imbibed.
THE NEXT DAYNenry made
arrangements to present his brother to the vizier. But shortly before
dawn a sandstorm began to blow across the desert and into Thebes. Sand
drove itself into the wrinkles of old people and dried on the cheeks of
crying children. It swirled in eddies and surged into the huts of the
poor, into temples and palaces, and ran in streaming rivulets from
unsealed cracks in mud-brick walls.
Shrouded in
fine-mesh
tunics kept for such days, Semerket and Nenry linked arms and made
their way through the deserted avenues to the Temple of Ma’at. They did
not speak, the better to keep the grit from their mouths. Though it was
midmorning, it was almost as dark as night in the southern capital.
When they reached the temple, they were admitted at once into the
vizier’s presence.
“I’ve asked
around
about you,” Vizier Toh said to Semerket, gazing at him from his small,
raised throne. “You are well remembered here.”
Semerket
inclined his
head.
“But not with
fondness.”
Semerket, arms
crossed
at his chest, merely continued to stare at the vizier from his own low
backless chair, placed below the old man’s dais.
It was Nenry
who spoke
instead. “Great Lord,” he said, his face wreathed in tics, “I informed
you that my brother was a plainspoken man, not given to flattery or
sweet words.”
“Plainspoken?”
the
vizier interrupted. “They told me he was rude. Insubordinate to his
superiors. Bad-mannered and bad-tempered. Some even call him vulgar.”
Nenry tried
another
tack. “My brother has one virtue, however, Great Lord—he speaks the
truth.”
Toh leaned
back in his
throne, sighing. “That, too, I have heard.” He groaned—all his joints
ached when a sandstorm raged. He peered irritably from beneath his wig
in the general direction of Semerket. “I have heard your brother tells
the truth like a woodcutter wields an axe.”
Toh called for
beer
sweetened with honey. His scribe, sitting on the floor next to him, put
down his pens and poured from a jar beside him.
“So,” the
vizier said,
“let me have a sample of this truth-telling of yours. Tell me something
that none dare say to my face.”
Nenry was
instantly
alarmed. “Great Lord!” he began, sputtering. He feared the outcome of
such a request.
In the dim
light, Toh
held up his hand to quiet him. “Go on.” He continued to level his
piercing gaze on Semerket. “Amaze me.”
Semerket
seemed to be
considering what words he would use. “The Great Lord’s bones are a
misery to him today.”
“Aye,” Toh
agreed with
a suspicious sigh, “my bones are indeed an agony to me. I am old, old.”
Semerket’s
voice was
clear. “Why do you not retire, then, and leave the rule of Egypt to a
younger, more vigorous man?”
The expression
on the
vizier’s face at that moment caused Nenry to fling himself from his
chair to the floor, trembling.
“What?” Toh
rumbled in
a low, dangerous growl.
Semerket
continued,
“You’ve made the mistake of believing what every long-lived despot
does—that what is good for you is good for the country.”
Toh’s lips
quivered.
“Insolence. I should have you beaten!”
Semerket
shrugged.
“How can you know the truth about a priestess’s murder, then, when you
want only to silence it with beatings?”
“By the
gods—!” Toh
began to rage, then stopped. The mention of the priestess had quieted
him. He sat back on his throne, breathing hard, and his fingers drummed
the filigree of its inlay. “They spoke correctly about you. Your
manners should have gotten you killed long ago.”
Quietly,
Semerket
said, “I will never lie to you, Great Lord, no matter how unpleasant
the truth. Nor will I again make sport in truth’s name.”
So the man had
been
joking, Toh thought. This realization soothed his wounded
pride—somewhat. “How long will it take you to solve this crime, then?”
he asked.
“There is no
guarantee
that I can solve it, Great Lord.
I don’t know how
THE NEXT DAYNenry made
arrangements to present his brother to the vizier. But shortly before
dawn a sandstorm began to blow across the desert and into Thebes. Sand
drove itself into the wrinkles of old people and dried on the cheeks of
crying children. It swirled in eddies and surged into the huts of the
poor, into temples and palaces, and ran in streaming rivulets from
unsealed cracks in mud-brick walls.
Shrouded in
fine-mesh
tunics kept for such days, Semerket and Nenry linked arms and made
their way through the deserted avenues to the Temple of Ma’at. They did
not speak, the better to keep the grit from their mouths. Though it was
midmorning, it was almost as dark as night in the southern capital.
When they reached the temple, they were admitted at once into the
vizier’s presence.
“I’ve asked
around
about you,” Vizier Toh said to Semerket, gazing at him from his small,
raised throne. “You are well remembered here.”
Semerket
inclined his
head.
“But not with
fondness.”
Semerket, arms
crossed
at his chest, merely continued to stare at the vizier from his own low
backless chair, placed below the old man’s dais.
It was Nenry
who spoke
instead. “Great Lord,” he said, his face wreathed in tics, “I informed
you that my brother was a plainspoken man, not given to flattery or
sweet words.”
“Plainspoken?”
the
vizier interrupted. “They told me he was rude. Insubordinate to his
superiors. Bad-mannered and bad-tempered. Some even call him vulgar.”
Nenry tried
another
tack. “My brother has one virtue, however, Great Lord—he speaks the
truth.”
Toh leaned
back in his
throne, sighing. “That, too, I have heard.” He groaned—all his joints
ached when a sandstorm raged. He peered irritably from beneath his wig
in the general direction of Semerket. “I have heard your brother tells
the truth like a woodcutter wields an axe.”
Toh called for
beer
sweetened with honey. His scribe, sitting on the floor next to him, put
down his pens and poured from a jar beside him.
“So,” the
vizier said,
“let me have a sample of this truth-telling of yours. Tell me something
that none dare say to my face.”
Nenry was
instantly
alarmed. “Great Lord!” he began, sputtering. He feared the outcome of
such a request.
In the dim
light, Toh
held up his hand to quiet him. “Go on.” He continued to level his
piercing gaze on Semerket. “Amaze me.”
Semerket
seemed to be
considering what words he would use. “The Great Lord’s bones are a
misery to him today.”
“Aye,” Toh
agreed with
a suspicious sigh, “my bones are indeed an agony to me. I am old, old.”
Semerket’s
voice was
clear. “Why do you not retire, then, and leave the rule of Egypt to a
younger, more vigorous man?”
The expression
on the
vizier’s face at that moment caused Nenry to fling himself from his
chair to the floor, trembling.
“What?” Toh
rumbled in
a low, dangerous growl.
Semerket
continued,
“You’ve made the mistake of believing what every long-lived despot
does—that what is good for you is good for the country.”
Toh’s lips
quivered.
“Insolence. I should have you beaten!”
Semerket
shrugged.
“How can you know the truth about a priestess’s murder, then, when you
want only to silence it with beatings?”
“By the
gods—!” Toh
began to rage, then stopped. The mention of the priestess had quieted
him. He sat back on his throne, breathing hard, and his fingers drummed
the filigree of its inlay. “They spoke correctly about you. Your
manners should have gotten you killed long ago.”
Quietly,
Semerket
said, “I will never lie to you, Great Lord, no matter how unpleasant
the truth. Nor will I again make sport in truth’s name.”
So the man had
been
joking, Toh thought. This realization soothed his wounded
pride—somewhat. “How long will it take you to solve this crime, then?”
he asked.
“There is no
guarantee
that I can solve it, Great Lord.
I don’t know how
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