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

had deceived him. She wasn't  an old woman, but then neither was she young. She had the wide face of the south, with full lips and a vanishing chin. An unremarkable face set atop a slim body and strong legs. If he had seen her from the back and then from the front, he would have been disillusioned, for the body promised and the face disappointed.
     Thesh was pouring beer into cups without looking at the woman. "Seth, servant of Count Meren, this is my wife, Yemyemwah, called Yem."
    Kysen nodded to Yem, who ducked her head at him.
     "Yem, Hormin has been murdered, and Seth has  come to divine his movements yesterday."
    Yem's fleshy lips pressed together. "And the woman?"
     The words had been said in a flat, dull voice, and yet Kysen felt the eagerness with which she awaited the answer. This woman longed for the death of Beltis the concubine. Kysen immediately glanced at Thesh, who had paused in the middle of the act of presenting a cup to Kysen. His hand remained suspended, and Kysen could see his fingers tighten around the rim until the flesh turned white.
    "What woman?" Kysen asked.
    'The whore."
    "Yem!"
     "Mean you the concubine?" Kysen asked, taking the cup from Thesh.
    Again Yem nodded.
    "Only Hormin has been murdered. Do you know anything pertaining to Horrnin and his doings, mistress?"
     Yem darted a look at her husband. Thesh was trying  not to glare at her. He snatched a loaf of bread from the tray and ripped it in half. The violence with which he did so betrayed him, and he seemed to realize it. He dropped the bread and waved at Yem in dismissal. As she rose, Kysen lifted his hand.
    "A moment, mistress, to answer my question."
     "I know naught but that she came here to see her parents yesterday, and then he came for her and they fought. The whole village knew this. It is a game she plays. Beltis plays many—games. I saw him rushing down the main street carrying a small wicker box under his arm, a bribe, no doubt, to get her home. They had one of their donkey-braying arguments. She could make the pillars of a temple go deaf. The fighting stopped, and I never saw them again, for I had bread to bake and spinning to complete."
    "My thanks, mistress."
    Yem bowed and left them, slogging her way toward the houses as if she waded through a sea of mud. Kysen settled himself more comfortably, leaning part of his weight on his arm, picked up a chunk of bread, and lifted a brow at Thesh. The scribe took a sip of his beer, but when Kysen merely took a bite of his bread rather than launching into accusations, he sighed.
    "I told you Beltis considered herself an artisan."
    Kysen's gaze never faltered, and Thesh cleared his throat.
    "Yem is a good woman, but we haven't been blessed by the gods with children, and Yem is unhappy. We're  both unhappy. Beltis is all laughter and fire and—"
    "Did you have her yesterday?"
     Thesh shook his head. "He came, just as Yem said. I could tell when she arrived that this was one of those times when she had other matters to attend to. He followed her here and they fought, as Yem said. After they reconciled, Hormin came to see me to have payments recorded to the account of the painter Useramun and to one of the sculptors. Then they went with Woser to see his tomb. I never saw them after that."
     "And who were those among you who dealt with  Hormin?"
     "Beltis's parents of course, and the men who designed and built his tomb. Woser the draftsman and Useramun the master painter saw him the most."
    "And did they deal well together?"
     "Hormin never dealt well with anyone. He tormented poor Woser, who would rather be a dung carrier than a  draftsman, and of course he hated Useramun."
     Thesh stopped, flushed, and directed his gaze at the  cliffs. "Why?"
    The scribe shook his head. "This is a question for the painter."
    "It is a question for you, and I do not ask it to exercise my lips."
     The snap in Kysen's voice caused Thesh to glance at  him in surprise. Their gazes locked, and