Year of the Hyenas by Brad Geagley Page B

outlining?” Rami continued to press the foreman.
    “We’ll see,”
said
Paneb, clamping his hand around the boy’s neck.
    Like any lad,
Rami was
convinced these words actually meant “yes,” and his wide smile was a
mirror of Paneb’s own.
    Then Rami made
a
mistake. He dropped his head and whispered to the foreman, “I’m… I’m
sorry about Hetephras, Paneb. I’ve not gotten a chance to say it.”
    It was as if a
gate
had suddenly slammed and locked in Paneb’s face. His eyes grew small;
his wide mouth became stubborn.
    “Damn you!” he
growled. “I told you men never to speak of it again, didn’t I?”
    His angry gaze
raked
the team so keenly they dropped their heads to stare at the sands in
front of them. Still swearing, Paneb thrust his pack of tools onto his
shoulders and rose abruptly to begin the journey back to the village.
He strode quickly so none could catch him.
    Rami was
struck
senseless. He venerated Paneb, loved him better than his own father.
Seeing Paneb trudge angrily down the trail caused the boy’s shoulders
to sag with grief. As his treacherous eyes began to overflow, he
hastily packed up the rest of his tools. Nothing had been right since
the morning Hetephras had died. Nothing.
     
    IT WAS DARKwhen Paneb passed the
Medjay tower where Qar was stationed. He waved to the policeman, but
did not stop. He wanted no company, for he was by then chastising
himself for his mean-spirited treatment of Rami. The boy had been only
trying to voice the concern that all his men felt.
    Another few
paces and
Paneb had forgiven the lad. He would make it up to him by allowing the
boy to complete a few outlining chores in the tomb. But he chose not to
inform Rami of this benediction until the next day. Paneb simply hadn’t
the strength to endure the lad’s glee that evening. Tired in his soul,
and sad as death over his aunt’s tragic end, he was not cheered even by
the welcoming smells of the village’s cooking fires.
    But at the
village
walls, shielded by the dark, someone waited at the gateway. He peered
closely and saw that it was Hunro, leaning indolently against the
lintel. Although she had attained an age when most Egyptian women were
beginning to fade, the years had made no inroads on her charms. She was
not beautiful in any classic sense, being a tall, thin woman with hair
bluntly cropped. But her gaze was bold, full of sordid promise, and her
smile with its overbite was enticing. Though he had known hundreds of
other women more beautiful than she, all of them had ultimately bored
him in time. Their breasts and lips became dulled by familiarity, their
movements, however artful, predictable.
    But Paneb had
never
tired of Hunro. As they aged, their passion was revitalized by her
constant inventiveness, which in turn became dangerous in its
recklessness. He felt his loins stirring simply looking at her. It had
been more than a month since he’d last had her. Even the memory of his
aunt’s death could not diminish his mounting lust; Hunro was exactly
what he needed that night to drive away the sadness and the demons.
    “I should have
known
you’d be waiting for me,” he said, setting his tool sack on the ground.
    She hooted
scornfully,
her voice high and feathery. “Oh? How do you know I’m not waiting for
my husband?”
    “Because I
know
Neferhotep sent a servant to tell you he’d be late.”
    Her laugh was
a
little, liquid, gloating sound. “I hate it when I’m so obvious.”
    His voice was
a
whisper in her ear. “You can’t help it. It’s your nature.”
    In the dark
her eyes
flashed a warning, even as her sharp teeth flashed in her smile.
“You’re a pig,” she said.
    “That’s my nature.”
    She laughed
again,
louder than before. He pressed against her. Paneb could feel the heat
she radiated, and he seized her in his arms. Hunro had doused herself
in a heavy sandalwood perfume, his favorite scent. He brought his mouth
to hers. Her lips parted and his tongue began to probe her