The Thieves' Scarab
"Faster, Jan, they're getting away!" Sheriti brushed a wisp of hair out of her face; the tightest braids couldn't hold her unruly hair in place.
Janais skidded to a stop before a steep drop. "I can't—"
"Yes you can! Jump!"
He stared at Sheriti in desperation. Below, the stone walls of the pyramid fell away into the blackness—
"Don't think about that." Sheriti's blue eyes held his.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and—
"Don't close your—"
He slammed into the rock on the other side.
"—eyes!" Sheriti heaved his torso back onto the ledge. "Idiot! At least watch where you jump, next time. Let's go!"
They ran back through the narrow tunnels, turning corner after corner, catching glimpses of the corner of a loincloth, a bare heel, as the thieves evaded trap after trap—as she had expected, of course. But at the rate they were running, Sheriti and Janais would reach the outer layer first, if—
"No, this way!" She streaked to the left.
"For Ra's sake—" He crashed into the wall, pushed off, and ran after her.
"If we take the third corridor after the falling pillar, we should be able to beat them. There's no way they won't spring the weight trap, even as skinny as they are."
They came out into bright light. Her gaze skimmed the level sand, the empty horizon. No sound but the cry of a lone yellow wagtail.
"They're not here. Why aren't they here?"
"I..." Sheriti frowned at the pyramid's sloped sides, pulled out a slab to peer back into the dingy tunnels. "I may have..."
"You were wrong."
"No, I—"
"Just say it!" Janais paced the hot sand. "You were wrong, ok?"
"I... I was wrong," she murmured. "I underestimated them."
"Great, thank you. Now we're going right back to your mother and you're going to apologize for not being there for dinner."
She met his gaze coldly. "No, I'm not. I have better things to do than make excuses for my work."
"Your work? You call chasing after tomb-robbers your work?"
"Nothing better to do," she muttered.
"Then spend some time at home. You owe it to your family."
"I owe them nothing."
Janais sighed. "Please, Sheriti."
She shifted uncomfortably under his imploring gaze. "Fine. Actually, I have some things to be doing at home, something important to take care of that I—"
"Oh don't you pretend you were going to do that all along!"
She raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I was."
He managed to glare at her for a few moments before they both dissolved into laughter. "Jerk," he said, giving her an affectionate shove.
"Talking to the cat again?"
They had made it as far as the first courtyard before running into anyone.
Sheriti glared up at her older brother, Mai. "The cat has more interesting things to say to me than you do. Keep your nose in your own business, Mai Kheruef," she hissed.
"It's every bit my business if the daughter of the very ruler of our great house cannot keep her mouth in check."
"Well, that has nothing to do with Jan, now, does it?" She smiled sweetly, and turned back to the sand cat. "Let's leave her highness to her royal planning, shall we?"
Janais giggled quietly.
Mai grabbed her shoulder and spun her around; she noted with satisfaction his flushed face. "When I'm pharaoh, there'll be less of that; you'll find yourself in an entirely different predicament."
"When you're pharaoh? Forgive me, I had thought you were already." She ripped herself from his grasp, and nodded primly before turning to go. "I suppose the notes from the priest were just consulting about the next sacrifice."
"I need those back, Sheriti!"
She laughed. "Then take them back. Don't tell me the slaves probing around my chamber were from mother. Anyway, I'm bored with this, and I have so very much to do. Good day, dear brother."
She strode away, Janais hot on her heels.
"You shouldn't be so rude to your brother."
"Why ever not?"
"He'll be important one day. Then you'll be in trouble."
"He'll be no more important than he is now. He already has more power than the pharaoh himself, really. And even when he is pharaoh," she twirled a thin braid around her finger absently, "why should that mean I'd be in trouble?"
"Not..." He flattened his ears against his head as they exited the courtyard back through the tall archway. "Oh, I give up."
"Good. Your attention is better focused elsewhere... and not there," she added, as his head turned to watch a young she-cat flounce by. "I need you to help me."
"Mmhm..." The cat smiled at him, and his walking took on more of a strut.
"Osiris, you're distractible! Look, that queen's had six litters of kittens already this year, and she's on her next batch now."
"How can you possibly—"
"Her nipples."
"What?"
"Cat's nipples become pinker and more visible after a few weeks."
"Look, I'm not exactly going to stare at every she-cat's—"
She waved at him impatiently. "That's your problem, Jan; you look, but you don't observe."
"My problem?"
"Everyone's problem; don't get offended."
"Are you sure it's not just your problem?" he asked, scrunching up his nose. "That you're too observant?"
She laughed. "It's only a problem if it's meretricious, and in my case, it's quite beneficial. Now, come on, while Mai's cooling off. I want to revisit the tomb before dark."
They entered the tomb the same way they had left it. As Sheriti slipped through the narrow entrance, Janais paused, examining the sand.
"No footprints."
"No, Janais, there are no footprints. Come along."
He squeezed into the dark tunnel. "But it hasn't been windy!"
"There never were any footprints."
"So the thieves..."
"Went a different way, or they're still here."
"Still here? Why would they..." He stopped suddenly, nearly walking into Sheriti as she bent down to examine the floor.
"Hold still." She pulled out a long ivory hair pin, and jiggled it in a crack in the rock. After a few seconds, a small pebble fell out, revealing the end of a string Janais hadn't noticed before.
"Trip cord," he murmured.
"Yes, yes; back up, will you?"
He shuffled out of her way, watching in nervous anticipation as she began to play with the string. With a few jerks, she worked it loose, and sprang back just in time to avoid being hit by a small volley of arrows.
"Isis! Why'd you do that?" Janais padded forward, craning his neck to see his friend.
He stopped. The rock sloped away to a small cavern, and inside, Sheriti was examining two bodies crushed against the cave wall by an immense stone pillar. "What do you think?"
He sighed, then opened his mouth wide and drew stale air over his glands. "Just died maybe a day ago, two males. The thieves?"
"Without a doubt; caught by the weight trap that I just unarmed by releasing the trip cord. This—" she nodded to the one she was examining "is the one that pushed me off that ledge.
He chuckled softly. "His mistake." He padded over, and nudged her hand. "What's that?"
She held up a small clay scarab beetle. "Identification."
"Identification? That thing? You could buy twenty of those from any artist in Egypt!" he scoffed.
"True. But look at the blue dye on its wings; that exact shade is found nowhere but in Cairo. And that means—" there was a twinkle in her eyes now "that there's an artist by the name of Seb selling these. And I think I know which one." She slipped it into her pocket, and strode out of the chamber.
"For Bastet's sake!" Janais hurried after her. "How do you know it wasn't just stolen with the other treasure?"
"It's too new for that. As badly made as it is—it's only half-baked—it would have crumbled in a year or two, left in the pyramids."
They turned a corner, ducked under a low ledge, and continued down a steep incline.
"Alright," Janais said slowly, "pretend I believe you. Why would the thieves be carrying a clay scarab while looting tombs?"
She shrugged. "They weren't thieves to begin with, obviously. Their clothes are well made, but worn thin from overuse, being the only garment in their possession. They were starving, so they might have sold this stuff off for a little bread. But someone offers them a deal, something better, probably something illegal, or at least that would draw unwanted attention." She rubbed at the scarab between her fingers, watching bits of clay patter into the stone floor. "The scarab could be identification, but I doubt it; too easily stolen, or lost. Maybe it's valuable. Why carry it, then? Where do you put your valuables? In your house, usually, but they could be stolen. Bury them, maybe. But if you don't have a place to live, or don't stay in one place for very long, you'd have to keep them with you at all times. Latter's more likely, so, traveling. Now, the scarab's valuable. Of course, it's only a clay scarab. So it means something, and due to the nature of their errand, it has to do with how they were planning on disposing with the treasure. Valuable treasure? Sell it. In Egypt? No, bad idea, it'll be traced back to you. Far away? Much better. We're looking for a traveling merchant disguised as an artist selling clay scarabs by the name of Seb."
They walked in silence for a few paces; Janais started to laugh. "Fantastic."
Sheriti grinned. "Well. You up for a trip to the market tomorrow?"
"Are we going to get them caught?"
They came out into dark air colder than the tomb they had left. "Not my business how men like to make their money."
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"...But we have to follow through, of course. Couldn't leave a problem incomplete."
"Oh, shut up. You're enjoying yourself."
"Yes I am. Isn't this great? First interesting thing to happen in Cairo all season. It must be Wep-renpet!"
They snuck back to the palace in silence. Even before the sun had fully left the horizon, Sheriti prodded Janais awake.
"Jan. Janais."
"Wha-at?" He yawned widely, and stretched against the limestone floor.
"Time to go." Sheriti pulled her linen bag out from under a cracked stone slab, and slipped out of the room, not waiting for Janais to follow.
Past the lines of servants, through long corridors and vast halls. "Father has an inferiority complex as large as his precious sun god; this place could have been so much smaller, and still practical," she murmured as they finally left the palace over a low wall.
"You're telling me. I have to walk hundreds of paces to get out at night."
Sheriti grinned. "Ra knows Mai picked the inner-most chamber so it'd be harder for us to leave."
"And you took that as a challenge," he muttered.
They soon found themselves in battered on every side; cries of "beer, freshly fermented!" and "honey bread!" crashed into the clamour of the crowd.
"There's too many sounds," Sheriti murmured.
Janais chuckled. "For all your prowess in 'deduction', you're still no cat."
"Why would I want to be a cat? I have opposable thumbs."
"Humans don't know how to use their noses," he preened.
"And yet my eyes alone observe better than your heightened sense of smell." She glanced up at a slab of stone inscribed with hieroglyphs. "This is Seb's shop." She ducked into the gloom.
"...can't even see in the dark," he muttered, and leapt after her.
Inside, dust lay thick on overturned crates; delicate sculptures of Osiris and Anubis lay, half-finished, on a makeshift table.
Sheriti's foot connected with a fallen piece of clay.
"Hello?" A weak voice wavered in the air; Janais's ears pricked up as he heard shuffling feet.
"Who's there? I have nothing to sell today." A stooped man entered the room, his head wrapped with a long grey cloth. "Oh." He crinkled his eyes as he took a look at Sheriti; dirt fell from his skin in a shower. "I have nothing to sell today," he repeated, shaking his head.
Sheriti picked up one of the half-finished clay figures. "These are very good," she said, watching what she could see of his face. "How long do you spend on them?"
He shrugged. "As long as I need to." He reached to take it back, when something thumped against the wall in the next room, then the crash of pottery against the floor. He draw back sharply. "Ankesen!"
"Sorry!" a young girl around Sheriti's age trotted into the room. "There's two men here to see you, Seb." She noticed Sheriti, and smiled eagerly; Sheriti regarded her coldly, and she blushed, and looked back to the old man.
"Well, bring them in, then!" He turned to Sheriti. "You'll have to go now. I'm closing for the afternoon. Good day."
He followed them to the door, and slammed it behind them.
"Well, that was a waste of—where are you doing?"
Sheriti ran around the back of the building, and fiddled with the shutters on a window.
"Sheriti, you can't be serious. It's just an old man and his pottery shop."
"Twenty-eight."
"What?"
"He's twenty-eight; you just saw his hunched back, and the clay covering his hair and face." She slid the shutters open, and peered inside. "And those half-finished sculptures" she added, lowering her voice to a murmur, "have been half finished for at least a season. There's dust all over the place, except anything below waist-level where Ankesen crashed into it, but more importantly, except on those crates."
Janais waited a moment. "So?" he finally asked.
"Hm?" She looked back at him.
"What's with the crates, then?"
"The ones turned right side up, they're extremely heavy, filled with clay. He makes clay scarabs, Jan. Not to sell, though; he uses them to smuggle out precious gems, gold, anything small enough to fit in a piece of clay."
"What?"
She tossed him her little woven bag; he caught it in his jaw, then dropped it quickly, and spat on the sand. "Yuck; dust." He nudged it with his nose, and it tipped over, sending clay dust spilling out. At the top of the pile, a gold Anubis statuette gleamed in the bright sun. "So this is advance payment, or something? For the grave robbers?"
"Mm." She turned and scooped up the statuette from the clay.
"Where are we going now?" he asked, running after her as they walked away from the shop.
"Dock; do keep up. They were just discussing leaving times—so much for cats' hearing."
"I was listening to you, not—"
"Seb's leaving with the next batch for trading, possibly for Rome."
"For how long?"
"A while. He gutted the shop before he left."
"Oh." Janais walked faster.
They made it to the dock as dozens of slaves loaded crates onto the ship. Sheriti slipped into the crowd, then walked past the ship.
"What are you doing?" Jan hissed. "Stop them!"
"The last time I stopped a ship, it was..." She shook her head. "Mai's made sure I won't have another chance at that."
"Fine, you pissed off your brother again. What are we going to do?" As the last of the crates was packed onto the ship, the old man, Seb, emerged from the crowd to follow two of the slaves onto the ship. "Sheriti?" Janais turned; Sheriti was standing on the wooden planks of the dock.
"For Ra's sake, get over here; they're leaving!" Sheriti leapt after the retreating figure, landed lightly on the ship deck. She turned, and beckoned impatiently. "Jump, Janais!"
Janais skidded to the edge of the water, then stumbled back; eyes wide, pupils dilated.
"Janais, snap out of it!" Sheriti glanced back at the boat; Seb had already disappeared behind the wooden crates stacked against the deep, v-shaped hull of the trade ship. She watched a sweating slave heave an amphora back into place. There was no doubt that this ship was bound for Rome. Mai had ensured she could never leave Cairo for long, but this... Rome could never be boring. And yet—she glanced back at Janais; he hadn't moved, and watched her unblinkingly. Go, then, he seemed to say.
She turned back to the ship when it jolted, suddenly; Sheriti, perched on the edge of the boat, lost her footing and splashed into the water. She treaded water for a moment, helplessly watching it float away, then swam back to shore.
Janais hurried over to her as she climbed out of the water, away from the crowd of workers loading another merchant ship. "Are you alright?"
"Fine." She watched the boat pulling away regretfully, ignoring the water streaming from her sodden clothes. "Pity the boat jolted just then," she said carefully, sneaking a look at Janais; he gave a wry smile.
"Bad luck, losing your balance like that," he agreed, rubbing his head against her hand.
"Alright there, young one?" The old servant, Lesonis, came hobbling toward them, worry tugging at his brow; sent by Mai to spy on her, no doubt. "Saw you fall there. You're a strong swimmer."
"I'm fine, thank you." She arranged her face into a polite smile. "And how are you faring?"
"What? Oh, fine..."
"I'm sorry about your daughter."
"Thank you... How did you know? Been talking to your cat again?" He chuckled uneasily, and bent down to pat Janais's head.
"Yes," Sheriti agreed, noting his sandy knees, sun burnt head and shoulders, the fading smell of the embalming oils and spices from a funeral not hours ago. Toil too personal for any other death. "Janais tells me everything," she murmured, tickling behind his ear.
She could have sworn his answering mew resembled words.