The Great Tomb Robbery Page 2

  You just did, I thought, and I knew Khepri was thinking the same thing, because he giggled.

  I stretched out comfortably at the front of the litter and started shredding the Vizier’s pillows. Miu settled down beside me.

  The Vizier huffed and looked the other way.

  The litter swayed, and Khepri clicked his forelegs in delight. “We’re off to the Valley of the Kings!”

  The Place of Truth

  The sun was hot. The litter was comfy. As we crossed the Nile and journeyed into the desert, I finished the snacks and fell asleep, dreaming of stewed antelope and roast quail.

  “Wake up, Ra!” Khepri blared in my ear.

  I kept my eyes closed and tried to push him away with my paw. “Khepri, please!” One more bite of antelope…

  “Ra, we’re here,” Miu said. “At least, I think we are.”

  I opened my eyes—and wished I hadn’t. The walled, mud-brick village before me looked as dry and dusty as the cliffs behind it, a far cry from the elegance of Thebes. But I recognized the place. I’d made the trip here a few years ago, when Pharaoh selected our tomb site.

  “It’s Set Ma’at,” I told Khepri and Miu. “The Place of Truth.”

  Khepri looked confused. “I thought we were going to the Valley of the Kings.”

  “The Valley starts there.” I bobbed my head to indicate the high cliffs just north of us. “But Set Ma’at is where the workers live.” I turned to the crowd gathering outside the walls. “Look! They’re expecting me.”

  With Khepri hanging on to my neck and Miu at my heels, I went out to greet my people.

  A burly man with inky fingers stepped forward and bowed. He gripped a staff in one hand and a writing board in the other. “Welcome to Set Ma’at, O Lord of the Powerful Paw. We were honored to hear from Pharaoh that you were coming to visit us.”

  “Hey, I remember him,” I whispered to Khepri and Miu. “It’s the Scribe of the Tomb.”

  Have you ever met a Scribe of the Tomb? Unless you have a tomb of your own, probably not. Here’s how it works: When Pharaoh and the Vizier send orders to the tomb workers, it’s the Scribe of the Tomb who reads them and writes back. He tells the Pharaoh and Vizier their orders have been received, and he notifies them of any problems. It’s also his job to record everything that happens on the tomb site: every chisel borrowed, every absent worker, every payment made.

  Pharaoh also has guards in the Valley of the Kings. Their leader is the Captain of the Guard, and they watch over the tombs under construction, as well as the completed and sealed tombs. But it’s the Scribe who oversees the workers themselves. And there are a lot of them. To build a tomb, you need foremen, carpenters, stonemasons, plasterers, sculptors, goldsmiths, painters, and other artisans—and the Scribe keeps track of them all.

  In short, the Scribe of the Tomb has a lot of power, and this particular Scribe was the boss of Set Ma’at.

  His voice still booming, the Scribe bent down to Miu and the Vizier. “And welcome to the Lord of the Powerful Paw’s honorable escort.”

  Instead of replying, the Vizier focused on the crowd. “Look at you all, standing idle. Why aren’t you working?”

  “Exactly what I was about to say, my lord,” the Scribe said smoothly. “Yesterday we had our annual holiday feast to celebrate the ancient founder of Set Ma’at, but today we must get back to our normal routine—”

  “You took another holiday?” the Vizier growled at the crowd. “That’s not what Pharaoh pays you for.”

  The crowd murmured, and a gaunt man stepped forward with a paintbrush in his hand. “O Great Vizier, speaking of payment, perhaps now is the time to remind you that our wages of bread and beer were late last month, and the month before, and the month before that.”

  There was a murmur of agreement from the back of the crowd, but the Scribe nudged the man with his staff. “That’s enough, Pentu.”

  Pentu didn’t stop. “And our pay has been cut, even though we are worked harder—”

  “Who gave you permission to speak?” The Vizier was so angry he almost spat out the words. “If I hear you complaining about wages again, you’re fired.” He turned on the crowd. “And that goes for the rest of you, too.”

  Everyone went quiet. Pentu hunched his shoulders, and his paintbrush dropped to the ground. A skinny boy behind him picked it up and silently handed it back to him.

  “You heard the honored Vizier, everyone,” the Scribe boomed. “Back to work!” He pointed to a strapping young man near Pentu. “Except for you, Huya.”

  Clearly pleased to be singled out, Huya smirked and flexed his muscles. “Want me to make sure that troublemaker Pentu keeps his mouth shut, my lord Scribe? Just say the word—”

  “Not just now, Huya.” The Scribe ushered him over to the Vizier. “My lord, this is the carpenter Huya, the one I mentioned in my last letter. He’s been assisting me with various duties.”

  “Indeed?” The Vizier gave Huya a piercing glance. “I hear you’re quite capable. And discreet.”

  Huya’s smirk widened as he bowed low. “I’m quiet as a tomb, my lord Vizier.”

  “Huya has set up a place for you inside the village gates,” the Scribe explained to the Vizier. “I had him build the platform in the cool of the wall, where the light is good. You need only escort Pharaoh’s Cat there, and our best artists will begin their work.”

  The Vizier didn’t even look at me. Snapping his fingers, he called the nearest boy over, the skinny one who had picked up Pentu’s paintbrush. “You, there. Carry the cat where he’s supposed to go.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue!” the Vizier barked.

  Shoulders tense, the boy bent down to me. He was about the age of Pharaoh’s oldest son—eleven or so, with long fingers, a long neck, and alert, hungry eyes.

  “He looks like Pentu, don’t you think?” Khepri whispered.

  “Hmmm. Yes,” I agreed. If they were related, no wonder the Vizier made him tense.

  Once the Vizier swept past, the boy smiled at me and held out his arms. “O Gracious Pharaoh’s Cat, if you would do me the honor—”

  I’m not thrilled about being carried by strangers. But I didn’t want the boy to get in trouble, so I let him scoop me up.

  To my relief, he knew exactly what he was doing. Honestly, the boy could have a job as an official cat carrier.

  “My mother liked cats,” he whispered to me. “I don’t remember much about her, but I do remember that. So I like them, too.”

  Moments later, we entered the village gate. Inside its high outer walls, Set Ma’at was just as cramped and busy as I remembered, with dusty houses packed tight together. Water carriers and workmen jostled in narrow, noisy alleys that smelled of wood fires and kitchen scraps.

  “Ah!” The Scribe caught up to us. “Kenamon, I see you’ve made the acquaintance of Pharaoh’s Cat already. Very good!” He ushered us toward a platform near the gate. “Now set him down on that pedestal there—the one in the sunshine that Huya set up—and get out your tablet and paint box. I expect to see some very fine work from you today.”

  As Kenamon settled me on my pedestal, I stared up at him in surprise. This boy was my portrait painter?

  Trouble

  If I was surprised, so was the Vizier. As he sat down near my pedestal, he said, “That child is far too young for the job, Scribe. What is he, ten?”

  “Almost twelve, my lord,” the Scribe said. “And the best painter I have ever seen. He began working in the tombs last year, and last month I hired him myself, to paint my dear pet Menwi.”

  Setting down his staff and writing board, he seated himself and offered the Vizier sweetmeats and wine. The wine didn’t interest me, but it smelled like there was spiced goose on that tray, and that was enough to drive me wild. Would anyone think to offer me some?

  Not the Vizier. P
opping a morsel into his mouth, he stared hard at the artist boy, who was unpacking materials from a box on the ground. “He looks like that troublemaker. The one in the crowd.”

  “They are father and son,” the Scribe admitted, “but the boy has never caused any difficulties.” He let his voice drop, but that was no problem for me. Cats hear everything. “The father spent too much on medicine when his wife was ill, so they struggle. But that is to our advantage, my lord. To make extra money, the boy will undertake almost any commission in his spare time. You could hire him to do work for your own tomb, my lord, and at very cheap rates—”

  “You interest me, Scribe. Let us see what the boy can do.” Still staring at Kenamon, the Vizier selected another morsel from the plate.

  When the Scribe scoffed a piece, too, I mewed softly, but they ignored me.

  “At first, I expect the boy will make only sketches,” the Scribe said. “The painting will come later. But it will be marvelous, I promise you.”

  Huya had been chatting quietly with another carpenter. Now he came up to the Scribe and bowed. The smirk was back again, and he had the air of someone bursting with a secret. “If I might have a quick word, my lord Scribe? And with you, too, my lord Vizier—”

  I missed what he had to say because another well-built man, his fingers coated in clay, came up and bowed to me. He was older than Huya, and I was pleased to see no trace whatsoever of a smirk on his face. His deep-set eyes were serious, but I saw kindness there.

  He laid a leathery scrap of dried pork in front of me. “O Great Pharaoh’s Cat, Lord of the Powerful Paw, I am the sculptor Bek. I am honored to have been given the task of carving your statue. Please accept my offering.”

  To be honest, dried pork doesn’t meet my usual snack standards. But the Vizier had just snarfed up the last of the spiced goose, so I gave Bek points for trying.

  “You’re going to eat that?” Khepri said in surprise as I bit into it.

  “Just to be polite,” I said.

  The pork wasn’t as awful as I feared. Maybe the desert air had improved it. Or maybe I was just hungry.

  When I licked my lips, Bek smiled at me. “Now, Great Pharaoh’s Cat, I must begin my work. If you could just sit up?” He put out his hands to arrange me, but I got there before him, tucking my hindquarters and raising my head high.

  Bek beamed at me. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

  Retreating to a table that had been set up for him, he began shaping a lump of clay that was almost exactly the size of my head. I looked from him to Pentu and back again. Both of them were completely focused on me. How wonderful!

  “Hold that pose,” Bek breathed, and I went still.

  “Bek’s work will be a wonder,” the Scribe said to the Vizier. “He’s the finest sculptor in Set Ma’at, as his father was before him, and his father’s father, all the way down his line. For centuries, every Pharaoh has chosen the family to work on his tomb.”

  I kept my face as serene as possible, hoping Bek could see how I resembled my illustrious ancestor, the cat goddess Bastet.

  “Hey, look at what Kenamon’s doing!” Khepri propped himself on my ear for a better view. “It looks just like you, Ra.”

  Oh, the agony! I wanted to see the sketch-in-progress, but to get a decent portrait and sculpture I had to stay motionless.

  I let out a tiny mewl of frustration. Almost as if he understood, the boy Kenamon tilted his tablet so I could see.

  “Look,” Khepri whispered joyfully. “He’s put me in there, too.”

  It was indeed a portrait of both of us—and what a portrait it was. Not only had the boy conveyed my innate majesty, but he’d made Khepri look like he really was a mark of divine favor. Quite a feat, if you ask me.

  As Kenamon went back to work, a barrel-chested man strode past Huya the carpenter, who scowled at him. Twirling his fingers, which were covered with rings, the stranger swept a fancy bow in front of the Vizier. “Neferhotep the goldsmith, my lord. I’m here to copy the collar of Pharaoh’s Cat.”

  “Copy it?” The Vizier frowned. “Why?”

  Neferhotep twiddled his fingers again. “So that his statue can be properly decorated, my lord. May I remove the collar now?”

  I stifled a wail. That strand of gold and beads was a gift from Pharaoh himself. I’d had it since I was a kitten.

  “If that’s what you need to do, then do it,” the Vizier ordered. “Immediately. We don’t have all day.”

  Neferhotep’s restless fingers twitched in my fur, and the collar fell away.

  Without it, I didn’t quite feel like myself. Not that anyone seemed to notice. Certainly not Miu, who appeared beneath my pedestal.

  “Well, now that Ra is settled in, maybe you and I will go explore,” she said to Khepri.

  “Sure.” Khepri hopped down to her. “Next stop, the Valley of the Kings!”

  “Wait,” I said through my half-frozen mouth. “You were going to entertain me, remember?”

  “We’ll tell you all about our adventures when we get back,” Khepri said cheerfully.

  A moment later, they were gone, and I was miffed. How could my friends leave me alone like this?

  But as I sat there feeling sorry for myself, I wasn’t as alone as I thought.

  * * *

  “Wowee. Is that perfume I smell?” An enormous, tiger-striped tomcat swaggered into sight. Brushing past Bek, who smiled down at him, he sauntered up to my pedestal. “Well, if it isn’t Lord Fancypaws himself, right here in Set Ma’at.”

  Lord Fancypaws? Was he talking about me?

  I couldn’t do much to put him in his place, not when I needed to hold my pose, but I let my fur rise, to show him who was boss. “The correct title is Pharaoh’s Cat, Lord of the Powerful Paw.”

  “You don’t say?” The cat’s voice was rough around the edges, but he had presence, and his green eyes were laughing at me. “We desert cats don’t pay too much attention to titles.”

  “And who are you?” I asked.

  “I’m Sabu. I’m the leader around here, Fancypaws.”

  “The name is Pharaoh’s Cat,” I corrected him, between gritted teeth.

  Before I could say more, Miu ran up to me, Khepri clinging to her neck fur. “Ra, I was just talking to some local cats, and I heard the most wonderful news.” Seeing Sabu, she stopped. “Oh my goodness, it’s true. Sabu, what are you doing here?”

  “Miu?” Sabu sounded pleased as could be. “It’s been too long.”

  I stared in dismay as they touched whiskers in greeting. “Miu, you know this cat?”

  “Of course, Ra.” She gave Sabu a fond look. “He’s my cousin.”

  “Seventh cousin, twice removed, on our mothers’ side,” Sabu confirmed. (Cats care about details like that.)

  “But we haven’t seen each other since I was a tiny kitten,” Miu added, touching her whiskers to Sabu’s again. “The last I knew, Sabu, you were going out into the world to seek adventure.”

  “And you were headed off to the palace,” Sabu said. “I’ve always wondered how that worked out.”

  “I’ve been happy there,” Miu told him. “As you can see, I found friends. And you’ve made your home here?”

  “I live with Bek, the best craftsman in the village.” Sabu tilted his head toward the sculptor.

  I couldn’t help challenging him. “Kenamon’s pretty good, too, from what I’ve seen.”

  “Kenamon?” Sabu dismissed this. “He’s good, but he’s just a kid. He likes to monkey around. Bek is a master of his craft.” He looked back at the sculptor with affection. “I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been with him for years now.”

  “I’d love to hear more,” Miu said. “If you’ve got time, maybe you could show us the area? Khepri and I thought we might visit the Valley of the Kings, but we weren’t sure which path to take.”

 
Before Sabu could reply, there was a commotion outside the gate. It sounded like a crowd was gathering.

  “What’s going on?” the Vizier demanded. “It had better not be another party, Scribe.”

  “No, my lord.” The Scribe turned to the carpenter, who was still by his side. “Huya, put a stop to this. Tell them the Vizier is displeased.”

  Huya was in midstride when the crowd came through the gate. At their head was a young guard in a dusty loincloth, carrying a sharp spear.

  “My lords!” The guard stumbled toward the Scribe and the Vizier. “A tomb has been robbed!”

  Protector of the Dead

  “Tomb robbers!” I jumped off my pedestal, tail bristling. “Let me at them!”

  If there’s anything lower than a tomb robber, I don’t know what it is. Ordinary thieves are bad enough, but tomb robbers mess up your afterlife. I’m talking eternal damage. It’s beyond despicable.

  Tail still on high alert, I pointed myself toward the gate. “I’ll track them down, wherever they are. They’ll learn not to cross Ra the Mighty—”

  “Hush, Ra!” Miu cut me off. “Listen to the guard.”

  “It’s true, my lords!” The guard’s spear shook. “I tell you, the god Anubis was seen in the Valley last night. He attacked our men, and then he entered a tomb.”

  The Scribe and the Vizier both turned pale, and so did Kenamon. Huya stopped smirking, and Neferhotep’s hands shook. The sculptor Bek even went so far as to snatch up Sabu in his arms, as if to protect him.

  Anubis has that effect on people. He’s the jackal-headed guide of the afterlife, the protector of the dead, the weigher of souls. Of all the gods in Egypt, he’s the spookiest.

  But I’d never heard of him robbing a tomb before.

  “Isn’t Anubis supposed to guard the tombs?” I whispered to Miu and Khepri.

  “He certainly is,” Miu agreed. “If you ask me, the whole story sounds fishy. Why would Anubis rob a tomb? It’s humans who do that. I wonder what really happened.”