Sphinx's Queen (7 page)

I scowled, but I nodded and stopped struggling. Gently he released my mouth and pushed himself back onto his knees and helped me sit up. His breath was warm on my ear as he drew near and whispered, “They’re alive, Nefertiti. Your friends are alive.”

3
L
INES
D
RAWN ON
S
AND

“They’re ali—?” My astonished words must have sounded too loud for Idu’s liking, because he clapped his hand over my mouth again and pulled me away from the dead fire and his uncle’s snoring form. Scrambling and stumbling, he hurried me down the riverbank, past the boat, and to the far side of a lone palm tree that stood at least a bowshot away from our campsite. Once there, he let me go and leaned against the scaly trunk.

Idu tilted his head back and let out a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods that Uncle’s a deep sleeper. Still, you shouldn’t have done that. He’d beat me bloody if he knew I told you about your friends.”

“He’s been so kind to me, why wouldn’t he want me to know that Nava and Amenophis are alive?” I was so confused that my head spun and my stomach turned over. I wanted to believe Idu’s blessed words, but I was afraid that he’d made some horrible mistake. I didn’t know if I could bear another heartbreak. “And how—how do you know this?”

“First tell me this, Nefertiti,” Idu replied. “Is your friend Amenophis a tall, scrawny, gangly young fellow? Thick lips, a long face, kind of ugly?”

“He’s
not
ugly.” I leaped to Amenophis’s defense so hotly that it made Idu snicker.

“And he’s
not
just a friend to you, either, is he?”

My face flushed and I refused to respond to the taunting question. “So you really did see him?”

“If that’s what he looks like, I did. He was with a little girl—not a lot of meat on her bones, foreign-looking. We sailed past them yesterday. They looked badly roughed up, but if they’d escaped a hippo attack, they were lucky not to look worse. My mother’s cousin lost an arm to one of those monsters, and he bled to death. Anyway, the two of them were walking along the bank, following the flow of the river, and every few steps they called out a name—
your
name. Uncle heard it, too, so unless there are two girls named Nefertiti wandering lost around here—”

“Oh, Idu,
thank
you!” I flung my arms around his neck and hugged him. “You did see them! They
are
alive! Isis bless you forever! And if they were headed downstream on foot, we can probably catch up to them today, except …” A worrying thought crossed my mind. “Idu, you still haven’t told me the reason for all this secrecy. Why didn’t your uncle tell me he’d seen my friends, too? Why did he let me suffer?”

“Because he doesn’t want you to find them again,” Idu said grimly. “And he won’t take you to Dendera. He plans to get you aboard our boat this morning and make up as many stories as it takes to persuade you to come home with us. He’ll claim that the ducks we’ve caught need to be cleaned and preserved or they’ll rot. Once he’s brought you to our house, he’ll find one reason after another to delay your departure. He’ll wheedle you to be patient with a poor old man; he’ll promise a hundred times that he
will
take you to Dendera … tomorrow. But he won’t let you go. Nefertiti, he intends for you to become his wife.”

My jaw dropped. “He can’t be serious.”

“He was serious enough last night when he told me his plan. He told me that if I didn’t help him, if I told you about how we’d seen your friends, then the first thing he’d do when we got home was throw my mother and me out of his house. And it is his house, just as that’s his boat. He calls Mother his sister, but they’re only related by marriage. My father—his brother—left us nothing when he died, so we’ve had to depend on Uncle’s charity ever since. He’s mostly good-hearted, except when he really wants something. Then he’s ruthless.” Idu lowered his eyes. “He wants you.”

I touched his forearm lightly. “And thanks to you, he won’t have me. But … will you be all right, you and your mother?”

“That’s up to you. I’m going back to camp, and you’re going to run as far and fast as you can. When Uncle wakes up, I’m going to be as shocked as he is that you took off. The only way he’ll ever know I had anything to do with your escape is if he catches you and you tell him.”

“That won’t happen,” I said firmly. “Good-bye, Idu. I wish I could reward you for the gift you’ve given me.”

He shrugged away my thanks. “My father didn’t have much when he died, but Mother told me he always had a clean heart. That’s what I want to have when it’s my time to stand before Lord Osiris. Just
move
. Head away from the river to start, then swing back when the sun’s about
that
high”—he pointed across the river—“just to the top of those trees. See them?”

I peered into the fading darkness and saw the fringed shadows of more palms on the eastern shore. “Yes, I do.”

“Good. That’s when it’ll be safe for you to come back to the riverside. Uncle will have given up looking for you by then, maybe sooner; trust me. He’s a practical man, and he knows that if we waste too much time hunting you, the birds we caught yesterday won’t be fit to eat. Hmm, speaking of food, there’s a red-striped basket in the boat. If you can be quick and quiet, you might take a peek inside it before you go.” He gave me a conspirator’s grin. “Maybe take
more
than a peek. After all, a girl who would run away from the old man who was so nice to her, well, she’d probably help herself to some of his bread, too.”

“I don’t want to steal, Idu.”

“Then don’t steal. Just take two or three little loaves. That’ll be my share, and I’m glad to give it to you.”

Idu went back to his place by the dead fire, and I did what he’d told me. I used the strip of cloth I’d cut from my dress to cradle the bread loaves and turned my back on the sacred river. I moved as fast as I could, but I also moved with an eye to places where trees or tall plants would hide my passage. I didn’t want to go too far from the river, because I had no idea how far downstream Amenophis and Nava might be, and I didn’t want to loop around and miss them.

As I ran, I wondered if that was what had happened the other day, when I followed the irrigation canal. While I’d veered off to the west, my dear friends continued straight down the river, and our paths failed to cross. That mustn’t happen again! I cast anxious looks to the east, eager to see the shining face of Aten’s sun-disk high enough in the sky. I groaned when I realized I’d hidden my tracks too well and that the grove of trees sheltering me also blocked my view.

I’m
sure
that enough time’s passed
, I told myself.
It
has
to be safe for me to go back now
. I rushed toward the river.

I reached the shore in a spot where the water was shallow and the round pads of blue lotus floated on the surface. Their fragrance entranced me, reminding me of our beloved garden at home. As tempting as it was to slip into memories, I forced myself to be alert to the here and now, scanning the river for any sign of Idu and his uncle. Praise Isis, there wasn’t a trace of them, and I was able to turn my attention to seeking my lost dear ones.

I looked upstream, across the river. Once again, the sacred waters were teeming with boats and ships, but if I strained my eyes, I could just make out a last glimpse of Thebes, the city’s great buildings no more than slivers of gold in the distance. From there, I let my eyes move slowly along the eastern bank, trying to find some familiar landmark—even if it was only a remembered grove of trees—that would let me gauge where I was. I concentrated, trying to recall the sights I’d seen in the moments before the hippo attacked us and what the far shore had looked like from the hunters’ campsite.

I’m a little farther down the river from where I was last night
, I told myself.
That is …
I think
that’s where I am. Idu said he saw Nava and Amenophis moving downstream, but he didn’t tell me if he and his uncle were sailing in the same direction
. I thought about it some more.
A reed boat has no sail. It can’t catch the wind and go against the current. Idu’s no weakling, and his uncle’s not that old; he’s got a farmer’s hard muscles. Still, I doubt they had the strength to get that boat upstream with only one oar. They’d’ve been exhausted! So maybe they began their hunting trip by bargaining with the master of a larger ship for a tow upstream; then they just rode the current the way we did, which means—
my eyes swept the river again—
they’d have
passed
Nava and Amenophis going downstream, and that means my best chance of finding my friends again lies
that
way
. With that confident thought, I turned my steps south, backtracking against the flow of the sacred river.

My certainty lasted as long as my first burst of energy. I’d been walking since before Ra’s sun-ship had showed itself fully above the horizon, and I hadn’t had a lot to eat since the day before. I thought of Amenophis’s worries about making our supplies last and only allowed myself half of one of the small loaves Idu had encouraged me to take. It wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the rising hunger I felt.

When hunger gnawed at my belly, doubt gnawed at my mind.
Is this really the right direction? What if they’re downstream? What if they’ve turned away from the river? What if they came across a friendly boatman and crossed back to the eastern shore? What if they’ve returned to Thebes? What if, what if, what if …
Tears of exhaustion prickled the corners of my eyes, but I pressed my lips together and wouldn’t let them fall. I knew that as tired and hungry as I was, if I wept now, it would stop me in my tracks and I’d lose precious time.

I’ll only go upstream as far as those trees
, I decided, picking out the farthest thicket I could see.
Then I’ll turn around
.

The grove of palms didn’t seem to be such a great distance from where I stood, but as I approached it, I saw that the riverbank along my way was a series of obstacles, large and small. In one place, I pushed aside a clump of reeds just in time to see a huge bull crocodile drowsing right where I was about to tread. I retreated and made a large circle around him. Next I encountered a deep channel—the silted remains of an abandoned irrigation ditch—and had to watch my step climbing into and out of it. My bare feet sank into the warm mud well past my ankles, holding me back. Insects swarmed around my head, biting my face and arms viciously. When I couldn’t stand the cruel itching anymore, I had to stop and slap more mud onto the bites for relief.

I was just stumbling back onto my feet when I heard a distinct rustling from a stand of green bulrushes. The plants grew thickly all the way to the water, completely covering the bank. The only direct route for me was to beat a path through them, but what were they hiding? What was making that sound? It was too loud to be the movement of a bird. Could it be another crocodile or, worse, another hippo?

I should go around again
, I thought, but my heart sank at the idea of yet another wearying, time-devouring detour.
Or maybe—maybe I should go as close as I can and see if there’s anything there that I need to avoid. If I’m careful—

Then I heard another sound through the rustling in the bulrushes: the soft sound of a child’s tears.

I plunged into the reeds heedlessly, joyously, my arms sweeping them out of my way left and right. How foolish I was, and how far beyond listening to the lonely, abandoned voice of reason that begged me to slow down, to mind my footing, to question whether I was sure I’d heard those small, miserable sobs or if it was an illusion. I had no more time or desire for questions; I was caught up in knowing that my happiness lay just a few steps ahead of me, hiding among the rushes.

And, yes, it was true! There they were, my friends, my dear ones, there! Amenophis crouched in the reeds, holding a weeping Nava close to his bony chest. The two of them looked scrawny and almost as filthy as I felt, and yet to my eyes they were more beautiful than the first nightmare-banishing rays of the glorious Aten. I shouted their names with all the joy in my heart.