“But there is something you must learn from this incident.”
Khufu rested his forehead on the heel of his hand. “What must I learn, Hemi?”
“The people will be just as quick to assign reasons for Merit’s death. And Mentu’s. You must reassure them of ma’at, of justice and order, or they will lose heart. And they will lose respect.”
Khufu straightened. “You speak out of your own grief, hoping to neglect your duties to chase the unknown in hopes of revenge.”
“Revenge is undertaken by men who would repay in kind the evil done to them.”
The king raised his eyebrows. “Exactly.”
“But justice is the restoration of divine order,” I said. “It requires the guilty to pay because they have transgressed the divine order, not because they have caused hurt to a single person.”
Khufu sighed. “I do not want to argue such things with you, Hemi.”
Then allow me to do what I must. “I will admit to you, my king, that in my heart, I desire revenge. But revenge for the deaths of those I loved will be accomplished by restoring ma’at. And this is what is best for Egypt.”
“But the pyramid—”
“Without ma’at, we have nothing.”
Khufu closed his eyes again and stretched the muscles of his neck. “And you believe that you hold the power to restore order and find the truth?”
The question stayed with me after the king had dismissed me with a grudging permission to investigate the two murders. The question followed me to the rooftop of the palace where I escaped to my own thoughts. I stood at the edge of the rooftop and gripped the low wall. Before me, the royal estate was an oasis in the desert.
Revenge. Justice. I had not thought of the difference until I articulated it to Khufu, but now it seemed a truth to me. It was justice I sought, justice I believed in with every part of my being. The goddess Ma’at, in whose name I ordered my life, demanded it.
I looked northward across the desert to the pyramid. It accused me, as though I were a negligent father more interested in children who were not my own. On the distant southern horizon, several other pyramids poked up from the desert, mute reminders of the greatness of Khufu’s father, Sneferu, and my father, Grand Vizier Neferma’at, who had built the Saqqara pyramids together. I had vowed to Khufu five years ago that our pyramid would be the greatest the world had seen.
Was I willing to risk that? And for what? To ask questions that may have no answers. I dropped my gaze to study my hands on the wall.
I had carefully structured my world to avoid such questions. In my heart, I feared the unknowable. I much preferred my charts and equations.
From the palace rooftop, one could see clearly in every direction. And I saw my choice clearly in that moment as well. To restore the justice and divine order I believed most sacred, I must face my fear of the unknown and perhaps the unknowable.
The wind carried sand across the desert in the distance and released fragrance from the chamomile in the garden below me. The scent reminded me of Merit, and I knew my decision was made.
No matter the cost, I would find justice for Mentu and for Merit. I would restore the divine order, the ma’at of Egypt. I would find this murderer.
And I would make him pay.
NINE
The embalmer’s hall, the Place of Purification, jutted from the valley temple like a broken finger—attached but at odds with the beauty of the temple. I entered and paused inside the entrance to accustom myself to the smell. The task would not be an easy one.
The room was small, with hard lines and sharp angles, only large enough for preparations on one body at a time, though ancillary rooms held vats of natron salt for the required days of purification. Paintings of Anubis weighing the heart after death, and tending the body in the presence of Isis, decorated the interior wall.
I pushed inward and greeted the physician-priest with a quick nod. The priest was unknown to me, yet he
Khufu rested his forehead on the heel of his hand. “What must I learn, Hemi?”
“The people will be just as quick to assign reasons for Merit’s death. And Mentu’s. You must reassure them of ma’at, of justice and order, or they will lose heart. And they will lose respect.”
Khufu straightened. “You speak out of your own grief, hoping to neglect your duties to chase the unknown in hopes of revenge.”
“Revenge is undertaken by men who would repay in kind the evil done to them.”
The king raised his eyebrows. “Exactly.”
“But justice is the restoration of divine order,” I said. “It requires the guilty to pay because they have transgressed the divine order, not because they have caused hurt to a single person.”
Khufu sighed. “I do not want to argue such things with you, Hemi.”
Then allow me to do what I must. “I will admit to you, my king, that in my heart, I desire revenge. But revenge for the deaths of those I loved will be accomplished by restoring ma’at. And this is what is best for Egypt.”
“But the pyramid—”
“Without ma’at, we have nothing.”
Khufu closed his eyes again and stretched the muscles of his neck. “And you believe that you hold the power to restore order and find the truth?”
The question stayed with me after the king had dismissed me with a grudging permission to investigate the two murders. The question followed me to the rooftop of the palace where I escaped to my own thoughts. I stood at the edge of the rooftop and gripped the low wall. Before me, the royal estate was an oasis in the desert.
Revenge. Justice. I had not thought of the difference until I articulated it to Khufu, but now it seemed a truth to me. It was justice I sought, justice I believed in with every part of my being. The goddess Ma’at, in whose name I ordered my life, demanded it.
I looked northward across the desert to the pyramid. It accused me, as though I were a negligent father more interested in children who were not my own. On the distant southern horizon, several other pyramids poked up from the desert, mute reminders of the greatness of Khufu’s father, Sneferu, and my father, Grand Vizier Neferma’at, who had built the Saqqara pyramids together. I had vowed to Khufu five years ago that our pyramid would be the greatest the world had seen.
Was I willing to risk that? And for what? To ask questions that may have no answers. I dropped my gaze to study my hands on the wall.
I had carefully structured my world to avoid such questions. In my heart, I feared the unknowable. I much preferred my charts and equations.
From the palace rooftop, one could see clearly in every direction. And I saw my choice clearly in that moment as well. To restore the justice and divine order I believed most sacred, I must face my fear of the unknown and perhaps the unknowable.
The wind carried sand across the desert in the distance and released fragrance from the chamomile in the garden below me. The scent reminded me of Merit, and I knew my decision was made.
No matter the cost, I would find justice for Mentu and for Merit. I would restore the divine order, the ma’at of Egypt. I would find this murderer.
And I would make him pay.
NINE
The embalmer’s hall, the Place of Purification, jutted from the valley temple like a broken finger—attached but at odds with the beauty of the temple. I entered and paused inside the entrance to accustom myself to the smell. The task would not be an easy one.
The room was small, with hard lines and sharp angles, only large enough for preparations on one body at a time, though ancillary rooms held vats of natron salt for the required days of purification. Paintings of Anubis weighing the heart after death, and tending the body in the presence of Isis, decorated the interior wall.
I pushed inward and greeted the physician-priest with a quick nod. The priest was unknown to me, yet he
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