I should have hurried home through the dark streets, with the bag of leftovers for the family. At the end of the night, Nakht had pointedly said nothing about my outburst. As he handed me my small payment of gold, and the parcel of food and wine, he simply ordered me to accompany him to an important meeting, tomorrow, at noon, in a tone that would brook no discussion. I was about to try to apologize, in my clumsy fashion, but he bade me a brief goodnight, and swiftly shut the door.
The evening had left me in a foul temper. The last thing I needed was to vent my anger on my wife and children. So, taking Thoth by the leash, I headed to a backstreet tavern, an old haunt where I went when I wanted to think, undisturbed. I ordered a small jug of wine, and chose a rickety stool in the corner, where the shadows could keep me company, and no one would approach me. Thoth settled down by my feet. In any case, by this late hour the place was emptying out; the only other drinkers were workmen and labourers. Their exhausted faces looked drawn in the guttering light from the oil lamps; they gripped their drinking bowls with work-damaged hands twisted like claws to the habits of their labours. When the wine arrived in its jug, it tasted exactly how I felt: cheap, crude and bitter.
I took the papyrus out, unfolded it, and pondered the black star. All gangs have their own signs and symbols. They define their identity, and differentiate themselves from their rivals, by gestures, articles of clothing, and codes of language and behaviour-nicknames, complicated handshakes, ‘knock three times’ types of things. One gang identified themselves by leaving a crisscross slashed across the faces of their victims. Probably this black star was just another such sign, made up for effect. But as I sat there in the shadows with my cheap wine, I couldn’t help feeling it suggested something darker and stranger. I told myself to get a grip. I was giving it too much credence; this was almost certainly nothing more than the work of a lunatic with a taste for fancy symbolism.
Suddenly I realized someone was watching me.
‘What have you got there?’
It was my old associate, Khety. We had worked together for years, he as my assistant, until promotion had offered him other avenues of advancement, and my unofficial demotion made it necessary for him to move on without me. I’d watched him rise rapidly through the ranks. A strange, slightly uncomfortable distance had grown up between us that neither had attempted to cross for some time. And yet now, suddenly, here he was. He still looked strikingly young-his hair still black, his open face lively, and from the look of him he was still as fit and lithe as a hunting dog.
‘Just looking at you makes me feel old.’
He grinned.
‘Cheerful as ever,’ he replied.
‘What are you doing here?’ I said.
‘I was just passing,’ he said.
‘A likely story…’
He let Thoth sniff his hand, and then stroked his head.
I pushed a stool at him, and poured him some wine. He drank, grimaced, but said nothing, just gazed into the bitter wine, as if it told him everything he needed to know.
‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have ordered something classier,’ I said.
He gazed at me. ‘It’s a disgrace.’
‘I know…’ I nodded in agreement, and refilled my bowl with more bad wine.
‘I mean you-you look as miserable as a mule.’
‘You’re in a good mood, obviously.’
He nodded, and nonchalantly walked over to the landlord. He returned with another jug of wine, and poured us fresh bowls. It was the best the place could offer.
‘You haven’t turned up here just to flatter me in my self-pity,’ I said.
He leaned closer, and raised his bowl. His eyes were alive with delight.
‘We’re having another child.’
I felt my face light up with a slow, genuine smile. ‘You have my congratulations, and my best wishes for the child.’ I raised my bowl to him.
‘I knew you’d be pleased. It’s taken a long time. I’d begun to believe it would never happen again. But the Gods have been kind…’
I said nothing, for I dislike talk of the Gods, who taunt us with their promises, and whose disappointments we must always accept.
‘Don’t look too excited, eh?’ he said.
‘Sorry. It’s been a strange night. Truly, it’s a bad world to bring a child into, but I’ll do my best not to pass on my customary gloom.’
And we toasted the unborn child with our superior wine.
‘What were you looking at when I came in?’ he asked casually.
‘Nothing.’
‘Right.’
He knew how to add the perfect touch of sarcasm to his tone. I showed him the papyrus. He didn’t seem at all surprised by it.
‘Where did you find this?’
‘In the mouth of a beheaded Nubian kid, early this morning,’ I said.
He nodded.
‘These beheadings are turning into an epidemic,’ he said.
‘And they’re getting better at it. And now they’re leaving strange signs…’ I added.
He leaned forward, and returned the papyrus to me. And then, thoughtfully, he added: ‘Do you really think this is just the work of one of the gangs in the city?’
‘Probably,’ I replied, carefully.
He glanced at me.
‘I can’t see it.’
‘Why not?’ I said.
He settled his arms on his knees.
‘The Theban gangs are all families. They behave like families: they love each other, they hate each other; they want what the others have got; they kill each other; they make up, they pretend to love each other again; they think they’re kings, building empires and dynasties, so they marry their sons to their rivals’ daughters; and so on and so on. But the truth is, they’re always in cut-throat competition with each other for the same things: manpower, resources, trade routes, political influence, protection, the opium supply. Sometimes the friction becomes too much, so they snap, and there’s some predictably messy bloodshed, and then mourning and grieving and furious cursing and threats of revenge; and then they all try to make up, because in the end none of them have the power to dominate the others,’ he said.
‘So what? Smuggling and trafficking are as old as time. It’s no mystery why they’re flourishing now, that’s just what happens when the legitimate government is as flawed and weak as ours. And, frankly, the powers that be are just letting them get on with it… We’re living in a failed land, and they’re the proof of it,’ I replied.
‘Sure, everyone’s corrupt. Everyone’s afraid of the gangs. But something’s changed. We’re not looking at the usual small-scale stuff. We’re looking at something that’s evolved suddenly onto another level altogether.’ He paused and looked at me meaningfully. ‘A mysterious new gang’s recently started dominating and destroying the competition…’
Khety had always burned more brightly than me in his fascination with conspiracies and secrets, whereas I, the dogged detective, could only look at what was there before me and make my deductions accordingly. But the hairs on the back of my neck were prickling.
‘Is this another of your extended conspiracy theories?’ I said.
He looked around, and edged closer.
‘It’s not a theory. I’ve been investigating this, and I’ve discovered a few things. No one knows anything about the gang behind these killings. The other gangs-they’re like cats fighting in a box because they have no idea who is doing this to them. At first they assumed it was the others, and so there were the usual tit-for-tat exterminations. But they’ve realized everyone’s getting hit. Bit by bit, their organizations are being literally sliced away. It’s some other gang altogether. And that really scares them. Whoever these newcomers are, they appear to be attempting to take over the entire opium trade in Thebes.’
‘What’s your evidence?’ I said cautiously.
‘The price of opium on the street has gone way, way down; and yet the quality is better than ever-everyone’s going crazy for the stuff. And crucially, for the first time ever, there’s as much available as anyone wants to buy. Which means this new gang has accessed a fresh supply route, which could only be the river-’ he replied.
‘And therefore they’re using the ports-’
‘Bubastis, perhaps, near the north-east border. And the shipments must come through Thebes. Not Memphis; it’s too dangerous, with the army all over the place. And so they must be paying people off, and not just border guards, import officials, local police and low-level people. The only way this could work is if they have influence at the highest levels.’
‘This is just supposition,’ I said, deliberately pushing him. ‘Everyone knows the corruption stretches from the gangs to the nobles. They’re both getting rich, while everyone else gets poorer. What’s new about that? There was even a rumour, years ago, that Horemheb’s army was somehow involved in such a secret trade, but there was never any proof. In any case, there’s not a thing any of us-certainly not you or I-can do about it.’
He stared at me, shocked.
‘This could be the biggest case we’ve ever worked on. It could make our careers. It could put you back on top. If we figure this out, if we can connect the gangs to the nobles via a new cartel trading in opium, smuggling it without permissions, then Nebamun will have to go on his knees and beg you to go back to work. You could make a real difference. A real change to what’s happening. To what’s going so badly wrong in this city…’
I felt the old, familiar surge of excitement rising within me. A new case. A new mystery to solve. But I squashed it down.
‘Listen carefully, Khety. Here’s my advice, for what it’s worth. Forget the new opium gang. Forget it all. Go home. Work on something else, where you’re less likely to get your head chopped off. There’s nothing you or I can do that will make any difference to this. It’s all been agreed at levels of power you and I will never reach. Anyway, don’t people still murder each other in this city in the old-fashioned ways?’ I said.
His face was dark with disappointment.
‘I’m not walking away from this…’ he muttered.
I raised my hand.
‘Do you really think we could handle it on our own? We wouldn’t stand a chance. We can’t trust anyone. The city’s corrupt, the Medjay’s corrupt-look at Nebamun, rolling in gold, he’s no fool-no doubt he’s taking big fat bribes wherever he can, as well. Don’t risk your life for something you can’t change.’
He was angry now.
‘What’s happened to you? I mean, once upon a time you would have jumped at a case like this. It would have excited you,’ he said.
‘Maybe I’ve finally learned the bitter truth that I can’t beat them, even if I’ll never join them. But I’m not going to lose the one thing I can still call my own: my life. And you should wise up and do the same, especially with a new child on the way…’ I replied.
I threw the dregs of my wine on to the dirt floor and, taking Thoth by his leash, walked to the door. Khety followed me out into the dark alleyway.
‘I’m going to do this, because I have to,’ he said, simply. ‘And I want to do it with you. It’ll be like the old days. You and me, working on a case that matters. I know you’ve missed it. You’re a great Seeker of Mysteries. The best.’
My heart was a knot of pride and doubt. Somehow his kindness wounded me more than all the insults of Nebamun. I could deal with those; they were just life.
‘Go home. Embrace your wife. Think about the new child. Forget all this. Tell yourself it was all just a bad dream,’ I said.
He shook his head.
‘What sort of man would I be if I just rolled over now? What sort of a father would I be to my kids? I owe it to them. I don’t want them growing up in a world where teenagers are kidnapped off the streets or slaughtered every night. And I don’t believe for a moment that you do, either. I know you still care. I can see it.’
He knew he’d get me with that.
‘Good night, Khety. My congratulations to you and your wife. Thanks for the wine…’
I turned away quickly, and kept walking, knowing he was watching me go.