Murder in the Place of Anubis by Lynda S. Robinson Page A

closed. Setting it aside, he held Kysen's gaze, furrowed his brow, then rose and walked over to this newcomer. Kysen felt a stab of apprehension. Thesh couldn't know him. Thesh was new to the village. He'd taken up residence years after Kysen had been sold.
    "May the gods protect thee," Thesh said.
    Kysen nodded, surprised. Thesh had greeted him as one greets a superior. What had given him away?
     The scribe's lips twitched, but he didn't smile. Kysen  suspected the man knew he was discomfited.
     "I am Seth, servant of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh,  Friend of the King, the Count Meren."
     It seemed the rock cliffs echoed with Kysen's father's  name; silence dropped over the crowd beneath the pavilion, shroudlike and startling. He scanned the faces of Thesh and his companions but perceived no fear or guilt, only open surprise. His glance settled on Thesh.
     The man had the look of a scribe. His skin wasn't so dark as those who labored continually in the sun. His hands were smooth and uncallused. Eyes bright black with intelligence, he resembled a sleek raven. His nose was straight as the side of a pyramid, as was his back. Kysen noted no slackness of belly or limb, and a certain artistry of face that told him Thesh was accustomed to having a train of women at his back.
     Thesh inclined his head, respect to an equal, and  Kysen breathed more easily. He had been taken for a servant, the servant of a great man, but a servant. He couldn't delay an explanation any longer.
     "The scribe Hormin has been murdered. He was  known to have visited this village yesterday, and I have come to inquire about his business and his movements."
    Thesh's eyes widened at the news. The women behind him drew closer.
    "Murdered?" the scribe asked.
     Surprise, but no dismay. Kysen nodded. "In the Place  of Anubis." Saving Kysen the trouble, Thesh flicked his hand at the women. They receded, along with the supply men, back into the shadows of the village where  they could be heard whispering together in the main street. His brow furrowed, Thesh led Kysen to the reed mat. They settled upon it, facing each other.
     "Who would do ?"  Thesh asked quietly. "What unnatural carrion would offend the gods in such a manner?"
    "You do not ask who would want to kill Hormin."
    "One of his family?"
     Kysen leaned back, placed his palms flat on the mat,  and surveyed Thesh. "What makes you say this?"
     "Naught of importance." Thesh's face resumed its  humorous lines. "I bethought me that of all the persons who might wish to do him harm, those who were under his hand the most would be the most tempted."
     He wouldn't smile, despite the temptation. The cleverness of the answer aroused Kysen's respect.
     'Tell me of Hormin and his dealings with the artisans  of the Great Place."
     "Hormin had permission to build his tomb near the  nobles' cemetery, and he'd commissioned work from us."
     "And it was about these commissions that he came yesterday?"
     Thesh failed to answer at once. He picked up a water  pot and poured into the inkwells on his palette. Stirring with a stick to mix the ink, he went on.
     "Yesterday was Hormin's day for chasing his concubine, as you no doubt know."
     Kysen said nothing while the scribe placidly stirred  black ink, then progressed to the red. Thesh lifted his head then, and quirked a smile.
     "Beltis considers herself to be as great an artisan as the Kaha family or Useramun, the master painter. In the practice of her art, she sometimes visits her parents. In order to drive Hormin mad with fear that one of us will catch her eye, or worse, some nobleman. Hormin is— was—a jealous man."
     Kysen was about to ask how Thesh knew of this jealousy when, over the scribe's shoulder, he saw a woman coming toward them from the houses. She was carrying a tray of food, but moving slowly, as if her legs were filled with sand. She reached the pavilion, knelt, and set the tray between Thesh and Kysen.
     Her slow movements