Khaemwaset felt his mouth dry up and he turned once more to the table, trying to summon up the saliva he would need. She continued to scream and sob, beating on the solid wood with fists and feet, and he could not shut out the vision of her, desperate and suddenly insane with fear. With deliberation he spat on the papyrus and again on the figures, one by one. “Anathema!” he said. The noise from the passage stopped, then she shrieked, “Ah gods, no! That hurt me, Khaemwaset! Please stop!”
With great care he took the dolls and paper, and placing them on the floor he lifted his left foot and slowly ground it into them. This time she began to choke and wail, a horrible gurgling sound that made Kasa clap his hands over his ears and sink to the tiling.
“I will not stay dead, I will not!” she shouted. “I will be back, you grinning jackal, for the Scroll cannot be gainsaid!”
“Oh yes it can,” he whispered. “Anathema, Tbubui. Anathema.” He knelt, and taking his ivory knife, he very gently slid it into the three soft wax shapes, then he drove it hard against the papyrus, which split with a small, distressing sound. Khaemwaset took the bowl that had held the water, poured the remains away, wiped it out, and, laying all the mutilated pieces of his work in it, he took the lamp and a spill and set the whole alight. The papyrus caught at once and the wax began to melt.
“Anathema,” he breathed for the last time.
Tbubui was screaming now, a high-pitched, inhuman note, and he could hear her writhing at the edge of the door, her fists and heels drumming madly. The wax was puddling in the bottom of the bowl and the papyrus had crisped and blackened to a few feathery ashes. None of the dolls was recognizable anymore.
Khaemwaset began to cry. I have been fortunate, he thought, his eyes watering from the incense and the tart tang of the burnt papyrus in his nostrils. My spell has not failed. Set bowed to my will, but he is already straightening again, and regarding me with his black, cruel wolf’s eye. I do not think that he will ever look away from me again.
Gradually he became aware that a deep peace had fallen, and with it the first shy intimations of dawn. Wiping his face on the linen, he unwound it and let it fall, putting on the crumpled kilt he had shed at the beginning. Someone would surely have heard that insane screaming. Soon the passage would be full of guards and they would find … find what? He looked about. The office was a shambles, and it stank of stale incense, sweat and the myrrh with which he had anointed himself. The lamp at that moment sparked, guttered and went out, but Khaemwaset could still see his body servant, white and leaning against the wall.
“Kasa, open the door,” he said. The man stared at him.
“Highness,” he breathed, “what has happened here? What have you done?”
“I have rid myself of a great evil,” Khaemwaset said wearily, “and now I must learn to live with a greater one. Later I will speak to the whole household, but for now, Kasa, open the door.”
On unsteady feet the man went to do as he was told, but as he touched the lock he paused. “Highness,” he said without turning around. “The secret name of Set …”
“It is as I have said it,” Khaemwaset broke in. “But do not think to use it, old friend. Even an apprentice of magic is not, for his own safety, told such a thing. I congratulate you on your courage.”
Kasa opened the door.
She was lying curled up, her face to the room, one hand against the foot of the door. Her fingers, knees and feet had broken open but the flesh beneath was purple and dry and there was no blood on the door. The stench of putrefaction in the passage was overpowering, and Kasa began to retch. Khaemwaset ignored it. Kneeling, he pushed her hair away from her face. The eyes were glassy and expressionless, the lips drawn back over the little teeth. It seemed to him that the body was already bloating, and he knew he did not have much time. Soldiers were running towards him and he could hear shouting somewhere in the house. He stood. The men came to a halt and saluted, bewildered, but Khaemwaset did not want to explain, not then. There is more than my damnation for a legacy, he thought, watching their faces, for I still love and long for her. It is an unnatural desire, compulsive and terrible, and no power I know will ever rid me of that burden.
“Carry her into the garden,” he commanded tersely. “Amek, are you there?”
The captain of his guard emerged and bowed. “Highness?”
“Take six men and go to the house of Sisenet on the east bank. In it you will find two bodies, Sisenet and his son. Bring them here. Make a pyre, then report to me.” The men began to murmur but Amek merely bowed, snapped an order of his own and wheeled away.