It was not traditional. But even Charn had to admit, when the Tomb came into view, that it was beautiful.
The Targus Cliff was situated on a long bend in the Great River. While the river flowed in general terms from south to north, this particular stretch saw its course altered to west-east. The midafternoon sun was in Charn’s eyes as they approached, causing him to lift a beringed hand to shade them. What he saw was worth the squinting against the glare.
Charn could not fault the builder, whoever he might have been, for the skill with which it had been constructed – or the impropriety that the Tomb represented, for that matter. When an emperor commands, his subjects obey, as Charn knew all too well. And in any case, Vernith had little to say about a tomb’s exterior, except that it should match the dignity and worth of its occupant. The Tomb’s façade did that, in Charn’s estimation; if anything, it went too far in representing the Concubine’s station in life. It was too grand for a slave, however famed or favored. A simpler, more traditional mastaba, built on a site of significance, would have been appropriate in Charn’s estimation. But then the emperor himself had expressed his intent to be laid to rest there when the time came - and the decision had not been Charn’s to make, only to advise upon.
Behind him, the lesser priests had shifted to the chant of arrival without being told. Before him, Eternal Guard were waiting at the quay. For better or worse, the Concubine’s interment was almost complete. Charn’s feeling of misgiving had not faded; if anything, it had grown stronger. But there was nothing more to be done about it.
When the imperial barge had been secured to the dock Charn stepped onto the stone quay, and the Greatest of Two Hundred that had been assigned to lead the Tongueless guarding the procession appeared at his side.
“Speak to the ones who went before us,” Charn told him. “If there are no issues, I will unseal the Tomb and we will begin transferring the Concubine and her grave goods.”
The scarred man bowed, then stepped away to converse with one of the guardsmen who had been waiting. Charn took no interest, since he did not understand their hand-sign. If he had paid any attention to their interaction, he would have been able to read something from their body language. He might have inquired into the cause of the tension displayed in both men’s frames. And upon learning it, he might have allowed his own misgivings more weight.
But he paid the tongueless killers no mind.
~ ~ ~
“Report.”
Nighteyes lowered his salute and began to sign. Little Tooth disliked any extraneous word, and so he kept his report brief. Little Tooth would ask for further information if he wanted it.
“One dead ghoul, Greatest. Signs that a pack made a den across the river, then abandoned it. A previously undiscovered tomb behind the cliff, small and ancient, not connected to the Concubine’s. The smell of death emanates somewhat from the Tomb’s opening at the top of the cliff.” That was where Hummingbird had urged him to stop speaking. Nighteyes forced his hands to his sides before they started signing about human corpses in ghoul burrows. Or flies. Especially flies.
“A second tomb was never noted before.”
“It appears a retaining wall collapsed at some point after the Concubine’s Tomb was completed, exposing its entrance.”
“Noted. You killed the corpse eater?”
“No, Greatest. It was dead when we arrived.”
“Cause of death?”
“Throat torn out, and then it was decapitated. Not by a blade.”
“Strange. Anything else of note?”
Nighteyes hesitated. All he had to do was say ‘no.’ He raised his hands again to say it.
“Flies, Greatest.” That was what came out instead.
“Explain.”
“There are flies here of unusual color and size, as big as birds. They are unnatural, and their behavior-”
Little Tooth frowned and made the sign for ‘silence.’ Nighteyes froze.
“I asked for anything of note. You speak to me of flies. Tell me how flies present any danger to the Eternal Guard or the burial party.”
“I don’t know, Greatest.”
“Then why are you wasting my time speaking of them?”
“An intuition, Greatest.”
Little Tooth stared at him. The moment stretched. The Greatest of Two Hundred’s stony expression did not change, but his next words told Nighteyes what he thought of his ‘intuition.’
“Send your second to me. You and the rest of your men will secure the boats in the procession.”
Nighteyes understood both dismissals. He brought his fist to his chin in salute and went to do his superior’s bidding.
He avoided Hummingbird’s eyes.
~ ~ ~
The first thing that captured – no, assaulted Charn’s attention once he had unsealed the Tomb’s great doors was the stench of decay. It was nearly unbearable. He turned away, retching, and strode to the end of the quay. A slave brought him a scented cloth unbidden. He pressed it against his nose and mouth and shouted for the guard captain.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The leader of the Eternal Guard appeared once more at his side, scratching with charcoal on a scrap of papyrus. When he had finished, he handed it to Charn:
The Emperor had the workers slain. A portion of the corpses were placed on the level below the Concubine’s Tomb.
“And no one thought to tell the high priest of Vernith? Goddess below!” Charn balled up the papyrus and flung it into the river. His sense of disquiet swelled, along with his rage. It was one thing to kill slaves and place them as servants in a tomb – an ancient custom that had fallen out of fashion, and one that Charn felt personally disgusted by, but not strictly speaking inappropriate. But it was quite another to do so without any of the religious rites to quiet their spirits, or to secure the blessings of no less than four separate gods that it was necessary to placate for the endeavor. If the person responsible had been anyone other than the emperor, Charn would have had his head.
As it was, there wasn’t a thing he could do, except wait for a time in the hope that some of the miasma would clear. But he could not wait too long; the quay could only accommodate one boat at a time, and the unloading, boat by boat, would take hours. With only a few hours of daylight remaining, he had no time to waste. Working at night would be begging for some accident, he felt, and he could not afford to lose any of the Concubine’s grave goods to the river – or any misfortune in this already tainted endeavor.
And then, because the situation wasn’t awful enough, the leader of the Eternal Guard approached him once more, with another scrap of papyrus.
“What?”
The man handed him the scrap. Two words were written on it:
Simoom coming.
Charn uttered a very unpriestly word. Then he screamed at the slaves and under-priests to begin unloading the Concubine’s sarcophagus.
~ ~ ~
Anomus ‘watched’ the Tomb’s doors open, felt the sunlight pour in, along with the daytime mana that was as enticing as it was impossible for him to utilize. He waited for someone to enter – but no one did for several minutes. Finally, pair after pair of Eternal Guard marched in. Ten took up position along the walls of the Well, while a dozen more armed with torches stalked through the rest of the Tomb, inspecting and securing each of the other rooms.
The Architect marshalled his own troops, sending his wasps followed by the venomous geckos into the vents he had prepared, in preparation for Irobus’s appearance.
He also lined the stairs up to the Well with his beetles, in case the Tongueless discovered his new false wall and penetrated it. The undertomb itself he cleared of minions, ordering them to the periphery. Soon the emperor’s people would fall like rain onto spikes, and any who managed to survive would be swarmed by his creatures.
Just as soon as Irobus made his appearance.
His desire for the man’s death was like a sickness in him now; a psychic ague that tormented his bodiless self. If he’d still possessed flesh, it would have been feverish and aching with it.
Anomus cautioned himself for the hundredth time to wait until the emperor had crossed the entry chamber and walked to the Well before striking. He could not chance letting the murderer escape. He listened for any mention of his killer – surely they would discuss where Irobus would stand for the rite, or how best to ensure his displeasure would be avoided? They did not. None of the interlopers made any mention of the emperor at all.
Anomus watched as slaves and priests carried in the Concubine’s sarcophagus, set up a gilded trestle in the center of the Well, and set the ironglass box down upon it. Sorcery throbbed from the thing, but he gave it scant attention. Only Irobus’s impending entry mattered to him. He watched the slaves scurry out in haste, and the priests begin to chant. He waited for Irobus to make his appearance, sure that the man would come at any moment.
Instead, both slaves and Eternal Guardsmen began bringing in boxes, jars and baskets in obvious haste. A fat priest appeared at the doorway, directing the slaves with words and blows, cloth pressed to his nose. The man was clearly agitated; Anomus could sense the sweat rolling down the man’s face, and ‘hear’ the man’s rapidly beating heart. His orders were louder and harsher than the situation seemed to require.
Endless grave goods poured into the tomb, borne on the backs and in the arms and hands of slaves, who were themselves nearly as alarmed as the priest, judging by the alacrity of their movements and what Anomus could only call the scent of fear that poured from their bodies along with their sweat.
It took him a little time to realize that their fear was not only the simple, expected fear of punishment that was the lot of every slave, nor yet just the superstitious dread one might expect them to feel upon entering a house of the dead that reeked of death. It was more, and once he went looking for the source it was not hard to find. It was in the very air that poured in from the open doors, and from the opening at the top of the Well.
Simoom. Faint, the traces of distant scents brought near and barely perceptible the change in air pressure – but rapidly gaining strength. The Concubine’s interment was cursed in more ways than one, it seemed. Anomus knew without doubt that the Eternal Guard would not let the emperor remain on his barge during a simoom. They would take him to the safest, most sheltered place available, which as far as they could know would be the tomb.
So where was Irobus? Where was the murderer of thousands?
~ ~ ~
“Tell me about your Greatest,” Little Tooth instructed Hummingbird. The older man’s face was emotionless, and his hand signals economical, almost peremptory.
“He is conscientious, Greatest, and tireless in the prosecution of his duties.”
“Is he mad?”
“No, Greatest. Nothing I have observed of his actions has been anything but professional. And sane.”
“Did he speak to you of flies?”
“He did, Greatest.”
“Are you of the opinion that they present some possible danger?”
“I find it… doubtful, Greatest.” Hummingbird swallowed before continuing. “However, more than once I have been wrong, and Nighteyes has been proven right. There is a reason he was elevated to Greatest of Fifty.”
“Do his men love him?”
“They do, Greatest. We do.”
“Do they fear him?”
“They respect him, Greatest, and would follow wherever he led, without hesitation.”
“Loyalty is often misplaced, and love can wither or sour. Fear is more durable, and more sure. What are you called?”
“Hummingbird, Greatest.”
“You are now Greatest of Fifty. You may keep Nighteyes as your second, for now. Go and oversee the securing of the boats.”
Hummingbird brought his fist to his chin then turned and walked quickly to the Tomb’s entrance, where wind and sand was now swirling in and the simoom’s moan was beginning to be audible, as slaves scurried back and forth with their burdens.
At least it was not to be an execution, he thought. Then he remembered Little Tooth’s ‘for now’
Not an immediate execution, he amended.
Nighteyes could escape into the simoom’s fury. He could survive it, and the desert beyond, indefinitely. Few were better suited. But Hummingbird knew Nighteyes would never consider it, and didn’t even think to urge it of his lover.
When he exited the tomb, his eyes were immediately drawn to the south, and to the wall of sand and dust rapidly advancing toward them. The daylight had already begun to take on an eerie, red-orange cast.
Hummingbird felt a hand grasp his shoulder. Nighteyes.
“Little Tooth –” he began to sign, but Nighteyes cut him off.
“No time. The not yet unloaded boats must be run aground, now, or they will surely be lost. No place to secure them here at the cliff.”
“Do it.”
“Already begun. All the priests are inside. Should the remaining slaves be sent in as well?”
“Who remains outside?”
“Only our Fifty and another dozen or so slaves.”
“Can they help you secure the boats?”
“Yes.”
“Then use them.”
The simoom’s moan suddenly became a scream. Hummingbird signaled to the Guard at the tomb’s doors to close them, and then went to try and help save the remaining grave goods from the fury of the storm.
Just before the doors shut, Hummingbird heard the harsh clacking sound of a command baton, the symbol of office and commander of attention given to Tongueless officers of Little Tooth’s rank and higher. Almost, he pretended not to hear it above the simoom’s howl. But discipline forced his head around.
Little Tooth stood in the narrow gap of the nearly shut doors and gestured him to come inside. And so he went.