City of the Dead

arrogance and self regard would not let him succeed entirely. He remained dry and cool - bloodless as a lizard. Huy had no doubt that he deliberately interviewed people in this room, where the worst effects of the heat were intensified, to put them at a disadvantage from which he did not suffer himself.
    ‘You come from Ay?’
    ‘Indirectly. His office started the inquiry I am following up.’
    Merinakhte frowned. ‘But there is an official investigation into the king’s death. I have told them all I found at the examination.’
    ‘We are working in tandem with the official inquiry. A method of cross-checking our information,’ lied Huy, praying that the doctor would not cross-check himself. It seemed unlikely. The man had climbed too high too young to be anything other than a political appointee, and as such he would be careful not to tread on the toes of any potential master. Even if Horemheb had put him where he was, he would still not feel confident enough to defy any emissary of Ay. Huy wondered bow many people like Merinakhte there were in the Southern Capital now — little people who had climbed on to one or other of the emmer-carts of the two men now in contention for the Golden Chair. No voices, he reflected, had been raised on behalf of the unborn god-king beginning to form inside the queen. Even , e gods of the city, massive and enigmatic in their solid temples, had remained discreetly silent.
    ‘You were the first to see the king after his accident: asked Huy.
    ‘No. I only saw him after he was brought back to the city. ‘
    ‘How long was it since his death when you saw him?’
    ‘Not long at all. It was early morning still. They brought him directly here.’
    ‘And what was the cause of death?’
    ‘Surely you must know that,’ snapped Merinakhte.
    ‘I know what the wound was. How do you think it was caused?’ replied Huy evenly.
    ‘An accidental blow.’
    ‘He must have been hit by something sharp and solid?’
    ‘I don’t know what it is you want me to say, but there is no question of its being anything other than an accident, Merinakhte’s voice was still aggressive, though an element of caution had crept in.
    ‘Did you see the chariot?’
    ‘Why would that have been necessary?’
    Huy paused. ‘Do you think, then, that he might have struck his head on part of the chariot, or its equipment, as he fell from it?’
    ‘That is obvious. Really I do not see the point of this insulting cross-questioning. My reputation is a high one. How do you think I became a deputy-governor of the House of Healing?’ Huy spread his hands, deprecatingly. ‘I merely follow orders, he said in a manner designed to be irritating.
    ‘Ask any of my colleagues. They will tell you the same. Merinakhte became conciliatory. ‘Ask Horaha. He conducted the examination with me.’
    ‘I intend to.’
    ‘Good.’
    They glared at each other for a moment, Merinakhte still unsure. Huy could imagine the message speeding to Horemheb as soon as he had left. He wondered if the general would take any action, but felt moderately secure in his own unimportance. Merinakhte would describe him as ‘a messenger purporting to come from Ay’, or in similar terms. Horemheb would wonder at that, and get his spies to investigate further. Ay’s household would be ready to confuse them.
    ‘One last thing,’ said Huy.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Whom did you report to?’
    Merinakhte allowed himself a superior smile. ‘Are you really from Ay? You seem remarkably ill informed. Do you have any written authorisation?’
    ‘You’re leaving it a little late to ask for that,’ retorted Huy. ‘The degree of your co-operation has been noted.’ With that, he turned on his heel, inwardly content at the insecurity he had sown.
    He left the House of Healing and made his way out of the main courtyard, turning right and heading towards the little compound set among dom palms where the doctors’ houses were arranged in neat rows, separated by tidy gardens, each with its own containing wall and central fishpond. The shady streets which divided them were swept and clean, and mingled with the pleasing smell of dust and distant spices which hung over most of the city apart from the dirty, cluttered harbour quarter, there was the scent of safflowers.
    The building he was looking for stood on its own at the end of a row, on a corner where two streets met. He knocked at a door painted a dull red, set into a white, plastered wall, over whose top