The Children of the Company by Kage Baker Read Free Book Online

chair for the great lord, a basin for his feet! Will you have beer, my lord? Will you be pleased to wait in the garden, where the air is cool? I will fetch—”
    “Tell him the priest of Zeus would speak with him,” Atrahasis snapped.
    There was a beat while the mortals present wondered who Zeus might be,
before a servant said: “Our lord will not permit us to disturb his bath—” The woman turned and waved him to silence.
    “I will tell him,” she said, and hurried away. Atrahasis waited, enduring in stiff-lipped silence as well-meaning mortals brought a chair for him, seated him, drew off his sandals and washed his feet. He still hated to be touched by the creatures.
    He focused his attention on the interior of the mansion and heard the splashing, the raucous whistling of—of all things—the Grand March from Verdi’s Aida, interrupted by the mortal woman’s urgent murmur. There was a response, more splashing, and then the whistling resumed. Atrahasis tracked it through the mansion as it came nearer to him, and at last the high priest Imhotep stepped out into the garden.
    Imhotep was a stockily built man with black button eyes, smiling in wry apology as he approached Atrahasis. He had a generic olive-skinned Mediterranean appearance, and might have disappeared into any crowd anywhere with perfect invisibility, so ordinary was his face, so easily could he pass for human.
    His hastily donned linen kilt was damp, and he was still toweling his shaven head dry as he came.
    “Sorry, friend,” he said in Cinema Standard. “I was at the construction site all day and got pretty stinky. You want a beer?”
    “Please,” said Atrahasis, as a servant dried his feet. Imhotep asked the servant to bring a pitcher of beer and two cups. He ducked his head and hurried away.
    Imhotep gave his ears a last dig with the towel and hung it around his neck. He thrust out a hand to Atrahasis.
    “Facilitator Grade One Imhotep, how’s it going and to what do I owe the honor?”
    “Executive Facilitator Atrahasis,” he replied, shaking Imhotep’s hand gingerly. “The god Zeus has sent you a gift, divine son of Ptah. I’m here to brief you on its use.”
    Imhotep grimaced. “Don’t call me that where the servants can hear, okay? Not in their language, anyhow.”
    Atrahasis was amused. “Don’t you want them to respect you?”
    “They respect me just fine as a mortal man, which is what I’ve worked really hard to convince them I happen to be, so let’s not scare them, all
right?” Imhotep sagged onto a garden bench. He regarded the carved chest, still being held on its poles by the mortal slaves; cocked his eye at the honor guard of security techs in loincloths. “That must be one hell of a present. What is it, another capacitor?”
    “I don’t believe your project budget could support one,” Atrahasis replied delicately. “And it’s hardly necessary for the second phase of your mission here.”
    “Second phase, huh?” Imhotep rubbed his chin. “Okay.” In the language of the country, he addressed the mortal bearers. “Boys, you want to set that thing down?”
    The slaves glanced nervously at Atrahasis, who nodded. They lowered their burden and straightened up in obvious relief. At that moment the servant brought the beer, and only after he had offered them their cups and retreated to a respectful distance was the conversation able to proceed.
    “What second phase?” Imhotep asked. “I’ve got Zoser and his court in the palm of my hand, with stage illusions galore. The step-pyramid’s on schedule. I’m dealing out miraculous cures and promoting good hygiene. Wasn’t that the point of this junket?”
    “As far as it’s gone, yes,” Atrahasis said, sniffing his beer and setting it aside. “But now you need to know more.”
    “I see.”
    “The chest is not to be opened until you have it in your private chambers. You will find inside it certain equipment, and a number of scrolls.”
    “Scrolls? What do I