The Assassins of Isis by P. C. Doherty Page A

latrine.
    Amerotke returned to his chamber in the Hall of Two Truths. The hall itself was empty except for the occasional guard. He found Shufoy sleeping, gently shook him awake and told him what had happened.
    â€˜Poisoned? But how?’ the dwarf exclaimed.
    â€˜I’m asking myself the same question.’
    Lord Valu came through the door looking a little more relaxed and, without being asked, sat down in Amerotke’s chair. He tried to act courageously but he was visibly shocked and soon left the chamber again, only returning when Asural came back to report.
    â€˜Nobody knows anything,’ the captain declared. ‘The guards remember servants coming and going. The assassin must have known you would take her up to the place of questioning, that she would be thirsty, eager for a drink.’
    â€˜I suppose it was only a matter of time,’ Amerotke declared. ‘They must have known that either she, or Lord Valu or I would take a drink. Perhaps they were hoping for all three. You are sure no one saw anything suspicious?’
    â€˜My lord,’ Asural replied, ‘you have been down to the House of Chains; it is full of dark passageways, people coming and going. It would be easy to draw off a jug of water, poison it, and hope for the best.’
    Amerotke thanked and dismissed him, and sat for a while in silence.
    â€˜My lord,’ Valu straightened up in his chair, ‘that dead woman spoke the truth. We have plucked the flower but not the root. This is serious and I am very, very frightened.’
    â€˜And so am I,’ Amerotke whispered. ‘And so am I.’

REKHU: ancient Egyptian, ‘fire’

    CHAPTER 4
    Amerotke was glad he’d drunk the goblet of wine the heset had given him when he and Shufoy arrived at the Temple of Isis. They had hurried from the Hall of Two Truths, through the busy streets, skirting the basalt-paved Avenue of the Sphinxes, and been admitted to the temple by a side gate. Challenged by the guards, they had been met by an acolyte priest who had taken them across the moon-washed gardens to a painted pavilion, where they were served sweet pancakes soaked in fruit juice and strong Canaan wine. The acolyte had examined the cartouche Amerotke carried, and apologised for the lord Impuki being extremely busy, saying that until the High Priest was available he would look after the visitors. The man listened intently as Amerotke explained why he had come to the Temple of Isis, then clearly nervous, he hastened away and returned saying that he would take Amerotke to the wabet, the Place of Purification, where corpses were embalmed to complete the soul’s journey into the Far West.
    The underground cavern was indeed a strong contrast to the exotic temple gardens, a gloomy, low-beamed chamber lit by pitch torches and bitter-smelling oil lamps. Amerotke had to pinch himself to be sure that he had not fallen into a nightmare. He stood just within the doorway and stared around. Such places always surprised him, even though he
was used to visiting the Houses of the Dead and scrutinising the hapless victims of some killer. Cauldrons bubbled over. Small fires burned in their open brick hearths. Corpses in varying stages of being embalmed lay like slabs of meat on tables, slightly tipped so the body fluids, as well as the juice of the ointments, could run down to the wide earthenware pots placed judiciously beneath. Priests wearing the masks of jackals, hawks, rams and the smiling face of the goddess Isis moved like sleepwalkers or stood next to the tables chanting the Office of the Dead.

    Go out, go out
    To the Far West.
    Enter the secret sanctuary,
    Enjoy the splendour
    Of the Lords of Eternity.
    Follow him into shrines in the Far Horizon.
    May you be with the Lord of Years.
    May your Ka be ravished by the beauty of the eternal fields.

    On the whitewashed walls similar prayers were painted in red.

    O heart of my mother,
    O heart of my mother,
    O heart of my