leap overboard.
Hakketh gestured. The guardsmen cast off. The boat drifted out on the current. Hakketh turned to one of the acolytes. 'Take the first watch,' he directed.
'Yes, my lord.' The man went to stand before the globe. He lifted his hands. 'Zayen,' he intoned, a word in no language that Daris recognised. The fires in the globe strengthened. The wings along the hull extended until they stood straight from it. Silently, the vessel gathered speed as the Stygian raised his arms higher.
Perhaps because he wanted to see how she would react, Hakketh told the woman: 'Know that you ride in the sacred wingboat of Set, the last of its kind in the world. The magical formula of its making was lost when Acheron perished, three thousand years ago.'
Faster the craft went and faster. Wind, deflected by the prow, began to whistle.
Hakketh nodded at the deckhouse. 'You will have a compartment in there, and will be unchained when you wish to use it. You will have food and drink. None will harm you, but if you attempt anything untoward, you will be bound.'
The boat no longer threw up a bow wave. It had risen on the wind it raised to skim the dark surface of the river. The acolyte let his arms drop and simply pointed when he wished a change of direction. Sometimes, spying a possible hazard such as a floating log, he reduced speed by raising his arms again skyward, saying the word 'Aaleth,' and lowering them to a degree commensurate with how fast he wanted to go. Then he would utter 'Memn' and be free to stand as he chose until time to hasten again.
'Three nights and three days will see us in Khemi,' Hakketh finished.
Daris fought not to cry out or weep. Westward, the sun sank behind the hills that had been her home.
V
The Work of the Witch
Near the Crocodile Gate stood the Keep of the Manticore. A huge, nearly cubical pile of dark stone around a central courtyard, it took its name from a figure chiselled above its iron-doored main entrance. Tenures, executions, and vindictive imprisonments had engaged its lower levels for centuries; common dwellers in Khemi shunned its neighbourhood as ill-omened. They did not know that on two higher floors were luxurious apartments, an elegant kitchen, secret access for entertainers who were brought there and back blindfolded, but were well paid for performing. Sometimes the hierarchy had. reasons to make a detention comfortable. They did not on that account leave it unguarded.
Clad in a silken robe, Jehanan, brother of Bêlit, lounged on a couch. Beside him, a door stood open on a balcony where flowering vines grew across trellises to give shade and fragrance. The chamber was large, lavishly furnished, beautifully decorated with gilt arabesques. Inner doors led to a bathroom that was almost as big, for it included a swimming pool, and a small but sybaritic bedroom.
His days here had fleshed him out, restored his full strength, removed the craziness from his eyes. His face was still scarred and battered; but washed, barbered, smiling, it was a face that some women would have found attractive.
Nehekba perched beside him. A film of gown and a few jewels only accentuated her utter femaleness. She smiled and stroked his cheek. 'What happened then, beloved?' she crooned.
'Why -' Jehanan looked puzzled. 'Why do you care? It is a trivial thing from my childhood. I stopped because of realizing I myself do not remember it well.'
'Oh, but I care about everything that ever concerned you,' she said.
He flushed in joy, reached out to lay a hand on her thigh, and said, 'Well, then, as I was telling you, Bêlit and I came back from our jungle venture safe, though muddy and out of breath. Our father was furious at the risk we had taken and was about to punish us. But our mother told him – now what were her words? - she told him he should not punish venturesomeness, for we got it from him and we would have need of it in later life. Better to put us on our honour to be more careful in future.
Hakketh gestured. The guardsmen cast off. The boat drifted out on the current. Hakketh turned to one of the acolytes. 'Take the first watch,' he directed.
'Yes, my lord.' The man went to stand before the globe. He lifted his hands. 'Zayen,' he intoned, a word in no language that Daris recognised. The fires in the globe strengthened. The wings along the hull extended until they stood straight from it. Silently, the vessel gathered speed as the Stygian raised his arms higher.
Perhaps because he wanted to see how she would react, Hakketh told the woman: 'Know that you ride in the sacred wingboat of Set, the last of its kind in the world. The magical formula of its making was lost when Acheron perished, three thousand years ago.'
Faster the craft went and faster. Wind, deflected by the prow, began to whistle.
Hakketh nodded at the deckhouse. 'You will have a compartment in there, and will be unchained when you wish to use it. You will have food and drink. None will harm you, but if you attempt anything untoward, you will be bound.'
The boat no longer threw up a bow wave. It had risen on the wind it raised to skim the dark surface of the river. The acolyte let his arms drop and simply pointed when he wished a change of direction. Sometimes, spying a possible hazard such as a floating log, he reduced speed by raising his arms again skyward, saying the word 'Aaleth,' and lowering them to a degree commensurate with how fast he wanted to go. Then he would utter 'Memn' and be free to stand as he chose until time to hasten again.
'Three nights and three days will see us in Khemi,' Hakketh finished.
Daris fought not to cry out or weep. Westward, the sun sank behind the hills that had been her home.
V
The Work of the Witch
Near the Crocodile Gate stood the Keep of the Manticore. A huge, nearly cubical pile of dark stone around a central courtyard, it took its name from a figure chiselled above its iron-doored main entrance. Tenures, executions, and vindictive imprisonments had engaged its lower levels for centuries; common dwellers in Khemi shunned its neighbourhood as ill-omened. They did not know that on two higher floors were luxurious apartments, an elegant kitchen, secret access for entertainers who were brought there and back blindfolded, but were well paid for performing. Sometimes the hierarchy had. reasons to make a detention comfortable. They did not on that account leave it unguarded.
Clad in a silken robe, Jehanan, brother of Bêlit, lounged on a couch. Beside him, a door stood open on a balcony where flowering vines grew across trellises to give shade and fragrance. The chamber was large, lavishly furnished, beautifully decorated with gilt arabesques. Inner doors led to a bathroom that was almost as big, for it included a swimming pool, and a small but sybaritic bedroom.
His days here had fleshed him out, restored his full strength, removed the craziness from his eyes. His face was still scarred and battered; but washed, barbered, smiling, it was a face that some women would have found attractive.
Nehekba perched beside him. A film of gown and a few jewels only accentuated her utter femaleness. She smiled and stroked his cheek. 'What happened then, beloved?' she crooned.
'Why -' Jehanan looked puzzled. 'Why do you care? It is a trivial thing from my childhood. I stopped because of realizing I myself do not remember it well.'
'Oh, but I care about everything that ever concerned you,' she said.
He flushed in joy, reached out to lay a hand on her thigh, and said, 'Well, then, as I was telling you, Bêlit and I came back from our jungle venture safe, though muddy and out of breath. Our father was furious at the risk we had taken and was about to punish us. But our mother told him – now what were her words? - she told him he should not punish venturesomeness, for we got it from him and we would have need of it in later life. Better to put us on our honour to be more careful in future.
Similar Books
