City of the Dead

down the street to another square. This was almost as empty as the one on which he lived; but on one corner there was a dingy drinking house, and in the middle of the wall opposite was a low entrance with a sign above it 'it by an oil lamp: City of Dreams. It was a brothel, a familiar place which he had occasionally used, along with the rivermen, tradesmen and craftsmen who lived in the harbour quarter. It was run by a fat Nubian called Nubenehem who had grown so large that she was virtually incapable of moving from the couch she inhabited behind the low table from which she conducted her affairs in the entrance of the house. The dimly-lit room was dominated these days by a statue of the god Min, adorned with an erection of prodigious length and width.
    Nubenehem was more than a friend. She had been Huy’s accomplice, provider and, now and then, confessor. But he had never begged a favour like the one he asked now.
    The idea seemed ramshackle, even to him; but with Senseneb’s medical skill, and Nubenehem’s limitless contacts in the harbour quarter, it might work.
    The fat Nubian was dealing with a client, a spindly young man who stood by nervously while his equally spindly father negotiated for a girl to initiate his son. When the youth saw Huy he turned away and studied the wall behind him with great attention.
    His father was trying to beat Nubenehem’s price down. ‘But you want a good girl,’ she was saying. ‘By the gods, if you set him off with a cut-rate one, what kind of impression is he going to have of women?’
    ‘I won’t pay more than one piece.’
    She spread her hands, a comical expression of distress covering her suffocating features. ‘We don’t have any girls for under one kitë. That’s our lowest rate.’ She appeared to consider, catching Huy’s eye. ‘Look, I’ll tell you what we could do. Little Kafy is between clients — well, she’s not so little these days, but she’s had plenty of experience — and I could let him have her for half an hour now for one and a half kitë of silver. The gentleman who’s just come in knows her. He’ll vouch for her.’
    After the matter had been settled and Kafy had been summoned for the father’s approval, draping her ample body round the apprehensive boy before leading him off, with his watchful father in attendance, into the brothel’s interior, Nubenehem turned to Huy.
    ‘Do I recognise you?’
    ‘A moment ago you did.’
    ‘Huy.’
    ‘Am I that much of a stranger?’
    ‘If all my clients were like you I wouldn’t be here any more.’
    ‘I’m here to ask you something.’
    ‘I’m relieved. For just a moment I thought you might have missed me. Did you see how fat Kafy’s become? She eats to console herself. She misses you.’
    ‘Will you help me?’
    Nubenehem gave him what passed for a smile: the folds around her mouth arranged themselves more comfortably. ‘You know me. If you pay me, I’ll help you.’
    Huy licked his lips.
    ‘That difficult, is it?’ asked Nubenehem.
    ‘I need a body.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘A corpse.A girl’s dead body.’
    Nubenehem half rose, despite herself. ‘Now I know you’ve gone mad.’
    ‘Can you get one?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘It is very important.’
    Nubenehem looked at him. ‘I can get you all the live girls you want. But when they’re dead, they need a little peace.’
    ‘This one will have peace. She will get a better burial than she would ever have dreamed of, and her Ka will live in the valley.’
    Now Nubenehem sat up. ‘ What ?’
    ‘I need a dead body,’ repeated Huy. ‘A girl who looks like Queen Ankhsenpaamun. Have you seen her? Do you know what she looks like?’
    ‘I have seen her. But what you are asking is impossible. Sure People die, young people die, young girls die; but not to order. When do you need it anyway?’
    ‘Now.’
    ‘Be serious.’
    ‘Within the next two days.’
    ‘I asked you to be serious.’
    ‘She need not be identical. People change in death. But she must bear a good passing resemblance. So that with make-up we can disguise her as the queen.’
    Nubenehem said nothing for a moment. She looked inwards. From the depths of the house beyond came a burst of music, played badly on a lute, and a theatrical squeal of pleasure. ‘What are you doing, Huy?’
    ‘I cannot tell you, and you would not want to know.’
    ‘You are right, I would not.’ She paused again. ‘Are you sure you are not flying too high at last?’
    ‘It is like being a child