Murder in the Place of Anubis Read Free Page B

distance from the palace, government, and mortuary complexes of western Thebes so that the fumes and waste produced by the mysteries wouldn't disturb Pharaoh and his subjects. As he handed the reins of his horses to a groom, Meren wrinkled his nose. He saw that one of his men was making the sign against evil. Kysen was waiting for him in the embalming shed. As usual, his son was prowling about like a hunting hound. Ignoring the grand lector priest, Kysen bombarded an unfortunate bandager with questions. It was the same with each inquiry. Kysen would drop into conversation with the serf, the artisan, the laborer. Only reluctantly would he spar with a lord or a priest. Meren had tried to wean his son of this preference, but it was hard to wipe out the memories of being sold into slavery by a father, even if  one did end up the adopted son of a Friend of the King.
     Meren received the greetings of the lector priest while perusing the scene. Teams of embalmers went about their chores with little sign that they feared the presence of a soul dispatched from its body in violence. The drying shed was a long tunnel filled by two rows of embalming tables reserved for the wealthier citizens, who could afford the more expensive process of preservation. Along the edge of the open, roofed structure lay tables laden with the tools of the embalmer's craft— spoons, knives, probes, needles, and thread, all in boxes or on trays. An ornate table set apart from the others held a casket carved with hieroglyphs and the image of the jackal god Anubis. The lid of the casket was askew.
     Squatting near the casket, looking miserable and  frightened, was a young laborer. Meren could scent fear as a hound scents a wounded gazelle. His curiosity was roused, but he knew better than to let it loose. Kysen was in charge, and his son had left the youth by himself for a reason.
     Having responded politely to the formal words of the lector priest's greeting, Meren followed the man to the  fourth embalming table on the left row. As he approached, Kysen dismissed the laborer he was questioning with a nod. Meren was proud of that nod. It was one of the first signs that the boy had accepted his new position in the world when Kysen first used the gesture of acknowledgment of a noble to a commoner.
    Meren and Kysen met at the natron table. Immediately and without words, they fell into their working habits. Like a skilled artisan and his best apprentice, they worked and thought in complementary directions. Kysen knew what tasks Meren would want done; Meren sensed when Kysen needed direction or advice. Standing side by side, they gazed down at the body nestled in  the crystals.
     "They haven't touched him since they found the knife," Kysen said. "You're here earlier than I expected."
    "Pharaoh commanded me to hurry."
     Kysen sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. "The  living god is wise."
     "The living god is bored." It was difficult not to  smile at Kysen's awe. "Don't wheeze as though you had swallowed a whole pomegranate. Tell me what you know."
     "This man is Hormin, scribe of records and tithes in the office of the vizier." Kysen nodded in the direction  of the frightened laborer. "As they were digging him out, that water carrier recognized him." He pointed to an engraved bronze bracelet on the wrist of the dead man. "Then the lector priest found his name and titles on that. There are also a signet ring and wig."
     Kysen leaned over the natron table and touched the  obsidian blade that protruded from Hormin's neck. "This is a ritual embalming knife. It is used to make incisions when the bowels—"
     "I understand," Meren said. "And this Hormin, is he  known to the embalmers?"
    "No, only the water carrier admits to having seen him before. I'm going to talk to him after we get rid of the body and that pigeon-witted lector priest."
    Kysen shoved away from the natron table and walked over to the side of the shed, and Meren followed. Kysen