The Horned Viper Page 8

  ‘Hopi!’ The doctor’s voice was desperate. ‘I’ve lost something. Something important. You haven’t . . . ?’ He trailed off.

  ‘What sort of thing?’ Hopi kept his voice very innocent.

  The doctor stamped his foot in frustration. ‘You were down there! You –’ Again he broke off. ‘You must help me,’ he finished, lowering his voice.

  Hopi stared at him coldly, remembering how the doctor had betrayed him. ‘I don’t even know what you’re talking about.’

  Tutmose stared hard at Hopi’s bag. ‘The thing I’m looking for . . . it could help you. It could help all of us. Even the crew. Tell the crew. Let them know that I can solve everything.’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ said Hopi. ‘If you’ve lost something, it has nothing to do with me.’

  .

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘We approach Djeba,’ announced Nebo, standing at the entrance to the cabin.

  Hat-Neb sat up. He looked tired and ill, with big circles under his eyes. He looked blearily around the cabin. ‘We are all alive, I see,’ he commented.

  ‘The danger has passed. The crew can do nothing. Too many people here.’

  Isis could hear them – children’s voices calling from the riverbank, men shouting, someone’s donkey braying. She realised she had survived, and felt weak with relief.

  Hat-Neb staggered to his feet, donned a clean linen kilt and went out on to the deck.

  Nebo nodded to Isis, Mut and the women. ‘You may come,’ he said.

  The riverbank swarmed with people. Children pointed at the beautiful vessel, shouting, and a flotilla of little fishing boats bobbed on the water around them. Hat-Neb went to the rail of the boat to let himself be seen, and waved to the crowd that had gathered to watch.

  ‘It is Hat-Neb! The overseer of works has returned!’

  ‘Behold his fine new boat!’

  Willing hands reached out for ropes as the boat was manoeuvred into position, and a wide plank ladder was winched up to the deck. Hat-Neb called to Killer, and picked up the hunting cat. Then, with great dignity, he began to disembark. But halfway down, he stopped and swayed. Isis heard a murmur ripple through the crowd. He righted himself, and clutched the cat to his chest. One slow step at a time, he reached the docks.

  The sound of a whip cracked through the air, and horses’ hooves thudded on the hard earth of the riverside. A gilded chariot came into view, pulled by two cantering horses, each with an ostrich plume attached to its head. The crowd parted, and the chariot came to a halt by Hat-Neb’s side. He looked back up at the boat.

  ‘Come, Tutmose!’ he called.

  The doctor descended to join the overseer, raising a hand to the crowd as he made his way to the chariot. The two men climbed on board behind the driver, and Isis stared down at them. Was Hat-Neb going to leave them, just like that? It seemed that he was. The overseer waved up to Nebo.

  ‘Stand guard!’ he called. ‘I will send men to help you unload!’

  The chariot driver cracked his whip, and the horses set off through the crowd in a cloud of dust. There were just the crew, the dance troupe and Nebo left on board.

  Nebo turned to Kerem. ‘You take the sick men off,’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of the injured crew. ‘And then you follow.’

  Kerem did not protest. The crowd ogled eagerly as the injured men were helped down the plank, their bandages still bloody and one man’s arm dangling uselessly. Kerem was the last to go.

  Sheri and Kia looked at Nebo, clearly confused.

  ‘Now what?’ exclaimed Kia. ‘Who is going to carry our belongings off the boat? And what about our payment?’

  ‘You go free when the boat unloaded. Your pay-ment . . .’ Nebo shrugged. ‘This nothing to do with me.’

  Kia’s mouth dropped open. ‘What do you mean, nothing?’ She folded her arms. ‘You’ve no authority to pay us what we’re owed?’

  ‘No.’ The Nubian’s voice was remote.

  ‘And that’s it? You are not going to help us?’

  Another shrug. Sheri and Kia exchanged furious glances. Then a shout came from below, and six strong servants appeared up the ladder. They set to work diligently, running up and down the plank to unload Hat-Neb’s sacks of grain, his caskets and his statues. In no time at all, the hold was empty. The men moved on to the cabin.

  ‘What do we do with these?’ asked one of them, pointing to the troupe’s belongings.

  Nebo nodded his head towards the shore. ‘Take them down and leave them on the harbour.’

  ‘Be careful with them!’ cried Sheri, as the men grabbed their fragile lyres and lutes. The men grinned at each other, and carried on as before.

  It was then that Isis realised the truth. They had survived this dreadful journey, but now they were stuck. They would be left at the riverside, with no payment, and no means of returning to Waset.

  .

  Hopi watched as the last of Hat-Neb’s pack donkeys disappeared up the road. Sheri and Kia were enraged. Hopi had never seen them so angry. The five of them stood on the harbour with their little pile of belongings. Locals stared at them curiously – a dance and music troupe with nowhere to go.

  ‘I can’t believe it. I simply can’t believe it. In all my years of performing I have never, ever been treated like this.’ Kia began striding up and down, her arms folded. ‘There must be something we can do. Something –’

  ‘Such men are above the law,’ said Sheri bitterly.

  ‘This is not the way of Egypt. This is not the way of ma’at,’ fumed Kia.

  But Hopi had one eye on the crew. ‘There is something we can do,’ he announced. ‘And I must do it, for I have given my word, and there will be big trouble if I do not.’

  The two musicians swung around to stare at him. ‘Hopi! You have caused enough trouble on this trip,’ began Kia. ‘I suppose you will produce some kind of –’

  ‘Wait, sister. Calm yourself,’ said Sheri. ‘Let us hear what he has to say.’

  The crew were watching them. What Hopi knew, and the women did not, was that their danger was far from over. They might have escaped Hat-Neb and Nebo, but now Kerem and his men wanted results. It was noon, and the sun was beating down harshly. Hopi pointed towards a large, shady fig tree close by.

  ‘Let’s sit under this tree,’ he said. ‘And I will explain.’

  Kia looked suspicious, but Sheri picked up her lyre. The five of them carried their belongings to the shadow of the tree and spread out some reed matting.

  ‘So,’ said Sheri, making herself comfortable. ‘Tell us, Hopi. What is it that you must do?’

  Hopi took a deep breath. ‘I have to go and find Tutmose.’

  ‘But he went with Hat-Neb,’ said Mut.

  ‘Yes. But he has an important task to finish, and he has lost what he needs to do so.’ Hopi glanced over to the crew as he spoke. They had bought some strips of roasted meat from a local vendor, and were sitting eating it. ‘I have promised the crew that they will receive their gold,’ he said. ‘And I’m quite sure that Tutmose will help me to get it.’

  ‘What! Receive their . . . but how?’ exclaimed Sheri. ‘What is this task that Tutmose must finish?’

  Hopi leaned forward. ‘Tutmose may be a doctor,’ he said in a low voice, ‘but he is also an assassin. And he was supposed to murder Hat-Neb.’

  There was a shocked silence. Quietly, Hopi reached for his bag.

  ‘So what has he lost?’ asked Isis.

  Hopi smiled. ‘It is here,’ he said. He delved into his bag, and brought out the pouch he had found in the hold – the pouch full of Tutmose’s poisons.

  .

  Isis thought of Hat-Neb sweating and suffering under the sun. Hat-Neb toppling and collapsing on their trip to the marshes. Hat-Neb vomiting over the side of the fishing boat. Hat-Neb waking up in the night, choking and coughing. And Tutmose . . . Tutmose offering treatment. Tutmose creeping around at night. Tutmose with Hat-Neb’s fan, working his magic under the cover of darkness. Now,
it all made sense.

  ‘But why didn’t he succeed sooner?’ Sheri looked at the array of bottles and potions. ‘There is surely enough to kill twenty men here.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Hopi. ‘I think it was to make it look natural. Hat-Neb was becoming sick, but he didn’t want to believe it. He was happy to blame his wine. That suited Tutmose very well.’

  ‘How dreadful,’ murmured Sheri.

  Isis was still thinking. ‘So who were the men who attacked us?’ she asked. ‘They wanted to kill Hat-Neb, too, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hopi. ‘There are many men who would like to see Hat-Neb dead. From what I have seen, he has caused a great deal of misery. But Tutmose didn’t want the barge men to do it, because they would have had to kill our crew first. Then we’d all have been stuck.’

  ‘And I suppose he’s being paid by someone to do the job himself,’ said Sheri thoughtfully. ‘I can see that the viper might have been useful to him.’

  Hopi nodded. ‘He wanted some of its venom for his collection.’ He began packing the poisons back into his bag. ‘So, as I said, I need to find him. He wants these poisons back, but he won’t get them unless he helps us.’

  ‘But our payment doesn’t matter that much, Hopi! This trip has been quite dangerous enough,’ exclaimed Sheri. ‘We have plenty of things we can sell.’

  ‘Oh yes. I don’t want that collar Hat-Neb gave me,’ said Isis. ‘We can –’

  ‘You’ve forgotten something,’ Hopi interrupted her. ‘Look over there.’

  Isis looked. The crew had finished eating. Kerem was getting to his feet, and heading in their direction. And from the deep frown that furrowed his brow, Isis could see he meant business.

  ‘The crew have suffered greatly. They want their gold,’ said Hopi. ‘They did as I asked last night. Now I must keep my side of the bargain.’

  Sheri and Kia exchanged worried glances, but Isis touched Hopi’s arm. ‘Wherever you’re going, I’m coming with you,’ she declared. ‘I won’t let you go alone.’

  The troupe looked up as Kerem stopped in front of them. His regard was cold and distant, and his stance was tinged with menace. ‘So,’ he said, ‘will our priest fulfil his promise?’

  Hopi got to his feet, leaving his bag on the ground with Sheri and Kia. ‘I will do my best. I am leaving now,’ he said. ‘And my sister is coming with me. Come on, Isis, let’s go.’

  .

  The temple site was situated a short distance away from the river. Hopi and Isis followed a well-trodden road from the harbour, blending in with the stream of people who bustled along it.

  ‘Listen to everyone,’ muttered Hopi. ‘Try to catch anything that might be helpful. Anything about the temple, or doctors, overseers, Nubians, mercenaries . . .’

  Isis nodded. ‘I’m good at that sort of thing.’

  It was true. Isis had a knack for eavesdropping and disappearing into shadows. Her nimble body could wriggle in and out of very awkward places. Hopi was glad that she was with him. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was afraid. They might never find Tutmose, and this town was crawling with men under the power of Hat-Neb.

  They turned a corner, and the temple came into view. It was built on higher ground, safe from the flood water, and although it wasn’t yet finished, it was an amazing sight. Massive ramps had been constructed on which hundreds of men toiled. Some of the walls had been completed, so that draughtsmen, sculptors and painters were the ones at work here, drawing and chipping with chisels to extol the gods and the king. On the other side, men were still hauling enormous limestone blocks up the ramps to finish the building work.

  They overtook a group of labourers trudging slowly towards the site carrying baskets of gravel on their bare shoulders.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ whispered Isis.

  ‘No. What?’

  ‘They were saying he’s back,’ said Isis. ‘Hopi, they could be talking about Hat-Neb! Should we go and ask them?’

  Hopi hesitated. Many men were bound to know of the overseer’s return. ‘We need something more useful,’ he said. ‘We mustn’t draw attention to ourselves unless we have to.’

  They were already attracting stares; they needed an excuse to be this close to the temple. Hopi spotted an old man tottering along with a basket of pomegranates on his head, and grabbed Isis by the hand.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s pretend to be with him.’

  They soon caught up with the vendor, who was stooped under the weight of his basket.

  ‘May we help you?’ Isis offered, with a pretty smile.

  The man’s watery eyes looked at them with distrust. ‘I know your sort,’ he grumbled.

  ‘No, no,’ said Isis. ‘We don’t want to steal your fruit. You are tired. Why don’t you sit and rest, while we sell the fruit for you?’

  ‘What are you after?’ demanded the vendor.

  ‘A pomegranate each,’ responded Hopi quickly.

  The man put down his basket and flopped to the ground. ‘I’ll try you out,’ he said, and handed them each some fruit.

  ‘Pomegranates!’ sang Isis, skipping up to one man after another. ‘Lovely, big, fresh pomegranates!’

  ‘I have a small packet of salt here,’ offered a scribe. ‘How many will that buy?’

  ‘I’ll check.’ Isis scampered back to the old man.

  Hopi let Isis do most of the work. She was much better at it than him. He watched his sister as she danced around, charming men into buying more pomegranates than they wanted, for goods they had not meant to sell. The vendor was delighted. But the day was wearing on, and they were no closer to solving their problem.

  Then Hopi saw him: Tutmose, approaching the site on foot.

  ‘Isis!’ he called urgently.

  She spun around. Hopi ducked down behind a broken limestone block, and beckoned her. Isis handed over two pomegranates to a deputy overseer, and dived around the block to join her brother.

  Tutmose walked through the site uncertainly, as though it was unfamiliar to him. He looked around, stopped and craned his neck. At last, he saw what he was looking for. With more purpose in his stride, he walked straight to their last customer – the deputy overseer, who was already peeling a pomegranate.

  The deputy looked shocked to see Tutmose. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  He took the doctor’s arm and steered him into the shade of an acacia tree, dangerously close to the limestone block. Hopi and Isis shuffled along hurriedly, then stayed still and listened.

  ‘I needed to see you.’ The doctor’s voice was urgent.

  ‘You are putting us both at risk. And I hear that you have failed.’

  ‘The task is still in hand.’ Tutmose sounded flustered. ‘But there have been problems. Setbacks. I have come to say that I need more time.’

  ‘More time!’ The deputy sounded incredulous. ‘You have had an entire trip down the Nile –’

  ‘Yes, yes, but it is not easy. We must not arouse suspicion. I am a respected physician. Everyone must believe he died of natural causes.’

  ‘I thought that was your speciality,’ said the deputy. ‘That’s what I was told. But at this rate, he will die of natural causes without any help from you!’

  ‘Hush, hush,’ Tutmose soothed him. ‘I am still a guest in his house. I have promised to cure his various . . . problems. He wishes to be fit and well before he returns to the building site.’

  ‘Small mercies,’ muttered the deputy. ‘Well, let me know when the task is completed.’

  ‘Indeed. It is well under way, I can assure you. And on the basis of that, I wonder if there might be an advance – a small advance – on my payment . . .’

  The deputy gave a cracked laugh. ‘What do you take me for?’ he exclaimed. ‘You know the terms of our agreement perfectly well.’

  ‘Yes, yes . . .’ The doctor was floundering. ‘It is just that . . . just that . . . I need supplies . . . I have run out of so many of my potions . . .’

 
‘Here, have a pomegranate,’ said the deputy, his voice hard. ‘That is all you will receive from me until you can tell me the job is done.’

  .

  Isis paid the pomegranate vendor the handful of beads that the deputy had given her. ‘We have to go now,’ she told him. Hopi was fast disappearing down the road.

  ‘A thousand blessings be upon you!’ cried the old man, handing her two of his best ripe fruits. Isis thanked him, and hurried after her brother.

  Tutmose was heading for the town. He stomped along in a fury, swearing at anyone who got in his way. Isis and Hopi kept at a distance, but were careful not to lose sight of him. They were already winding through narrow streets, and the doctor walked fast.

  Hopi struggled to keep up. ‘We must find a safe place to speak to him,’ he gasped. ‘Where no one will see.’

  ‘I’ll go and offer him these pomegranates,’ suggested Isis. ‘No one will suspect a thing. Catch me up.’

  She skipped off, weaving in and out of people, donkeys and ducks. She picked her moment carefully, stopping Tutmose just at the entrance to a dim alleyway.

  ‘Fresh pomegranates!’ she sang loudly, jogging the doctor’s elbow.

  He tutted impatiently, and snatched his elbow away. Then he saw that it was Isis. ‘You,’ he scowled. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Isis smiled and batted her eyelashes. ‘Why, this is only fresh fruit, sir!’ she said. ‘Please, come here so that we can discuss it.’ And she stepped into the alleyway.

  Tutmose looked up and down the street, then reached out to grab Isis by the arm. She was too quick for him, and danced out of the way.

  ‘Where’s that brother of yours?’ he snapped. ‘I’ll murder the pair of you.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you’d like to try.’ Hopi appeared behind him, blocking the alleyway. ‘But you might find it difficult without any of your poisons.’

  Tutmose spun on his heel, then back at Isis. He was trapped.

  Hopi looked levelly at the doctor. ‘You thought you’d left us behind, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘Well, we have a problem. We can’t leave until we’ve been paid. We can’t afford the ferry back to Waset.’