Murder in the Place of Anubis by Lynda S. Robinson Page A

government of Pharaoh, yet Kysen managed never to see it even if he happened to look in that direction. The good god Amun had given him new life on the day his father sold him to Meren. The old life was as dead as the ancient ones in their pyramids.
     As he approached the great walled house that had  sheltered the count's family for generations, Kysen's spirit lifted. Perhaps Remi would be awake from his nap. Leaving his team in the hands of a groom, he forsook the ovenlike day for the darkness of the entryway. The difference in temperature was so great that he shivered. A maid came forward with cool water to drink and wet cloths to bathe his face, hands, and feet.
     Kysen was bending over to slip on a sandal when he  heard the clatter of metal wheels. A miniature bronze chariot raced across the tiled floor. Kysen snatched up his sandal and hopped over the vehicle before it rammed his toes.
    "Father, I slay you!"
     Small feet planted apart, body turned sideways in imitation of an archer's stance, Remi let fly a blunt-tipped arrow that hit the floor in front of Kysen. Kysen groaned, clutched his chest, and crumpled to the floor on his back. Remi gave a loud whoop and flew at his father. A three-year-old sandbag landed on his chest, making Kysen grunt.
     "Sweetmeats, Father. Nurse won't give me sweetmeats. You give them to me."
     "I can't," Kysen said with his eyes closed. "I'm  dead."
     Remi bounced on his father's chest with each of his words. "No, you're not. I unkill you. Now the sweetmeats."
     From the courtyard a shrill voice with the force of a  hyena's call said Remi's name, and Kysen's eyes popped open. He groaned.
     "Why didn't you tell me your mother had come to  visit?"
    Remi scooted off his father and dived for his toy chariot. "I forgot."
    "Kysen, what are you doing?"
     Rolling over on his stomach, Kysen rested his forehead on the cold tile. "I'm dead. Remi killed me."
    "Nonsense. Quit wallowing on the floor."
     Kysen turned his head and looked at the woman in  the doorway. She was still lovely in spite of her indulgence in wine and potions mixed by her magician priests. She had the largest eyes and widest lips of any woman he'd ever met, and she was dressed as usual in a complicated court robe, gold and carnelian broad collar, and long wig. Her oiled lips were twisted in distaste.
    "Has it been a month already, Taweret?"
    "You know it has, and Remi and I have been playing."
     "You? You and Remi have been playing?" Kysen propped himself up on his forearms and stared at his  former wife. Behind him Remi trundled his chariot around in a circle.
    "Mother watches me shoot Nurse."
     "You should include your mother in the game, Remi.Shoot her."
     Remi stopped pushing his chariot and looked around  for his bow and arrow.
     "I will not be shot," Taweret said. She clasped her  hands together in front of her body, straightened her shoulders, and turned on her heel.
     Kysen sighed and got up to follow her. She'd come to  look at her tainted son and his low father, to remind herself once again of her misfortune and the wisdom of  her divorce. He'd stand her presence as long as he could and then take refuge in the workshop where the physician would be examining Hormin's body. Once again he thanked the good god that he'd never really loved Taweret.
     She had stretched out on a couch under a stand of  palms in the courtyard. Two of her servants fanned her with ostrich-feather fans. She watched him come toward her, eyeing him with that critical wariness that never left her when he was present.
    Kysen dropped down to sit by the edge of the artificial pool. He scooped water into his hand and drank, and was rewarded with a sneer at his common behavior. He considered shedding his armor and kilt to bathe in the pool, but he didn't want to lengthen Taweret's visit.
    "Only peasants drink from their hands."
    Kysen let a handful of water dribble down his bent knee to his ankle. "Some are bom to be peasants. Some