. Supernatural light and monster-jackals . . . That indicated the subterranean temple was indeed close to the Master of Jackals' organization. The demago-guery indicated that something more than extortion and murder were afoot. Then there was the trifling matter of the masked ecclesiastic naming Inhetep fully and telling the "congregation" that he was a friend and fellow-rebel about to be martyred on behalf of their pseudo-religion. This was a matter which required much thought and further investigation.

The whole so-called temple was a fake. The idols had been made by someone very familiar with the Egyptian pantheon and religious practices, possibly a renegade cleric from his own land. No matter. None were consecrated properly, most had been of deities nonexistent in Egypt—or anywhere else, probably—and the "service" had been so much oggus-bogus. There was magick, all right, but those dweomers were of the sort to captivate weak minds and implant ideas. Those ritual effects were at work from the time the make-believe priestesses were on stage, so to speak. Setne quaffed off half of the thick brew. The eels had been quite salty. He poured a bit more down, then pondered the meaning of the whole charade. Thus immersed in thought, he hardly noticed the taste of the hard fruit and sharp cheese.

Given the astute nature of the foe, and their precautions against just such a thing as he'd tried last night, it was no wonder that the officials here (the Behon, for instance) didn't have any idea just how insidious a plan the self-proclaimed Master of Jackals was hatching. It had been a very near thing, for had the jackal-masked priest used that magickal light to mark him, Inhetep knew that he'd have been attacked by all present. Perhaps he could have used his own powers to escape, but everything would have been blown open—literally, perhaps—by that. It was sheer inspiration, his little trick with the coins. Rabble such as those assembled in the subcellar temple were totally unable to resist the lure of gold. When he'd placed an antipathy between the coin's metal and the stone of the floor upon them, the golden discs had shot into the air, of course, taking a position equidistant between the stone floor and ceiling, moving out toward the middle of the room because of the walls. Then, zap! Cancel the dweomer of antipathy, and the heavy coins rained down into the crowd. In the tumult caused by that, the priest had been distracted sufficiently for Setne to bring replication magick into play. The fool had eventually hurled the ruby-red globule of light, but as it sped outward it engendered a pair of twins just like it, the twins each produced twins, and so forth. None of these were aimed at the Eyptian. Each was uncontrolled and flew toward the nearest person. Inhetep had been marked by bloody illumination, but by then half of the others in the temple were likewise branded. Between lust for gold and blood, a melee ensued, with shouts of rage, cries of innocence, and all the rest so loud that nothing sensible could be heard in the din.