City of Dreams Read Free Page B

hard to maintain his footing, and river water washed over the deck, making it slippery. Overhead, the obelisk swung in its cradle, as the helmsmen fought to bring the barge under control and sailors threw ropes to those ashore who, catching them, hauled on them in teams in an attempt to wrestle the boat alongside. Taut copper backs glistened in the sun as the huge barge bucked and reared like a living thing.
    Khaemhet, standing by the bargemaster at the stern, was looking anxiously from obelisk to quay, shouting orders to men who grabbed stay-ropes and, with long poles, attempted to arrest the great stone’s pendulum-like motion. Satisfied that the mason’s attention was entirely taken up, and determined not to let this god-given opportunity slip, Surere hurried forward, slipping adroitly between the knots of men, losing himself in the busy crowd of sailors. Finally he stopped and looked over the shoreward side of the barge: it was still swaying away from the jetty wall before crashing into it again, but the amount of swing was smaller, and the movement less violent. If he misjudged his leap and fell, there was still a likelihood that he would be crushed to death; but the chances of that had lessened considerably.
    Choosing his moment, he hoisted himself on to the low wooden railing that ran the length of the barge, holding on for balance with both feet and his left hand, and stealing a final cautious look round to see if anyone had noticed him. No one had, but the bustle aboard was abating, and there was less frenzy in the straining figures at ropes ashore. It was now or never. Letting go of the rail with his hand, he pushed with his feet and launched himself forward into space, aiming at a coil of rope near a hardwood bollard.
    He landed heavily, grazing knees and wrists on the rope. Rolling over, he quickly found his feet, and walked determinedly, a man on an errand, past and behind the crowd of onlookers which had gathered to gawp and shout advice. No one spared him a second glance: the barge seemed to be under control and the drama had gone out of the moment. Some of the workers ashore had dropped their ropes and crossed to man the derricks.
    Brushing the dust from his stained and battered kilt, Surere thanked god that his time in the quarries had made him so fit. Safe in the crowd, he slackened his pace to still the pumping of his heart, and turned to take a final look at the barge. He could see Khaemhet walking forward, though it was too far away to see the expression on his face, and he could not tell whether the mason was already looking for him. It would be as well not to take chances.
    There was an open area to cross before he could reach the safety of the tightly-packed yellow and ochre buildings which marked the riverward edge of the town. Noticing a man leading a small procession of three pale grey donkeys, heads and backs bowed under a heavy burden of barley in coarse brown sacks, their shadows long in the late afternoon sun, Surere made himself wait for them to reach him. Once they had, he used them as cover to detach himself from the press of people at the harbour, and headed quickly for the mouth of the nearest street. He did not look back again.
    Had Khaemhet missed him by now? A brief sense of regret at his broken promise was quickly eclipsed by the thought of what would happen to him if he were recaptured, and he moved faster.
    Soon he was in the cool gulley of the street. Half running between the windowless walls, he turned a corner and even the sounds of the harbour were shut off. He paused to take his bearings before pressing on, still maintaining the purposeful pace of a man with an appointment to keep. He needed shelter and clean clothes and he needed to get to a part of town where no one would question the arrival of a stranger; where people had their own secrets to keep.
    Beyond that his plans were looser than he liked to admit, even to himself. But he was free, and he trusted to Aten, the god of