City of the Dead by T. L. Higley Read Free Book Online Page A

wrapped herfingers around my own. I stared down into her eyes and into the sympathy there.
    “You were a good friend to him,” she whispered.
    I did not know why the words of this strange woman would feel like a balm on my scalded soul.
    “I will not leave the village,” Sen said behind us.
    Neferet dropped my hand and I turned. My face felt warm. Must be the pepper.
    Sen ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “This is our home, and I won’t move up to your royal estate as though I belonged there.”
    “Fine.” I brushed my hands together. “You may remain here among your men, as long as you attend necessary meetings at the palace.”
    Sen stood, frowning. “I am not certain about any of this.”
    I reached an arm forward. “Your humility only further convinces me that I have chosen well.” He wrapped meaty fingers around my forearm. “Senosiris, Overseer of Constructions,” I said.
    “Sen. It’s just Sen.”
    I reached for the papyrus I had brought. “I have a task for you already.” I unrolled the sheet. Sen looked on, his eyes roaming the drawing. “For the tools on the platform,” I said. “To keep them from falling.”
    Sen lifted his eyes to me. “It is made of wood.”
    “Yes. I think thirty to forty of them should be sufficient.”
    “You would spend so much of our rarest resource for this purpose?”
    “Wood is rare, it is true. But men are irreplaceable.”
    Sen studied me a moment more, then took the papyrus. “I will see to it,” he said with a trace of emotion.
    Father and daughter accompanied me to the door of their home, and I felt some weight of the past day lift. At least this part of Egypt’s ma’at, the structure of my management team, had been restored. The project would proceed, and all would be well.
    The street had grown oddly still, and we looked both directions to find ourselves alone. And then around a corner came a crowd of mourners, led by a weeping Hasina and the body of Mentu stretched on a pallet. They bore him to the doctor’s workshop, where his seventy days would commence and his body be prepared for its journey west.
    My satisfaction of a moment before evaporated in a mist of guilt and self-reproach. Mentu’s body was marching past me, and there was no divine order.
    The pack of mourners pressed through the street like a rodent through the gullet of a snake. One person broke off from the attendant crowd and joined us.
    My brother, Ahmose.
    “It seemed an inopportune time for tax collecting,” he said by way of explanation. I introduced him to Sen and Neferet. Ahmose and Sen were an older and younger version of the same man. That they would like each other, I had no doubt. I did not fear that Ahmose might take an interest in Neferet, as he already had a beautiful wife and three adorable children at home.
    And why should I care who takes notice of Neferet?
    Ahmose regarded the procession. “I would not have guessed that he would be first.”
    “First?” I angled my body away from him.
    “Of the six of us,” Ahmose said, his eyes trained forward. “The first to cross.”
    I knew of which he spoke. We had gone out, a royal hunting party of seven. We had returned only six.
    I said nothing.
    “Let us pray to the gods that Mentu will have justice,” Ahmose said. I felt his gaze turn to me, and I straightened my shoulders. “Better than she received.”
    I tightened the linen I wore at my waist. “Sen, I would like you to be my guest at the king’s accession festival tomorrow night. We can speak then about your new duties.”
    With a nod to Neferet and a glance at Ahmose, I fled in the opposite direction of Mentu’s procession.
    Guilt, uncertainty, and a disturbance of divine order. It was time to visit the temple and do what I must to appease the gods.
    * * *
    Men are often like wayward goats, who need nothing more than a gentle switch across the forelegs to guide them in the right direction. I spent the late afternoon goading reluctant work teams and