The Spitting Cobra (3 page)

‘Well, what are you thinking of doing about it?’ asked Paneb. ‘Isis has learnt the routines well. It would be difficult to replace her, surely?’

Hopi suddenly felt sick.
Replace Isis?
But this was their only home! He craned his neck to hear Nefert’s reply, but her voice had faded to a mumble.

‘Don’t do anything rash, Nefert,’ came Paneb’s voice. ‘Think about it.’

Hopi swallowed hard. He couldn’t bear to hear any more. Quickly, he walked through the house and out to the courtyard. He raised a hand in greeting to Sheri and Kia, then climbed up the stairway that led to the upper storey and the roof. His appetite had gone.

.

‘And again! Together this time!’ Nefert’s voice rang out.

Isis and Mut spun around, their arms in the air, then both somersaulted forward in perfect handsprings. No sooner had they landed than they arched themselves backwards and flipped the other way. They landed on their feet, then swung their hips and raised their arms again in time to imaginary music. Nefert clapped to get them to stop.

‘Much better,’ she said. ‘There won’t be much room to dance at these parties, from what I’ve heard. The houses of Set Maat are small, so you must keep close together and keep your movements tight.’

The girls nodded.

‘And I want you to be on your best behaviour. You will be guests for three nights in the village and you must make a good impression. They are paying us well. We want to make sure they invite us back. Do you understand?’

Isis and Mut nodded again.

‘No arguing. No fighting. I haven’t forgotten what happened this afternoon.’

Isis lowered her gaze. She was still annoyed with Mut, but she knew she mustn’t show it.

‘You can go now,’ said Nefert. ‘I want you to go to sleep early. Tomorrow will be a very long day.’

Isis turned and skipped out of the room. She climbed up on to the roof and found her brother leaning over the low wall at its edge, watching the street below. Dusk had fallen, and twinkling lamps were shining like little stars along the winding streets. She ran up to Hopi lightly and clapped her hands around his head, hiding his eyes.

‘Isis! Let go,’ he protested, tugging at her arms.

‘How d’you know it’s me?’ teased Isis.

Hopi pulled her arms free and turned round to face her. ‘Don’t joke, Isis,’ he said in a quiet voice. He looked across the roof to check that they were alone. ‘I need to talk to you.’

Isis saw that he meant it. ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.

‘That’s what I want
you
to tell
me
,’ said Hopi. ‘What happened with Mut today?’

Isis pulled a face. She’d had enough of thinking about Mut. ‘Oh, it was stupid,’ she said. ‘We had a fight and broke one of Nefert’s collars. She sent us to get it mended. Everything’s fine now.’

Hopi shook his head. ‘No, Isis, it isn’t fine.’

‘Why? What do you know about it?’

‘I heard Nefert talking to Paneb. She thinks you and Mut argue too much . . .’

All at once, Isis was furious again. ‘But it’s not my fault! It’s always Mut who starts it! She’s just jealous.’

Hopi snorted. ‘There’s nothing for Mut to be jealous of, Isis.’

‘Yes, there is. She’s jealous of you. Jealous of us, I mean. She doesn’t have a brother or sister she’s close to. Ramose and Kha are too young.’

‘It’s more than that, Isis. She’s afraid of me. You know she is. And Nefert’s beginning to worry.’

Isis examined Hopi’s face, and saw how unhappy he looked. Suddenly, she felt full of fear. She put her arms around her brother and laid her head against his chest.

‘What did Paneb say?’ she whispered.

Hopi was silent for a few seconds. ‘He tried to defend us a little,’ he murmured eventually, his voice hoarse. ‘But we need to be careful, Isis. We depend on this house.’

Isis heard her brother’s heart thumping in his chest, and clung on tighter.

‘I’m sorry.’ Hopi’s voice was full of sorrow and shame. ‘But I can’t bear to go back to begging. And I don’t know how else I’d support you if they replaced you with someone else.’

.

CHAPTER TWO

Isis closed her eyes, trying to fight back the panic. When she opened them, the River Nile still stretched out in front of her, calm and wide, with the palm trees and fields of the west bank on the other side; the desert hills beyond glowed orange-pink in the light of the early morning sun. She saw this view every day – but it was one thing looking at the Nile, and quite another getting into a boat to cross it. She tried to breathe slowly, in . . . out, in . . . out . . .

‘I’m here, Isis,’ said Hopi. ‘It’s going to be fine. The crocodiles live further upstream. Nothing’s going to happen to you.’

Isis gripped his arm. She knew her brother was speaking, but his words didn’t sink in. All she could see was swirling water, and all she could hear was her father’s voice:
Look after Isis! Look after Isis . . .

Those had been the last words that he had cried amid the catastrophe in the river. Isis would never forget the churning waters turning red as her parents were pulled underwater, nor the snapping teeth of the crocodile that had seized her brother, but then, miraculously, let go.

Hopi was shaking her. ‘Isis. Come on. We have to do this. Everyone’s waiting for us.’

Isis looked at him, gulping air. ‘I can’t.’

‘You can. You
must
.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Isis, remember what I told you last night. I’m counting on you.’

Another, different fear pulled Isis out of her terror. She looked down from the riverbank at the barge that served as the ferry. There were Paneb and Nefert, waiting patiently. There were their two young sons, Ramose and Kha, sitting astride the hired donkey. Sheri was smiling, as always, and waving encouragement, while Kia sat gazing over the water . . . and Mut . . . Mut was leaning over the prow of the boat, watching Isis with a grin on her face.

That did it. Isis pursed her lips. How could Mut mock her like that, when
she
was frightened of snakes! Hopi was right. She
must
get on that boat, even if it killed her – which was exactly what she feared it might do. Holding Hopi’s hand tightly, she stepped forward, down the bank. As she clambered on board, the ferryman steadied the barge for her, but it still wobbled horribly. Isis let out a little scream.

Paneb took her arm and held her firmly. ‘You’re safe, Isis. We’re all safe.’

Isis plucked up all her courage and stepped further along the barge.

‘Well done,’ murmured Hopi.

Sheri reached for Isis and gave her a hug. ‘Come and sit next to me,’ she said. ‘We’ll be over the river in no time. Here, have some dates.’

Isis smiled faintly, but shook her head. She felt sick. She sat down next to Sheri and buried her head in her hands as the boat began to move.

.

Hopi sat down on the other side of his sister, one arm around her shoulders. He was trying hard to behave normally, but his insides were in a tight knot. It wasn’t his sister’s fear that made him feel this way. Since overhearing Nefert, he had felt as though his world were coming apart. He and Isis trusted this family as though it were their own; in the space of a few months, Paneb and Nefert had come to seem like parents, and Sheri and Kia like aunts – especially Sheri, who was always so warm and loving. But Nefert’s words had shown Hopi the truth. They only belonged because of Isis and the work she did with Mut. If that fell apart, so would everything else.

The little wooden barge glided across the smooth, deep waters, and the west bank drew closer. The west, where the sun set, was the Kingdom of the Dead, and the rose-pink mountains were the final resting place of Egypt’s great kings. The tomb-builders lived in the very village they were heading to now: Set Maat, the Place of Truth.

The craftsmen led a charmed, well-paid life away from everyone else, and Hopi felt a pang of envy. If only he had a craft that he could use to support Isis! Their father had been a wig-maker, but he hadn’t passed on his skills before he died. He’d had other ambitions for his son. ‘Wig-making is a dead-end job,’ he had always said to Hopi. ‘I want you to be a scribe.’

And so he had worked hard to pay for his son to study. Hopi had completed two years; he had learned many of the basic hieroglyphs, and had mastered the inks and reed pen. But with the death of his parents, his studies had stopped. Five years had clouded his memory; he could barely read now. And with his injured leg, he was of no use to most other trades. He wasn’t strong enough for any kind of manual work.

‘Are we nearly there?’ whispered Isis.

Hopi gripped her shoulders. ‘Yes. Only a few more minutes.’

He stood up as the barge approached the riverbank.
I will find something to do
, he swore to himself.
I
must
find something to do. Whatever happens, I must look after Isis
.

.

As soon as she was on the riverbank, Isis felt a rush of relief. ‘I did it! I did it!’ she cried. She hugged Hopi and Sheri, then skipped up to Happy, the hired donkey, and begged Paneb to let her lead him.

Paneb smiled at her kindly, and handed her the lead rope. ‘You were very brave, Isis,’ he said. ‘We’re all proud of you.’

Isis took the rope, smiling back. Paneb might not love her quite as much as he loved his own daughter, but he was very fair. She tugged on Happy’s rope and started walking. She didn’t want to think too hard about Nefert.

‘Make him go fast!’ called Ramose, the five-year-old.

Little Kha giggled. ‘Yes! Fast!’ he chirruped, bouncing up and down on Happy’s back.

Isis grinned. The donkey was old, and stubborn. ‘Happy won’t go fast for anyone,’ she said. ‘Not even you.’

The troupe trudged towards Set Maat through fields of emmer wheat and past shimmering mortuary temples. At last they reached the desert, where nothing but yellow-white dust and pebbles crunched under their sandals. A well-used road wound up towards the limestone cliffs. It was as though the village were in the heart of the mountain itself. Isis shivered with excitement. This place seemed full of magic.

A workman came to greet them and led the way to the gate, where Medjay policemen were posted as guards. They looked over each member of the family and checked the bags on Happy’s back before allowing them through. Isis was impressed. This village took itself very seriously. They walked through the gate and along a narrow street lined with small whitewashed houses.

‘You will stay in three different houses,’ explained the workman. He nodded at Isis, Hopi and Mut. ‘The three young people will stay here.’ And he knocked on a red wooden door.

Isis felt her heart sink. The man couldn’t have picked a worse combination. Why couldn’t Mut stay with her aunts instead? Now there was bound to be trouble. She sneaked a glance at Mut, and saw that she was looking miserable, too. But neither of them had any choice in the matter.

A girl peered out of the red door. She was pretty, slightly plump and her skin had the sheen of someone who used expensive oils on it every day. She greeted the crowd with a big smile, and Isis liked her at once.

‘Are these our guests?’ the girl asked. ‘How exciting! I’m Heria. Come in!’

Isis, Hopi and Mut followed Heria into the little house. Isis gazed around in amazement. The house might be small, but the walls were painted with exquisite murals, and the furniture was all of the highest quality. Of course. It made sense. The village was home to some of the best craftsmen in the whole of Egypt, so their houses were bound to be special.

Heria led them to a small back room lined with reed mats and low, simple beds. ‘We’re all going to sleep in here,’ she said. She looked at the three of them in turn. ‘You’re so alike. You must be sisters,’ she said, looking from Isis to Mut.

‘We’re not,’ said Mut at once. ‘We’re only dance partners. I’m Mut.’ And she gave Heria a dazzling smile.

Mut looked lovely when she smiled. Heria smiled back, enchanted, and all at once Isis saw an answer to her problem – at least for the next few days. Mut and Heria could become friends! Then Mut would be happier and, for once, Isis and Hopi could spend time together in peace.