Imhotep (51 page)

Suddenly
he thought of Diane again.  Not her beauty, not her relationship with
Brian or Imhotep.  No!  She was a stranger.  She had come from
some mysterious land that no one had ever heard of before.

That’s
where he could flee.  He only needed to persuade her to tell him how to
get there.

T
hey put ashore at dusk, the fading light
casting long shadows in front of them on the shore at Khmunu.  No one, not
even Nimaasted was there to greet them. 

After
his boatmen secured the boat, Djefi sent them into town to get a sedan. 
Until King Djoser sent an assassin, he was still First Prophet of Sobek and he
would not walk when he could be carried.

While
Djefi was waiting, Waja-Hur decided to leave the boat.  Djefi called after
him, ordering him to stay on the boat.  The old man ignored him and walked
up the bank toward the town.

Djefi
clenched his hands and thought of the pleasure he would have shortly.

T
hey found Waja-Hur’s body crumpled on the
floor of his hut.

Nimaasted
helped to carry the small body to a boat to be taken across the river to the
place of purification.  There he bathed Waja-Hur’s body in a solution of
natron, sanctifying it and preparing it for mummification.

The
chief embalmer took charge of Waja-Hur’s body then, wearing a jackal mask as he
removed the priest’s brain, coated his face with resin and carefully repacked
the cranial cavity with resin-soaked linen rags.

The
internal organs, except the heart, were removed to be embalmed separately and
placed in canopic jars.  Waja-Hur’s empty body was stuffed with more
resin-soaked linen and gently set down in a trough where it was covered with
natron crystals to dehydrate for forty days.

W
hen Tama and Hetephernebti arrived,
Waja-Hur’s body had been in the care of the embalmers for almost a week. 

“What
happened?” Tama asked Nimaasted.

“He
was old, Tama,” Nimaasted said, his love for the old man thickening his
voice.  “He was eager to leave Kemet for Khert-Neter.”

Tama
closed her eyes.  She was suspicious of the timing of Waja-Hur’s death,
but she heard the pain in Nimaasted’s voice.

“I’m
sorry, Nimaasted,” she said.  “I know you loved him as a father.  He
was a special man, truly dedicated to Thoth and to the Two Lands.” She waited a
few moments to separate the questions she wanted to ask from her condolences.

“What
I meant to ask, Nimaasted, was how did he pass?”

“I
don’t know.  He returned from Kom Ombo in the evening.  I was not
expecting him so soon.” He looked at her, his face drawn and worried. 
“I’ve had no news, Tama, but there are rumors reaching us that something
horrible happened at the dedication.”

“You’ve
had no messages from the king?” she asked.

He
shook his head. 

“Just
rumors.  They say the king was attacked but turned himself into Sobek and
ate his attacker.  They say Waja-Hur regained his youth and spoke with the
voice of a god, cleansing Kemet and returning the Two Lands to ma’at. 
They say the king’s new adviser killed a man by pointing his hand at him. 
They say Makare was trying to kill King Djoser. 

“Is
this true?”

Hetephernebti,
who had been silent until now, put a hand on Nimaasted’s shoulder.

“The
voice of the gods is in these stories, Nimaasted.  I was at Kom
Ombo.  I saw,” she said.  “King Djoser did not turn into Sobek, but
Sobek did devour the man who plotted against the king.  He was
Kanakht.  And Waja-Hur was truly visited by Thoth.  Of that I am
sure.  His face and voice became that of a young man, a man possessed by a
terrible strength.  He looked in King Djoser’s heart and saw the truth
that is there.  He pronounced him a god and proclaimed that Kemet had been
restored to ma’at.

“The
truth is in the river, Nimaasted.  Do you see how it has risen?  King
Djoser made an offering to Khnum to show his love of his father.  And now
Khnum has unleashed a mighty flood.”

It was
true. Nimaasted had never seen the waters rise as they were now.  He heard
the passion in Hetephernebti’s voice, saw the belief in her eyes.

“Nimaasted,”
Tama said.  “Did you see Waja-Hur after he arrived?  Did you see him
with Djefi?”

“I
don’t understand.”

“Waja-Hur
was traveling with Djefi.  They must have arrived together.”

Nimaasted
nodded.  “Yes.  Djefi came to me the night before we found
Waja-Hur.  He said the trip had exhausted Waja-Hur and that he had gone to
his room to sleep.  Djefi said we should let Waja-Hur rest, that it been
his habit to sleep until late in the day while on the boat.

“He
has been tired, Tama.  And lately he has kept unusual hours, sleeping
during the day and walking the streets at night.  You saw that.  So
we waited until after noon before checking on him.  He was on the floor,
his ka free.”

Tama
took Nimaasted in her arms and hugged the young priest.

“I’m
sorry, Nimaasted.  But, as you say, his ka is free and he will soon walk
the green fields of Khert-Neter, young and strong again.”

B
rian had mixed feelings as Khmunu came
into view along the river.

He was
no longer an outlaw, and he was traveling with Imhotep who wore the menat as a
sign of his royal office as adviser to the king.  Tama and Hetephernebti
had traveled ahead of them, so Nimaasted and Waja-Hur would know that he was no
longer a hunted man.

Still,
the town was where everything had changed for him.

He had
been attacked by strangers and saved by a boatman.  He had hidden from a
search party and been rescued by Tama.  He had fled the village in
disguise and then found himself during the journey with Tama.  He had
loved and been loved.

He,
Imhotep and Bata were traveling with Pahket and Meryt.  They were a few
days behind Hetephernebti and Tama, having waited at Kom Ombo for Hesire to be
satisfied that Brian’s wound was healing properly.

They
planned to stop to get provisions and news.  After three weeks on the boat
with the men, Meryt and Pahket were eager to be among women. 

“E
ffi killed him,” Brian said, nodding his
head with certainty.

Imhotep
nodded agreement.  “Probably, Brian, but I don’t know how we would prove
it.”

They
were standing in Waja-Hur’s room with Tama who had told them that no one had
seen Waja-Hur alive after he had arrived with Djefi.

“Nimaasted
said they found him here the next day,” she said, pointing to the dirt floor by
the bed.  “He said it looked like Waja-Hur had gotten up and started to
walk to the doorway when he collapsed.”

They
looked at the dirt floor, each picturing Waja-Hur there.  Suddenly Brian
took a long step that brought him to the low bed by the wall.  “Ook,” he
said, pointing to the bed and the neatly folded sheet at the foot of it.

“Yes?”
Tama said.

Brian
mimed folding a sheet.  Then he pointed again at the bed.

“You’re
right,” Imhotep said.  “The sheet is neatly folded.  Waja-Hur didn’t
sleep here.”

Tama
shook her head.  “We don’t know that.  It is possible someone cleaned
the room and folded the sheet.”

“Can
we ask?” Imhotep asked Tama.

“Cahn
we ee is bahee?”  Brian asked.

Tama
looked at Imhotep for a translation.  Instead, Imhotep looked at
Brian.  “How would that help?  If Djefi killed him with a knife, they
would have noticed.  And the body will be different.  They are
mummifying it.  I don’t know what we’d gain.”

Brian
shrugged.  “I wah hinking.  Ow ould he ill im?”

Imhotep
squinted, trying to understand Brian’s mangled English.  During the trip
downriver, Imhotep had learned to understand much of what Brian said, but he
was excited now and hard to understand.

Brian
sighed deeply and suddenly reached out and took Imhotep by the neck, as if
strangling him.  Imhotep stifled his reaction to jerk away and let Brian
demonstrate his point.  He felt a pressure on his windpipe, which Brian
released as soon as Imhotep winced.

“Oones,
ooken oones,” Brian said pointing to his throat.

Imhotep
got it.  “Right, broken bones.  We should be able to tell that.” He
looked at Brian in amazement.  “How did you think of that?”

“EV,”
Brian answered.  He pretended to use a remote control.

“Got,
it, television,” Imhotep said.

Tama
had followed part of Imhotep’s English, but Brian’s gibberish made no sense to
her.  “I don’t understand,” she said.

“If
Djefi killed Waja-Hur like this,” Imhotep put his hands around his own throat
because he didn’t know the Egyptian word for strangle, “then the bones here
would be broken.  Can we see his body?”

N
imaasted was resistant until Hetephernebti
intervened.

“He is
King Djoser’s adviser, Nimaasted.  You were not at Kom Ombo when he
stepped in front of Makare and stopped the assassin with a wave of his hand and
saved the king’s life.  You see the royal menat he wears.

“If he
wants to see Waja-Hur’s body, you must let him.”

The
priest led Imhotep, Brian and Tama across the river to the tent where
Waja-Hur’s body was drying in the natron trough.

It was
the first time Brian had seen Nimaasted since the night Nimaasted had lured him
to the ambush and pulled a knife on him.  Tama had explained to Brian that
Kanakht had ordered the attack and Nimaasted was bound to obey the vizier’s
orders.

Brian
understood, and having seen Kanakht attacked by the crocodile, he no longer
felt the need for revenge.  But he found himself disliking the young
priest despite Nimaasted’s apologies.

Inside
the tent, Nimaasted knelt by the trough and lovingly brushed the salt crystals from
Waja-Hur’s face.  The natron had begun to tighten and darken the body’s
skin, which looked delicate and paper-thin.

Imhotep
knelt beside Nimaasted and unfolded a Swiss Army pocketknife.  As he
reached slowly toward Waja-Hur’s throat, Nimaasted grabbed his arm to stop
him.  Imhotep glanced at him angrily, and Brian quickly clamped a rough
hand on Nimaasted’s shoulder.

“Nimaasted,”
Tama said quietly.  “We are in search of the truth here.  Release him
or I will ask Brian to take you outside.”

His
arm free, Imhotep brought the shining blade closer to Waja-Hur’s throat,
glancing at the dead man’s face, half expecting him to open his mouth in
protest.  Swallowing hard, he reached in with his other hand and brushed
away the crystals from Waja-Hur’s neck.

“Ook,”
Brain said as the neck became visible.

The
natron had started to absorb the fluids from Waja-Hur’s skin leaving behind
dark circles where blood had formed bruises.

Imhotep
folded up his knife and reached in with both hands, placing his fingertips on
the bruises.  As he placed his finger on the bruise marks, his hands
wrapped around Waja-Hur’s neck as if he were strangling him.

Tama
and Brian stared silently.  Nimaasted gasped and shouted for Imhotep to
stop.

Tama
understood first.  “No, Nimaasted, he isn’t desecrating the body. 
Imhotep, please move your hands.  See, Nimaasted?  The bruises on
Waja-Hur’s neck are exactly where they would be if they had been made by
someone’s fingers squeezing there.  Waja-Hur was strangled, Nimaasted. 
Someone killed him.”

“It
wasn’t someone,” Imhotep said.  “It was Djefi.”

Tama
shook her head.  “We do not know that.”

“Waja-Hur’s
bed was not slept in, we saw the folded sheet.  Yet Djefi told Nimaasted
not to disturb Waja-Hur because he was sleeping.  Djefi was lying,” Imhotep
said.  “He must have taken him to his room and killed him there. 
Then he told Nimaasted not to disturb Waja-Hur so he had time to leave Khmunu.”

“I
agree that it makes sense, Imhotep,” Tama said.  “I’m just saying that we
don’t know that it is true.”

“Iane,”
Brian said.

Imhotep
looked at him sharply.  “That’s right, she’s at To-She.” He turned to
Tama.  “Brian and I are leaving for To-She, as soon as possible.”

“No,”
she said.  “If Djefi has done this, then he has gone mad.”

“He
knows I am the king’s vizier now.  He will not harm us.”

“No,
Imhotep, think.  If he has gone mad, he will not care who you are. 
Wait here.  We will send word to King Djoser and he will send men to go
with you.”

Brian
grabbed Imhotep’s arm.  “We muh help her,” he said.

Imhotep
looked at Brian.  He remembered the swaggering jock who had walked across
the sand at Saqqara. Now he saw a man who had been tortured and almost
killed, yet he was ready to place himself in danger for someone else. 

And he
thought about Djefi.  He was desperate or deranged enough to kill another
priest.  He would know that there was no place for him to hide or to
escape the king’s revenge unless he found the passage through the unfinished
tomb to the land he, Brian, and Diane had come from.

In his
heart Imhotep knew that Djefi would look for the passageway, and he knew Djefi
would do anything to force Diane to help him.

“Let’s
find Bata,” he told Brian in English.  He turned to Tama.  “We must
go.  I will leave Meryt in your protection.”

“An
Paheh,” Brian added.

P
rince Teti’s three boats arrived two days
later. 

He
expected to find Imhotep and the others resting at Khmunu, but instead he
learned that Waja-Hur had been murdered and that Imhotep had headed north to
To-She determined to rescue Diane himself.  He sent a message to the king,
dispatching pigeons to different towns, unsure where King Djoser would be.