An hour later, freshly washed and girt in clean linen, his favourite pectoral hanging on his chest with the most powerful amulet he could find as a counterweight lying between his shoulder-blades, Hori walked from the house and went quietly through the north garden towards the watersteps. The servants were about, doing the early morning sweeping and preparing the first meal of the day, but Hori knew that the members of the family would still be on their couches, their minds on the activities to come while they waited for their food. There was no sign of the gardeners. The new wing protruded into what had once been a pleasant square with a fountain, and cast an early, cool shadow over the still-raw flower beds. Several guards saluted and greeted him as he passed them.
He had almost reached the edge of the recent construction when someone glided out of the shelter of a wall and into his path. Hori moved on, confident that it was a servant who would get out of his way, but then the figure turned and it was Tbubui, muffled in white up to her chin like a shrouded corpse. She was clearly just out of her couch and had simply pulled back her hair under a hooded summer cloak of gossamer linen. Angrily avoiding her eye, Hori began to give her a wide berth but a hand appeared out of all that whiteness and grasped him. He shook it off in a spasm of fury but came to a halt and faced her.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
“I do not think that you should go to Koptos,” she replied.
He smiled cynically. “No, I daresay you do not, seeing that I intend to come home again with your ruin in my possession,” he retorted evenly.
“Be that as it may,” she interposed gently, “I am concerned for your welfare, Hori. Koptos is not a healthy place. People sicken there. People die.”
Now he met her eyes. “What do you mean?” he demanded.
“Remember what happened to your father’s scribe, Penbuy,” she almost whispered. “Take care that such a thing does not happen to you.”
He stared at her. “What do you know about that?” he said urgently. She went on looking at him with those black, fathomless eyes, and all once a chill of certainly went through him. He heard Sheritra’s voice, hesitant but firm. “Someone in Sisenet’s house conjured a death curse …” and then he knew. He knew.
“You did it,” he faltered, weak with horror, and she raised her eyebrows.
“I did what, Highness?”
“You cursed Penbuy! You knew he could not be bribed or threatened, that nothing would keep him from carrying out the task my father set for him, so you used evil magic to conjure against his life!” Hori’s mouth had gone dry. He licked his lips. “What did you use, Tbubui? What did you steal from him?”
Her eyes began to glow with an unnatural mirth. “His pen case,” she said. “A particularly apt personal belonging, don’t you think? Sisenet took it one day when Penbuy accompanied your father to my house.”
Hori wanted to run away. Suddenly, even the ground on which he stood seemed malevolent. “Well, you will not succeed with me,” he said as steadily as he could. “My father is the greatest magician in Egypt. His spells are the strongest, and I have worked with him often enough to learn many protections. Forewarned is forearmed, Tbubui. I am not afraid of you.”
“Indeed,” she purred. “I had not thought of that. Then I suppose if you come home from Koptos in full health I shall have to persuade your father to kill you.” She leaned into him until her mouth brushed his own. “You think such a thing is impossible, proud Hori? Think again. Khaemwaset will do anything I ask. Enjoy your journey. She bowed, gathered her linen more tightly around her and walked away.
Hori stood stunned, the sun already hotter on his head than was comfortable. Never! he thought dazedly. Father would never do such a dreadful thing. He would be imperilling a favourable judging from the gods! But he disinherited you, another, colder voice whispered back. I would not be too confident, my dear Hori, if I were you. He swung round. Tbubui had gone.
He did not believe he could force his legs to move but they did, heavily and reluctantly, carrying him to the water-steps and his barge, rocking imperceptibly on the oily river. Antef bowed and waved and somehow Hori managed to return the greeting and descend to the ramp. The captain shouted an order, the ramp was run in with a grinding sound, and Hori sank to the cushions on the deck beside his friend. How pale you are, Highness!” Antef observed. “Have you been drinking already this morning?” Hori shook his head, his stomach churning, then he began to speak. He talked for an hour, and Antef did not interrupt him once. He was dumbfounded.