House of Illusions Read Free

open the doors for you. But I can bring you refreshments, beer and cakes or perhaps a meal. It is also my duty to see to the needs of those who journey in the service of Pharaoh. Where are you moored?” I thanked her, told her where our craft rested, and then watched her pick up the bucket and walk away through the gloom. She carried herself as regally as my older sister who had been trained in correct deportment by our nurse, a woman lured into our employ from the harem of the King himself, and I was left staring after her straight spine with a vague feeling of inferiority. Annoyed, I put on my sandals and made my way back to the boat.
    I found my Herald sitting on his camp stool moodily staring into the flames of the fire the sailors had kindled. They themselves squatted in the sand a little way off, talking quietly. Our craft was now a bulk of darkness against a fading sky, and the water rippling gently against its hull had lost all colour. He glanced up as I approached.
    “I suppose there’s no chance of a decent meal in this forsaken hole,” he greeted me wearily. “I could send one of the sailors to the mayor and demand something but the prospect of being surrounded by gawking villagers is too much tonight. Our supplies are running low. We will have to make do with flatbread and dried figs.” I crouched beside him and turned my face to the fire. He would eat and retire to sleep in the cabin of the boat, but I and the one soldier under me would rotate watches while he snored. I too was tired of indifferent food, hours spent in boredom and discomfort on the river, too many nights of broken sleep, but I was still young enough to be excited by my duties and proud of the responsibility that had me yawning and leaning on my spear in the small hours when nothing stirred but wind in the sparse trees along the Nile and overhead the constellations blazed.
    “We will be home in a few days,” I answered. “At least the journey has been uneventful. In the temple I met a woman who is bringing us beer and food.”
    “Oh,” he responded. “What did she look like?” The question took me aback.
    “She was as anonymous as any other peasant but she had unusual blue eyes. Why do you ask, Lord?” He gave a snort of annoyance.
    “Every Royal Herald plying the river knows about her,” he said. “The light-eyed crazy one. We try not to stop here, but if we must, we do our best to stay hidden. She works for the temple, but under the pretext of hospitality she pesters us to deliver a package to Pharaoh. I have met her before. Why do you think I was so anxious to bypass this mudhole?”
    “A package?” I asked, intrigued. “What is in it?” He shrugged.
    “She says that it is the story of her life, that once she knew the Great One, who exiled her here for some crime or other and if only he will read what she has written he will forgive her and lift the banishment. What she has written!” he finished scornfully. “I doubt if she can even scratch her name in the dirt! I should have warned you, Kamen, but it is a small damage done. She will annoy us briefly, but we will at least enjoy a meal.”
    “So no one has actually seen inside the package?” I pressed.
    “Of course not. I told you, she is insane. No Herald would risk embarrassment by carrying out such a request. And put away any romantic notions you may have, young man. Peasants in stories told by nurses may end up in the presence of the Lord of All Life, but in reality they are dull, stupid animals fit for nothing but raising crops and tending the herds they resemble.”
    “She has an educated accent,” I ventured, not sure why I was defending her, and he laughed.
    “She has acquired it through years of annoying her betters who have been luckless enough to encounter her,” he retorted. “Do not be kind to her or she will importune you all the more. The priests who employ her should control her behaviour. Soon no one at all will want to stop at Aswat, to trade or