The Gold in the Grave (2 page)

Antef had come to me in my father’s tavern where I was gathering pots. He knew I was a thief. I would steal anything–from washing on the riverbank where it was stretched out to dry, to food in the temple laid out for the gods.

“The plan is simple but brilliant,” he told me. “The King’s tomb is waiting for him in an underground cave across the river. He will be buried there with his fortune in seventy days time.”

“And guarded,” I said. “We can’t get in.”

He gave his gap-toothed grin again. “We don’t have to. We just have to get
out
!”

“Uh?”

“The King will be placed in the tomb then the door will be sealed. But
you
will already be in there. On the inside. Hiding,” he said. “We’ll slip you in before the funeral.”

I shuddered. “I’ll be trapped in the tomb–in the dark–with the dead King and all the spirits? The door is a huge slab of stone. I won’t be able to break out. I’ll die.”

He shook his head. “I have friends in the stone quarry. They have made the door. One corner has been cracked and put back with weak mortar. You can’t see the fault unless you know it is there. You smash open the corner and pass out the King’s fortune.”

It was a clever plan. “How do I get in?”

“You go to the scribe school by the temple. The scribe master is a friend of mine. He will train you as a scribe, and you will be sent into the tomb to paint the prayers on the walls. The guards will get used to seeing you,” he promised.

“So, after the funeral, I have to pass the treasure out through the corner of the door. You’ll be waiting in the passage?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“But the passage will be guarded,” I argued. “If you can’t get down to the door I’ll be trapped alone.”

“I have used most of my money to pay the guards,” he said. “They will look the other way. And you will not be alone. Dalifa will be with you.”

I looked at the girl who sat quietly chewing a date. She was dressed as a priestess.

My partner in crime.

Chapter 2
The Temple Trick

Antef smiled across at Dalifa and asked her, “How did you get on in the temple?”

Dalifa looked sour. “I had to wear a lot of uncomfortable clothes and do some disgusting things,” she said. “I mean to say, I get my meat from a butcher in the market … when I can afford it.”

We nodded. I usually ate bread and onions but I had tasted meat. When I was rich–after the robbery–I would eat meat every day.

“But I’ve never had to kill my own meat!” Dalifa said.

“The priests made you kill something before you could eat it?” I asked.

She turned her narrow eyes on me with scorn. “You are as stupid as Kerpes,” she snarled. “Every day they sacrifice a kid goat to the god Osiris. They gave me a live goat and told me to cut its throat, collect the blood in a bowl and cook the rest.”

“Did you do it?” I asked.

“I did not,” she said. “I took the goat to the butcher and swapped it for a bowl of blood and some cooked goat meat. The priests never knew.”

“Did Osiris drink the blood?” I wanted to know.

Dalifa clenched her hands. “Osiris … is … a … stone … statue, Paneb. They make sacrifices to him and the peasants think Osiris drinks the blood, but he doesn’t.”

“So, who eats the cooked meat?” I asked.

Dalifa spread her hands. “The priests, of course! They have it for their evening meal.”

“Poor Osiris must get hungry,” I said.

“He … is … a … stone … oh, never mind!” Dalifa snapped.

Then she realised I was teasing and gave me a look as bitter as cobra venom.