What other choice do I have except to be a thief? I thought sadly as every step I took brought me closer to the rough brown walls.
Shame at what I was about to do made me careless. I was less than ten paces from the doorway of the closest house when voices from just around the corner took me by surprise. They rang out loud and clear, though sometimes they went from low, threatening growls to sharp, indignant tones. I dropped into a crouch and listened attentively. There were at least three distinct speakers, all of them male. Should I try to get away before the speakers knew I was there?
“—beg of you, don’t force me to do this! What you’re asking is sacrilege. It will destroy my soul!”
I turned to stone, transfixed by the sound of that piteous voice. Then a reply came, and the casual callousness of the second speaker made the hair rise at the back of my neck.
“No one is forcing you to show us the way to Lord Iritsen’s tomb, Samut. Go home and keep your soul pure.”
“And what about my son?” Samut wailed. “What about my precious child? Where have you hidden him?”
“Keep your voice down, Samut. You’ll rouse a witness.”
Jackals’ laughter filled the night. “What witness?” A third voice, nasal and shrill, sneered. “This place is deserted. The workers are all back in the village, waiting for their next round of tasks. Why d’you think we’re here, having our little … talk with Samut?”
“Please—” Samut sounded on the point of tears or madness. “Please give me back my boy. His mother is dead; he’s my only child. Listen, you don’t need to rob Lord Iritsen’s tomb. I have some jewelry and a gold image of Lord Osiris as big as my middle finger. You can have that. You can have anything else I own. Come into my house and take whatever you want, but please don’t make me despoil the dead!”
“Did you hear that?” the nasal-voiced one cried with mock joy. “A gold statue as big as his middle finger! Who needs old Iritsen’s rooms full of treasure if we can have that, hey? And you know how we’re going to reward your generosity, Samut? We’re going to give you what you want: You’ll have your son back tomorrow.” I could picture the ugly grin twisting the speaker’s lips as he toyed with the heartbroken father. “Most of him.”
“Monster!”
I heard a scuffle, curses, then a merciless beating, and Samut moaning with pain. Suddenly it stopped and the cold voice declared, “All right, that’s enough. You don’t teach a man to hold his tongue by breaking his jaw. If we snap his bones, who’s going to show us the way to that tomb?”
“He wasn’t the only one who worked on Iritsen’s burial,” the nasal voice whined. “Why don’t we just get rid of him and his brat and find someone else to get us inside?”
“Because I don’t want to waste any more time, that’s why! You know how long it took to get that little boy to trust me enough so he’d come away peaceably? Hey, you! Samut! I’ll keep it simple for you: Either you come back here tomorrow night, ready to take us into Iritsen’s tomb, or you can start carving out one for your boy.”
I slipped into the shelter of an empty house as the four tomb robbers strode past my hiding place. When they were well away, I went looking for Samut. He was lying curled up on his side, tears pouring from his eyes, his face and body bruised and bleeding. One eye was already swelling shut, but he could still see me kneeling by him.
“Gracious Isis, why have you come for me?” he whispered. “Am I dead?”
“Nava, if you keep on eating like that, you’ll get sick.” I tried to take away the figs that the Habiru child had piled in front of her, but she threw her small body over them protectively and looked at me as if I were the most heartless person in the world. All her fuss disturbed Ta-Miu, who had been enjoying a piece of dried fish. The cat decided I was to blame for her interrupted treat and uttered a sharp, scolding mew.
“See?” Nava proclaimed. “Even Ta-Miu thinks you’re wrong.”
“Ta-Miu doesn’t have to nurse you through a bellyache,” I replied.
“Let the little one eat.” Samut sat cross-legged on the floor next to me and gazed wistfully at the child. “My boy loves figs, too.”
Amenophis swallowed the mouthful of fresh bread he’d been chewing. “You’ll share a plate of figs with your son again soon,” he said. “You’ll see.”
Samut sighed. “You’re a very kind person, young master. You mean well, but what can you do? There are too many of them for you to—”
Nava tugged at my elbow and whispered, “Why is he calling Amenophis ‘young master’? Does he know he’s a prince? Did you tell him?”
“I didn’t even tell him our names,” I whispered back while Samut and Amenophis continued speaking. “And he hasn’t asked.”
Nava’s brows knitted. “Isn’t that strange?”
“He just might be the sort of person who respects another’s privacy. He probably thinks that we must have a good reason for not letting him know who we are. It doesn’t bother him too much because we’ve proved we’re not enemies.”
“Oh.” The Habiru child nodded. “Because you took care of him, right?”
“I didn’t do that much—just cleaned him up after that awful beating he got and bandaged a few of the worst scrapes. If he calls Amenophis ‘young master,’ he’s just showing respect. You didn’t argue about it when he called you ‘young lady,’ did you?”
She giggled and tried not to look too pleased with herself.