The Crocodile Makes No Sound Read online

  “He has. I’m not sure you’ll be so happy to hear the rest of this story. He has been admitted as a vassal at last—”

  “But that’s wonderful! About time!”

  “The bearer of the good news should have been you, clearly, since you did all the hard work of preparation and were only held back by the vacillation in... high places.” Ptah-mes suppressed the tremor of disgust at the edge of his lips and added blandly, “Instead it was Hotep, the commissioner of Simurru, who had that honor—and who will get the reward for it.”

  Hani cared nothing for the shebyu collars, the mountains of grain, and the gold jewelry that the king might throw to him in a public ceremony. But to see the corrupt and incompetent Hotep rewarded for a diplomatic conclusion he himself had worked hard to achieve—that was infuriating. He could feel the heat stealing up his cheeks and forced himself to laugh, although it came out sarcastic. “The king is loyal to his friends. I guess that’s a virtue.”

  “We both know Hotep should be bastinadoed and stripped of his rank, not lauded. But his father is influential, and he himself has become quite the little personage at court.”

  Hani shook his head slowly, not trusting himself to speak. He remembered how he had pleaded with the vizier to admit Aziru to vassalhood to prevent him from going over to the Hittites, who were drawing closer and closer to Kemet’s northern borders. He’d been told to temporize, to make vague promises to the hapiru leader but to grant him nothing. And now this. I suppose Hotep needs the king’s gold now that he’s no longer getting bribes from Yapakh-addi. The latter, a powerful and ambitious grandee, had been broken as a result of Hani’s investigation. Part of that investigation had revealed that Hotep was on his payroll. What a bunch of swine the Living Haru has surrounded himself with.

  Ptah-mes, watching Hani’s reaction, said, “But here Aziru is, a vassal at last. Hotep had the honor of accompanying him to the capital, where the newly minted king of A’amu awaits his audience with Nefer-khepru-ra. Only, that audience has been a long while coming—some months now, I’d say. The palace is getting tired of hosting him.”

  Hani laughed dryly. “It’s true he’s a lot less mellow than his father. I daresay he’s pretty impatient by this time.”

  “Impatient and suspicious.” Ptah-mes examined his fingernails. “The king wants him lodged elsewhere. In some private person’s household. Someone who can keep an eye on the hapiru’s correspondence, sound out his attitudes, perhaps even influence him.”

  Hani had a terrible suspicion he knew where this was leading. “Ah?”

  “I suggested you, Hani.” Lord Ptah-mes looked up at him, his dark kohl-edged eyes penetrating. “For the following reasons. One—you already know him. Two—you’re just the person to observe him and interpret what you see. And three...” He paused and then added, with emphasis, “Without having to spend time abroad, you will be conspicuously useful to the king by doing this. Life, prosperity, and health to him.”

  “I see,” said Hani, forcing his voice to remain neutral.

  Ptah-mes lifted an apologetic eyebrow. “I know this will be an enormous inconvenience. You will receive a subvention for your expenses from the Hall of the Royal Correspondence, of course.”

  “That’s generous.” Hani thought of the chaos in his household already—the presence of Pipi and Mut-nodjmet, the constant distraught visits of Anuia, the preparations for Sat-hut-haru’s baby, and his efforts to get Pa-kiki and Neferet settled. “I suppose I have no choice, have I?”

  “You always have a choice, my friend. Just consider whether refusal is in your best interest.”

  Hani knew that his superior was doing this as a gesture of protection, and he was grateful. But it seemed to be the final weight on top of a load that had become nearly insupportable to the poor little donkey underneath. The comical image served to restore his sense of proportion. He laughed resignedly. “I accept, of course, my lord. And I thank you for your consideration.”

  Ptah-mes blew out a heavy breath. “I think it’s for the best.” His austere face softened with a smile. “Permit me to make you a small offer in return for this sacrifice. When you’re in the capital, do me the honor of staying with me. I’ve built a modest place here, although my wife is reluctant to leave our home in Waset. So for the most part, I’m here alone. Your presence would be no problem at all.”

  A warm wave of gratitude and affection enveloped Hani. Ptah-mes was by no means the chill, disdainful grandee he appeared to be. “I’m touched, my lord. I’ve been staying with my son when I’m here, but they have several small children and another on the way, and I know my presence is a hardship. I’ll most gratefully accept your offer. I must warn you, though, that I generally have my secretary with me when I come.”

  “He’s welcome, too, of course. The dwarf, is it?”

  “Yes. My son-in-law now.”

  Ptah-mes made a polite noise of interest. “Well, I look forward to seeing you. It’s at the southern edge of the city, near the River. Anyone can direct you, and I’ll tell the servants you’re coming, in case I should be out.” He rose to his full height, elegant and once again formal, and Hani, too, got to his feet. “I’ll send Aziru to you sometime in the next few days, Hani. This is a real service you’re rendering.”

  “Anything for the cause, my lord,” Hani said wryly.

  Before Hani reached the door into the inner office, Lord Ptah-mes turned and said, “By the way, the vizier is pleased that your son has joined his staff.”

  “Pleased, is he?” Hani stared in surprise. They had not seen one another since Hani’s near rebellion, and he feared he’d added yet another black mark against his name in the eyes of the government.

  “Yes. He interprets it as a sign of your family’s loyalty to the administration.” Ptah-mes’s thin, well-shaped lips drew wide in a cynical smile.

  Hani stuffed down the impulse of a complicit smirk and said seriously, “As it is, my lord. As it most certainly is.” He bowed deeply and made his way back to the reception room. Maya popped up from a seat in the shadows, and Hani directed himself toward his secretary, struggling to contain the angry laughter he felt rising inside him, his cheeks burning and brows knotted with the effort. “Well, I have my next assignment.”

  “Overseas, my lord?” Maya asked in trepidation. Whereas once he might have relished an adventure abroad, now the young man was an expectant father. The idea of traipsing around in Kharu, perhaps risking his life, seemed less glamorous, no doubt, than it had even recently.

  “No, in Waset. I’ll be hosting our friend Aziru for an indefinite length of time.” Probably his entourage as well, Hani realized.

  Maya’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “At your house?”

  “That’s correct.”

  The two men made their way, with their mismatched strides, across the bleak, sun-scraped court of the Hall of the Royal Correspondence. The smell of baking bread from the royal bakeries drifted past. Hani sniffed, suddenly hungry.

  “Let’s go back to Aha’s and have some lunch. Then we can head off to Waset. Oh, wait,” Hani cried. “I was going to look into that fiancé of Mut-nodjmet’s. But I don’t have time to now. I’ll need to tell Nub-nefer about the guests and make whatever provisions are needed. Ptah-mes didn’t tell me how many people are involved.”

  “Is... is this normal, Lord Hani?” Maya asked, pushing back his wig and scratching his forehead. “To put him up at your house? With your family?”

  “I have no idea, my friend. When was the last time anything normal happened in our kingdom?” Hani’s tone was still tart, although he’d begun to reconcile himself to the new reality that had settled upon him. Refusal would have brought reprisals, he was sure. And he was better equipped than most people to observe and interpret Aziru’s behavior. Ptah-mes had once again done him a huge favor, he had to admit.

  ⸎

  Nub-nefer’s reaction was less angry than stressed and helpless. “A group of strange foreign men in our house? With all that
’s going on and Pipi and his family here? Oh, Hani...”

  “I know, my love. Believe me, if there had been any way to refuse, I would have. But other than going back into the field, this is probably the cheapest way for me to reestablish my loyalty to the king’s foreign policy.”

  She heaved a sigh of capitulation. “We’ll need to set some boundaries for them. We have three daughters, after all. And Mut-nodjmet. I don’t want the girls to feel uneasy in their own house.”

  “Of course. And Aziru and his entourage won’t be imprisoned here. They can come and go. We’ll point out the location of the nearest beer house and brothel.”

  Hani had hoped to tease his wife back to humor, but she shot him a black look that melted directly into warmth. “Life with you has certainly never been boring, my duck. I need to check the larders and probably have the men bring more grain up from the silos at the farm. How long are these people staying—did Lord Ptah-mes tell you?”

  “It could be brief, it could be extended. Aziru’s just awaiting word that Nefer-khepru-ra will receive him in audience.”

  Nub-nefer seemed to have gone off into efficient mistress-of-the-house mode, Hani saw, ticking off on her fingers all the things that needed to be seen to before an unknown number of foreigners descended upon the household for an unforeseeable length of time. He suggested gently, knowing that it would be hurtful, “Perhaps you and Anuia could meet at her house to commiserate, my dear. It might be better not to expose our private sorrows to these visitors.”

  She stared at him hotly, but her defiance shifted quickly into damp-eyed grief. “Where is he, Hani?” she whispered, clutching at his shirt. “My brother, my poor little brother. It’s been six weeks. What have they done to him?”

  His heart in tatters, Hani wrapped his arms around his wife and said, in an effort to reassure her, “Lord Ptah-mes said the government believes we might be hiding him. That suggests they don’t know any more than we, my sweet. I think they probably haven’t done anything to Amen-em-hut, much as they might like to.”

  She looked up at him, her kohl-rimmed eyes swimming. Was she, as Hani was, trying to draw up hope from some well deep inside—from her faith in ma’at and the goodness of the world and the care the Hidden One had to have for his faithful priest? Hani held her close, savoring her warmth, breathing her scent of lilies and bergamot.

  Nub-nefer sighed against his chest then pushed herself away and said briskly, “I’d better go talk to the cooks and see what we have on hand. We may need to slaughter a calf... certainly stock the pool with carp and bulti.”

  “You’ll do beautifully, my love. It will be the highlight of their stay.”

  ⸎

  When Maya arrived the following morning for Neferet’s writing lesson, Mut-nodjmet and Baket-iset were talking together in the garden pavilion. The latter, forever motionless on her couch after a terrible accident ten years before, was a girl as beautiful in face as in spirit. Maya was deeply touched every time he saw her and watched the natural, loving way in which her family included her in their everyday life, despite her infirmity. He felt shame for the occasional times he’d pitied himself for being a dwarf. By all the gods, he was an able-bodied dwarf, at least! A dwarf uncommonly good-looking and literate besides—married to an exquisite girl who was carrying his child. His patron, Bes, had upended the blessings upon him. They were like a sweet-smelling ointment poured over his head or a cone of perfumed wax at a party. Hearing the happy voices from under the grapevines, he resolved to be mindful of his many blessings and to carry them with panache.

  He entered the salon of Lord Hani’s home cheerfully. The lady of the house, Nub-nefer, greeted him with a smile, but he could see how troubled she was about her brother’s disappearance.

  “Neferet will be here any minute, Maya dear. How is Sat-hut-haru doing?”

  “She’s felt a little sick in the mornings, but she said to assure you she’ll be over in the afternoon. She wants you to pass judgment on the meat pies she made.”

  “She’s cooking? Who could imagine!” Nub-nefer laid a considering finger to her cheek. “You know, if she needs another servant, a cook, we would be happy to help. She’s going to be busy when the baby comes.”

  “We’ve talked about that, my lady. I can manage it. But thank you.” Maya wasn’t all that sure he could manage it, in fact. But he couldn’t possibly ask for anything else from Lord Hani. He thought his mother might have something set aside she could lend them. Gods knew what she did with any of what her fabulous royal commissions brought her—she still seemed to live like a pauper. Not even a couple of stools, by the Lord Bes!

  “Here I am, Maya,” called Neferet. She bounded through the door and posed in regal posture, her feet together, her head turned in serious profile, her hands poised with a reed pen and a potsherd. “Who am I?”

  “Who are you? Uh...” Maya swallowed hard in momentary panic. The girl was always doing things like this. “Qenyt?”

  But she broke her pose and stomped good-naturedly toward him. “No, silly. I’m the goddess Seshet, patroness of scribes!”

  Nub-nefer rolled her eyes. “Are you Im-hotep, patron of doctors, when you go to Khuit’s?”

  Neferet’s grin faded, and her look grew troubled. “She’s not a real sunet.”

  “Do I detect some disenchantment there?” Maya teased.

  Neferet looked up at him defensively. “I still want to be a doctor. But she’s not one.”

  Her mother put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Is something wrong, my love? You always come home spouting new knowledge when you’re there. Are you not enjoying it?”

  “I am, Mama. She’s very nice, and everybody loves and trusts her. But... some of the things she does—they seem so...”

  “Working class?” Maya finished with a brittle smile.

  Neferet shrugged, being too young and sheltered to know what that even implied. “Like prayers and spells and things. I don’t want to be a priest. Or a witch.”

  “A witch?” cried Nub-nefer, alarmed. “Is she a witch?”

  “I don’t know.” Neferet looked spooked by her mother’s reaction. “How do you know if someone’s a witch?”

  “I can’t imagine my mother ever went to her as a witch,” Maya pointed out, a little offended. “She’s a successful healer is all.”

  But Neferet cast her pleading eyes up to Nub-nefer, who continued to stare at her in concern. Maya figured this must be the ultimate worry for the poor woman, as if she didn’t have enough on her mind.

  “Dearest, you don’t have to keep going back to her unless you want to. Don’t let Papa pressure you.”

  “He isn’t. But I don’t want to go anymore.”

  Maya felt a crackle of resentment, which he quickly squelched. Just because his mother had recommended Khuit didn’t mean he had to defend the woman or that he was somehow diminished by the fact of her insufficiency. He bit back a comment about Neferet being worth more as a horse than a sunet anyway and said blandly, conscious of imitating Lord Hani’s masterful ambiguity of expression, “Well, let’s get to our lesson. Your father will be back soon, and you’ll want to impress him with how you’ve advanced.”

  “With how much you’ve taught me,” said Neferet.

  Damn the girl. Maya shot her a sharp sideways glance, not sure whether she was correcting him or just restating his words. Does she think I’m doing this just to impress my employer? “Take dictation,” he said, sounding grumpy in spite of himself. And he began to quote Hani’s aphorisms:

  “Do not sit when another is standing,

  One who is older than you,

  Or greater than you in rank.

  No good character is reproached,

  But an evil character is blamed.”

  “Slow down, Maya!” cried Neferet, scratching away with her pen. She pressed too hard, and droplets of ink flew out and splattered the lap of her dress, stretched across her knees. “Oh no!”

  But he plowed on, his breath steaming in
his nose:

  “Walk the accustomed path each day,

  Stand according to your rank.

  Rank creates its rules;

  A woman is asked about her husband,

  A man is asked about his rank.”

  Nub-nefer snorted in the background, and Neferet, tongue between her teeth, scribbled desperately away. When she had finished, the girl looked up, her face red with effort.

  “Now read it aloud,” said Maya, implacable.

  Footsteps scuffled on the porch, and someone pushed aside the reed mat. “Hello, everyone,” said Mery-ra. “It’s Pipi and me, back from the beer house.” The two big men irrupted into the room, filling it with hairy bellies and the smell of perspiration and beer.

  “Grandfather! Uncle Pipi!” Neferet jumped up and ran to them, proudly holding out her potsherd. “Look what I wrote!”

  “She managed to escape reading it,” Nub-nefer said quietly to Maya.

  “Not so,” Maya said. “Read it to them, my girl.”

  She proceeded not only to read it but to act it out—sitting, standing, reproaching, walking—all with great élan.

  “Next time, give her a passage with fewer verbs,” said Mery-ra, chuckling.

  But then Neferet reached the final lines and seemed to realize what she had written. She shot a crafty look at Maya. “A man is asked about his wife. A woman is asked about her rank.”

  “Outwitted us, she did!” cried Pipi in delight.

  “Can I offer you gentleman a drink, or are you full of beer at this hour of the morning?” Nub-nefer said to the newcomers.

  “It was a long, thirsty walk, my dear. I wouldn’t mind starting over with some water. How about you, son?”

  Pipi concurred, although Maya suspected he would just as soon have had more beer.