‘I should warn you, there will be danger.’

  ‘I am not afraid of danger.’

  ‘Very well . . . but why do you want to accompany us? What is there for you?’

  ‘Knowledge. What you showed me last night unlocked the secrets of a long-gone age. It was as if I had sat with Imhotep himself and he had opened his mind to me. You cannot imagine, you who live by the sword, what that means to a man like me. I have devoted my life to learning. Now I have an opportunity to discover things I’ve never dreamed of. If I do not see them with my own eyes, that lost opportunity will haunt me until my dying day.’

  Ankhu pressed his hands together as if in prayer. Piay could hear the sincerity in his voice, and yet to open up Imhotep’s quest to another, a stranger, would create consequences that he could not control. He knew Hannu would caution against it.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly.

  Ankhu narrowed his eyes. ‘Tell me, my thick-headed adventurer . . . when you reach the Pyramid of Khufu, you will know the way to enter it?’

  ‘We . . . we will find it.’

  ‘You will not. And once you are inside, you will know where to go? What to do? What to say? I have studied the Pyramid of Khufu since I was a boy. I have read all the accounts I could find of the building and the tunnels. No man knows it better than me.’

  Piay weighed the scribe’s words. There could be no doubt that his knowledge would be helpful, but Hannu had often criticised him for being reckless. He did not want to face that accusation again.

  ‘Answer me one question,’ Piay said.

  ‘Ah, a test.’

  ‘Everyone tells me the Pyramid of Khufu was built after Imhotep’s time. How then could it be part of Imhotep’s quest?’

  Ankhu smiled. ‘A surprisingly wise question. And you are correct. Imhotep was not involved in the building. The architect of the Pyramid of Khufu was called Hemiunu.’

  ‘Then how . . .?’

  ‘The knowledge of how to build in stone is closely guarded. Architects and masons have kept their secrets from a time before even Imhotep. The knowledge is passed on only to those who have proven themselves worthy of becoming one of their number.’

  Piay was intrigued by the words ‘proven themselves worthy’ – for was that not the very nature of the quest Imhotep had set for those who wanted to discover his secrets?

  ‘They have a guild?’

  ‘Of a kind,’ Ankhu replied. ‘From the earliest time they were known as the Followers of Osiris. Anyone who wished to become an architect or a mason would be tested. If they were found to be worthy they were accepted in a ritual – a ritual that even I have never heard described, and it has been my business to uncover secrets.’

  Piay moistened his dry mouth. The more he heard from Ankhu, the more what he said fitted with all he had learned on this quest.

  ‘If the Followers of Osiris, the architects and masons, pass their secrets down across the years . . .’

  ‘Then, yes, any plan Imhotep had could also have been delivered in the same manner,’ Ankhu said. ‘When Hemiunu designed the Pyramid of Khufu, was he working to Imhotep’s plan? We can never know. But it is not impossible.’

  ‘And you know what lies within the tomb?’

  ‘The texts reveal the details of the passages and chambers.’ Ankhu paused, thinking, and when he looked back at Piay his eyes glittered. ‘I will give you a word of advice. You will come to a point where one passage goes down deep into the ground and one rises up. Do not take the downward passage.’

  Piay frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound right. If Imhotep has created a version of the journey into the underworld here on earth, then surely the passage that travels down would be the right one.’

  ‘Heed my words.’

  Piay stroked his chin, reflecting. This advice troubled him. Could Ankhu be trusted? Imhotep’s secret had attracted greedy men, hungry to snatch their prize. What if Ankhu, too, wanted to keep it for himself?

  Piay still worried that it was too dangerous to take this old man along, with Akkan’s men and the Sons of Apis stalking their every step. But Ankhu’s knowledge could be invaluable. And the gods knew that without Myssa, he and Hannu would be wading through a sea of mud to reach the isle of enlightenment.

  ‘Make your arrangements,’ Piay said. ‘But do not make me regret this.’

  1 The star we now know as Sirius.

  2 The constellation of Orion.

  ‘T

  his has slowed us down,’ Hannu grumbled. He was squatting against a wall outside the garrison, sharpening his sword with long, singing strokes of a whetstone.

  ‘Once we reach the Pyramid of Khufu and begin our search for the next sign Imhotep has hidden, Ankhu’s knowledge may guide us to the prize faster than the two of us stumbling around on our own.’

  Piay folded his arms, peering into the courtyard at the heart of the garrison, where the Blue Crocodile Guards were now forming into ranks under the curt commands of the captain.

  His thoughts drifted back to when he had walked through the gardens with Myssa’s hand in his. He forced the memory aside. He felt haunted, as if the ghost of Myssa was always with him, a few steps behind his left shoulder.

  A call rang out across the courtyard as soldiers marched up the steps from the cells under the garrison block. The man deemed responsible for the bakery fire trudged between them. His hands had been bound behind his back and his head was bowed so Piay could not see his face. Two spear tips prodded his bare back should his step slow. He would meet his doom on time.

  Hannu stood, setting the whetstone aside and sheathing his sword. He watched the knot of soldiers turn past the ranks of the Blue Crocodile Guards and make their way out of the garrison.

  ‘I don’t like this one bit,’ he mumbled.

  ‘You’re not alone in that.’

  ‘There’s been no trial,’ Hannu continued. ‘There’s no evidence that this was the man who led the revolt. For all we know, he’s just a farmer who got caught up in all of this when he just wanted a fair price for his grain. There’s no Ma’at here.3 No justice.’

  ‘There’s no law in Memphis,’ Piay said. ‘Least of all in the palace. Harrar thinks he’s proving a point to the people – and so he is, but not in the way that he thinks. And as for Zahur, the people already hate him. What are they going to think if he’s sent an innocent man to his death?’

  ‘Folk were only complaining about empty bellies.’ Hannu’s voice cracked. ‘Who can blame them?’

  As the soldiers led the captive out of the garrison, he raised his head as if looking to the blue sky one final time. He still had the flush of youth upon his face, his eyes large, dark and filled with fear.

  As Piay watched the poor soul pass, a slave ran up.

  ‘Lord Harrar requires you to observe the execution,’ the boy gasped. ‘He wants all of Pharaoh’s representatives there, so the people can take comfort in the security that is being brought to Memphis.’

  ‘Wants us all damned together, more like,’ Hannu muttered.

  Piay nodded and the slave raced away to find the next person on the list of names he had been given.

  The palace soldiers marched past, followed by the Blue Crocodile Guards.

  ‘Bet Harrar thinks this is a show of strength,’ Hannu grumbled as he and Piay slipped into step behind his old regiment.

  ‘The sooner we’re away from here, the better,’ Piay said.

  The soldiers marched along the street towards the Temple of Ptah. The execution was to take place in the hot, sun-baked square next to the temple enclosure – the very heart of the sprawling city. A good execution was normally an entertainment, a chance to break the drudgery of a hard day’s labour, but this felt very different.

  Piay had never seen so many soldiers in one place since his arrival in Memphis. They formed a wall across the square, staring at the sullen-faced crowd that had come to watch the execution.

  Zahur, sweat beading his face, was sitting on a chair on a small wooden stage behind the line of soldiers, two slaves fanning him. He was smiling like a child – a carefree, gleeful grin, as if he were about to be presented with a feast. The other dignitaries stood around him. Piay searched for Harrar, but he appeared to have chosen a position at the rear of the group.

  The execution frame had been set up in the centre of the square, to the right of Zahur’s dais – a triangle that consisted of two ladders set roughly fifteen feet apart and bound together at their apex. A wooden crossbar had been crudely nailed near the top of the structure to keep the whole thing solid. The wood was stained black with the blood of previous victims.

  As the captive saw it looming up ahead of him, he began to wail in terror and tried to throw himself back. The vision of his impending death so consumed him that he ignored the spears jabbing at his back, and blood streamed down across his filthy kilt. As his struggles grew more frenzied, the guards were forced to grab his arms and drag him forward.

  At the foot of the execution frame, they hit him several times, knocking him half unconscious, then they hauled him up the structure and bound his hands to the crossbar and his feet to the two ladders. He hung there, spread-eagled, his head slumped down on his chest.

  The captive began to sob. He raised his head to proclaim his innocence, his wail rolling out across the strangely quiet city. None of the guards made any attempt to quieten him; the lamentations of those about to be executed were traditionally considered to be a part of the entertainment.

  But as Piay peered at the crowd, he could see none of the usual excitement on the faces of the spectators. Their features were implacable, their gazes heavy, their attention fixed on the man bound to the frame.

  The people all knew that the condemned man’s punishment would not end with his death. A safe passage to the afterlife could only be guaranteed by observing ancient customs and sacred rituals. But the body of the accused would be denied a proper burial. Instead, it would hang on the city walls while the vultures feasted on its flesh. Then the remains would be dismembered and thrown into the waters of the Nile. No wonder the man was so terrified. He knew he would never find his way to eternal peace.

  Piay felt Hannu nudge him.

  ‘Over there,’ he murmured.

  Turning, Piay looked to the nearest corner of the square. His father stood among a large group of men, beckoning him.

  Hurrying across the square, Piay pushed through the line of soldiers. Once he reached his father, the group of men closed around them so they could not be seen. These men were broad-shouldered, strong-armed, with eyes that held no compassion. Many of them bore the three scars that Hannu had identified the previous day.

  ‘You have news for me about Myssa?’ Piay asked, forgetting all his resolutions about driving her from his mind.

  ‘I told you that I would find out what I could,’ Asil said. ‘I would not let you down, my son. We are blood, bound together by the life-force.’

  Piay felt it odd to hear those words. He had been alone all his life, with Taita the only constant, and Taita had always had his own concerns.

  ‘There are some in the city who know about poisons and potions and charms and spells,’ Asil continued. ‘They know how to make men sleep, how to fill women with desire, and how to kill and leave no trace.’

  Piay glanced around the circle of hardened men, all of whom were now facing out into the crowd, their broad backs turned on Asil and his son. They were protecting this old man. Piay felt a twist of unease. He could no longer deny that his father had some connection to the Guild of Thieves. No wonder he knew poisoners and potion-mixers. Those who lived in the shadows clung together.

  But Piay’s desperation outweighed his moral scruples.

  ‘So, can you help me?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course, of course – I would do anything for you, my son.’

  The old man grasped Piay’s hand and opened out the fingers, palm up. Into it he pressed a small hide pouch.

  ‘In there you will find the flowers of the blue lotus and the leaves of some other plants which have the power to lull a person into a dreamlike state,’ Asil whispered. ‘You must roll the contents into pellets. When you find your woman, feed them to her, at dawn and dusk, for three days.

  ‘During this time, you must profess your love to her. You must tell her clearly what her life was like before she was taken from you, and how the joy she knew then can be hers again. In the dream state the mind is open to suggestion. This is what her captors did to her when they took her. You will only be undoing their work, and she will thank you for it when she is once again the woman you knew.’

  Piay felt a rush of relief, and then gratitude. He had fought hard to keep despair from overwhelming him, but there were times when he had wondered if the change that had come over Myssa was permanent. Finding her and rescuing her was work for another day. For now, there was hope.

  ‘Thank you.’ Piay grasped his father’s hands and squeezed them.

  The old man beamed again at this display of affection. In his hard world, perhaps he had not experienced such honest warmth for a long time.

  ‘One more thing,’ Asil said. ‘You are now in my debt for a second time. And, once again, this debt must be honoured. Not now. Perhaps not for a season or more. But at some point you will be asked to repay it.’

  Piay nodded. Whatever the price was, it did not matter as long as he had an opportunity to free Myssa from the spell she was under and bring her back to him.

  ‘I must return to the others,’ Piay said, ‘but I won’t forget what you have done for me.’

  Asil glanced around, looking past his guards and into the crowd.

  ‘You must take care,’ he said. ‘If you value your life, keep your distance from Zahur.’

  ‘Have you heard anything that I should know?’

  Asil shrugged. ‘I hear many things. Keep your wits about you and your eyes clear, that is the best advice I can give.’

  Piay closed his fingers around the pouch and nodded his goodbye, then he pushed back out into the square and strode over to where Hannu was waiting.

  ‘Some news?’ Hannu asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you later. For now, keep your eyes on the crowd.’

  The captive’s screams faltered, his throat clearly ragged from his exhortations, but his body continued to shudder with terror. Heaving himself from his chair, Zahur wobbled to the edge of the stage and looked out over the crowd.

  ‘Ma’at is the way in this world and the next,’ he called out, his voice wavering so that some words disappeared into the breeze. ‘Truth, justice, order. There must be balance. There is no other way. This offender you see before you has betrayed the way of Ma’at. He sought to foment rebellion, to disrupt the peace of our city. That is a crime of such magnitude that only the highest punishment can be brought down upon him. Be witness now—’

  A rock the size of a man’s hand arced over the line of soldiers and clattered across the flagstones not far from where Zahur stood. He stared at it, bewildered.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Hannu muttered. ‘This is about to go very bad.’

  Zahur was trying to summon up the words that he had bitten off when another missile spun his way. This one crashed against his chest and he cried out in pain. A third rock dropped out of the sky, cracking against the side of Zahur’s head and leaving a spray of blood and torn skin in its wake. This time he howled in agony, clutching at the wound.

  ‘Execute the offender! Execute him now!’ Harrar’s voice boomed out across the courtyard as he stepped out from behind the assembled dignitaries.

  Dazed and uncomprehending, Zahur staggered around as more missiles rained down from all sides – stones, bits of wood, even clods of excrement. The dignitaries scattered. Zahur threw his hands over his head and stumbled after them, gesturing to his underlings to form a protective circle around him.

  ‘Asil knew this was going to happen,’ Piay said as the executioner strode towards the frame. In his hands he gripped the Tool of Opening, a long pole with a sickle blade at one end. He swung the pole up in a well-practised motion and raked the blade down the captive’s belly.

  The man screamed so loud and shrill that Piay felt his ears ring. As the glistening entrails tumbled out, the attack ceased. Piay sensed the weight of the crowd’s attention on the act of execution and the dark thoughts that accompanied it.

  They all knew that the so-called offender was trapped in that strange realm, dead yet not dead. He would live on for a while, watching his innards dry out in the sun before the final, fatal blow delivered him from his agony.

  The lull only lasted a moment. Once the crowd had borne witness to what had happened, even more missiles rained down. The soldiers held their line across the square, while the Blue Crocodile Guards went to Zahur and the fleeing dignitaries and guided them back to the palace.

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ Hannu said. ‘If people saw us arrive with Zahur, they’re liable to think we’re on his side.’

  3 The word for the Egyptian notion of balance, justice, morality and truth, as well as the name of the goddess who embodied those ideals.

  H

  arrar, Zahur and the others returned to the governor’s compound and the gates were sealed. Piay watched as the bar was slammed into place before hurrying into the palace.

  He found Harrar and Zahur sheltering in an opulent sitting room. Two female slaves were tending to the wound on the governor’s head while another one stood by with a jug of Syrian wine, ready to refill the two men’s cups.

  ‘I have urgent business among the monuments,’ Piay said. ‘I must leave later today.’

  ‘Out of the question,’ Harrar said. ‘No one may leave the palace until the mood in the city has calmed. You saw them at the execution. That rabble is out of control.’

  ‘I do not know what has come over them,’ Zahur wheezed, ignoring Piay’s incredulous glance. ‘I have never seen them this way. Yes, they have complained about the lack of bread. But to hurl deadly rocks? That is unthinkable!’