The Singer from Memphis Page 10

  Inspiration struck. “Ah, I understand, you want to continue to misappropriate public funds!”

  “A stipend for our excellent service has long been a perquisite of the position,” the Tjaty said smoothly. “We think of it as a performance bonus.”

  “I see,” I said, and I did. Inaros would never tolerate these men, and they knew it.

  “I was sure you would see things our way,” the Tjaty said. “We agreed to Inaros’s terms because we never expected him to succeed.”

  “Well, you’re safe with me then. I have no idea where the crook and flail are.”

  “We wish to be more certain. Therefore we would like to offer you a job.”

  “I already have more jobs than I can cope with,” I said, and I meant it.

  “This one is very simple. All you have to do is . . . nothing.” The Tjaty smiled.

  It only took me a moment to realize what he wanted me to do. “You mean I don’t find the crook and flail,” I said flatly.

  “Make a pretence, if you wish,” said the Tjaty with an air of disdain. “But deliver failure. Guide your writer around our lovely country and then return home. When you do, you will find waiting for you a letter from me, asking you to write a Very Important Report.”

  I could hear from his voice that the Tjaty liked getting reports.

  “For this you will be rewarded amply,” the Tjaty finished.

  “What sort of report?” I asked suspiciously.

  “I see you are a detail-oriented sort of person.” The Tjaty waved his arm dismissively. “Does it matter? This can be decided later. Probably a strategy report. One can never have enough strategies, you know. We’re particularly fond of five-year strategy plans. We like them so much we produce a five-year strategy every year. The important point, my dear Nicolaos, is that you will be well rewarded.”

  “A bribe then.”

  “Payment for services rendered. Surely an agent understands that concept.”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I’m already commissioned to do the exact opposite job.”

  The Tjaty scowled in anger. Even the cat scowled. “You must understand that in opposing us, you oppose an organization that has existed for three thousand years. We existed when you Hellenes were wearing skins and living in huts. We were filling out forms and writing reports when the Persian Empire was a few villages strung together. We outlasted the Hittites. We outlasted the Assyrians. We will outlast these Persians and we will outlast whatever comes after them.” The Tjaty was shouting now in passion. “Men come and go, civilizations rise and fall, but the Public Service of Egypt goes on forever!”

  Cheers from the Heads of Department.

  “An organization of mere public servants,” I said contemptuously.

  “You underestimate us. The greatest man who ever lived was a public servant. All reverence to His Name.”

  “Whose name?”

  “Imhotep. Greatest of the Tjaties. I am his direct successor. There he is.” The Tjaty pointed to an alcove in the wall, where there was the bust of a bald man who looked very serious. “Imhotep was the greatest architect who ever lived. He invented the pyramids. He invented medicine. He made discoveries in mathematics. He was the son of Ptah himself, so great was he. And this man, you must understand, was a public servant.”

  “Proves nothing.”

  “Then let me put it this way. Have you ever noticed, Nicolaos, how cats like to play with their victims? And the fatter the cat, the more it likes to see its victim squirm. So too public servants.”

  “So?”

  “So that is the fate you face, if you deny us. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any questions?”

  “Only one. Do you know what happened to the crook and flail?”

  After all this nonsense over a few pieces of wood, I’d become genuinely interested in what had happened to them.

  “Work with us, Nicolaos, and you will prosper.” The Tjaty gestured. “Release him.”

  A blindfold suddenly appeared from behind to cover my eyes. I didn’t resist.

  I was led through a series of twisty passages. At one point we stopped, and I heard stone scrape before being led forward again. We came to steps that I negotiated with difficulty. They were uneven. The smell was musty and, as we rose, the air became hotter. Despite which, I was surprised when I suddenly felt the fading sun upon my face.

  The blindfold came off. I found myself facing the everyday crowd of a busy street. Behind me stood the Temple of Bast.

  I turned around. A dark man stood there, holding the blindfold. I thought he was probably the man who had slugged me. He smiled at me with pure white teeth and courteously told me to have a good night.

  I made my way back to the inn. As I stumbled along I stopped once or twice in search of some wine to drink, but there was none to be had in common Egypt. I had an enormous headache from the knock to the back of my head. By the time I got to the inn it was dark. Diotima sat in the common room, looking thoroughly over-heated, with her feet in a bucket of cool water.

  “You have no idea how much I’ve suffered while you went gallivanting about Memphis,” she groaned.

  “You’re the one who wanted to see everything in Memphis,” I pointed out. I clutched my throbbing head.

  She looked at me oddly, then sniffed. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Unfortunately not. I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the tour. What about Herodotus?”

  “The man never stops,” Diotima said with a mixture of despair and wonder. “I think we must have walked up and down every palace, every temple and every street in the north of the city. The next time we split up, you go with Herodotus and I get to have the fun. Where in Hades have you been?”

  “Not so much fun,” I said. “Markos is in town, and I’m glad you’re sitting down while I tell you this, because so is Barzanes.”

  Diotima paled. “I was afraid of that.”

  “You were? How did you know?”

  Diotima pointed. “Because she turned up.”

  I turned around to see a woman, sitting in the dark corner of the room. It was Djanet. She stood up.

  I put out a hand in greeting. “Djanet, I’m pleased to meet you—”

  She punched me out.

  Apparently it was my day for being hit in the head. I didn’t quite fall unconscious, but the world spun. I staggered back into the table behind me.

  I rubbed my jaw and said, “Is that any way to treat a fellow agent?”

  “You exposed me to Barzanes,” Djanet said. “I thought Inaros would send someone competent.”

  “He did!”

  “Then why am I on the run?” She almost shouted, but managed to keep her voice down.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  “I can’t go back. You might be safe from Persian repercussions—”

  “Not likely!”

  “But I’m certainly not. You do realize, don’t you, that this is technically Persian territory? Barzanes could put me on the pole, or feed me to the crocodiles, and no one would object.”

  She was right. “I’m sorry, Djanet,” I said, feeling guilty. “You listened in on the conversation, back at the tavern?”

  “As I was singing? Yes. I tried to warn you when I sang about suspicious minds. I was trying to tell you that Barzanes was already suspicious of me.”

  “I thought you were singing about our attempts to kill one another.”

  “Who cares about that?”

  “Well, I do have this preference not to be killed.”

  “What will you do now?” Diotima asked Djanet.

  “Do? I haven’t thought about it.” She sat down at the table. “I wasn’t planning to close this gig any time soon. I suppose I’ll have to go with you.”

  Diotima and I exchange
d a surprised glance.

  “With us? With us where?” I asked.

  “Aren’t you searching for the crook and flail?” she said.

  “That’s what we came here for, to ask you,” I said. “I was under the impression you know where they are.”

  She looked at me oddly. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

  “Oh dear,” Diotima muttered. “But Nico’s right, Djanet. We came to Memphis so you could tell us what to do.”

  There was a depressed silence. Then Djanet sighed. “It’s a stuff-up then.”

  “We need to start from the beginning,” Diotima said decisively. “Who are you, Djanet, really?”

  “You mean, what’s a girl like me doing in a mess like this?”

  “Yes. If you’re going to join us, we need to know.”

  “Is there any beer in this place?”

  I went to get some. There was an amphora that the innkeeper kept behind the bar.

  “I’m a local,” Djanet said, as I poured beer into a cup. “I was raised in Memphis, but my family was poor. My parents died when I was young.”

  “That sounds tough,” I said.

  Djanet shrugged. “What can you do? I was raised by my grandmother. But there was no hope of a dowry, and that limited my options. I took to singing.” She grimaced. “The arts pay better than begging, though only just, and it’s slightly higher status than the . . . er . . . other form of entertainment business.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “That’s how I got to be an agent,” she said. She finished the beer and put down the cup. “You meet a lot of people in my business. The rich and the poor, the powerful and the weak, everyone likes to hear a nice song, you know? Before long I was connecting people with other people.”

  “What do you mean?” Diotima asked.

  “Say I’m singing at a rich man’s house, at a party. I hear one guest say to another that his wife wants new-painted walls. Well, maybe I know an out-of-work painter. I met him when I was singing at a low dive the day before. He’s drinking his woes away because he has kids to feed and no work. So I recommend the painter! He does a fine job, because he needs the money. Everyone’s happy. The rich man pays me a good fee, because I made his life easy. You see?”

  “I see.”

  “Before long, people were coming to me, because I’d acquired this reputation for being able to supply anyone to do anything. My circle of acquaintances is . . . shall we say . . . broad.”

  I wondered how many dodgy enterprises Djanet was involved in. It didn’t seem polite to ask.

  “Inaros said you were his agent,” Diotima prodded.

  Djanet sighed. “That’s only partially true, and it’s kind of against my normal rules because I’m not getting paid a single coin for a lot of work. But I’m the only person in this mess who everyone talks to. I have access to the White Fort. The Persians like a song as much as the next man, and I don’t look threatening. The bureaucrats tolerate me as a conduit of information. I obviously have no ambitions so I don’t threaten them, and the rebels like me because I’m a downtrodden Egyptian, just like them.”

  I had also brought some hard cheese and dates. Djanet munched on these as she spoke. “The net result is, when anyone says anything interesting, I pass it on to the other parties. Suitably spun of course to sound best to my audience. That’s something a singer knows how to do. You play to your audience, right?”

  Diotima and I nodded.

  “Before I knew it, I was an agent acting for everyone. Dear Gods, you wouldn’t believe the contortions of negotiation I have to go through.” Djanet drank the beer in a few swallows and asked for more.

  As we were speaking, Herodotus had come downstairs. He looked at Djanet oddly, then began to listen in.

  “The bureaucrats are covering their bets by negotiating with both sides,” Djanet said. “They’re making sure that whoever wins, they won’t lose. They don’t really want Inaros—”

  “So I discovered,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” Djanet and Diotima asked simultaneously.

  I told them of being waylaid by the Tjaty.

  Djanet looked even unhappier after that.

  “It doesn’t really change things,” she muttered. “If Inaros displays the crook and flail to the people, they’ll have no choice but to acknowledge him.”

  “Inaros has guaranteed their positions,” Diotima said.

  “Yes. That was my idea. I had to persuade him, but it was the deal maker for the Public Service.”

  “Then it remains only to find these accursed insignia,” I said. “What do you know about them?”

  “Not as much as I’d like. The crook and flail were last seen in the hands of the Pharaoh Psamtik. He was defeated by Cambyses, who was the Great King back then.”

  “Inaros said this happened sixty-eight years ago?”

  “That’s right. Psamtik wasn’t killed immediately. He was kept prisoner in a palace, for about a year, I think. The Double Crown was taken by Cambyses. The Great King was seen wearing it in public. The crook and flail, however, were never seen again. Apparently the Persians didn’t realize their significance.”

  “No surprise there. Everyone knows what a crown is. But those insignia are weird. Who’d recognize them for what they are?”

  “Perhaps,” Djanet said. “When they finally executed the Pharaoh, no one even thought to ask about them.”

  “This is hopeless, Nico,” Diotima said. “The last Pharaoh died ages ago. Our grandfathers were small children back then.”

  “You’re right,” I said.

  “They don’t need an investigator,” Diotima said. “They need someone who can work out what happened in ages past.”

  At those words the realization hit us. Diotima and I turned simultaneously to stare at Herodotus the Historian. We had inadvertently brought with us the one man in the world with any chance of solving this puzzle.

  I said, “Umm, Herodotus?”

  Herodotus said, “Eh? What is it?”

  “You wanted to learn unique things about Egypt, right?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, here’s your perfect chance,” I said. “How would you like to lead an expedition to find a lost treasure?”

  “What sort of lost treasure?” he asked. He sounded dubious.

  “As in, a treasure that’s been lost,” I explained helpfully. “Something precious that went missing sixty-eight years ago.”

  “To return the treasure to its rightful owner?” Herodotus asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” I said smoothly.

  Herodotus rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “My readers would love it,” he said, half to himself.

  “They certainly would, Herodotus,” Diotima said with feeling. “It might even be worth a whole chapter in your book.”

  Herodotus nodded gravely. “Yes, on this I feel you are right.”

  “So you’ll do it?” I asked.

  “I will.” He nodded.

  “Excellent,” I said. “What should we do first?”

  “We must consult the written words of someone who was there at the time. Who has written about what happened to the items.”

  “If we had something like that, we wouldn’t need you!”

  “There is no written record?” Herodotus said, perplexed.

  “None.”

  Herodotus was clearly annoyed. I thought he was about to stamp his foot, but he resisted. “This sort of thing is exactly why people need histories,” he grumbled. “All right then, what about someone who was there? Someone we can interview?”

  “From that long ago?” I said incredulous. “They’re all dead.”

  “Not quite,” Djanet said. “What about the Blind General?”

  That brought us all up short. “Who’s he?” Diot
ima asked.

  “He’s the King of the Beggars.”

  The Beggars of Memphis

  The next morning, Herodotus, Diotima, Max and I followed Djanet out onto the street. She accosted the closest beggar—he was a man with both legs off at the knees, calling for food for an old war veteran—and whispered in his ear. The beggar nodded.

  “I just requested a meeting,” Djanet explained. “This man will take the request to the General.”

  Diotima exclaimed in horror. “You asked a man without legs to carry a message for you? Are you thoughtless?” She bent to offer the poor man a handful of coins from her money pouch. “Here, take these,” my wife said.

  “Thank you, miss.” The beggar scooped the coins from Diotima’s hand and into a hidden pouch. Then he unwound the filthy bindings from his stumps, and stood up on two sound feet, with legs firmly attached in the usual place. He had bent his legs double at the knees and with the rags bound them tight to his thighs. “Aargh!” He jumped about, in obvious pain. “Pins and needles,” he said. “Excuse me.”

  He hopped about a bit more, then scurried up the road.

  “Nice trick,” Herodotus commented. Diotima kept a frosty silence.

  Djanet stepped into the shadows while we waited. “In case the Persians are looking for me,” she explained. “No need to make it too easy for them.”

  “Barzanes has promised to leave me alone,” I said.

  “Yes, but he didn’t say the same for me.”

  I forbore from pointing out that we were probably the most oddly assorted party in the entire city. If anyone wanted to find us, they wouldn’t have much trouble. But Djanet’s move was sensible. Though it was early morning, I could already feel the sun burning my skin. We all stepped into the shade.

  As it happened, a man did approach us, but he was an Egyptian, not a Persian. It was the fellow who had led me from the underground chamber at the Temple of Bast. He was probably the same man who had coshed me unconscious and carried me there in the first place, but I hadn’t wanted to ask. That was business, and there was no point getting upset about such things.