Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 1 - Anubis Murders (15 page)

The major domo stood and extended his hand to the Egyptian. "How may I be of service, Magister Inhetep?" he inquired politely. "It is, of course, an honor to receive a cleric and mage of your reputation."

Setne tapped his breast with a careless gesture, an acknowledgement of the chamberlain's greeting, but he ignored the extended hand. It was not customary in Egypt, and the wizard-priest chose to stand on that now. With similar disregard for Western etiquette, Setne seated himself upon one of the several chairs near the table the man used as his desk, nodded as if recalling the chamberlain's query, and said, "I am here to speak with your liege, King Dennis."

"I see," the chamberlain said coldly, walking round so as to seat himself across the table from his caller. His face was a bit flushed. The Egyptian's behavior indicated that either he was rude or ignorant or . . . something else. "Arranging a royal audience is a matter of some difficulty, and you have come so unexpectedly—"

"Have I, Sir Chauncey? Odd. As a former member of a service similar to Albion's, I had thought a spy system as efficient as yours would have known a day or two ago that I must be headed here."

The chamberlain's flush darkened and spread. "See here, Inhetep—"

Setne stood up, bowing. "Oh, have I said something out of place? I am unused to your court formalities, and I crave your pardon. Nonetheless, what I have come for is of utmost importance. Please conduct me
immediately
to King Dennis. He will understand once I have spoken to him."

"That is impossible. However, you may relate to me whatever information you have which
you
believe will be of interest to His Majesty. Rest assured, I will relay the gist of it to him in expeditious manner." Sir Chauncey paused and looked expectantly at the hawk-faced man opposite his desk.

With a shake of his shaven head, Setne refused. "Most unacceptable—and for your own sake, too, I must add, Lord Chamberlain. The words I have are for your sovereign alone. When may I speak with the king?"

Sir Chauncey set his mouth in a tight line. "As you wish, Magister. The next possible audience is the day after tomorrow. Please be at the citadel on the stroke of eight."

"I understand," the wizard-priest replied. "Thank you for your courteous assistance in this matter."

"No trouble at all, sir," the chamberlain said with sudden thawing to his cold tone. "Yes . . . speaking of courtesy, is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable? Have you lodging?"

"There is nothing, thank you. There is a small Egyptian quarter in Londun, I believe. Several acquaintances of mine dwell there, and I will stay with one of them until the day of the audience."

Sir Chauncey was still being helpful. "I say, Magister Inhetep. At least allow me to get you a chair and a guide! That section of Londun is quite a warren. It's possible to get lost just trying to arrive in the vicinity."

"That's most kind but unnecessary," Setne said, with a smile of thanks to match the chamberlain's own cordiality. "I appreciate your offer, and it is good to find you bear no animosity due to my abruptness and persistence. You see, Sir Chauncey, this
is
a most critical matter, and the safety of the crown itself might be involved. Anyway, I will be here as you instruct, and meanwhile I shall find my way about town well enough. As they say, we dweomercraefters are a hard lot to lose."

"Yes . . ." the chamberlain replied with distraction. The words Setne had uttered regarding the safety of the crown had had a sharp impact on the man. "Well, until we meet again, Magister."

Escorted out and on his way, Inhetep walked briskly for several blocks, the cold winter air pushing him along. Having completed that constitutional, the tall Egyptian sought out a public carriage, and after a few minutes found a small hansom typical of Londun. It was unoccupied, so he climbed in and asked the driver to take him to the foreign quarter—the place where Egyptians were to be found, if the man knew where that was. "Near 'nuff," the cabbie replied, and whipped the tired old plug pulling the small cab into a sort of trot. Near the river warehouses in the Limehouse district, however, the man stopped the conveyance and asked for payment, saying, "Hit's gettin' too blamed dark ta see, so's I'll take m'fare now—place yer lookin' fer be only aways orff."

Sleet was beginning to fall, and the stuff was being swirled about by a freezing wind which blew in gusts off the nearby river. Setne hunched down in his great cloak and slogged ahead, taking the first lane to the left, then another to the right, and finally a twisting way of alley-width to the left again. No witchlights or other magickal illuminations were in evidence here. Such things were subject to theft, of course, for having a light of that sort saved a poor man much in the way of candles, lamp oil, and the like. There was a sputtering torch a little ways ahead, the flambeau set into a niche and semi-shielded from the elements in order for its flame to lure passersby into the drinking house before which it stood. A sign there showed a double-faced deity sporting eight arms which brandished various weapons, and crude lettering beneath proclaimed it in both Brytho-Kelltic and Vedic as the "Golden Shiva."

There were darker shapes in the gloom and sleet where Setne had been only a moment before. Without seeming to notice them, the tall man stepped to the doorway to the tavern, ducked under the low lintel, and pushed open the door. Twanging strains of music, a hum of voices, and red-gold light rushed out over the hissing ice and blustering wind. Then the door banged shut, and the alleyway was left to its dismal self. Inhetep stepped inside and shook off the crusted sleet, shed his damp cloak, and found a seat near the carved bar. He smiled a little. At least the folk of Sindraj, Hind, and Ceylon alike, appreciated warmth.

"Date wine," he informed the sloe-eyed wench who came to his table. She brought a battered pewter goblet of the syrupy stuff, and Setne sipped it with a satisfied sigh. Perhaps it wasn't very good, but it reminded him of home. There were lamps burning low and a large fireplace ablaze in the corner. Setne looked around the large room and the clusters of patrons, perhaps two score in all. His gaze fell to the floor. Sure enough. In the center was a heavy iron grill, and nobody went near it. "Salamander?" he asked when the serving girl came by his table again.

She merely nodded. It was of no interest to her. "More wine, effendi? Perhaps you seek other things too . . . ?"

Four men had entered the place. "Finally," Setne muttered aloud. The dusky-skinned wench looked puzzled and hopeful. "More wine?" "Yes." "Other things?" "No," the Egyptian managed somewhat distractedly. He was keeping careful watch on the four without looking at them. That required all of his attention, so Inhetep didn't see the shrug and flounce as the girl went to fetch more wine. Inhetep paid for his order and pretended to be absorbed in his drinking and the six musicians who sawed and toodled and thumped away nearby. Then he called the wench over to his table again. "How do I find the district where the Egyptian folk dwell?" he asked loudly.

"I am uncertain," the Hindi woman said with a pout. That changed to a smile when Inhetep produced a pair of coppers, slipped one into the girl's hand, and told her to use the other to bring them both another drink. The wench then related several ways of getting to the area Setne had inquired about. "Oh, you are looking for the place where they have many shops offering the goods of your country for sale?" she asked in response to his words. "Then you need only to go along the next street aways. When you see the sign of the Gypsies—an eye in a ball of glass— turn to your right. In a little while you will come to the place where your folk live."

With that, the wizard-priest grinned and gestured toward the musicians. "Bring a full ewer of whatever they like and ask them to join me," Inhetep told the sloe-eyed maid. "If you are free, come and sit with me, too. With such a short way to go, I can spend much time here having fun." The wench went off to do as he had asked. One of the four men also got up and left the tavern. Setne was positive the man had overheard everything. Still smiling, the Egyptian soon had the company of the band, the serving maid, and a couple of other women who had drifted over to the group. Setne put his purse on the table and emptied it. A dozen or more copper and silver coins spilled forth. "Now that should do for our thirst!" he said drunkenly. "Can any of you charming ladies dance?"

Within half an hour, there was a roistering party in full swing around the Egyptian's table. Soon, in fact, several of his fellow-countrymen appeared as if by magick in the Golden Shiva. Although they were of common sort, Inhetep welcomed them as if the three were cousins. The musicians resumed their places to accompany the woman who was dancing for Setne. Then another woman performed and more folk joined the noisy throng. More silver came from somewhere on the magister's person, and greater quantities of beer, wine, and spirits arrived. "Is there a pair of strong fellows here?" the shaven-headed priest-mage cried. "I'll pay the winner of a wrestling bout four dolphosess. I want some entertainment of the rigorous sort!" Although several of the wenches volunteered other sports, Inhetep held firm, and soon a pair of stalwarts agreed to give it a try. A space was cleared for them as Setne set out four of the Achaean coins, silver disks each worth about twenty-five of the common Albish bronze coins. The match began—and in no time the contest brought bedlam to the tavern.

As several tipsy onlookers cheered the wrestlers, a third contestant leaped into the fray. Someone joined the trio in order to even things out. Then a tankard was hurled into the crowd, and a general melee commenced. At the height of the brawl, several people managed to escape the devastation. Beside a stray Hindi or two and a Phonecian gambler, the three Egyptians who had wandered in left the tavern the same way, but with more energy than when they had entered. Anybody keeping track of the wizard-priest would not have wondered why he didn't leave when his countrymen did. Somehow the tall man had become embroiled in the fighting and was seen only occasionally in the sprawl, a shaven head here, a lean, coppery arm there. In fact, three hard-eyed men were watching Inhetep as he brawled. Naturally, they paid no attention to those who left hurriedly.

Outside, the three Egyptians ran off toward their own quarter as fast as they could. There was no telling when the watch would arrive to break up the melee and arrest all they could lay their hands on. The cost of damages and the fines would certainly pauper a working man! It was no more than a half-dozen blocks to the part of Londun where the former folk of Pharaoh dwelled. Actual distance was difficult to measure in the slant and twist of street and alley. Halfway there, the men slowed to a brisk walk, breath steaming in the chill air. Only then did they feel safe in laughing and jesting about the whole affair. They headed directly for their own favorite drinking establishment, the Fattened Goose. "Where's Buhor?" one of them asked when they arrived. The second man shrugged. "Who can say? Perhaps he decided to go home—he hardly said a word after we left that stupid Hindi tavern." The first Egyptian was about to go back into the street despite the cold and look for his friend, but then he saw a pair of sisters he knew. "Too bad for him," he said to his companion, pointing toward the women and winking.

Buhor was eventually dragged unconscious from the Golden Shiva. He had no idea how he had become involved in the fighting, swearing to the local magistrate that he could remember nothing except talking and drinking with friends. Unimpressed, the judge fined him heavily, and Buhor would have ended up in the workhouse had not some unknown benefactor paid over the whole sum on his behalf. Meanwhile, however, the three Albish men fared better—and worse. The police were quick to defer to them when one of their number presented certain credentials. "Search for a tall Egyptian," that one told the lieutenant in charge of the watchmen. "He's easily spotted—shaven pate, hawk nose, and green eyes. His name is Inhetep, Setne Inhetep, and he's wanted for questioning by the Royal Palace." No trace of the wanted man could be found, however, so soon thereafter the three hard-eyed men had to report back to their superior empty-handed. Nobody ever saw them again.

The day after the disturbance in the Golden Shiva, a mob attacked the Egyptian district. The Bow Street Runners found answers for the Lord Mayor. It seemed that they were whipped into a frenzy in secret cult meetings. Something to do with an Eastern god called Set-Anubis and a traitor. A lot of silver and gold was involved—the mob had been showered with silver coins to encourage them to find and kill the traitor. Gold was promised them if they succeeded. Before further investigation could proceed, however, the proceedings came to a halt.

Word arrived from the citadel. The Royal Chamberlain, Sir Chauncey, had been found murdered. Beside him was a statuette of the Egyptian deity, the one with a black jackal's head, Anubis. There had been a warning, too. The Lord Mayor was charged with finding the culprit, and one Magister Setne Inhetep was the chief suspect. The Runners were in the right district, so they simply switched from seeking the cause of the riot to looking for the wanted man.

For a week thereafter, all of Londun was buzzing with the story. Broadsides reported the tale in lurid and fanciful detail. The followers of the underground cult of Set disappeared. There were massive searches in the whole foreign quarter, and virtually every Egyptian, or foreign male over average height for that matter, was hauled into one station or another for scrutiny and questioning. The initial furor settled, but there were still whispers of the strange business. Rumors persisted that the whole matter was a plot by rebels and foreigners to overthrow the king and the Kelltic gods, too. There was a good deal of indignation among the good people of the city. All foreigners found it necessary to keep a very low profile. Those who went abroad made a point of visiting local temples to pay their respects to the established pantheon of Albion. But no trace was found of the ur-kheri-heb, the Egyptian wizard-priest named Setne Inhetep.