City of the Dead

on a swing,’ he replied, it goes up and up, forwards and back, and usually when it is too high you can stop it by ceasing to use your body as a pendulum. The swing that I am on has its ropes attached to the sky, and it has pulled me further and further, higher and higher, until I can look down and see the whole earth beneath me. And I cannot stop it, Nubenehem. All I can do to get back to safety is jump off.’
    ‘And break your neck?’
    ‘There is that risk. But there is no choice.’
    Nubenehem was silent again, but not for long.
    ‘I will help you.’ For a moment Huy thought her look was sympathetic; but then the craftiness crept back into her eyes, it will cost you plenty; I have no idea if I can find what you want, and I do not know what excuse I can find to stop tongues blabbing. Fortunately in this part of town death is frequent and the population shifts.’ She looked up at him. ‘I need some money now.’
    Huy opened his purse. ‘How much?’

    Once he had concluded his business, he crossed the square quickly to the drinking house and ordered a jar of fig liquor and a bowl of sunflower seeds. He found a place on a bench and squeezed into it, his back to the wall, looking round the small plain room at his companions. They were all locals, some of them known to him, and he had lived in the quarter long enough not to be an object of curiosity for them.
    He also needed to think about how he was going to finance the queen’s escape without her co-operation. He doubted if Ay would underwrite the hire of a boat and Nubenehem’s fee completely. He drank some of the liquor. It was poorly made and scorched his throat. Perhaps he would have to take Ay further into his confidence.
    Much later, and still uncertain, he made his way back to his house.
    He had reached the edge of the square before he realised that something was wrong. He stood still, in the shadow of the nearest building. Some of the market traders had not dismantled their tumbledown stalls, and he looked in their direction. From a bundle of abandoned sacking which had contained fruit, first the snout and then the body of a large black rat emerged. Satisfied that all was well, it waddled across the centre of the square. Huy followed it with his eyes until it disappeared into the shadow of the opposite wall. Still Huy waited, alert as a fox in open desert, but nothing moved.
    Finally, he started on his way again, but, lacking the assurance of the rat, he skirted the walls until he reached his door. There was still nothing, and there was nothing when he went in; but his unease did not leave him. Quietly he climbed the narrow steps that led up to the bedroom, but everything was as he had left it. He descended again and made his way through the main room to the bathroom at the back, where he saw that he had not refilled the wooden water bucket. The room, and the small courtyard at the back, were deserted.
    He returned to the front of the house, but he had begun to relax, and he did not see the knife soon enough. It sliced upwards, cutting his cheek to the bone, which stopped the blade just below his left eye. Gasping, he pulled backwards, aware how the liquor had slowed him. Blood filled his mouth and he choked on it. His eyes watered so that he could not focus on the lean figure in front of him.
    ‘Hello, Huy,’ said Kenamun. The knife plunged forwards again, but Huy managed to shrink back and it cut air.
    ‘You shit; you nearly destroyed me,’ said Kenamun, breathing hard. Huy noticed that, and wondered how fit the man was. His actions were fast enough, certainly. He tried to reply, but the blood that kept pouring into his mouth would not let him. He risked drowning in it, he knew. He made himself breathe through his nose but the knife had cut into the back of it and now his nostrils filled with blood too. He spat out a beakerful and gulped air.
    Kenamun must have seen what a mess his victim was in because he relaxed, straightening and holding the knife slack. He pushed Huy gently in the chest with the flat of his hand. Huy staggered back a pace into the bathroom, but kept his balance.
    ‘You are dying,’ said Kenamun. He pushed Huy again, harder. Spitting and gulping, Huy fell back against the wall, his arms sprawling, his hands grabbing for support as he slid to the floor.
    Kenamun leant over him. Huy could see the grinning face, the pencil beard, through a haze of blood, i think you have been getting ideas above your station, Huy,’ he