Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 1 - Anubis Murders (3 page)

In fact, I have now developed a ravenous appetite! Are you ready to join me in a morning repast?"

"Humph," Rachelle said, turning towards the villa. "Yes, but don't change the subject. That was an unfair thing you did."

"No more unfair than you, a devotee of sport and physical activity, pitting yourself against a sedentary old heka-binder." It was so outrageous a statement that Rachelle barked a scornful laugh, and Inhetep grinned in self-derision. "Cease bickering with your master," he commanded without force or authority. "I won the contest, and now you must serve me for another day."

Rachelle lowered her eyes. "Yes, master," she intoned humbly. Then she gave him a dark-eyed look which would have withered a basilisk. "Tomorrow is another day," she said, and marched off, back straight, toward the bath at the left of the main building. Setne shook his head in admiration at her beautiful form as Rachelle strode ahead.

Hair still damp from the saltwater, Setne and the girl sat on the villa's little terrace watching the sea traffic—small boats and tall-masted ships to and from Valentia—as they enjoyed a simple breakfast. The /Egyptian invariably drank sweetened tea. This morning he had juice from Valen-tia's famous orange groves. Setne barely touched the crusty little loaf before him, but Rachelle made up for the wizard-priest's lack of morning appetite. Fruit, milk, bread with marmalade, smoked eel, and tea were spread out before her.

"You should eat more," she scolded Inhetep. "If you would exercise more and eat more you wouldn't look like a stork."

Setne scowled as if he actually took her words seriously. True, he did rather resemble a long-legged bird, but never one so homely as a stork! "And if you would spend more time in study and learning, young lady, you might have something better to look forward to than a lifetime as a sword-carrying bodyguard," he replied with mock seriousness.

"You seemed happy enough with such inconsequential skills when we were in Thessalonika, and—"

"You were nearly slain that night!"

"There in the warrens of the medina in Mar-rakech, I recall being of some small assistance too.. . ."

Inhetep harrumphed. "So? Have you forgotten how I had to rescue you in Milano? Had you been able to perform the simplest of Preternatural unbindings, death would not have hovered so near your pretty head!"

"Thank you," Rachelle said simply. Then she called, "Carlos, I am still famished. Bring me a pair of those eggs baked in cream!"

Inhetep was at a loss to know if the girl had

thanked him for saving her life or for his inadvertent compliment. He decided to drop the matter for now. Setne would pick it up again later, as he always did, when the opportunity presented itself. He ordered fresh tea and settled back to watch Rachelle devour still more breakfast. Inhetep had found the girl when she was but six or seven years old, a Phonecian or Sham-ish waif taken prisoner in the course of warfare between Egypt and Pharaoh's neighbors to the east. Too young for service in a bordello or sale to a harem, too scrawny and sickly for manual employment, Rachelle had been placed on the slave block almost as a joke. In truth, there had been softly uttered jests and rude titters when the wizard-priest had purchased the little child. Five silver crescents he had bid—overbid. The slaver had immediately banged his gavel, snatched the coins, and shoved the child at the shaven-headed Inhetep, fearing that he was mad and would renege.

He had meant to be rid of Rachelle immediately. A few weeks at his own small villa to the west of Thebes to put a little flesh on her and make her presentable, then he would hand the girl and the manumission certificate over to the temple of Maat. Education, training, and work would have made the little slave girl into a priestess with no small degree of social standing in a dozen or so years. Rachelle had had different ideas. Inhetep had rescued her, so she was

his no matter what. None of the magister's plan had any bearing on the matter.

A month and she was still as scrawny as ever and as wild-looking, too. Inhetep had returned from the east and reprimanded his household staff for failing to have the waif presentable for dedication to the temple.

"She is impossible," the chief of his staff had said earnestly.

"That one is a hellion!" the elderly housekeeper had agreed. "Send her packing now."

That was sufficient for Setne to take charge of the matter personally, yet somehow the waif had prevailed. Instead of being sent off to a temple, Rachelle wound up getting instruction with the children of higher class in the small temple of the nearby village. Inhetep had tutored her as well, and a few years later Rachelle had gone off to formal schooling, but not as an aspiring priestess of Maat as Setne had proposed. Rachelle had talked the wizard-priest into sending her to the great temple of Neith in Sais. Neith was the feminine deity of warfare, the Lady of storms and fighting. Rachelle went off as a little girl and returned a few years later as a sophisticated woman, a trained warrior, skilled huntress, and keen thinker.

"Almost twenty years now," Rachelle said as she swallowed a mouthful of eggs.

Setne started, staring at her. "You haven't actually learned . . ."

"No. I need no truck with spells, silly old dear." She answered the hanging question with a satisfied grin. "You are as easy to read as an unrolled scroll."

Of course. The Egyptian relaxed. For a moment, he thought he had been slipping. Perhaps he was readable—he obviously was—but only to the girl. She was correct, and twenty years was sufficient time for his old friend to learn to read expressions, interpret body language, associate words, create an educated guess. It approximated mind reading. "You're mistaken as usual, amazon," Setne lied. "I was wondering if there might be something of interest in the count's personal collection of manuscripts and curiosities, that's all."

Rachelle snorted derisively. It was a habit she » had picked up from the wizard-priest. "And I'm a dainty concubine of the Imperial Ch'in!" she retorted. Then Rachelle arose from the little table and strode off. "I will be in my chambers practicing my negligible arts. Please disturb me only if you need someone to rescue you."

Inhetep made a rueful noise, a clucking which might stem from either disappointment or a point scored against him. Rachelle would know which. He watched her walking into the villa. She dressed like a man, but her slender body's feminine lines were not disguised. Rachelle was as tall as many of the local men, but never would she be mistaken for one. The blue-black curls,

finely featured face, and superb curves certainly qualified her for inclusion in even an emperor's harem. She had perfect manners, could sing well, and played harp and mandolin, too.

Beauty, etiquette, refinement, knowledge, and quick wit assisted her greatly in difficult times. Foes typically mistook her qualities for softness, weakness, vulnerability, but Rachelle was as deadly a foe with bow or sword as any amazon. She could out-wrestle and out-fight most men half again her weight, for she was a devotee of the art of unarmed combat, which applied the force of the attacker against himself. That, after initial schooling in the Grecian forms of such combat, made her nearly unbeatable by any opponent not likewise trained.

"Why does she remain with me?" Inhetep murmured aloud.

Carlos, hovering nearby in anticipation of the Egyptian's departure from the breakfast table to pursue whatever it was such strange men as himself did to occupy their days, came close and bent towards Setne. "I crave your pardon, lord, but I didn't hear your command clearly."

"I said you should clear this stuff away," Inhetep told the Iberian. "I am finished."

"Very good, lord," Carlos intoned. "Will there by anything further?"

Setne waved him away, lost again in thought. Should he actually go to Count Patros' nearby castle? Or should he simply spend another leisurely day here? There was some letter writing to do, and he had not finished the treatise on antipathic dweomercraefting written by the woman who claimed she was Queen of the Romney or some such. What was her name, anyway? No matter . . . Inhetep's thoughts drifted back to Rachelle. Her stubborn refusal to be anything other than his guard had proved to be a benison from the gods. It had seemed quite the opposite at first.

He had been jibed about sending the homely little slave girl to school. The folk of Egypt were very liberal in most attitudes, especially regarding sex, and they thought Inhetep was currying a wholly unattractive girl toward becoming a concubine. There had been no use in answering any of that. The huge eyes set in the sharp, thin face, Rachelle's cleverness, and her absolute devotion had made Setne's decision regarding her. With education and training and manumission, Rachelle would be accepted as an Egyptian. Regardless of her plainness, the girl would find useful work in some ecclesiastical organization or with one of the various government offices. Even with only marginal talent for magickal practice, clerics were in high demand. He had tried, but despite his best efforts and her own willingness to try to please her benefactor, Rachelle had shown absolutely no ability whatsoever for any form of magick. None! The wizard-priest shook his bald pate at that thought. Almost everyone had a modicum of talent, which training and study could develop, if only to a very minor extent. Still, she had excelled at virtually everything else set before her as a challenge.

Someday soon, Setne would have to find a suitable husband for her. It was just that he did still need her. That had been proven to him time and time again over the last few years.

As an ur-kheri-heb, a great priest and wizard too, Inhetep was unusual in Egypt, and outside of Pharaoh's realms the combination was as rare as a black pearl. The governor of the Abydos Sepat, one of the sixty-four districts into which the kingdom was divided, had requested Setne's services just as Rachelle had returned from Sais. He had gone, of course, taking her with him. After all, what else could he do? Desert his foster child upon her homecoming after so many years? The service had been important—dangerous, too. In the last desperate stages of the affair, Rachelle had been involved and proved the usefulness of her recent training by acquitting herself with no little bravery. The felonious officials and their hired killers had been slain or captured, the governor cleared of the false charges, and Inhetep sent back to his home with commendations and a sizable purse of gold.

"I didn't even get a thank you," Rachelle had pouted.

"Female slaves are seldom thanked," Inhetep explained wryly.

After a bit of consideration, Rachelle had told him, "It is time I accepted my freedom, Master Setne, but I have a single condition you must agree to if this is to be." Setne had been suspicious but finally consented. "As long as I wish, I am to be your servant, your guard, and your associate, if you feel that is appropriate." It was foolish, but the matter was concluded thus.

The work he had done for Governor Ptah-tetta came to the attention of many others thereafter, and even Pharaoh had need for Inhetep's "unofficial" services. For the last several years, he and Rachelle had been all over the realm and its tributaries, and other nations as well, to suss out crime and its conspiracies, to hunt down enemies of the state. The detection work was interesting and occasionally very rewarding financially.

In fact, he received such an enormous sum for solving one particular case, that he was excluded as a member of the
Uchatu,
the Pharoah's secret service. But Magister Inhetep Setne could not cease being an investigator. For the last five years, he had traveled Yarth—at least the lands of Afrik, Azir, and Eropa—doing much the same as he had done before, but now as a private individual.

Ostensibly it was to learn more of his magickal art. Certainly, Inhetep had no need of money as long as he didn't squander the wealth he had inherited and the gold he had subsequently accumulated. In truth, he and Rachelle might have

lived two lifetimes without want, traveling and living in state. The Magister had a thirst for arcane knowledge, but he had an even greater thirst for adventure undertaken in the name of truth and justice. Not derring-do exactly. The wizard-priest was addicted to solving mysteries, especially puzzles which involved crime.

Thus, each place he and the girl went was one which offered some unusual bit of lore. Inhetep's reputation as an arch-dweomercraefter who solved crimes, uncovered spies, and brought criminals to justice, always preceded him. That was sufficient to guarantee that the /Egyptian was called upon to serve in such capacity wherever he and the girl happened to go. Five years of traveling from city to city, twice that number of detection commissions, and now at last a real holiday. Here in Valencia there was neither serious arcane knowledge to be found nor latent mystery. This was fun, relaxation, escape. ... In a short time, they would take a ship for Cadiz where certain ancient parchments were rumored to be held in a secret collection. Then it was on to Atlantl, a place of renown which Inhetep and all ^Egyptians held in honor, despite the degeneracy and dissolution which had overtaken the once-great kingdom. Whatever came thereafter was up in the air, so to speak.

Perhaps it would be portentous to go on to the western continents; perhaps the time would be ripe for a visit to Hind and the far Orient. . . .

Lemuria? No, he had no desire to see that great island in the Titanic Ocean, for the ways of its people and their magickal pursuits were totally alien to even the cosmopolitan priest-mage. Setne caught himself there. Only a week of idleness on the seashore in southeastern Iberia, a time of relaxation with his trusted friend and confidante, someone almost his daughter—no, more— but better not to dwell on that! How refreshing to be housed in a charming villa, to see the mountains, orange groves, the sea, the quaint town of Valentia, to receive invitations from all the nobility and wealthy citizens of the area. What more could he ask?