you in this sad business.”
Semerket
peered at his
brother, a doubtful look on his face.
Paser caught
the look
and laughed. “It’s true. You wouldn’t be here today but for your
brother’s having had the courage to speak for you. And let me tell you,
when the Old Horror’s anywhere about, even I have difficulty speaking
up!” He gave a fond look toward his scribe, who stood diffidently at
the rear of the room.
“The Old
Horror?”
Semerket asked.
“Just my
private name
for my colleague on the west bank. Pawero.”
“Oh, yes.”
“I’m told you
apparently share my opinion of him. What was it Nenry said you called
him? A ‘pea-brained old pettifogger,’ wasn’t it? Wonderful!”
Semerket was
appalled.
“My brother shouldn’t have said it.”
“And why not?
It’s
only what everyone thinks. In fact, your words were what convinced me
the vizier was correct to give you the case.” He lowered his voice
conspiratorially, leaning in close to Semerket. “Between you and me, I
suspect that Pawero knows more about this business than he lets on. Ah,
here’s the food!” Keeya, her ear bandaged, brought in a platter of meat
and bread, while Nenry’s valet poured wine into silver bowls. Though
Paser’s face was always smiling, his eyes never left Semerket.
“Please,” he said, offering a bowl of wine to him, “have some. I
insist.”
In the shadows
Nenry’s
face twisted into a mask of alarm.
Semerket
disregarded
his brother’s expression and accepted a bowl of fragrant Mareotic white
from the mayor’s hands. Nenry was offered none; he could only watch
helplessly as Semerket drank, thinking it might undo all his brother’s
healing.
“Why does the
Lord
Mayor suspect his colleague?” Semerket asked.
Paser brought
a beef
rib to his mouth and thoughtfully gnawed on it before answering. Seeing
that Semerket’s bowl was now empty, he poured again. “It’s just my old
distrust of the nobility. They’re not like us, Semerket, you and me.
We’ve had to play by the rules all our lives while they’ve had a free
ride.”
At the back of
the
room, Nenry coughed. The mayor was mistaken to think that Semerket had
ever played by any rules other than his own. Still, Nenry did not rush
to correct him and neither, he noticed, did his brother.
“These
southern
families are the worst,” Paser went on. “They’re just arrogance and
privilege! Can you pass the duck? Excellent. And I’ll tell you
something else—now that the empire’s almost gone, these families have
had to endure shortages for the first time in generations. All the
wealth’s in the north now, not here in Thebes. And they don’t like it.
I suspect them, Semerket—Pawero most of all.”
“Of what?”
Semerket
accepted a third bowl of wine from Paser.
“Of
everything… of
nothing. It’s just an instinct I have, that’s all. Nothing more but
nothing less, either. And I’m absolutely convinced that Pawero is
hiding something sinister. Now”—here Paser’s gleaming face became sly
and importuning, as he sucked the marrow from the rib bone—“if you were
to find anything, anything at all that might justify my suspicions, I
could be in a position to… well, we don’t have to say it, do we?” He
let the promise dangle in the air, unspoken.
Semerket’s
face
remained a mask. “I understand,” he said, ensuring that his words
slurred a little.
Paser,
absently wiping
his fingers on the ebony chair’s cushion, untied a leather bag from his
belt and tossed it to Semerket. The bag was full of silver. “I knew you
were a perceptive man,” said Paser.
With that the
Eastern
Mayor rose, bringing the interview to a close with a loud belch. “Count
on me, Semerket,” he said. “I am your friend in all things.”
“I will
remember, Lord
Mayor.”
Semerket did
not
accompany his brother and sister-in-law to the gate to bid farewell to
Paser. Instead Nenry found him a few minutes later at the privy,
vomiting out the wine he had
Semerket
peered at his
brother, a doubtful look on his face.
Paser caught
the look
and laughed. “It’s true. You wouldn’t be here today but for your
brother’s having had the courage to speak for you. And let me tell you,
when the Old Horror’s anywhere about, even I have difficulty speaking
up!” He gave a fond look toward his scribe, who stood diffidently at
the rear of the room.
“The Old
Horror?”
Semerket asked.
“Just my
private name
for my colleague on the west bank. Pawero.”
“Oh, yes.”
“I’m told you
apparently share my opinion of him. What was it Nenry said you called
him? A ‘pea-brained old pettifogger,’ wasn’t it? Wonderful!”
Semerket was
appalled.
“My brother shouldn’t have said it.”
“And why not?
It’s
only what everyone thinks. In fact, your words were what convinced me
the vizier was correct to give you the case.” He lowered his voice
conspiratorially, leaning in close to Semerket. “Between you and me, I
suspect that Pawero knows more about this business than he lets on. Ah,
here’s the food!” Keeya, her ear bandaged, brought in a platter of meat
and bread, while Nenry’s valet poured wine into silver bowls. Though
Paser’s face was always smiling, his eyes never left Semerket.
“Please,” he said, offering a bowl of wine to him, “have some. I
insist.”
In the shadows
Nenry’s
face twisted into a mask of alarm.
Semerket
disregarded
his brother’s expression and accepted a bowl of fragrant Mareotic white
from the mayor’s hands. Nenry was offered none; he could only watch
helplessly as Semerket drank, thinking it might undo all his brother’s
healing.
“Why does the
Lord
Mayor suspect his colleague?” Semerket asked.
Paser brought
a beef
rib to his mouth and thoughtfully gnawed on it before answering. Seeing
that Semerket’s bowl was now empty, he poured again. “It’s just my old
distrust of the nobility. They’re not like us, Semerket, you and me.
We’ve had to play by the rules all our lives while they’ve had a free
ride.”
At the back of
the
room, Nenry coughed. The mayor was mistaken to think that Semerket had
ever played by any rules other than his own. Still, Nenry did not rush
to correct him and neither, he noticed, did his brother.
“These
southern
families are the worst,” Paser went on. “They’re just arrogance and
privilege! Can you pass the duck? Excellent. And I’ll tell you
something else—now that the empire’s almost gone, these families have
had to endure shortages for the first time in generations. All the
wealth’s in the north now, not here in Thebes. And they don’t like it.
I suspect them, Semerket—Pawero most of all.”
“Of what?”
Semerket
accepted a third bowl of wine from Paser.
“Of
everything… of
nothing. It’s just an instinct I have, that’s all. Nothing more but
nothing less, either. And I’m absolutely convinced that Pawero is
hiding something sinister. Now”—here Paser’s gleaming face became sly
and importuning, as he sucked the marrow from the rib bone—“if you were
to find anything, anything at all that might justify my suspicions, I
could be in a position to… well, we don’t have to say it, do we?” He
let the promise dangle in the air, unspoken.
Semerket’s
face
remained a mask. “I understand,” he said, ensuring that his words
slurred a little.
Paser,
absently wiping
his fingers on the ebony chair’s cushion, untied a leather bag from his
belt and tossed it to Semerket. The bag was full of silver. “I knew you
were a perceptive man,” said Paser.
With that the
Eastern
Mayor rose, bringing the interview to a close with a loud belch. “Count
on me, Semerket,” he said. “I am your friend in all things.”
“I will
remember, Lord
Mayor.”
Semerket did
not
accompany his brother and sister-in-law to the gate to bid farewell to
Paser. Instead Nenry found him a few minutes later at the privy,
vomiting out the wine he had
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