In the house of Hormin, Meren approached the chamber assigned to Djaper. A charioteer stood at the closed door. Meren had left Beltis intent upon examining Hormin's younger son, who'd nearly delivered a mutilating blow to the concubine earlier. He paused beside the charioteer before entering the bedchamber.
"What is he doing, Iry-nufer?"
"Reading, lord."
"Reading?"
Iry-nufer nodded. Meren folded his arms and studied the tip of his sandals. Djaper felt comfortable enough to read in this hour of evil and death.
"The watch has been arranged?" Meren asked.
"Yes, lord."
"One man should be enough. But I want him to stay out of sight. Find a rooftop across the street if you have to."
Meren opened the door a crack and gazed into Djaper's room. The young man was propped up on a couch with a papyrus roll stretched in his hands. He clamped his teeth around a reed pen and frowned at the sheet in front of him. Meren slipped into the room. As he approached, Djaper looked up and released the papyrus roll, which furled into one hand. Removing the pen from his mouth, he dropped it on the scribe's palette on the floor beside him and knelt. The papyrus roll was held at his side behind the folds of his kilt.
Meren inclined his head at Djaper as he walked past the couch to stand in front of a wall lined with shelves. Most were filled with papyrus rolls, old letters, freshly ground ink, sealing clay, and the other accoutrements of a scribe's profession.
Meren returned to the couch and sat down. Djaper was standing with his eyes on the floor in the proper attitude of respect. Meren held out his hand, and Djaper's head jerked up. He slowly held out the roll, waiting in silence as Meren perused it.
"This is an estimate of harvest. I understood that it was your brother who attended to your father's farm."
Djaper's eyes widened, and he smiled. "Yes, Lord Meren. Imsety plants things, plows things, herds things, but sometimes he's too busy to keep all the records. Like now. Harvest is almost upon us."
"What do you know of your father's death?"
Keeping his gaze on his hands, Djaper rolled the pa pyrus into a smaller tube. "Nothing, lord."
"You fought with him."
"The lord refers to the small argument about Imsety owning the farm." Djaper sighed and let the papyrus roll fall to the floor. "It's true. Father never wanted to give up any of his possessions, but Imsety is the only one who really cares about the farm. Father kept most of the wealth gained by it. Imsety got barely enough to keep himself, and neither of us has enough for a separate household. Father hated farming, and Imsety would have given him whatever share he wanted. So I spoke for my brother two days ago. You see, Imsety can grow anything, but he's no better than a monkey at speaking for himself."
Meren nodded and waved his hand to signal that Djaper could relax his formal posture. The young man sat back on his heels with his hands folded in his lap.
"All my eloquence went for naught. As I said, Father was furious. I counseled Imsety to wait until after Harvest, to give Father time to get used to the idea. But now-"
"Now you and your brother will inherit."
"Of course, lord. A man's sons care for his eternal house. It is we who will see that prayers are said for his soul, that his ka is supplied with meat and drink. It's the proper way. Any dutiful son would do the same."
Meren leaned back and placed his elbow on a pile of pillows. "And what about Beltis?"
An apologetic grin spread across Djaper's face. "I beg forgiveness. The woman attacked poor Imsety, and I couldn't let her hurt him again. You see, lord, Imsety looked after me when I was small and weak. He put up with my tagging along with him, taught me how to shave and throw a dagger. And anyway, that woman has been stealing from us since she came. Last night she got careless and didn't bother to conceal her theft."
"But you didn't see her last night."
"No, my lord. I worked at the office of records and tithes all day, came home to get Imsety, and we spent the whole evening with friends." Djaper bent forward in a confiding manner. "In truth, I was avoiding Father. He was angry with me, and I didn't want to fight again. I left yesterday morning before he did, and spent most of my time in the archives room with two other apprentices. Luckily he went to the temple of Amun on an errand for master Ahmose and then had to chase after Beltis. Last night I made certain that Imsety and I were out until past midnight. I knew that Father would calm down if he didn't have to look at us for a while."
"And you saw nothing of your father last night?"
"Oh no, lord. We dined with a friend. Nu, son of Pen-amun, is his name. And then we all went to the tavern called Eye of Horus for beer and women. A pleasant evening."
Meren rose, and Djaper scrambled to his feet. Strolling about the room, Meren let the silence stretch out. Djaper was entirely too comfortable in his presence, but then, perhaps he was being unfair. Some men did possess a natural composure and openness that enabled them to face difficulties with aplomb. Ay was one. And he himself could face a horde of Nubian bandits smiling-as long as his family was safe.
Meren glanced at Djaper and saw that Hormin's son had risen and was now leaning against his work shelves. One leg was bent, and he'd cocked one foot over the other. He was toying with his wrist again, and Meren gritted his teeth. That mannerism annoyed him; it made him want to rub the brand that marred his own wrist beneath the gold bracelet.
"Hormin was known as a contentious man. It is said that he complained about his lazy, stupid sons to anyone at the office of records and tithes who would listen. Did he chastise you in front of others?"
During Meren's speech Djaper had straightened from his relaxed pose. His face flushed, and he lowered his eyes.
"Father criticized everyone." The words were said quietly, with deliberate lightness, but Djaper's face drained of its crimson hue until it was almost a paste color.
"I wager he criticized you most of all, since you seem to be quite intelligent. From what I understand, your clever heart would be a fly in an open wound to Hormin."
"He was proud of me," Djaper said.
"He said so? You didn't hate him for disgracing you in front of superiors and fellow apprentices?"
Djaper was quiet for a moment before letting a tenta tive smile pull at his lips. He met Meren's eyes directly, humor making them sparkle.
"The lord is wise, but he forgets that a father can be harsh and yet love his sons. It was so with mine."
"I see. Then you were worried when your father couldn't be found this morning."
"Not at first. We thought he was with Beltis, and she thought he was with us. So it wasn't until the sun was up that we understood that he wasn't in the house at all. I was looking for him when I discovered the theft in his office. And then the priest came and told us he was dead."
"I want a list of the missing possessions," Meren said. He was pacing slowly in front of a table stacked with flat sheets of papyrus. He stopped beside it and glanced at the top sheet. It was a record of taxes from the Hare Nome. "You're diligent in the service of Pharaoh, to work at night."
"It is nothing, lord. The sheet was damaged, and I was copying it for Father. It is finished and must be returned to the overseer tomorrow."
Meren lifted the sheet to reveal a copy of an old col lection of wisdom handed down from scribe to scribe for centuries. He let the papyrus fall.
"You say nothing of your father's death. Earlier you were ready to blame Beltis for that and for the theft."
"Ah, Lord Meren, forgive me, but I never blamed Beltis for Father's killing." Djaper furrowed his brow. "But as I think upon the idea… Beltis might…"
"I don't like maidenly fluttering," Meren said. "Speak plainly."
Again Djaper's wide-open eyes lowered, and he
Murder In the Place of Anubls 61 blushed. "Beltis is a woman of great appetite. She has come to my bed seeking pleasure of me, and-forgive me, lord-but it is distasteful to speak of such a thing. But Lord Meren has perhaps discovered the concubine's nature himself."
Meren only stared at Djaper.
"It may be," Djaper said when he realized he wouldn't get an answer, "it may be that Beltis decided that she wanted Father's goods and a younger man at the same time. Oh, not that I am fool enough to think she'd want me without the goods."
Djaper laughed, and Meren couldn't help smiling. The young man was laughing at himself, and such humility was admirable. Meren turned away from Djaper.
"You may arrange proper care for your father's body soon." With a nod he left Djaper. He closed the door behind him, then opened it again. Sticking his head inside the room, he caught Djaper as he was collapsing, loose-limbed, on the couch. "You know I will examine the copy of your father's will that rests in the House of Life."
Djaper rolled gracefully to the floor on his knees and bent his neck. "Yes, lord, I know."
"I'm not surprised."
Meren slammed the door shut and stood looking at it while he rubbed his chin. He would have to send men to check on the activities of the two brothers, but he didn't think Djaper had lied. Not about things that could be proven false. No, Djaper was much too clever to lie unless he lied well. But Meren wasn't convinced that the young man was as tranquil as he seemed. How could he be, having a father like Hormin? His ka should be shriveled with the heat of anger at being humiliated constantly by a man less intelligent than himself.
The scent of heavily spiced perfume intruded upon Meren's thoughts. He sniffed and looked at Iry-nufer. The man was watching him, waiting for an opportunity to speak.
"The concubine was here," Meren said.
"Yes, my lord. She hovered about, but left when she saw me."
"Anyone else?"
"No, lord."
"Then come."
Meren set off for the chamber of Imsety. One last examination and he could go home. Kysen might be waiting for him with his news of the questioning of those of the Place of Anubis. It could be that Hormin's murder had nothing to do with his family and instead was related to one of the priests or embalming workers. It was just this possibility that had sent the old Controller of Mysteries into a fit and made him appeal to Meren in the first place.
Imsety was also guarded. As he left Iry-nufer and the other man at the door, Meren heard the scrape of metal against stone. Iry-nufer heard it too. The guard slipped past Meren, putting his body between his master and Imsety. He drew his scimitar and shouted at Imsety. Meren stepped to the side and saw Hormin's oldest son squatting on the floor, a whetstone and knife in his hands. He was gaping at Iry-nufer.
Iry-nufer hefted the scimitar. "I said drop the knife."
The blade clattered to the floor, but Iry-nufer wasn't satisfied.
"Your forehead to the floor. Spread out your arms."
When his victim was prone, Iry-nufer picked up the knife. He looked at Meren, who jerked his head toward the door. Iry-nufer left, uttering a threat in Imsety's direction.
"You may rise," Meren said.
Imsety raised himself to a sitting position and stuttered an apology.
"Where did you get the knife?"
'There are many in that pot, lord." Imsety pointed to a pottery jar by his bed. "Household knives, I hone them. The work-my hands." Imsety stopped; Meren waited, but the man had evidently said as much as he could or would.
"You like to work with your hands?" Meren asked.
"Yes, lord. Father, this house, the fighting." Imsety's big shoulders heaved with a sigh.
Meren waited, again in vain. "The work takes your thoughts from sorrow and anger."
"Yes, lord."
"Tell me, Imsety. Does everyone have to supply the words you don't say, or is it that you fear me?"
"I have many thoughts, lord, but my tongue, it is clumsy."
It was like plowing a stony field, but Meren dragged the story of the last day from Imsety. It was much the same as Djaper's, except that Imsety's day was spent in the company of his mother. The man seemed more concerned with the imminent harvest than with the death of his father, and he kept asking when he could go home.
"When I have the murderer," Meren said for the third time.
"It's Beltis. She killed Father."
"And dragged him to the riverbank, tossed him in a skiff, and hauled him to the Place of Anubis?"
Imsety nodded eagerly. "Caught her stealing."
"You wish me to believe that if Hormin caught Beltis stealing his treasure that there wouldn't be a fight as noisy as Thebes on a feast day?"
"One of the scribes."
Meten's head was beginning to pain him. "What are you talking about?"
"Bakwerner."
"Do you know anything about your father's murder, Imsety?"
"Bakwerner hates Father."
"I will concern myself with Bakwemer, not you." By this time Meren found himself grinding his teeth. "I want to know if Hormin was as cruel to you as he was to Djaper. He must have been, or he wouldn't have refused you the farm you work so hard to preserve."
Imsety shrugged and stared at Meren.
"You'd better say something."
"I never listened to Father."
Meren waited fruitlessly. After a few minutes during which Imsety stared at him and he tried not to toy with his dagger, Meren spoke.
"Never listened to him? What do you mean, curse you?"
"Since I was a naked child, I never listened to Fa ther's hot words."
"Don't stop talking," Meren said.
"Ugly words, Father, they aren't important. The land is important. And Djaper. Not Father."
"And your mother."
"Mother loves Djaper."
Never had he been more grateful for having three chattering daughters. Meren closed his eyes and prayed to several gods for patience. Talking to Imsety was taking twice as long as it had with anyone else. There had been times, before he adopted Kysen, when he'd asked the gods why the girls couldn't have been boys. Now he would make a sacrifice to the goddess of childbirth.
Meren opened his eyes and caught Imsety staring at him. The young man's face was as expressionless as a
Murder in the Place of Anubis 65 figure painted on a temple wall. But a transitory flicker in Imsety's eyes set off the baying of hunting dogs in Meren's heart. Crocodiles often basked in the sun, still and placid, with no evidence of life in their bodies except for that brief, telltale lift of an eyelid that revealed a mindless hunger for flesh.
"You said neither you nor Djaper saw your father leave the house during the night."
Imsety gazed at Meren and made no attempt to avoid meeting Meren's stare. "No, lord. I never saw him."
That direct manner, it was a match for Djaper's ingenuousness. And it posed a difficulty. For in Meren's experience, the best liars, those whose hearts were filled with deceit, made a practice of meeting the eyes' of those they deceived in just such a direct manner, while the innocent often foundered on their own lack of experience with evil. They quavered, faltered, and cast down their eyes. He would have to be Anubis, weigher of hearts at the soul's judgment, to decipher honesty based solely upon the face and habits of a man.
"Aren't you afraid that your father's murderer may harm you, Imsety?"
"No, Lord Meren. Why would he?"
"That is a question I've asked myself," Meren said. "And I'll find an answer. And if you should begin to fear, remember the ancient writings that tell us that justice lasts for an eternity and walks into the graveyard with its doer."