Year of the Hyenas by Brad Geagley

down to
plant another bunch of green shoots. Unfortunately his backside caught
the lip of the pool’s stone edge, and he plunged forward. The resulting
wave of water completely engulfed Keeya.
    The girl
dropped the
jar on the stone floor of the courtyard, where it shattered. The fish
slid across the tiles, writhing and flopping, quickly expiring right at
the feet of Nenry’s wife. It was the second time that week her fish had
been massacred by her servants. “I am surrounded by imbeciles,” Merytra
said between clenched teeth.
    Her
observation was
interrupted by a shrill scream from Keeya. “Look at my dress!” she
shrieked. “It’s ruined!”
    “Your dress ?” Merytra fumed.
“What about my fish, you little slut? You’ve killed them all!”
    “It wasn’t my
fault.
You saw what he did.”
    “I swear
you’ll pay
for them. I’ll take their cost out of your wages.”
    “You can’t
blame me.”
    Merytra strode
quickly
over to the girl and slapped her hard across the face. The girl wailed
even louder.
    “I won’t pay
for them!
I won’t!” Keeya obstinately shouted between slaps, shaking her head
adamantly, blue beads shimmering like beetles’ wings in the sun.
    She meant to
pull only
the girl’s hair, truly, but when Merytra reached out, she felt
something cold and metallic between her fingers. Then she heard the
satisfying crunch of torn flesh.
    Keeya abruptly
stopped
screaming, looking dully at her mistress’s hand, now clutching the
crumpled blue beads. Hesitantly she touched her earlobe and found her
hand bathed in blood. Her dress was saturated in red as well.
    The
neighborhood was
ripped apart by Keeya’s shrieks. People stopped their labors to listen.
Neighbors climbed to their flat roofs to stare down into the courtyard.
They clucked their tongues to witness their neighbor Merytra torturing
yet another servant.
    It was then
that the
gate was pushed open by Nenry’s dull-witted valet. Keeya fell abruptly
silent and she and Merytra turned to stare. Nenry stood beside a large
litter.
    Nenry blinked,
trying
to take in the scene. Blood on the tiles, the serving girl weeping,
fish flopping all about… What could have happened?
    Merytra strode
to the
gate and bowed her arms low in exaggerated homage. “Blessed be the day
that brings my lord back to his house!”
    Nenry, leery
of his
wife’s sarcastic tone, attempted to speak. “My love—” he began.
    But he was
interrupted
by the invective now pouring from her lips. “So you’re safe. What a
fool I was to worry that you were dead or wounded by hoodlums! Why
couldn’t you send your man with a message for me?”
    “I needed him
to help
me. My brother was, is , very ill—as you can see.”
    At this he
turned and
indicated the man in the litter. The woolen shawl that covered Semerket
barely moved with his breathing.
    “In a chair
with four
bearers, I see—better than any I’ve ever sat in. How much did it cost
you?”
    “Thirty
copper—”
    “ Thirty? God of thieves and
wayfarers, hear him! What—does the chair fly?” She hurled an accusing
look at the hired bearers. The men instinctively stepped back into the
alley.
    “It was the
only chair
I could find, my love. I told you, he is ill. Veryill.”
    His wife
snatched the
coverlet from Semerket. “Hungover, you mean!”
    There was a
slight
stirring from the chair. Semerket’s bruised lids were fluttering.
Slowly he opened his eyes and the lights of jet in them glittered to
see the unfamiliar scene before him. He registered the overly decorated
courtyard, his brother’s cringing expression, the bleeding serving
woman—and knew precisely where he was. With a slight moan he closed his
eyes again, only half-listening to Merytra’s continued diatribe.
    “…good money
thrown
away!”
    “My love,
please, he
is our guest—he’ll hear you.”
    “Guest?!”
    “I thought it
right to
bring him here, to tend him more easily.”
    “Without
asking me?”
    “What was I to
do?
He’s my