Sebamose left the villa late in the night, where the bright warm yellows of the golden sun was usurped by the cool, serene blues of the white sliver that was the crescent moon in the night sky. Seeing the villa’s garden by night made him wish that he could stay there and take in the scenery once more, perhaps even try to wash his face in what seemed to be quite a clean source of water. “I’ve got to move on,” Sebamose thought, “Getting sentimental about things isn’t my style, and getting attached is just going to slow me down.” As far as he was concerned, a finder like him should only be concerned about three things: money, a good swig of wine, and above all his own survival at any cost.
With all this in mind, he ran off back to the commoner’s dens where the Clueless Stork was. He went a few blocks from the tavern to where his house was.
It was a modest mudbrick hut that contained very little; even when he was doing very well as a finder, he treated his spending habits with the utmost precarious attention to detail. One of his greatest strengths was that he could learn of the mistakes of others; a gift that too few possess. The most common mistake that other finders made was that they would often be too lavish in their spending; this in turn, would invite the peasants around the fool to ask questions about his newfound wealth. Before long they ended up in prison; if the royal courts found that their finding ever disturbed a tomb, the perpetrators were then impaled with demonstrable prejudice.
Sebamose instead, chose a more subtle way of dealing with his ill-gotten gains. Whatever he didn’t spend on necessities or on his drinking habits, he shoved in a small nearby grain silo, buried underneath piles of grain, and completely unsecured. It was a strange way to secure his belongings; after all, he could simply purchase a wooden lock from one of the merchants in the noble market district. He, however, reasoned that if a man came across a mudbrick house that was somehow rich enough to have a lock on its grain silo, then he would be tempted to ask questions. Once again, questions are for scientists, mathematicians, and philosophers to ponder; a finder would simply be courting danger with them.
Digging through the grain, he stashed his recently acquired thousand gold scarabs, right next to his only keepsake of what once was his family: a wooden block that had his former master’s name, his own, and his clan name, all exclusively in hieroglyphs. Seeing that damn block that once hung on his neck gave him the same feeling that a child has when he gets a splinter. He found it to be a hurtful reminder that he was in pain, but was too afraid to remove it. This was the only piece of identity that he had, besides his persona of the “Ivory Finder.”
He then grabbed a small wrap that contained his profession’s essentials: a set of lock picks, taken from bits of a local blacksmith’s workshop he knew; a dagger made of obsidian, which never needed sharpening and always managed to help Sebamose out of a sticky situation; and finally, a fire piston made of ebony, good for lighting torches in a short amount of time.
Gathering his tools, he carefully set everything back, and returned to the villa; there, he would be staying for the next three days. Those three days were filled with nothing, but preparation for the heist in question. First, Sebamose was trained by scribes on how to behave like a noble, things like sitting at a table, and using a fingerbowl between bites, as well as actually closing his mouth while chewing.
Second, Sebamose was given an ex-priest to teach him how to counter the magical defenses that the palace employed. This one much puzzled him. “I’ve infiltrated many a home,” Sebamose said, “but I’ve never come across anything involving magic before. I thought it was a myth.”
“Understandable,” the ex-priest replied, “but merely a misconception. Magic these days is rarely seen because these days no one outside of the priesthood or royalty are allowed to know its nature or secrets.”
“Leave to the upper class to ruin all the fun.” Sebamose said in turn, “I could have used a good spell or two during one of my jobs!”
“There is a reason for it,” said the ex-priest, “The main reason that magic is illegal for the masses is that the previous dynasty fell to a rebellion of mage nobles. The current dynasty foolishly hopes to avoid such terribly tragedy by enacting this law.”
“It’s like the old saying, ‘one slave rebels, everyone gets whipped.’”
“Something like that…,” The ex-priest concluded as he rolled open a scroll.
Thirdly, Sebamose had to look the part. This meant that he was going to assume the role of an envoy from Rezanu, Akhat-Geb’s neighbor to the west. He was outfitted with a long cloth that wrapped around him like a baby in swaddling clothes…if the baby in question was allowed spaces for his arms and legs to stick through. Upon the reception of such a strange piece of cloth, he discovered that he would have to find a new place on his person to stash his tools. Normally, he would slip the wrap of tools underneath his belt; it was a rather wide piece of linen, and he could hide many things like his purse of coins within its folds and use the tension of a tight wrap to press it against his body and thereby not lose it. He learned from the people that “recovered” the piece of Rezanu cloth that this was a luxury he no longer had. After a little experimentation, Sebamose managed to find that with a little ingenuity, and a good helping of leather twine, he could lash the tools he needed to the inside of his left thigh.
Finally, when all three days were past, a whole entourage was assembled, consisting of twenty-five servants, ten guards, seven slave girls, and finally the Nomarch Donkor Abuaton II, and the Ivory Finder himself, Sebamose, disguised as the Rezanu Envoy, Ezana. With an arrangement of a parade, Both Sebamose and the Nomarch were each carried on a litter, all destined for the Pharaoh’s palace.
Sebamose knew that this was going to be a long day when he was told that he was going to be carried on a litter, just like pharaoh or any other nobleman. While he never had a particular affection for his fellow man, just seeing the back of the head and neck of one of the two servants carrying his litter made him uneasy; it was like he was some precious box of perfumes or kohl, carried by mules and heavily guarded throughout its way on a trade route. Little did he know what was going to happen later.
The march to the palace itself consisted mainly of a slow trailing trudge behind the two servants designated as heralds; the rest of the Nomarch’s congregation plowed through the majority of people on the streets like the bow of a ship in water. While the Nomarch was busy giving solemn nods to the people passing by, as if it was a laborious task, Sebamose was all lost in his mind, struggling with his emotions like a man against a hungry beast. Everything slowed around him, fading into the distance as if it didn’t matter much. For as long as he lived here, he survived as a finder; and not only that, he survived as the best of them all, or so he touted. Now, for the first time in a long time he had to put his reputation as the best to the test.
A small, but highly vocal part of his brain was screaming, clawing at the inside of his skull, demanding exactly what part of this job was a good idea. “Stop it,” Sebamose thought to himself, “You know damn well how much money there is on the line for this job. Once it’s done, you’ll never have to work or go finding again!” Over and over again, Sebamose tried to convince himself, but it had no effect on the sinking feeling that he was in way over his head this time.
When they reached the palace gates, Sebamose had to contain his amazement at such a marvel; he had only seen the palace from a distance, and could never really fully take in the level of detail carved into every nook and cranny of every limestone block there. All of it was furnished with the most vibrant of paints. The outer walls seemed to contain depictions of the various deeds that pharaoh had done, like saving Fort Khepresh from the vile peoples of Ketaanu. Truly if Sebamose could judge the palace on the building alone, and not the people living within it, he would be hoping for a chance to meet the architect of such a place; perhaps he could use his soon to be acquired four thousand gold scarabs to finance a similar wonder elsewhere.
Sebamose’s daydreaming was violently dragged back down to Akhat-Geb as things really started to become a chore when the Nomarch had to announce his presence; he couldn’t simply announce who he was either. No, he had to state his name, all of his titles, his lineage back five generations (and that was the short version), and finally his business with the palace. Sebamose was lucky to be playing an envoy, as the Captain of the Guard quickly double checked his papyrus and simply remarked, “Yes, I heard from our scribes that you were due. Open the gates!”
For a tall, monolithic fortress whose sole purpose was to house the ultimate gift to humanity known as pharaoh, the gate seemed a little small; it appeared small enough to want to scrape the tops of the two litters that dared to attempt to violate the palace. While the Nomarch sat in stoic stillness, Sebamose cringed in the most subtle way possible; he greatly anticipated the sound of the grinding crunch as the litter came close to meeting the gate ceiling. As Sebamose’s litter inched through, the lack of any grinding noise only served to make the atmosphere even tenser; it was to the point that he felt like he was about to dive headfirst into a pool of dried plaster; the anticipation of a looming disaster forced his muscles into an extreme tenseness upon contact. “Get it together, dammit!” Sebamose cried loudly in his thoughts, “It’s just a single job…that if it ends in failure, you’ll get impaled and be made a gruesome example. Fantastic.” Despite his foolish attempt at suppressing his fear, his fear responded by throwing out image after image of being executed in the worst ways; all of them more vivid than the last, as if each image was carved on the side of his mind like a small, sentient stele in a case of bone.
“Come along, Iv-I mean Ezana.” The Nomarch said with a peaceful, but agitated tone. Sebamose looked around to find that the litters were on the ground, with the Normarch already standing on the entrance steps to the main palace courtyard. Looking opposite of the steps, Sebamose saw a garden with a fountain so large in stature that it made the gardens of nobles look like simple models. He felt the same way when he drank decent wine for the first time at the Confused Stork: Overwhelmed but slightly euphoric.
“Is the Envoy of Rezanu coming or what?” The Nomarch cried again, this time, his thin veneer of peace was cracking, “Refusing pharaoh’s invitation is a great insult, you know.”
“Right. Apologies.” Sebamose said in the most noble voice possible. He left the litter like it was a boat at a dock, walking like he had been instructed to do so. His spine felt like it was lashed to a wheel, forcing it to curve towards the back. “Remember,” The Nomarch said below a whisper, “do your job when I begin speaking of the construction project over at the eastern side of the city. There, I shall lead pharaoh and the court to the eastern balcony of the palace.”
“I see.” Sebamose replied, still trying to untangle his stomach, which was far past tying knots.
Entering the grand hall was like taking a portal to another world, where buildings were designed by giants, and yet have only mouse holes for any form of doors. The size of the pillars that adorned either side of the pathway to the pharaoh’s court proper stood like sentinels that gave the impression that you were to behave…or else! The walls were illustrated with deep blue tiles, colored over with the occasional terracotta or white, as was appropriate for an illustration.
Slowly, the entourage trudged through the pillars, inching along in a way that would make a funeral procession look like it had a spring in its step. Just what Sebamose needed to think about: Funerals, or rather a lack of an early one if he got caught. “Dammit!” he thought while his mind was banging on his skull in protest, “Calm down! It’s just a job!” He couldn’t understand exactly why he seemed so off or distracted. This never happened when he was finding things at a noble’s villa; then again, the penalty for getting caught wasn’t so dire. At least, he could leave the punishment of prison and/or hand amputation alive.
Crossing into the Court proper led to a stark contrast compared to the grand hall; where the latter had intricately decorated walls and few people, the former was somewhat smaller, plain in appearance, and was swarmed with people. They were crowding around a few scantily clad dancers, watching them performing impressive feats of acrobatics to music. The delicate balance of the ecosystem was ruined by the presence of a slowly pouring foreign entity.
Sebamose, upon visiting the court, appreciated the presence of the dancers, and was rather annoyed when they began to depart. What he did not welcome, however, was the presence of pharaoh himself. He remembered that every time he saw a depiction of pharaoh, he was tall, muscular, fit, and handsome. He was never depicted as a short four-hundred and fifty pound round ball with legs. One could replace pharaoh with a slug and the court would hardly be able to tell the difference.
While Sebamose tried his best not to be obvious about his disgust at the sight of the festering piled folds of flesh that was pharaoh, the Nomarch stood before the ruler, and gave a bow. “Eternal son of the Divine, Akhenabis III, son of Akhenabis II, Son of Wereshotep IV, son of…” The Nomarch began, listing the names of Pharaoh’s ancestors all the way back to the beginning of the dynasty. All Sebamose could think was just how annoyingly inefficient this all was.
“I, Nomarch Donkor Abuaton, Nomarch of La-Karem, Supreme General of the City Constabulary, Chief Scribe of the Royal Library…” The Nomarch droned on. Sebamose was trying his best to resist wandering around the palace, though it could potentially be more interesting than hearing a list of names, titles and lineages.
“Envoy Ezana!” The Nomarch called out in agitation, “The Pharaoh wishes to speak with you!”
“Oh no!” Sebamose thought, “don’t you dare try to have me talk to that glob of fleshy goop! I might catch something, and it won’t be anywhere near divine!” His tongue tried to speak up about the indignity, but Sebamose bit it hard, and stepped forward at the Nomarch’s beckoning.
“What news have you from your native country of Rezanu?” the pharaoh asked, unaware of the “envoy’s” true nature.
“Well, i-if I may speak plainly, O king, I-”
“SILENCE!” One of the pharaoh’s attendants called out, “How DARE you not genuflect before his divine majesty! And to call him ‘king!’ UNFORGIVEABLE!”
“Baruti, please calm down; this man is our guest from the west!” the pharaoh said, unfazed, then turned to Sebamose, “Though for an Envoy, your clothes are a little plain.”
“Well, yes,” Sebamose replied, trying to keep himself balanced, “as a matter of fact, we’ve had a terrible fight among our clans, and so we’re trying to rebuild our shattered dynasty.”
“I see,” the Pharaoh commented, “a pity.”
“Yes, indeed,” Sebamose said at once, “and the only thing that can help our plight is the helpful hand of a handsome, tall, and beautiful pharaoh.” He was unsure about just how he managed to say such things with a straight face; though the looming threat of death did seem to help a bit.
“I understand,” Pharaoh said, “let it be known that we shall resurrect the great kingdom of Rezanu in my image! You shall receive wheat and lettuce for growing crops. You will also be given many precious perfumes, and fine woods taken from Ketaanu, in order to build up your economy once more. Let it be known that Pharaoh Akhenabis III is generous to the lowly!”
A wave of applause overtook the members of the pharaoh’s court. Sebamose clapped along, but on the inside was boiling. “What a ruse!” Sebamose thought, “All he has to do is wave his hand and they all clap on command like trained dogs!” He felt a rush of rage overtake him, like a fit of madness when one is left alone for far too long. This was strange, as he was the kind of man who didn’t care about others…or did he? “Get it together!” Sebamose thought once more.
When the clapping finally died down, an attendant came to whisper something in pharaoh’s ear. It was a miracle that he could reach the pharaoh’s head, without touching any part of the “divine” pudges that threatened to spill over his kilt. It was in the middle of the whispers that pharaoh’s face light up, like a commoner receiving a blessing from the high priest himself. “Very good!” the Pharaoh announced in a booming voice, “Let the feast begin!”
And like magic, many servants walked in, carrying cedar plates, full of colorful fruits, delectable meats, and freshly baked breads. The smell of such grains assaulted the nostrils of Sebamose, and it awoke a great hunger within him. He knew that he still had a job to do, but maybe he could do it after eating a hearty meal. The servants carried the bountiful plates of food to their positions lined up in two lines all as well-rehearsed as a company of soldiers taking formation. Tables were brought out after the food, piece by piece, accompanied by sizable pillows. Like pieces of a puzzle, the smaller tables locked with each other, forming an almost seamless larger table; it was long and low to the ground, with Pharaoh sitting a little away from one end. The pillows were then placed in an exact pattern. Soon enough, the court of pharaoh was transformed into a dining hall.
Pharaoh got up from his throne and sat on the only purple pillow on his end of the table. Watching him get up and slowly walking was like watching a man buried in skins of water tightly tied to him with rope. Every step was a struggle, a fight to move forward. Sebamose could not help but cringe at the sight of that lone purple pillow being squeezed of all life when the pharaoh sat down. “Just like I will be, if I fail this—DAMMIT, NOT AGAIN!” he thought once more. As if his fear of being caught by pharaoh’s court was not enough, he had to fight his grumbling hunger, too. And there was no way he was going to concentrate and fight his fear in this state.
Once pharaoh sat on his purple pillow, everyone who was any of any importance took their place upon the pillows designated, with the more important men closer to pharaoh. Sebamose, however, stood back, unsure of exactly where to sit, until everyone else was seated; when the time came, he took his place at the table, assaulted by an army of confused eyes, unsure of why the ritual of the table was not coming to him naturally. Sebamose did his best to keep his outward nonchalant manner in spite of this.
When he took a seat, Sebamose reached out to take a piece of bread, only to be stung by the slapping of another noble’s hand. “Are you an animal,” he whispered with indignation, “You NEVER take a single morsel until the pharaoh has eaten the first piece of food!”
“Sorry.” Sebamose said, confused.
“You should be!” the noble replied, “stupid foreigner…”
The pharaoh did not touch anything until the wine was poured. “What a miracle,” Sebamose thought, “he can actually show some restraint…” Then, the pharaoh took a large loaf of bread and like a jackal does an antelope, ripped it to shreds; it only took a few seconds, like it was going to be snatched if it as eaten slowly. “I spoke too soon,” Sebamose thought once more.
Once the pharaoh displayed his brand of etiquette (or lack thereof), the rest of the court began to take their fill from the middle of the table. These lesser nobles ate mostly with a bird-like grace, especially compared to pharaoh’s method of eating like it was his last meal. Sebamose simply looked around and after a few minutes of studying the peculiar eating habits of creatures he called “nobles,” did his best to mimic their eating habits…with an occasional glance of disapproval from others, and a much more frequent echoing whisper of “Stupid Foreigner!”
The bread that Sebamose tasted at the table was unusually smooth in texture. He was used to the bread of commoners, that which was half-baked with sand and grit. The grapes tasted as fresh as if they were just plucked from the vineyard, as did the pomegranates from their bushes. The wine was sweet to the taste, as if one could turn a lover’s affection into a fermented drink. As if that wasn’t enough, there was a rare delicacy on the table, one that few peasants had ever tasted; it was beef, cooked artfully over a fire, and seasoned with all manner of fruit and vegetable. Sebamose knew that he wanted to try such a thing, but only full time farmers and nobleman had either the means or the money to waste on such a huge creature. He envied neither of the two as the former toiled all hours of the day when awake, only to be taxed by pharaoh fat-ass, while the latter was, well nobility. “Their quality of food and life overall was good,” Sebamose thought, “but I can’t imagine ever getting to learn their pompous sense of class.”
After the line of food in the middle was picked clean, or in the pharaoh’s case, absolutely slaughtered and devoured whole, the now empty plates were then promptly removed. Sebamose learned his lesson from his mistake in taking food first, as he did not dare to think of getting up first. Instead, like a good little noble, he wait for pharaoh to get up, or rather struggle to get up and finally succeed, first.
After slowly lumbering his way to his throne and finally giving it the same merciless treatment that he gave his purple dining pillow, everyone abandoned the big low-to-the-ground table, and it was taken away piece by piece, as if the event of its assembly was being rewound in a strange pocket of time itself. Soon the court became what it once was once more.
“Now,” the pharaoh spoke, “I believe that the local Nomarch Donkor Abuaton had a few words to say about his rule over La-Karem and its surrounding areas. Please, step forward, Nomarch.”
The Nomarch responded promptly, and he greeted pharaoh with a low bow, and a kiss upon the royal feet. “I bring great news, your grace. I have put together a multitude of architects to build you a monument grander than any that have come before. Over the city it shall tower, with an authority that cannot be challenged; not by your subjects, nor your priests, or even nobles! Akhat-Geb shall finally recognize the one true god-king divinely appointed!”
The pharaoh’s ears and eyes lit up, delighted with glee. “And where is this monument to be?” he inquired.
“If you’ll follow me to the eastern balcony, I’ll gladly show you…with your approval, of course.”
The pharaoh forced himself up off his throne and with one pudgy finger, authoritatively said, “Lead the way, Nomarch.”
Sebamose knew it was time.
To read Chapter 1, click here.
To be Continued in Chapter 3 here