The Sacred Scarab Read Free

you mean?’
    Menna put a hand on his shoulder. ‘My brother is lying in natron. He will soon be wrapped and placed here. But something is not right. Not right.’ He shook his head. ‘There will be trouble before his burial is through.’
    ‘How do you know?’ Hopi was baffled. He stared around the little chapel. He couldn’t see anything wrong.
    But the old man was praying, his eyes closed, muttering ancient supplications under his breath. Hopi waited until he finished. When he opened his eyes again, Menna bowed his head.
    ‘When I delivered his body to the embalmers’ workshops, I sensed it,’ he said, and turned towards the doorway.
    Hopi walked silently by Menna’s side as they made their way back to the ferry. He knew better than to ask questions; Menna would never explain anything until he was ready. And when they eventually reached Waset once more, the sun was dipping in the west, throwing long shadows along the streets. It was time to go home.
    .
    To Hopi’s surprise, the house was quiet. He paused in the hallway, listening. He could hear the murmur of adult voices on the first floor: the sisters – Nefert, Sheri, Kia . . . and Paneb, Nefert’s husband. Isis and Mut were usually bouncing around, but there was no sign of them. Hopi walked through to the courtyard. The two girls sat there, looking subdued, with Mut’s brothers. Isis was stirring a big pot of freshly brewed beer.
    ‘What happened?’ demanded Hopi, spotting Mut’s leg.
    ‘I tripped,’ said Mut miserably. ‘The stupid grain delivery boys left a box jutting out in the storeroom.’
    ‘Did the doctor do that?’ asked Hopi, nodding at the bandages.
    ‘Yes. He says I have to rest it completely.’
    Hopi looked at Isis. He had a good idea how upset she must be. She’d put so much into this festival – every night she was exhausted from practising. And it would be bad news for the whole family if they couldn’t perform.
    ‘I’ll ask Menna if there’s an ointment we can put on it,’ he offered.
    Mut pulled a face. ‘Yuck!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t want a snake-bite potion, Hopi! The doctor said we just have to wait.’
    ‘I was only trying to help,’ muttered Hopi. His stomach rumbled. ‘Is there anything to eat? Some bread or something?’
    Isis shook her head. ‘All the bread’s gone into the beer. Have a look in the storeroom.’
    Hopi nodded glumly. He hadn’t expected anything better. With all the preparations for the festival, mealtimes had become very erratic. He entered the house again and peered into the storeroom. Bags of grain weren’t any use when you were hungry. He opened the box of dates and stuffed one into his mouth. Then he reached for a ripe fig from the fruit store. But, as he did so, he heard a noise. He stood still for a moment, listening. There it was again – someone was knocking on the door. It was an odd time for visitors. Frowning, Hopi went to see who it was.
    A gaunt-looking man stood on the street outside. Hopi stared at him. He was dressed in the coarse linen worn mostly by peasants, and his hands were rough and grimy.
    ‘Greetings,’ said the man, his voice low and shaky. ‘May the gods be with you. Is this the house of Paneb, son of Amenakht?’
    ‘Well . . . yes,’ said Hopi. He couldn’t imagine what a peasant wanted with Paneb.
    The man shifted from one foot to the other. He cast his eyes to the ground, then looked up at Hopi again. ‘He is here?’
    ‘Yes, he’s here,’ said Hopi. The man was making him uncomfortable. ‘Who should I say you are? I’ll go and get –’
    ‘No!’ the peasant almost shouted. ‘Wait . . . wait a moment.’ He looked at the ground again, as though composing his thoughts. Then he looked up again with something like determination in his eyes. ‘Please let me come in. I do not wish to greet my cousin on the street.’
    ‘Cousin!’
    ‘You may tell Paneb that his cousin Sinuhe needs to speak with him.’
    ‘Of . . . of course,’ said Hopi