Theodosia and the Last Pharoah (27 page)

I quickly told him all that I had explained to the
mudir
about meeting Gadji and his subsequent disappearance. At last they were satisfied and waved to the priest to let me rinse my mouth. I felt as limp and wrung out as an old rag.

Now it was Major Grindle's turn. Like me, he repeated the exact same story he had told the
mudir,
which corroborated my own. When he had finished, Baruti leaned forward. "And have you met or do you know of Awi Bubu?"

"No, sir, I'd never heard of the man before five days ago, when Miss Throckmorton and Gadji told me some of their stories."

"So she did not share his confidences with you?"

"No, she did not. Not until I had come face-to-face with your people myself at the request of your young pharaoh. When I demanded an explanation, she gave me one, although"—he tossed a recriminating glance my way—"not the full one."

"And now you know why," I murmured.

"Silence!" Fenuku barked. I must confess, that
sem
priest was getting on my last nerve. "The most serious charge against this
Inglaize
is that he put a knife to our pharaoh's throat and threatened his life."

"Nonsense!" Major Grindle said. "I was merely bluffing, and if you were ever to find your precious pharaoh, you could ask him and he would tell you. As soon as I knew he had value to your men, I pretended to be willing to harm him in return for her safety. And he knew I was bluffing. But I will remind you, you were the one that began using children as pawns," he pointed out.

They put their heads together for one more of those beastly, whispered conferences. "Very well," the high priest said at last. "We have heard your testimony and will render judgment on the morrow. You are dismissed until then, but you may not leave the camp."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

An Unexpected Reunion

I
AWOKE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
to the sounds of a commotion outside our tent. I scrambled out of my bedroll onto my feet and fumbled over to the tent flap.

Major Grindle beat me there.

"What is it?" I asked, pushing my hair out of my eyes.

"The scouts have returned," he said. "Shall we see what they have to say?"

"Yes, please!"

Together we stepped out into the soft light of dawn. The sun had not even risen over the eastern peaks yet, so it was surprisingly cool out. People had begun to gather where the scouts were dismounting. We hurried to join them.

Safiya stepped next to me just as Khalfani came out of his tent. He spoke to the scouts in Arabic, and I slipped my hand into my pocket for my Babel stone.

"Any sign of the boy?"

The taller scout shook his head. "No. Nothing. When we returned to Karnak, there was nothing, no sign of anyone."

"We separated into three different directions, all trails turning cold," the other scout said. "They have gone to ground, I am afraid."

I wondered that they hadn't asked the god of air to tell them where the men had gone, he being such a big friend of theirs and all.

"Did you question those who lived near the area? Go door to door in the village of Karnak?"

The scout bowed. "But of course. No one knew anything."

"Which is in itself unusual," Khalfani muttered.

The shorter scout stepped forward and pulled something from his robes. "The only sign of their passing was this." He unwrapped the small bundle, and my heart shot to my throat. It was Gadji's monkey, lying limp and lifeless in the man's hands.

Unaware of what I was doing, I pushed to the front of the crowd. "Sefu!" The scout looked at me in surprise. "Is he dead?" I asked.

"Yes, the worthless creature is dead."

The other scout spat onto the ground. "He was to watch over our pharaoh for us. Twice now, he has failed in his duties. Let the jackals have him," he ordered.

The scout holding the dead monkey hurled it off to the side, onto the midden heap on the outskirts of camp.

"No!" I whispered, staring frantically at poor dead Sefu. He and Gadji had been so close, such friends. If Sefu had failed his master, it was through no fault of his. A small monkey is no match for the Serpents of Chaos.

While the others continued to talk, I inched over to the side of the crowd. A quick glance told me everyone else's attention was still on the scouts and their report, so I hurried over to the lifeless monkey. Bending over, I picked Sefu up and cradled him in my arms. I placed a finger on his chest where I guessed his heart to be. Nothing.

"What are you doing, Miss Throckmorton?"

I looked up to find Major Grindle watching me. "He and Gadji were such good friends and he served the boy faithfully. Surely he deserves a proper burial." I did not tell him that I could not bear the idea of such a thing happening to my cat.

The major glanced over to the others. "I'm not sure that's the most important of our worries today."

"It's wrong," I said stubbornly. "What did they expect the poor monkey to do?" I was surprised to feel that my cheeks were wet. I transferred Sefu to one arm and used my other hand to wipe the tears from my face. Embarrassed, I turned and blindly made my way back to the privacy of our tent.

Inside the tent, I found a small pillow and laid the monkey on top of it. He sprawled awkwardly and I leaned over to arrange his limbs.

Wait a moment.
If he was dead, wouldn't he begin to stiffen? And cold—shouldn't he be cold? I reached back down to touch him and found that he was cool to the touch, but by no means dead cold. Could he possibly still be alive?

There was a whisper at the tent door as Safiya entered. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm tending to Gadji's monkey," I said. "Do you still have that mirror you lent us when we were preparing for our trial?"

"But of course." She slipped back out of the tent and I turned back to Sefu, the hope inside me rising.

When Safiya returned, she held the brass mirror out to me. "I remember when Gadji got that monkey," she said. "It was given to him by Master Bubu, who told Gadji to keep the creature with him always." Her voice broke.

I looked up at her. "He did, Safiya. Gadji and the monkey were inseparable. Both of them kept their word to Master Bubu." I lowered the mirror down in front of the monkey's face.

"Whatever are you doing?" she asked.

"Trying to see if he's really and truly dead." As I watched, the faintest bit of fog appeared on the mirror's surface and hope surged through me. "He's breathing!"

"He is?" Safiya leaned forward to see. I showed her the mirror, and she nodded. "It is so."

I felt gently along Sefu's arms and legs to see if anything was broken. Nothing, as far as I could tell. I had no idea how to check the creature's internal organs. "We need to keep him warm," I told Safiya. "And we should probably try to get some water down his throat."

"I will be right back." She got up and hurried out of the tent. I grabbed one of the extra blankets and gently covered the monkey, tucking the ends in close to preserve as much of his little body's warmth as possible. To say I surprised myself was an understatement. Sefu and I had not cared for each other particularly, but even so, I recognized that his relationship with Gadji was much like mine with Isis. It was almost as if by taking care of Sefu, I was also taking care of those I missed even worse.

Safiya returned with a shallow bowl of water and a rag. "Here," she said. "This is how we feed baby goats when their mother has been taken by the jackals." She twisted the rag tightly, then dipped an end into the water. She held the saturated tip over the monkey's mouth, which I had gently pried open. One drop, two, three, slipped down Sefu's throat. His eyelids fluttered, and I nearly cheered.

Major Grindle stuck his head into the tent just then. "Miss Throckmorton? They are ready for us."

I looked at him blankly, all memory of our awaiting judgment having evaporated as I cared for Sefu. "Oh. Right. Coming." I looked at Safiya. "Will you watch him for me?"

"But of course. I will nurse him as I would my own brother."

"Thank you," I said, then got to my feet, straightened my skirts, and went out to meet my fate.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Weighing of the Heart

O
UTSIDE THE TENT,
Khalfani and Hashim were waiting to escort us to the temple. Khalfani gave me an encouraging smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

As we made our way through the tents to the temple, we picked up a bit of a following, much like a cat's tail picks up a collection of burs. By the time we'd reached the temple proper, we were a small crowd. As Major Grindle and I made our way across the courtyard, the throng followed, silent as a shadow. They stayed with us as we crossed the Hypostyle Hall and, much to my surprise, followed us into the first antechamber, crowding around us as best they could. We were to have an audience, then.

The three
sem
priests filed in and took their seats. I was struck by how many times I'd seen this exact tableau—on a tomb wall painting.

The high priest stood. "The accusations before you are grave. Yet you have also done much to commend your actions. We have looked to the stars, cast the bones, and scattered the entrails, yet the signs are not clear."

The rustling behind us increased to a muttering. Apparently the signs were
always
clear.

"You"—he looked straight at me—"have traveled far and endured much to return what belongs to us, and for that you have our gratitude. But you have also seen our secrets and been exposed to our mysteries, and this is forbidden."

The room grew so quiet, I could hear the faint wheezing of one of the priests.

"Because your actions were carried out in good faith, Maat will be served when you have drunk of the Wine of Forgetting. Then we will return you to your family."

"What exactly is the Wine of Forgetting?" I asked, not liking the sound of it one bit.

"It is a draft that will wipe us from your mind, child." Baruti looked sad. "But it will do you no lasting harm."

"But Awi Bubu said—"

"He lost his right to speak for us when he was cast from our midst," Fenuku said, with far more relish than necessary, I thought.

"But if I forget, how can I help? Awi Bubu was certain I had a role to play. Forgetting will not help me fulfill that."

"The wedjadeen have survived millennia without the help of an
Inglaize
girl," the high priest said. "I feel certain we shall be fine."

"You would be wrong!" a feeble voice called out from somewhere behind me. I turned around in time to see the crowd parting as someone worked his—or her—way forward. In the silence, I heard a ... cowbell?

An old woman pushed her way out of the crowd. She wore an ancient, tattered black gown lined with gold on the hem. From the sash at her waist was a red cord. An ancient bronze cowbell hung at the end. As she drew closer, she lifted her head and I bit back a gasp. She did not wear the traditional veil that so many of the women in Egypt did. Instead, she had a tattoo on her forehead, a large disk with a horn rising up on either side.

Fenuku scowled at her, and I slipped my fingers around my Babel stone just in time to hear him say, "What do you want, old woman?"

The high priest poked him in the ribs—hard—and hissed at him to be silent. "Be welcome, Mother."

She smiled, revealing a number of missing teeth. "That's better," she said. "I have come to speak on the girl's behalf."

A collective gasp went up from those behind her, and Fenuku's scowl deepened. Major Grindle looked as though he were watching a particularly close cricket match.

"What gives you the right to speak on her behalf?" Fenuku demanded.

The old woman glanced at me then, and her eyes softened. "Because I attended her on the seventh day after her birth," she said. "And foretold her fate that day. I would tell it again before all of you."

Pandemonium ensued. The
sem
priests began arguing among themselves and the assembled wedjadeen behind us exchanged excited whispers. Major Grindle stared at me with what looked remarkably like envy. "You were born in Egypt, Miss Throckmorton?"