Chapter 3:
The majority of the court was trailing behind pharaoh, who in turn was lumbering, or rather limping away at the heels of the Nomarch. Sebamose stayed until the last of the court gathered and followed. There, he join the entourage determined to follow pharaoh and the Nomarch into seeing the great beauty that was the eastern horizon of the city soon to be transformed. At the first chance, he ducked into a hallway, and trailed off to find the Royal Temple of Udjat, armed only with a few tools, and what little memory of the palace layout that the Nomarch’s scribes gave him.
Treading lightly, Sebamose walked as if he was on a thin sheet of papyrus; one false move could break his silent stride. The worst part about skulking through the halls of the palace is that there are virtually no places to rest or regain some sanity from the deep peering feeling that after a few moments, you will be caught. Physically, you had to move like a small housecat using a man-sized body. Luckily the palace floor was made of solid sandstone tiles—assuming that the sandstone was properly placed, and would not wiggle unexpectedly.
Sebamose snuck down northward in a generously roomy hallway, and came to a stop at a t-shaped intersection. He took the eastern side of the intersection. The scribes of the Nomarch told him that the temple of Udjat would lie on the eastern side of the palace. He knew, however that he would have to be careful about staying clear of the balcony’s view; if he was especially spotted by someone in the court—or worst of all, pharaoh—then he could expect absolutely no mercy.
He followed the hallway down to a relatively open courtyard, lower than the east balcony, which contained a titanic-sized garden, complete with a rough topiary of pharaoh depicted in a strong, tall, handsome manner. Nearby was a fountain, with a spout shaped like a bennu bird, surrounded by all manner of statues. Going further, Sebamose began seeing towering obelisks; admittedly, they were smaller than the one at the nobles’ market square, but they were by no means insignificant. “Impressive, I suppose,” Sebamose thought, “Sometimes I wish I could read the hieroglyphs on the sides.”
Finally, beyond the obelisks, yet still within the palatial wall, Sebamose came to the destination: the temple of Udjat. There was just one problem: the impressive structure was under heavy watch by the royal guard. It was obvious that a direct approach was never an option when one’s job was a finder; here, however is another story altogether. Even disguised, he was sure that they would not admit a foreign envoy into the temple without being under extreme watch.
There were two options; the first would be to lure the guard away from their posts, if only for a good critical moment. The other would be to find an unconventional path inside. Being a good finder—no, the best—required a level of creativity that would put a minstrel to shame. Sebamose briefly scanned his surroundings and closely notice that there was a small overhang that connected the step-pyramid-like temple to the palace proper. “Strange,” Sebamose thought, “I didn’t see this in the illustrations that the scribes gave me.” Despite the unexpected development, this was one that he could perhaps use this to his advantage.
Back into the palace strode Sebamose, determined to make the most of the time he still had. He came back the three-way intersection, and went to the other side of the hall. From there, he came across a sizable room with several amphora jars, made of clay; they were aligned like scrolls on a library shelf, stacked in rows on an ebony shelf. Sebamose was about to approach the steps, when he was spooked by a pair of every-increasingly louder and rhythmic footsteps.
Quickly, he jumped behind the shelf of amphora jars, and tried his best to keep his breath quiet, despite his blood pressure rising high than the sun. Soon a royal guard in a hard leather cuirass over a tunic arrived, scanning the room like he was anticipating a predator to ambush him; as such, he pointed his copper-tipped spear everywhere his head pointed. “I could have sworn that someone was here,” The guard muttered under his breath. Sebamose moved slowly to remove his obsidian dagger from the pouch of tools strapped to his thigh. Just then the guard lowered his spear. “I’m getting paranoid, and way too old for this chicken-scratch” he said, as he walked away.
The disappearance of the guard allowed Sebamose to feel a brief sigh of relief, washing over him like the river’s current. He knew that he had to keep his obsidian dagger firmly clutched in his palm at all times; complacency was a vice that few finders ever recovered from, and Sebamose was lucky to learn from such a mistake just now.
Slowly, but with a newly revitalized sense of alertness, Sebamose skulked out of his makeshift hiding place behind the amphora jars. He was glad, too, because of the cramped nature of the nook, he was in. Knocking over one of the jars would alert everyone to his presence, and even if they didn’t, their spilled contents and shattered remains would be most incriminating evidence indeed.
Going up the stair was an easy enough endeavor, but taking in the room beyond that wasn’t. As Sebamose stopped at the top of the stairs, he clung to the left side of the wall just before the entrance, and saw before him a large hole, fifteen cubits in diameter. The only man there was another guard with his back facing Sebamose’s direction.
Taking in the lay of this room, Sebamose found that there was no way that he could sneak around the guard for long. So he charged at the guard, and like an animal, leapt upon the poor fool. Just before the body of the man had connected to the ground like a fallen cedar tree, Sebamose’s dagger connected with the back of his neck. The only noises were a slight groan and the ricochet of spear clanging against the stone ground. It was done.
Using the dead man’s kilt, Sebamose cleaned his dagger, so that he didn’t paint anymore of the floor red with blood. A greater man might have cringed at the events happening; Sebamose, however, saw this as little more than collateral damage; to him, this victim was just another man who got in the way of his goal. No malice or hatred was involved, as they could be just as detrimental as guilt or actually having a conscience.
Looking down the basin, Sebamose found that the contents were simply pure crystal-clear water. “This makes no sense,” he thought, “Pharaoh has a perfectly functional fountain in his palace, why would they need something like that? Does the Pharaoh need water more pure than the gold in the most expensive necklace to bath in?”
He then took a look at the eastern windows, and saw the temple to Udjat there, in its slightly towering glory. Near the temple was the overhang that he saw earlier; from this angle, he saw that it had a cubit-wide, cubit-deep groove and the stone within was rather smooth compared to the stone outside the groove. It was connected to the basin and allowed the basin water to flow to the temple. Sebamose knew that this overhang was going to be his personal bridge and key to getting in the temple. The question was how.
Simply jumping down from the windows was far too risky. Even if Sebamose landed on the overhang, it would be a rough landing and he had no room to roll after the hypothetical landing. He look to the basin and found that it was a much more viable option if he were to jump in there, and swim through the overhang.
Sebamose was no stranger to swimming. He had picked up the skill as a slave, when he was sent with his father to do the laundry; it was a skill he needed, as the crocodiles were not kind to any who encroached on their territory. Sure, he couldn’t out swim a crocodile; he simply needed to reach a dock, wall section or some other steep rise out of the water. After all, crocodiles may swim and strike quickly, but they were not built for climbing. Thankfully a basin full of empty, pure water would be a little more peaceful.
Sebamose leaped in the basin, and found out that the water was much deeper than he thought. “Who knew such crystal clear water could be so deceptive?” Sebamose thought as he stabilized himself, treading on the icy water. Judging from the scale of himself compared to the depth of the water, he estimated that the water was at least three ells deep. If the flood plains received that much depth on the Nilometer, it would have meant a disappointing Shemu Harvest, but the depth was perfect for diving. After the act of reorienting himself, it was once more time to move.
Sebamose held a deep breath, and submerged beneath the cold clear pool, determined to find the gate that linked the small aqueduct overhang to the basin. There, he felt a new pressure from within, a slow rise of a deep thirst for breath. Unlike the previous pressure of the uncertainty of getting caught, he saw this new pressure as a mere annoyance rather than a real threat. What made this annoyance worse, however, was that the coldness of the water seemed to drain him of his warmth, as if it craved the warmth of a soul. Deeper he swam, desperate to find the gate. The pressure of the depth was beginning to press hard against his head like two limestone blocks being actively pushed against his head. Just when he was about to swim up, he found his destination: he spotted the tunnel that led to the gate. It was jutting deep within the east side at the very bottom of the basin. A surge of excitement, comparable to the noble who found the tracks of his quarry, ran through Sebamose’s spine. His need for air, however, triumphed over his need to reach the gate.
Sebamose frantically attempted to swim back to the surface. Every stroke, felt like a small step in climbing a mountain in a race to the top that kept rising. Every time he raised his arms, it was like he could almost touch the wall-like divide that was the surface. Each time, it raised alarm in Sebamose, as he felt his lungs shriveling up, desperate for release.
And then he finally broke the surface of the water. His gasp drunk so much air, that if it were wine, he would easily have been drunk. The big problem was that getting air caused way too much commotion, as he then heard a legion of frantic footsteps from beyond the basin. So he took as few deep breaths as possible to ease his light-headed brain, and took a really deep breath.
Diving deeper in a shorter time, Sebamose swam as quickly as possible to the gate within the eastern tunnel. He felt the gate and found it to be a made of ebony, and was built in three horizontal slats. Over them were two evenly-spaced slats, held down to the He took his obsidian dagger and jammed it into the top crevice, stubbornly wedging it open; he knew he was getting closer to his objective as he saw a crack of light in the gate, along with a feeling of the current flowing there.
Desperate for air, he rammed his fist onto the topmost piece of the gate. Lucky for him, the board was sufficiently rotten enough for his weak blow to leave a splintering, valley-like impact. Being careful, Sebamose retrieved his dagger before he lost his blade to the current. He then lifted his foot and pushed the weakened board out of the way. He crammed his face to the new space, and gulped up what air he could, while surrounded by the current of water demanding to be free.
Sebamose then jammed his dagger between the second horizontal slat, and the vertical one, trying to yank it loose. Another crack of light pierced through to water-filled tunnel, when all of a sudden, he heard a muffled crack, accompanied by a sudden inertial movement of his hand. His dagger broke.
“Dammit!” Sebamose thought, “There goes my only good means of defense.” He let go of his now ex-dagger, and scrambled for his fire piston. Taking the two pieces of the piston apart, he set the thinner piece to where the blade fragment was jammed and hammered away with the thicker piece.
After five smacks, Sebamose went in for more air within the top slat’s absence. He then hammered away some more until the gap between the vertical and the horizontal slats was wide enough to release its broken obsidian prisoner. He wedged his fingers into the crevice and braced his arm against the horizontal board. Finally he pushed with all his might, trying not to cave in to the ever present demand of air that his heart wanted.
The effort was rewarded with a small crack, followed by the wood succumbing to his force. He was in turn forced into the blinding sunlight through the tunnel, being stopped only by the remains of the gate catching his shoulders. The water beat down on Sebamose like it was determined to expunge him for daring to adulterate the basin.
He squeezed his shoulders and managed to force himself through the opening, only to find himself finally being swept away for his trouble. After heavily scraping various parts of his limbs being thrashed about for a second or two, Sebamose briefly reached and caught himself by grabbing the ledge of the duct that he was now in. He raised his head ever so slightly, just enough to keep his head above water. After a long moment, he managed to reorient himself once more despite the waves of the flowing water constantly licking his face. He then walked himself to the temple proper using his hands, and letting the rest of his body flow with the water like a flag to the wind.
When he was just at the border of the temple, Sebamose used his arms and a leg to loft himself out of the aqueduct. There, he laid down, breathing heavily and resting briefly. “Now’s not the time to slow down,” He thought, “I’m almost there!” With that thought came a second wind, and with that second wind, he got up and crawled low to the ground across the second level of the temple. He neared one of the curtained windows that adorned the side of the higher temple, along with a distant yelling of one of the priests saying some choice words about a disaster occurring within the sanctuary. “Someone’s pissed about the new gift I gave them,” Sebamose lightly remarked.
Pulling back one of the curtains, he saw the fruit of his labor: a finger’s length of water flooded the sanctuary and many of the priests were trying to clean it up with their leopard skins. He heard the tirade of one them, possibly the high priest, grow louder, and now clearly. “Now we have to repeat the whole damn ceremony!” the priest there shouted, “Eight times. Eight times we had to do it, and now we have to do it for a ninth!”
The priest then turned to see the daily offering of food was soiled by the presence of the water. “Great! And this interruption ruined our sacrifice too!”
“Is this not going to be burnt up anyway?” said a towering, darkly-skinned priest.
“Don’t be stupid!” The angry priest snapped, like his survival depended on total idiots, “We must carefully observe the rituals or we’ll find ourselves in the middle of the reported problems of our neighboring cities! They look to us, and if we fail, all is lost!”
The tall priest responded in an annoyed sigh. “Now go get more food for Udjat! Make sure it fits the demands of the ritual!” Bellowed out the angry priest, tenser than ever. The tall priest then nodded and he departed in silence.
The angry priest’s rage welled within him, until he erupted, “Fenuku, go to the basin and check the gate! Minkabh, find me some linens! Teremun, tell the Pharaoh of what has transpired! GO” The three priests did as they were told in a hurried manner, leaving the angry priest alone. With the right timing, Sebamose could use the curtain to slip in and possibly acquire his quarry. The only risk possible at this moment was being caught by the last priest there. He might be the only one in the sanctuary at the moment, but one call of the guards, and a whole slew of spears could be bearing down his neck.
Sebamose waited until the priest walked away in disgust. The thoroughly unpleasant soul then preceded to yell at a guard over the inadequacy of the palace’s security. Now was the time. Sebamose took the curtain that he was hiding under and used to lower himself on the ground level of the sanctuary. With a high-pitched plop, his feet once again touched the water that he rather not approach again for a while. He turned and took in the fully covered walls involving the exploits of the god it was dedicated to. Then, his eyes rested on the one thing he was hunting for the whole time.
It was a large scarab-shaped amulet, about two hands large, and it was resting upon a statue’s open-palmed hands; and just as the scribe described, it had a faint, blue glow. Despite its faint nature, the mere fact that was glowing was enough to make the rest of the temple look drained of color.
Sebamose was about to leap at the amulet, when he remembered what he was told. The ex-priest said that the amulet would be magically trapped, and that the only way to counter it was to scrawl a special glyph; it was written down on a scrap of papyrus and given to Sebamose by the ex-priest, hopefully to ensure that he would write the glyph upon where the amulet was stored.
Taking out the parchment, however had its difficulties. The water took its toll on the papyrus, and taking it out of the folds of his clothing revealed its abused state. Sopping wet and barely holding on, Sebamose tried to look at the picture of glyph that he was to write…only to find that it was just shy of unrecognizable. It still had the rough shape of a falcon holding a key, but the finer details were smudged up. “Great,” Sebamose thought, “Just what I get for being creative.”
Sebamose took as much time as he thought he could trying to assess exactly what he needed to write for the spell to work. He then gave his best guess as to what he was supposed to write, and using one of his lock picking pieces, he etched the symbol upon the statue’s left palm. Having very little practice in penmanship, he was surprised to find that he wrote as accurately as he could. He only hoped that he wrote the glyph right.
A slimy and most unpleasant gut feeling spawned in abyss of his stomach, but he had to press on. A good finder while not emotionless, never lets his emotions block his goal; and he was the best.
He stretched out his hand, with the cold touch of a river meeting his fingers, as well as a solid presence resisting his will to touch the amulet. “Strange,” he thought, “it’s like I’m jamming my fingers into clay.” He felt his arm tensing up, though he remained resilient; at last, he finally wrapped his fingers around his quarry.
Immediately, the clay-like force dissipated, and Sebamose felt a huge wave of relief wash over him. This was followed by a low, discomforting tingle.
Suddenly, he was forced to the flooded tile ground, as if a hippopotamus charged and slammed him there. He was paralyzed to the ground, and a high pitched, ear splitting scream pierced his ears deeply, as if to make cubit-long holes within his head. The only thing he could do was tear up, and watch as the guards came in, seemingly unhindered by the allegedly shrill scream.
To read Chapter 1, click here
To be Continued in Chapter 4, here