AN OFFER WHICH COULDN'T BE REFUSED

"Setne! Look at this ruby!"

Inhetep didn't look up. He was bent over a large fragment of ancient papyrus, examining the faded hieroglyphs inked there some five thousand years ago by a long-dead fellow dweom-ercraefter. "Yes. Of course. How nice," he muttered without hearing what she had said.

"No, I mean it. The diamonds surrounding it are matched, flawless!"

The magister bent still closer to the yellowed sheet, peering through his special lens. "I understand. Matched. No blemishes ..."

"The seven teardrop-shaped pearls are pink, Setne, as pink as my cl—"

"Pearls you say? A ruby set with diamonds?" She had his attention at last.

"Clematis blossoms," she continued. "Just look there."

"Never mind the blasted flowers," Setne grumbled in annoyance at her frippeiy. "If you must

interrupt my research, Rachelle, at least be succinct and do show it to me,"

Rachelle's eyes grew round, her voice registered shock as she said, "Right here? Now? Why, Magister! It's only mid-morning. What if the servants come in?! But I can never refuse your commands, Omnipotent One. ..."

"Will you stop!" he nearly shouted. But the papyrus was now completely forgotten, not just put aside for a moment. Inhetep was on his feet, walking to where she stood near the balcony doors. "You did say something about a ruby, I believe."

She nodded, not removing her hands from where she held them behind her back. "That's right. It came in a package delivered by the Pharaoh's post just a few minutes ago. It's really nothing compared to your ancient scrap of ogus-bogus there, though, I'm sure. Never mind. Just return to that owlish peering you were doing. Ill take care of the bauble."

"Oh, no. I want to see that fabulous gem. Why wasn't I given the mail, as I have instructed old Djemer-t a thousand times?"

He was reaching towards her as he approached, and Rachelle backed away a little. She drew a deep breath, knowing the thin cotton of her chemise would emphasize what she desired it to. Teasing Seine could be so much fun! "You pointed to me when Djemer-t brought it to you, dear Magister. What choice did he have? He is only the butler, you know. Djemer-t gave the package to me, and I opened it. Finders keepers!"

"Bah!" With that exclamation, Inhetep pounced, grabbed her up off the ground, and kissed her heartily on her full lips. Setne found them soft, yielding, delicious, in fact. He had to remind himself of what he had been after. "Well, then . . . Ahem! Let's have it."

"You are so masterful," Rachelle breathed, kissing him hotly as if in answer, and then wiggled her shoulders, pretending she was trying to get out of her shift. "Who cares about that old fossil Djemer-t, anyway? Take me, you savage!"

Inhetep was at the point of saying something, possibly his agreement, but then suddenly heard, "Pardon, my lord, did you call?"

Djemer-t's wrinkled face was, of course, expressionless. Inhetep stared hard to detect the slightest sign. He found nothing. How did the fellow have such a knack? Determined to outdo the stone-faced old butler, Setne returned an equally bland answer. "You are observant, Djemer-t?"

"But of course, my lord."

"Exactly when did the post arrive?"

That seemed to surprise him a little, but Djemer-t quickly lowered his raised brow. "Half an hour ago, my lord."

"You brought the package delivered directly, to me?"

"Well, I had to delay a few minutes in order to see that matters were progressing properly for lunch—you have six guests arriving," the old fellow added smoothly as both explanation and to gently remind his frequently forgetful master of that fact. "Immediately upon caring for that matter, my lord, I came here to your study, but ..."

"But?"

Djemer-t noted the reprimand in the tone of Inhetep's voice. He was veiy apologetic, polite, and firm as he answered, "I could not hand you the parcel, my lord, because you refused it. You were obviously engrossed in a matter you deemed more important than the receipt of a mere package. By word and gesture you indicated that I must deliver it to the Lady Ra-chelle. I obeyed your wishes, my lord, as Her Ladyship will attest." He made a little bow towards Racbelle.

"Oh." The word escaped the magister's mouth before he could stop it. He forged ahead, determined to best this household autocrat at his own game. "I am pleased to find your recall so precise, but I have far more important questions to test it with, Djemer-t."

"As you wish, my lord."

Inhetep glanced around quickly, and by luck his eyes fell upon the wrappings and the wooden box which they had enclosed. Setne pointed to these as he asked, "The man who delivered that, was he familiar to you?"

The butler shook his head. "No, my lord, he was not the regular post rider."

"What did he look like?"

"Well, ah, let me ponder a moment . . . my lord," the man added in guilty afterthought. "He was, er, rather ordinary and . . . and ... I have it, my lord! He looked to be foreign, sir. He was an easterner of some sort."

The magister allowed a slight frown to pass across his countenance. "What sort of an easterner, Djemer-t? A Yarban? An Afghani? A man of Ch'in, perhaps? Come, come. You must do better than that!"

The butler looked downcast. "Yes, certainly, my lord. He appeared to be fuliginous of complexion. Perhaps he was a Vedic or a Hind."

"And you didn't remark on such a man bearing Pharaoh's post?"

"No, my lord. I have such responsibilities—"

"Never mind excuses, Djemer-t." There was no warmth in Inhetep's words. "And what else did you note—or fail to see? His mount—was it unusual, perhaps?"

The butler's eyes opened wide. "Now that you say that, my lord, I recall there was indeed something odd about it!"

"And just what was that oddity, pray tell?"

"Well, my lord, the horse. It didn't seem, well, right."

Inhetep cocked a brow. "Right? What was wrong with the animal?"

"It just didn't seem to say 'horse' as such creatures do, if you get my meaning. Your Lordship." Djemer-t hesitated only a moment, then added, "I am dreadfully sorry, my lord, but that's all. I fear I cannot actually describe the steed or its rider."

"No, of course not. No matter, for J know what seemed wrong about the horse. That will be all, Djemer-t. You may go."

As the old fellow walked from the room with what dignity he could manage, Rachelle grinned at Setne. When the door closed behind the retreating major domo, she actually laughed. "That will teach the stuffy old vulture! But what was all that business about the postman and his horse?"

It was the magister's turn to smile in smug satisfaction. "No more teasing and taunting, Rachelle. Hand over that bit of jewelry with the ruby, and 111 tell you what it was all about."

"All right, you win, Setne," she said as she brought her hand from behind her and displayed the ornate necklace. It was an exquisitely crafted piece of thin gold, alive with flashing diamonds and depending pearls, drawing the eye to a corundum gem of at least fifty carats' weight. The incredible blood-ruby was clearly set so as to depend dramatically toward the low decolletage of a beautiful woman's dress. "It's so lovely. Can I have it?"

"The amazon huntress begging for a bauble?" He stopped his jibes when he saw her face. "I guess it is actually a marvelous piece of jewelry, isn't it? I don't blame you, Rachelle, for being captivated by its beauty, now that I stop and really look at it. Yet you are over-anxious, and as much as I hate to say it, over-presumptuous. "

"Setne!"

"No, I mean it. Who sent us this fabulous gem? Why?"

She was silent, suddenly thoughtful of her total lack of attention to critical matters. Ra-chelle's eyes darted over to the torn wrappings, the sandalwood box lined in black velvet to cradle the necklace. "I didn't see any message, Setne. Not even a note. Who could have sent it to you?"

"Me?"

"Yes. I did look at the writing on the wrapping, Setne. It was addressed to you as 'Magis-ter S. Inhetep'."

The tall wizard-priest went over to the table upon which the discarded paper and box it had contained rested. He took the wrapper up first and read what had been written on it. It was just as Rachelle had said, and included after his name the proper location of his villa rest dence—The Noble House of Nine Flowers, Way of Auf 38, Abtugeb Sepat, /Egypt. The hand had written the hieratic script bookishly correct. The ink was the sort which would not smudge or run if subsequently dampened. Next the paper. It was brown but fine and patterned. Tough. There were silk threads in it. He held the wrapper up. "This is all?"

"If you mean, is that what the box was wrapped in—yes."

"There was no cord?"

Rachelle shook her head. "Should there have been?"

Ignoring that question, the magister tossed the wrapper aside and picked up the case in which the necklace had snuggled in its journey to them. He peered inside, then closed it and looked over the outer portion of the box. He hefted it, sniffed it, doing the same a moment later as he reopened it. "A beautiful fragrance from sandalwood." Then he tugged at the form-fitted lining. "Have to make certain," he told Rachelle cryptically. Then he closed it for a second time and began running his hands over the wood.

"Does it feel nice, too?" she asked in evident annoyance. Rachelle was curious, and she knew that Setne was deliberately not telling her what he had learned. It wasn't that he was getting even for her teasing, either; he was always that way, showing off his abilities.

"Feel nice? Yes . . . I . . . perceive it does . . . now that you . . . mention it; but . . . this is what I was after!" he exclaimed with triumph. His long fingers, with a last little pressure, had caused the surface of the container's top to cant upward at a slight angle. Out came a small, white rectangle: a folded sheet of thinnest paper. "Hah!"

Rachelle sprang forward and caught it before he could put down the box and pick the scrap of paper from where it floated towards the floor. She unfolded its filmy squares with great care, but with astounding quickness nonetheless. "Damn! It's written in some gibberish I can't read!"

"Not gibberish," Inhetep countered, peering over her head to see the inscription. "It's Hin-dic—and addressed to me, if you don't mind." She held the paper up, not looking behind her. The magister took it, walked away, and seated himself comfortably in his favorite chair. "Shall I read aloud?"

"Oh, yes, please do," she simpered back. Then she stuck her tongue out. "Magister-Know-It-All!"

Setne remained calmly watching, waiting until Rachelle was seated in the nearby armchair, then he began:

"From He Who Sits on the Peacock Throne. "To The Renowned and All-Knowing S. In-hetep, Prince, Grand Wizard and Mighty Priest of Pharaoh, Magister, Hammer of Wrong-Doers and Unraveller of Mysteries.

Greetings!

"Now there's someone with proper respect," he said with mock admonition in his voice as he looked at the impatient girl. Then, with a great show of smoothing the paper and clearing his throat, he continued:

"I have taken all precautions to see that this missive and the accompanying gift arrive swiftly and safely in your hands. I beg you accept the trantle, respectfully request your attention to My dire difficulty. Master Thief-Catcher Inhetep! A magician has penetrated My vault, made off with the finest gems in My treasury. I am shorn of Honor, bereft of Splendor, without Dignity unless and until the lost items are restored. Wealth up to half of all I own is yours if you accept My commission. Speed to Me! Come in all haste. Each day which passes with the thief unpunished is an unbearable eternity! Fly to Me on wings! Apprehend the culprit and recover the crown jewels. My gratitude will be as bounteous as that of the Heavens, "(signed and sealed)

"Guldir Maharajah Sivadji"

He was watching her. Rachelle hated that look. "That's all?"

"That's the entire message."

She held up the necklace. Crimson lire flashed as a single sunbeam struck the ruby, sent dancing rays of scarlet to dart across the pale walls and play upon the ceiling, as the jewel swung and turned. "A very expensive attention-getter—risky to send . . . and presumptive."

"How so?"

"The author of that plea had no assurance t hat such a valuable piece of jewelry would actually arrive here, even though he wrote to the contrary. Topping that, he failed to Identify himself clearly, saying only thai he was a rnaharajah."

Inhetep smiled. "Do you really like that necklace?"

"Setne! Of course I'd like it! It's stunning, but . . ."

He lifted his hands, turned them palm upwards, and extended them toward her as he said, "Then it is a commission which I cannot refuse."

"Nobody would refuse such a gift, but the rest? You don't know who you are to serve."

"Oh, but I do, my dear," Inhetep told her. "I admit to having a little fun with the pompous Djemer-t. He needed to be reminded who is master here."

"And you've been doing the same with me, haven't you, you swine?" There was no anger or actual insult in her voice, but rather familiarity which acknowledged long experience at being heckled thus. "Come on, Inhetep. Give it to me straight."

The magister didn't push his luck. "Of course," he said in a businesslike voice. "You of all people must know, for if you really want me to keep that bauble and undertake the case, then you too will be involved.

"First, immediately upon seeing that the necklace was real, not some bit of costume jewelry of paste and glass, I knew it never came by post. The one who delivered the parcel was surely one high in the ranks of those serving the sender. Naturally, considering the distances involved, the dangers of a journey over land and water, that one could not have come by regular means. Thus, old Djemer-t's confusion regarding the fellow's horse. It was no normal mount; it could only have been a steed of magickal sort, dweomered by high heka to move as the wind above desert and sea. That assured its swift and safe arrival. Only a fool would trust such an object to a normal courier. Then again, the package was unbonded by cord and seal and bore no franking of any kind, either Eastern or Egyptian. I submit that its arrival at the usual time for such postal delivery was coincidence."

She made a sign of shame in his direction.

"You had arrived at those conclusions before vou queried Djemer-t about the matter, hadn't you? You were just making him squirm." She couldn't remain serious as she said that, for the thought of the stuffy old butler caught thus made Rachelle giggle. The household's major domo had tyrannized her more than once.

"Yes. It is amusing, isn't it?" Setne drawled rhetorically. "But there is the second, more important matter ..."

"Oh, yes. Sorry, Setne. Do go on."

"The Guldir Maharajah Sivadji, Sivadji Guldir iis he is known generally, identified himself immediately in his missive—name, rank, location, all."

"How so? You skipped something just to keep me in the dark, didn't you? That's not fair!"

The magister arose, took the necklace from Rachelle's hands, and bestowed it upon her with ceremony. "This is your gift now, my dear. The maharajah who sits upon the grand Peacock Throne in the city of Delhi has made me an offer which neither you nor I can refuse. We must prepare for immediate departure."

— 2 ——

TO GO QUICKLY

"But my lord, what about your guests?" Djemer-t was actually wringing his hands and pleading. "What am I to tell them?"

Inhetep smiled. "You have been the major domo of this manor for far too many years to need my advice, my good Djemer-t," he said heartily and then gave the stricken butler a familiar pat on the shoulder. "But you might find it helpful to tell the truth."

"Truth? What does Your Lordship mean? Are you implying—"

"Of course not, Djemer-t! Perish the thought. I meant that you merely need to state the facts of the matter: 'Magister Inhetep has received a royal summons which he deemed impossible to refuse.' Obviously I regret the inconvenience to Tarina Bilkhnu and Lady Atamati, Repa Min-hoten and Repat Hatamet, General Smer Khnemos and his . . . ah . . . friend. You will, naturally, convey that regret, Djemer-t." With that little bit of instruction, Inhetep returned to readying his traveling gear.

The usually implacable butler was unable to hide his stricken expression. He actually groaned. The first named of the guests that he, Djemer-t, a mere major domo, must break the bad news to was Tarina, Minister of Noble Affairs, a prince and blood relation, no matter how distant, to Pharaoh. It was no better in regards to the Duke Minhoten and Duchess Hatamet. The militaiy officer was a count with a hero's record and vast estates. What was he to do? "Begging your pardon, my lord, but wouldn't it be possible for you to delay your departure just a little . . . ?"

Upon seeing the state Djemer-t was in, the magister took pity. "No, it isn't. However, in conveying my apologies and deepest regrets, do extend the hospitality of my home to them. You have my permission to bring forth whatever you deem suitable under the circumstances, from larder, buttery, and wine cellar. I believe that chilled Francian champagne, the Haut Kristal, would be refreshing to dry palates upon arrival. Then some cold roast fowl, fruit, more champagne—you know the routine."

"You mean, my lord, that I may actually . . . ?"

"That's correct, Djemer-t. Don't spare the vintage wines, the best ales, or the most ancient of the liquors. There's sufficient quantities of them to keep even those six happy here for a fortnight or more! Send someone to buy any provisions if you run short. Here's five atens," he added, dropping the heavy gold coins into the butler's hand as he paused in his packing to dig them from his purse, "in case the household treasury is strained, or you need something where I haven't established an account on credit. The staff will be under unusual demands during the coming days, I'm sure, so do feel free to give them some special treats, also. When I get back, I'll consider other things—depending on my guests' satisfaction and the state of the manor."

That more cash would be required for so few visitors to the villa was most unlikely. Hardly an establishment within a dozen miles and more didn't happily sell to Inhetep on credit. He never quibbled about price and paid promptly. Most unusual in an aristocrat. Besides, the household budget was ample, and there were several thousand dinars in coin on hand. Such liberality with regard to the wine cellars was most unusual, indeed! Whatever the magister was up to, thought Djemer-t, it was of utmost importance to Inhetep to get to it, and in a hurry. With wealth such as he possessed, it could hardly be a case of avarice. Still, the necklace he had noted was itself worth enough to buy an estate. What could be the incentive? It had to be uncountable wealth! Never had he seen the wizard-priest so liberal with his coin.

Ah, yes. With so much he would be able to add a few dinars to his retirement cache, too. . . . Putting such thoughts aside, Djemer-t replied, "It will all be as you wish, my lord. Have a splendid journey. It goes without saying, sir, that all will be in order here upon your return."

When the butler departed, Setne turned to Rachelle. "Amazing. Did you see how quickly he went from near hysteria to perfect composure? The fellow is in absolute control once again!"

Rachelle was long finished with her packing, but the magister always fussed over not only his magickal equipage but clothing as well, so he took twice as long to ready half as much as she carried on any journey. This time t hey were traveling light, but he was exceeding even his usually lengthy preparation. Resisting an urge to comment on his painstaking progress, Rachelle said, "It was a good idea to extend the full hospitality of your villa as you did, Setne. Those folks will never know you're not here to play host to them after the first hour. In fact, they'll be glad you weren't on hand, for never would the potables flow so freely otherwise." She saw his grin and knew he was thinking how clever he had been to think of that very thing. Rachelle thought she would deflate him a bit.

"However, dear Setne, weren't you too generous with the money? After all, you know that a good bit of it will end up in the servants' pockets!"

"Of course," he replied easily. "But to gain and hide such . . . gratuities, shall we say, they will have to keep our guests happily entertained here for a long time—as long a period as the six desire to remain. They'll dream up special feasts and entertainments to have an excuse to spend the money and be able to hide a little overage that way. That keeps our guests happy, thus you and 1 are happy, and the staff is happy, too. I'm sure that old Djemer-t will tell them that their mad master even plans to give them yet more reward when he returns to find that the unhosted guests had a rollicking good time without him!"

Rachelle was shocked at such profligacy on his part. "Setne! You won't actually give out bonuses, will you?"

"Certainly I will—provided all was successful. The whole affair here won't be more expensive than the necklace you have just gained, something I'd have bought for you had you asked. We are about to go on an exciting journey to solve a challenging mystery, to bring a criminal to justice, if we are successful. What fun! Lastly, I will receive for my efforts a fabulously high payment, a reward for what I love to do. My dear girl, how can I not be generous to all under such circumstances?"

Rachelle shook her curls in resignation. "Spare me the recounting of yet more, Setne. I should have known better." Then she brightened. "It will be wonderful traveling to Hind, won't it? I've never been to the East. What is it like? And when we regain the crown jewels for the maha-rajah, do you suppose he'll have more such splendid things to give to us?"

"Hmmm ..." said the magister as if lost in thought, considering several small amulets and scarabs which he had drawn from a small inlaid coffer covered in truly repulsive runes which seemed to wiggle if watched for too long. "The maharajah is a strong and absolute monarch," Inhetep finally said as he completed his selection. "Assuming we do recover his royal paraphernalia, who can say what he will bestow upon you, my dear?"

"Assuming? You never fail, Setne."

"There's always a first time, Rachelle. Do keep that in mind. Well need luck and a lot of hard work to manage this one."

Rachelle was surprised to hear him say that. "Don't be negative. Even I know that disposing of something as well known as jewels of state is almost impossible. It will be demanding— finding how the theft was accomplished, who did it, and where they hid their loot. But surely the jewels are hidden somewhere in Delhi. Your hekau will manage to set matters right, and I'll provide the ready sword as needed."

"Not so fast. First of all, Delhi is a big city.

the territory of the same name a state of tens of thousands of square miles. Even goods so precious and bulky as the crown jewels could be smuggled into the mountain kingdoms arcing above Delhi—Kabul, Kashmir, Sirmur, Ka-tehar. In addition, the neighboring state of Oudh to the east would happily receive the missing treasure. So too Sindraj to the south, a powerful kingdom which happens to be at war with the maharajah at this very moment." He paused a moment to consider, raising a hand to keep her from protesting. "But let's assume you are correct. The loot hasn't been smuggled away but is sequestered somewhere not far from Delhi city. Even then, this will be no easy task."

"And why not?"

"As our hopeful employer was so careful to point out, the crown jewels were taken through means which involved some potent heka. If you will recall, the maharajah stated that they were stolen by 'a magician' who had somehow managed to get into and out of the royal strong room, his 'vault'."

That brought a dubious expression to her face. "A mere magician? You are a true wizard, Setne. Don't the greatest heka-benders come from this land?"

"Well, yes, Egypt does have the longest history of heka use and understanding. But that doesn't mean that someone in some other place can't be truly powerful. It is an individual, not an average, we face."

"Individual against individual, Setne," she said with a confident smile. She looked at him, thinking what an exceptional individual he was. Half a foot over six feet from the crown of his shaven head to the soles of his feet, the magister looked to be somewhere between thirty and forty years of age. It was hard to tell, for his red-hued ifSgyptian complexion showed few wrinkles, and his deep green eyes gave no clue. He was older, Rachelle knew. Not even a child prodigy could be so knowing and able without many years of study and practice. It was the very great amount of magickal power he wielded that made him age more slowly, seem younger.

He was handsome, charming when he so wished, and very attractive in his power. What power! Inhetep was more than a very rich hereditary prince, the scion of perhaps the oldest noble house in the Triple Kingdom, as Rachelle well knew. He was honored in ecclesiastical circles, for he was an ur-kheri-heb-tepi, a high priest and great wizard, possibly the greatest heka-user in the whole of ^Egypt, one who might aspire to become the archpriest of the whole land should he choose—which he didn't. Setne had been a key agent in Pharaoh's service, retiring as an utchat-neb, a colonel, from the Utchatu, the secret service. Thus, he was trained in espionage, crime detection, and detective work in general. Even before joining that elite branch of government he had been appointed magister, a state office which coupled administrative and minor judicial powers, granted because of exceptional capacity for such work as well as the ability to fully employ both magick and priestcraeft. In short, she thought of Inhetep as very nearly invincible in human terms. A bit of dweomercraeft used to spirit away treasure was not only up his alley, so to speak, but discovery of the means and the culprit would be veritable child's play.

Added to the equation was her own not inconsiderable list of talents. In that regard, she had far more than would be expected from one so young. Not yet beyond her mid-twenties, Rachelle knew the social graces of the aristocracy, had been educated in an elite school and taught personally by the magister, and had herself learned much from her own study. First and foremost, despite her striking beauty and feminine appearance, Rachelle was a warrior; one able to fight using a considerable array of weapons or with nothing save her hands and feet. Her lovely face, youth, and curvaceous form had been the undoing of many a foe. The seemingly delicate femininity and soft body masked the mind and musculature of a scholar and an athlete. She was more than a match for most men in wit and repartee as well as swordplay.

Besides her ability to use arms, ride and hunt, Rachelle had an incredible range of knowledge and skills gained from the combination of having Inhetep as her mentor, her years at the Temple of Neith, the travel and adventure she and the magister had experienced thereafter, and her own desire to know more and excel. Although she was not yet a master of anything other than those physical skills relating to combat and the chase, Rachelle delved into everything from the arcane arts to current happenings, healing techniques to the lore of the counter-world of Phaeree. She could speak four languages, play chess, plan a formal garden, select a wine, discuss the form of the multiverse, tell fortunes, and even get by in the slums of Memphis. In fact, she now sought to surpass Inhetep, and Rachelle could already boast of an area of heka practice where she did so. By music and song Rachelle could lay a magickal casting, something even the priest-wizard was quite unable to do.

Working together to uncover a crime and bring the perpetrators to justice, they had proved to be an unbeatable combination. "I know you are always harping about the need to be alert and avoid overconfidence, Setne. I am not underestimating the enemy. I just don't think there's anyone you and I won't be able to best."

"Neither you nor I know just who the foe is yet. And never, never tempt the gods by voicing what could be deemed a challenge. Beware hubris, girl!" he admonished with a trace of nervousness. "You know as well as I that there are many who would see us destroyed—and remember that the deities who rule the vast Hin-dic lands are different from those of Egypt, Rachelle!"

"Yes, Setne. I am contrite." She wasn't.

That was plain to Inhetep, and it worried him a little, but he passed it off. "Well, the party we are deserting is due to arrive at any minute now. I'm all packed, so I think we should be off. Are you ready, my dear?"

"I've been ready and waiting for you this past quarter-hour or more, Magister Turtle."

"Come on, then. We must get to the old family necropolis without being seen."

She was astonished. "There? How? The servants will—"

"I mean by anyone chancing to arrive before we are gone. Who cares what the staff sees?" he said hurriedly as he strode towards the door.

"But why?" Rachelle asked as she tried to keep pace with the long-legged wizard-priest. "I've had our horses saddled, and the groom is waiting."

Inhetep was heading for the side exit, which would take them to the working yard. It had a small door leading outside the compound. "They will wait a long time then, Rachelle. We have no time to waste riding all the way to Mersa Gawasis."

When he named the principal /Egyptian port on the Mare Rubine, it brought her up short. "Wait a moment," she called out, but he was not listening. Rachelle ran and caught up with him as he crossed the littered animal yard. "We must ride with greatest speed to get to Mersa Gawasis, Setne. It's leagues away, and—"

"Mere horses won't do at all," he said as he ducked to exit through the postern.

"How fast can we go?" she asked crossly, annoyed at his sudden reticence. "Even your stork's shanks can't outpace a courser's!"

"Magick beats all in that regard, my dear. Come on now, don't be huffy. I'll tell you what's afoot in just a moment." Inhetep took her arm to assist her as he led the way over the scrub and rough ground which lay between the walled house, its well-tended gardens and fields, and the ancient burial place of his ancestors. It was about a mile distant in space, two thousand years in time. The main feature was a very small pyramid; the scattering of other structures and sealed shafts leading below remarkable only for their being inviolate over the many centuries.

Rachelle understood instantly. "You have another of your—"

"Hush! Wait until we're there." In a few minutes, they came to the site, and the magister ushered her into the mortuary chapel which projected from the western slope of the pyramid's weathered form. He made a perfunctory obeisance before the tiny altar dedicated to his many-times-great grandfather, touched a place on the back wall, uttered a strange series of words, then pushed. "Let's have that light from your dagger show us the way, if you please," he told her, referring to the dweomered amethyst set into the pommel of her dagger.

She complied, stepping into the narrow passage revealed by the opening of the secret door. He paused a moment to shut the rock panel after them. Inhetep then told her it was safe to say whatever she wanted to. At the moment, however, Rachelle was too busy negotiating the unfamiliar way to respond to the invitation. In a few yards, the level floor was replaced by steeply descending steps.

"Now can you explain all this to me, Setne? In all this time you've never showed this place to me. How do we get to Mersa Gawasis from here—a secret tunnel?" She was only needling him, or course. Rachelle had a good idea as to the answer.

"A man must retain a few secrets, especially when faced with a girl like you, Rachelle," In-hetep told her with a hint of merriment in his voice. "Seriously, this is a most important place to me, and one whose location I want none to know unless there is absolute need. There was never such need in the past, but now there is. Below Is a dweomered node which is an adit to the Central Nexus, but concealed from those using the main body. We can step into it here and exit in the port city."

Because of her training, Rachelle knew that, among other things, the Central Nexus was primarily a place adjacent to the Mundane Plane of yEarth which one utilized to open portals— gates or doors—to other places, virtually anywhere. She also understood that heka energies thus active could be noted and traced. Thus, who did what and their origination and destination could be sussed out by an expert heka practitioner. "No one will know we used the portal?"

"Its secrecy hasn't been broken since its inception, my dear."

"Then why don't we pass up Mersa Gawasis and step through to the city of Delhi itself?" They had finally come to the end of the stairway and were now in a small chamber deep in the bedrock beneath the pyramid. She looked around, noting ancient wall paintings, hieroglyphs chiseled into every surface from floor to ceiling, some appearing to be fairly recent additions.

The magister saw her expression. "Yes, I happened to have carved those myself only a decade or so ago. One day when your studies have progressed sufficiently, I'll explain all of this to you. Suffice for now to say that we can't use the nodular access to trundle anywhere in the multiverse. There are only a few points which are accessed through its limited space. We will get to the port without being detected. From there we'll use the fastest means of normal travel to get to Sindraj. Then it will be time for your horses, Rachelle, although not our horses."

"I can't believe that you wouldn't have provided for a door leading to such a great metropolis as Delhi." Her statement was only partially made in jest. Rachelle understood enough of what she saw to realize that the subterranean place they stood in had keys which enabled the knowing user to pass into the preternatural planes, supernatural ones, and more. That he could use 11 to get to the port on the Mare Ru-bine indicated that there were probably also doors leading to various other places on Earth and probably even the counter-world, Phaeree. Surely a hundred of the major capitals of the world wouldn't strain Setae's capacity.

"No. Not mine. The size of the node is quite finite, you see."

Rachelle jumped when he spoke. "I hate it when you read my mind!"

He chuckled. "You were thinking so hard and openly anyone with a grain of heka could have done that. Besides, you are always trying to probe me, aren't you?"

"That's no excuse—and what I do is different. I have to keep track of you somehow, Setne Inhetep! Now keep your senses to yourself and show me how we get to Mersa Gawasis. How can we get there if you keep dawdling?"

He was smothering a smile as he used a greenish copper ankh to call up the little shimmering space that was their egress from the hidden place to the distant port she had just named.

TO THE SEAS

They stood in a cluttered room. Sunlight streamed in through a dirty window somewhere high above them. Rachelle noted the dancing motes of dust in that bright shaft of light, for the welter of things elsewhere were too confused to focus upon immediately after the disconcerting passage between dimensions. "Ugh!"

"Come now, it isn't so bad a place to exit."

"I mean the transition, but I'll take issue with your assertion in any event. What an array of stinks and stenches! And what are those shriveled things over there?" she added with a shudder.

"Sssh. You'll offend our host." Inhetep wormed his way between the boxes and bales, racks and shelves, opened a door whose planks had great cracks between them, and finally stepped through strands of cheap beads into the front of a shop. "Good morning, Mesta-f!" he called cheerily. "May I present my companion and right arm, Rachelle? Rachelle, Adept Mesta-f Alowti."

Rachelle noted that the man was unusual in two ways. First, he didn't seem the least disconcerted at seeing the magister and herself step out of his back rooms. Secondly, she was surprised to discover that the man to whom Setne spoke with such evident warmth and pleasure was obviously a Yarban. Not that the magister was prejudiced, of course, but the enmity between /Egypt and Yarbay was thousands of years old. Were those two exchanging signs? She knew that Setne could communicate in several secret ways involving no more than the twitches of digits, positions of hands and arms, or facial expressions. There, that seemed to be a longish response by the chemical-stained old fellow. But then the magister was introducing her. She stifled her speculation, smiled, and extended her hand and arm to grip the smirched and burned one thrust forth by the fellow at hearing the introduction. "I am honored. To meet a great practitioner is to gain status," she murmured in formal greeting.

Mesta-f inclined his head, gave her forearm a perfunctory squeeze, and said unsmilingly, "I am too old for that sort of work these days. Put out to pasture. Proprietor of a run-down establishment providing materia of dubious nature to dabblers in this backwater. That's all

I'm able to manage now." He spoke in staccato rapid fire, turning to Inhetep as he concluded, "Just passing through, I presume."

"Yes, quite right, old friend. We must be away quickly. And by the by, Rachelle, don't you believe a word this man tells you. Dodderer indeed! He is able, and dangerous—in more ways than his skill managing heka, my dear. Watch his hands!" The magister's eyes twinkled as he said the latter. So, too, Mesta-fs.

"I've seen nothing," he told Inhetep as he shooed the two out the door. He first patted then pinched Rachelle's bottom in the process.

"He . . . assaulted my posterior!" she hissed as they passed into the bright forenoon of the street outside the shop.

The magister frowned. "Heed my warnings more carefully hereafter, wench," he scolded.

"Where did you meet such an odd old reprobate, Setne?"

With a grin, inhetep took her arm and steered her in the direction he wanted to go. "Odd? Well, yes, I suppose he is. Mesta-f was one of my instructors when I first entered school as a lad, Rachelle. He was not quite so old then, but he didn't look much different. He was head of the Alchemy department, went on from there to head up the Pharaonic Academy. A good bit of his research and inventions are still highly classified secrets of state."

"Then what's he doing in that dirty old shop we just left?"

"That, Rachelle, is no 'dirty old shop'! It is one of the leading establishments for materia In the whole of the Triple Kingdom, I'll have you know. As to his being its proprietor, though, it's a matter of racial prejudice, I fear," the magister explained. "He was originally born Mustapha something-or-other, to a noble family in Yarbay. Seems there was a blood feud raging in the clan then, so the family fled here to save their skins. He was just a boy then, and he soon embraced our pantheon. It was natural, inevitable, perhaps, that one of his bent should find Khnemu the perfect deity, and our gods correct, so to speak. Despite his strict religious adherence and the years of service thereafter, the triple crown—probably Pharaoh's advisors— wasn't comfortable with so able a foreigner, a Yarban of all things, in such an important role."

Rachelle was distressed to hear that. "But a cast off and bitter man is far more dangerous to the state, isn't that so?"

"In some cases—most, probably. But in Mesta-fs case, I am happy to assure you that he isn't bitter and doesn't care a fig about losing his official position. He never was cut out to be a courtier or a bureaucrat. He sees his commitment to Egypt as something divine, not secular, as it were. It is an intellectual choice supported by spiritual affinity."

"But he's stuck in this dreary comer of the kingdom. ..."

"Not a bit. He's here by choice, and who will notice alchemical smokes and stinks here? In the meantime, he serves as an agent for the Utchatu. That satisfies him emotionally, for he does his part to assure that the seat of the pantheon remains strong and safe Additionally, his payment from the service enables him to continue his expensive experiments and the like."

Rachelle thought a moment as they walked along casually so as to attract no undue attention. "Then that place was merely a front. . . ." She trailed the last word so as to make what she said something between a statement and a question.

"You have it. Open a few hours a day, it does a fairly brisk trade, for Mesta-f knows his materia. Believe it or not, he has some things in that jumble of seeming junk that can't be found in Memphis! Only the initiated are aware of this place, though, and the old fellow keeps it that way."

They were nearing the place where the ships docked, having covered over half the distance as they chatted. Rachelle was no longer angry, and felt that the pat was no insult to her, considering the real Mesta-f. She had always understood the principal why the Yarban had been so forward. Setne had complimented the old fellows sexual prowess, and being a true son of his people at heart, Mesta-f had responded accordingly. She would get even with Setne, of course, for his sneaky little trick on her, but that could wait. Right now there were too many other things to occupy her attention. Seeing what the city looked like was most immediate. The warrior girl had never before been to Mersa Gawasis. From what she could tell, it was only a town without much attraction. "Is there a better quarter?"

"Hardly. This is a working port, full of factories and workshops with few amenities and but a handful of interesting people—plenty of others with money, a sort of little elite here, but a terribly boorish lot. We must avoid them at all costs—awful social climbers and sycophants, don't you know." He drawled that last and simpered a bit.

Rachelle understood. That they would be likely to find any such persons in this locale was most unlikely. She commented, ''Quays and wharves? You mean to take ship to . . . where we go?"

He nodded. "Let's go to that office there—see the sign at the corner of the warehouse? We can find a suitable conveyance without difficulty, I'm sure." As they went along towards the place he had indicated, Inhetep informed her of why he was seeking seaborne passage for them. "The good maharajah covered his risk when he sent his missive and gift—bait— by his magickal courier. Considering the circumstances, he did the proper thing—for him. However, that precludes us taking the same expedient means of journeying to see to the matter he begged us to undertake."

"You fear we are watched?"

The wizard-priest shrugged a little. "Well, certainly his courier's passage would have been noted by any able practitioner keeping track of the maharajah's actions regarding the theft. I don't doubt that heka and castings were employed in making off with the crown jewels. It then follows that there are one or more practitioners of considerable skill at work monitoring things stemming from the Peacock Throne. Any such spy couldn't help but be aware of the courier's dweomered departure, the route and general destination indicated by his return—if he wasn't waylaid and the exact information extracted. Not likely, but possible. The danger to us in attempting to travel to Delhi is thus extreme. There will be traps, ambushes, and who knows what else."

"But isn't it dangerous for us to go by normal means? Won't there be spies watching the routes for strangers? And there is the matter of time, too. The longer we take to get to Delhi, the colder the trail."

"By slipping magickally but undetected into

this port, we have cut four or five days minimum from the time required to make the journey, Rachelle. If we stay on that schedule, or get even further ahead, we have the edge. You are right, of course. There will be spies and men set along the way to stop anyone coming from /Egypt to assist in recovery of the lost treasure. But such as wait will have a false security, and not be truly alert until the time we might reasonably be expected to arrive." He stopped walking, for they were nearing the shipping office, "It is a long voyage, but with what you and I learned from our little sojourn in Lyonnesse awhile back, between us we should be able to shorten that time considerably, and all without revealing our interference to either crew or others."

Rachelle was enthusiastic. "You're a genius, Setne! They have no real concept of what can be done with spellsinging here, let alone in the farther East! Why, I can—"

"Never mind for now, girl. Let's handle the matter at hand: finding a fast and not too uncomfortable vessel to cany us to Hind."

Commerce between ./Egypt and the East was brisk. Many ships sailed from all parts of the world into the Mare Rubine and dropped anchor at the port of Mersa Gawasis. After a little wait, a sallow man with a bad complexion came to see what they wanted. Inhetep asked a few general questions, slipped the fellow a few dinars, and asked about passage to either Hind or Farz. The clerk thought a bit, then pulled out a sheaf of papers. After shuffling through the stack, he told them what the magister was desirous of hearing, and for that effort Inhetep passed over a few more coins.

Accepting the man's advice, Inhetep assured him they would seek out the Handubar Swallow at pier four, bound for Ophir and then on to Farz, departing in two or three days' time. Then the magister and Rachelle left the warehouse shipping office and found the pier. The master of the Handubar Swallow was on hand and agreeable; Inhetep told him that they would indeed take berths on the ship. He paid over a small stack of silver, promising the balance upon departure, then he and Rachelle departed, ostensibly to return in two days to take up residence in the cabin reserved and await departure—which, according to the master of the ship, would be as soon thereafter as kismet would allow. When they were well away, the wizard-priest whispered, "That gives us two days, even if someone has heard of us by then." It was a sound precaution.

"What are you talking about, Setne?"

He hissed at her to speak softly. "There is a very fast vessel, a sort of a smuggler and valuables runner in port. She's not docked but out in the harbor, and bound to up anchor tonight according to what I have learned. Well be on her." Then he explained. Rachelle had indeed noted a silent exchange of secret signs between Setne and Mesta-f. By that means, the magister had learned that a small Hindi dhow was just readying to sail. The Blue Cloud was a fast vessel relying on its speed and valuable cargo to make up for its lack of being able to carry much in her small hold. Such ships were, of course, ripe for piracy and fair game to coast guard patrols. If they could be spotted and caught, they were easy prey and a rich prize. "It seems that the old rascal gets some of his more unusual requirements from that ship, and makes a little spare coin by putting cargos aboard, too—stuff rare and in demand in the Hindic lands. Leave it to Mesta-f to do that. ..."

"This is dangerous for us. I don't like it."

"Neither do I, although we come with the right recommendation, I hope. Besides, it is probably less hazardous than waiting here. Too many chances to be spotted, even attacked."

Just an hour later, the pair were deep in conversation with the captain of the Blue Cloud. He was taciturn and suspicious when Inhetep offered, in fluent Trade Phoenician, to give him a large payment to allow them aboard as passengers. "Have no concern. Captain Vogalishi. I found out about your craft by extraordinary means. My associate and I are warriors but have some small skills at laying castings as well. Not only will we give you gold to carry us along, but we will also lend our weapons to the protection of your ship if there is trouble."

"I see. Well, I guess you are all right. Let me see your money." The magister handed over two gold coins, and Vogalishi smiled then. Rachelle thought it a cruel and shifty expression, more threatening than friendly. Yet the man seemed to have thawed. "You are aboard as supercargo, then. IH give you a cabin, but it's small, and there'll be no amenities—agreed?"

"Yes. That's fine."

"Then here, well drink to it." The seaman had produced three dirty glasses from somewhere and filled them with a dark and potent liquor. Without waiting for his two new passengers to do so, Vogalishi tossed his off, poured more for himself, then scowled at Inhetep and the amazon. "You won't drink with me?"

"Another brew at another time, my dear Captain Vogalishi. You see, it was Mesta-f who directed us here, and he, being a close associate, was careful to warn me about your . . . ah . . , refreshments."

Vogalishi burst into a guffaw at that, spraying droplets of the smelly liquid he had again quaffed as Inhetep spoke. "Now there's a good man!" he roared when he could get his breath. Evidently, he appreciated the magister's calm acceptance of deadly poison in a seemingly harmless drink, offered to supposedly confirm a contact. "You, I mean, /Egyptian. Mesta-f is an old fart who drives a hard bargain—unlike you. If you're associated with that wily bastard, I'll bet you can bend magicks aplenty. Do you both possess real skill with weapons?"

Rachelle didn't like him a bit. Her eyes were as hard as her voice when she responded to that insulting question in Setne's stead. "Bow, sword, or any other you name, seafarer. I'll best you or any of your crew here and now. The man with me is able to do the same,' she added, recalling what Inhetep had offered.

Again the captain laughed, only not so heartily, and with a little anger and fear evident as he told her, "No, no! You'll not need to prove that to me—or to my men. It's pirates or . . . other unwanted boarders who'll put you to the test, if ever test there must be—and that'll be a fatal one for you if you boast."

"It will be fatal, but to those on the business end of my weapons, Captain. Of that you have no need to fear."

The Hindi turned away from Rachelle and faced Inhetep. "You have paid your gold, and we have an agreement. Be here before I sail, for the ship will depart at two hours after midnight, with or without you."

"We'll be here a quarter of an hour before you sail," the magister assured Vogaiishi.

When he and Rachelle appeared just a little after midnight, the captain scowled. "You're early!"

"You're readying to sail early," the magister said in a flat, dangerous voice.

"I am informed that an enemy intends to attack soon, so 1 must depart now."

"Then you must be delighted we came here on our own."

"Why so?"

"It saved you sending men ashore to get us."

The captain laughed harshly, turning to the demanding tasks required to get his vessel away quickly and quietly in the dead of night without showing lights. The junior lieutenant showed them to their quarters, a true cubby hole. "Fortunately, you and I are such close friends," Inhetep observed as they secured their few belongings. "We'll be cheek and jowl, as they say, having to stay in these quarters for some time, unless the voyage is a very speedy one indeed." The Blue Cloud upped anchor and sailed before one o'clock.

Rachelle had once been on friendly terms with a rather nasty fellow who had been a master bard of Avillonia, who was now dead. Rachelle, however, had learned not a little of his art. It was she, not the wizard-priest who went on deck almost immediately after the ship got under way. There Rachelle hummed and sang beneath her breath, so softly that none of the crew noticed what she was doing. They did notice the breeze, a fair wind which sprang up from the northwest and blew steadily. The dhow leaped ahead as its captain had more sails set to catch the favorable air. Inhetep was there to "record" and set up a talisman to then "play back" her singing—its effective sounds, anyway. This he did with a reservoir of magickal energy operating to deliver the required accompanying activator sounds at a pitch inaudible to the human ear.

"Now you can sleep, and so can I. All that wild Kelltic wailing is enough to deny normal slumber," he added sourly. Setne had not liked the attention Aldriss the bard had paid to Rachelle.

They spent most of the next few days in their cramped cabin, not wishing to tempt fate, so to speak. Captain Vogalishi and the dozen crewmen he commanded ignored them. All was well. The Blue Cloud made the thousand leagues and more through the Mare Rubine to round Punt in record time for even that swift vessel. Four days sailing time was unheard of. They slipped past every patrol vessel and prowling corsair without being spotted. Vogalishi was ecstatic and looked on his two passengers with a new respect, suspecting rightly that they had something to do with this great good fortune. From that point on, Rachelle felt less exposed and spent more time on deck. Soon after getting through the dangerous straits, the waters grew wilder, the waves high. The Blue Cloud had entered the open ocean. There was yet another two thousand leagues to sail, most of it through the waters called the Yarban Sea, where pirates swarmed and sudden storms threatened.

The cool air was refreshing, and even the magister managed to accustom himself to the continual rolling of the ship after a couple of days, so he could join Rachelle on deck. The two were there, discussing their plans, when the captain came up to stand before them with arms akimbo, hands on hips, demanding: "Which of you is the weather witch? Tell me now, and get aft. There's a vessel following us. Unless one of you can do something soon, I'll be seeing that swordplay she bragged about," he added, with a glowering look at Rachelle.

"There's gratitude for you," Rachelle murmured in /Egyptian as Inhetep arose from where he sat with his back braced against the foremast.

"What did she say?" Vogalishi demanded suspiciously.

"She reminds you of your good luck to date and suggests you don't concern yourself about pursuers, Captain. She and I will see about the problem in a minute. Excuse us, please." So saying, and without waiting for formal leave, I he magister took Rachelle's arm, and they went to their cabin. "Get your bow and hand me an arrow."

Rachelle watched as he rummaged in a little box for some powders, mixed them, then poured out some liquid, turning it into a thick paste. He rolled the head of the arrow in that, so that the gluey mixture coated it. Then he breathed upon it and spoke a single word. Next he worked on the other end, laying a minor casting on the shaft and its feathers. "That should do it."

"How?" Rachelle caught the purpose of the first part of his magick. He had made the arrowhead incendiary, ignitable by a command from him at even so great a distance as a mile, far longer than she could send it flying to strike a target. The casting was a very minor one and impossible to detect in operation in a world full of minor bursts of heka energy at all times. "When the ship coming after us is close enough to be hit with that, their catapults will be in range, their archers too, and maybe even some hedge-magician winging nasty sendings our way."

"Trust me, my dear. The last little dweomer was a special one I recently developed with you in mind. The cantrip lends falcon's wings to the flight of the missile, more or less. I think it will carry the arrow a league, but let's not try anything so ambitious. When the pursuer is about a mile distant, just send your shaft to strike the sails."

When they were on the deck on the high stern, Rachelle's composite bow of horn and sinew ready, Vogalishi scoffed. "No one can hit a target at such a distance! Besides, what will a single arrow do, anyway? Never should I have believed—"

"Silence!" Inhetep commanded. Whether it was due to the wizard-priest's heka or tone of voice, the blustering captain snapped his mouth shut. "Let fly," he said aside to Rachelle. "Aim as if at a target a hundred paces distant."

Even she was surprised when the long arrow sprang from the taut string and went arcing into the sky to be lost from sight in the blink of an eye. Rachelle glanced aside to see the magister concentrating, eyes closed, counting under his breath. When he reached five, he stopped and spoke aloud the word for fire, looking at the sails of the enemy ship as he did so. She followed his gaze.

"The alchemical additive to the casting creates a shower of burning sparks, Rachelle," he said under his breath, not taking his eyes from the distant craft.

For a few seconds there was nothing unusual to see. Then there was faint smoke, pale gleam-ings, and disappearing canvas. There must have been confusion and panic aboard the pursuing vessel. The ship suddenly veered, sails fell, and it lost way. More smoke billowed from her. As the Blue Cloud gradually left the wallowing enemy vessel in her wake, it seemed that there was no longer any fire to contend with. She only had to replace a few lost sails. So much for that matter. At least it appeared that their captain wasn't absolutely villainous; he had claimed he had had to depart ahead of schedule because of a pursuer, and that ship following supported his claim. The man was now trying to embrace them as comrades. Rachelle stepped near Setne.

"Never will I doubt you again, mighty ones," Vogalishi told the two with a beaming countenance. Inhetep explained it was merely a new archery technique combined with the alchemical produce of the famous Mesta-f, whom they both knew and respected. That didn't stop the sailor. "Tonight we will feast in my cabin, and we shall get drunk." They did eat and drink, although both Setne and Rachelle avoided inebriation. The ship's master was too pleased to mind that, even ignoring Rachelle's breaking his first mate's finger when he tried to fondle her in drunken lechery. Perhaps Vogalishi was happy his lieutenant had tried first, thus saving the captain a painful lesson.

Indeed, Captain Vogalishi had much to be happy about. His vessel made safe passage in fewer days than he could believe from /Egypt all the way to its destination in Sindraj, thanks to his strange passengers. Better still, the two had paid him twice the value of such a journey when he should have paid them that sum! His larcenous heart filled with joy, the smuggler captain bid them adieu with no little regret that he didn't dare to try to impress them so as to assure that all of his trips were so easily made.

= 4 =

BOMBAY

As in Mersa Gawasis, the Blue Cloud stayed clear of the jetties, anchoring among a welter of nondescript craft in the harbor of the crowded city of Bombay. Captain Vogalishi brought in the ship with astonishing skill, finding his anchorage just as the first light of dawn began to reveal the shapes of the mass of buildings to the east. As if conjured by a jinni, there appeared around the newly arrived ship a swarm of little rowboats. Vogalishi's crew began to empty the holds of the Blue Cloud, the captain and his lieutenants issuing frantic orders in hushed voices so as to assure that each wheriy and skiff got the right goods. The confusion was total, and in that chaos, Inhetep and his companion slipped away. Just as one particular boat with only six small casks was about to shove off from the ship, the two tossed their gear into it and then followed, springing down and landing in the rocking barge without difficulty.

Before either of the two oarsmen in the row-boat could protest, Rachelle had her sword out, its point threatening one fellow's chest. At the same time, Inhetep held forth a pair of silver coins, their metal plain even in the first dim light of morning. "Take your choice," the amazon said slowly in Trade Phoenician. The men shrugged, one took the coins, and both set to work rowing. They bent their backs, and the little craft cut through the dirty water of the harbor, so that it was in a section of ramshackle buildings and old piers, well away from the Blue Cloud, when the edge of the sun finally pushed over the horizon to the left.

The magister had no idea as to where the rowers were going, but this place was as good as any for Rachelle and him. "There," he said loudly enough for both men to hear. "Steer the boat to the end of that small pier just ahead, and we'll leave you to your business." The rowers complied, evidently glad to be rid of the extra weight and potential danger their unasked-for passengers imposed.

"I haven't the slightest idea Where we are," Setne confessed to Rachelle as they left the waterfront behind and began making their way along the filthy lanes and twisting alleyways. "We'll need to buy some native garments, then find a place where we can have privacy for a bit."

"Let's do find somewhere more suitable, Setne.

These claptrap buildings and hovels are probably alive with rats and lice, and the odor is disgusting!" What she said was true.

In part, it was the odor of exotic cooking: the strong smells of strange spices and odd oils. But there was more, worse. Around them were dilapidated structures in various states of disrepair and decay. The sprawling city stank. It was bad enough at the water's edge, but here, away from that handy disposal medium, the refuse was piled everywhere. Rotting garbage combined with excrement and who knew what else to produce something perhaps suitable for a nethersphere but incredibly offensive to the human olfactory sense "Poor, I can understand," Rachelle said with disgust, "but never filthy!"

"They haven't access to any subterranean channels," the magister said tersely as he led her on toward their right, walking up a sloping back street already beginning to fill with incurious people going about their daily routine. That included the defenestration of slops and nightsoil. so he was careful to see that they stayed in the center of the brick-paved way. "What else can they do?"

"Cart the stuff away!"

"They haven't means, Rachelle, and their governor has no interest in what it's like here. He lives in a grand palace surrounded by bios-soms and parks, with a high wall to keep this sort out."

"Oh," Rachelle said in a small voice. She considered what the wizard-priest had told her. As did so many of Yarth's folk grown accustomed to the convenience, Rachelle seldom, if ever, thought about the labyrinth beneath the ground. Subterranean ./Earth was a vast, unmapped network of natural and artificial places which, as far as anyone knew, existed under all the continents of the world. Perhaps they even linked, delving down to the hollow interior. Rachelle didn't know, and she thought nobody else did, either. The underground was too alien, too dark and filled with vicious things to invite even the daring to attempt extensive explorations. Those humans who actually inhabited parts of the maze weren't interested in cartography, at least not for the benefit of those who dwelled in the sunlight above. In most communities, there was some access to the upper portions of the subterranean honeycomb. Into crevasse, abandoned mine shaft, or sinkhole went all that humanity aboveground wished to be rid of. Runoff water, sewage, street sweepings, garbage, castoffs of any sort, even corpses not honored by burial or burning were consigned to those deep places. And nobody ever questioned why the openings never clogged with that inpouring.

There were sometimes raids; nasty things crept forth from time to time to feed. Not a heavy price to pay for such convenience and cleanliness. Yarth had no waste disposal problems, by and large. Of course, there was also commerce between those below and mankind on the crust of vfiarth. All profited from that, especially those directly involved: the products of the light world traded in return for the minerals hidden in the dark and the strange handicrafts of those below. That a city of such size, probably one -with a million inhabitants crowded inside and against its walls, was filth-ridden was incomprehensible! "But if that's so, why have such a metropolis here?"

"Up those steps, girl, and stop fretting about the wretches in this slum. They don't care, and neither do those who are lords of the city." The magister was irritated with himself for choosing this particular part of the waterfront for them to land. He knew now that he should have been less anxious and waited for a spot nearer the northern edge. If had been more than a decade since he had been to Bombay. Only now was his memory serving him by enabling him to recall what he knew and had learned. He did remember some facts about this portion of the crescent-shaped eastern waterfront of the city. The bay was an excellent anchorage, but the city fronting it was the worst. He had opted to land in the poorest sector of that undesirable curve. As they finally climbed up and out of it, making a meandering way north and east, Inhetep admitted a little of his error to Rachelle. "We're now heading for the upper portion of Bombay. Well come to either the Girna or the Kurla Gate soon. Either will do."

"Where do they lead?"

"The Girna is a river gate whose road generally follows that watercourse northeast. The Kurla exit leads northward to the town of the same name up the coast—but we can follow a side road from there going more directly toward our destination." They were beginning to attract a few curious stares in this portion of the city. Setne looked around for a public house.

Rachelle spotted what he was searching for before the magister did. "Over to the right, Setne. There's a sign there which seems to indicate a tavern or the like."

"More probably a tea and eating house, but let's see." They entered, and Inhetep employed his fluent Hindi to inquire as to exactly what the establishment offered. The woman whom he asked was suspicious, but answered quickly and made it plain that whatever the two foreigners wanted, they would have to pay first. "We need a room and breakfast," Setne said carefully.

"Twenty chuckrums!" the proprietress shot back instantly.

She named a silver coin whose value equalled 250 /-Egyptian dinars. Inhetep laughed and countered, "Ten annas."

The woman threw up her hands in disgust but quickly said, "Ten chuckrums."

"Twelve annas, and we'll have tea and vegetable curry brought to us in our room at that price."

"The third door to the right," she said without a smile. "Be sure to give the boy something when he brings you your tray." She called something to a man nearby, and he went off toward the back, hopefully to get the food ordered.

The room was smallish and not too dirty. The door was flimsy, the bed rickety. There was a stand with wash bowl and water pitcher, though. The only other furnishing in the place was a battered brass table centered on a threadbare rug. "Home at last," Rachelle breathed in mock satisfaction at what she saw. "Dare I . . . ?" she asked, eyeing the bed.

"I'll rid it of vermin," Inhetep said, as he hastily employed a minor charm to do so. "There, my dear. Make yourself comfortable." She did just that, while the magister pulled out the coffer from his knapsack and began to rummage around inside. Rachelle, knowing about that container, wasn't surprised to see his arms disappear past the elbow despite the coffer's seemingly shallow depth. The wizard-priest had dweomered it, of course, so that it held a volume of things a hundred times greater than its apparent size. Just as he uttered a satisfied sound at having located what he was searching for, there was a rapping at the door. Setne slammed shut the cover of the coffer and called, "Enter," in Hindi.

The "boy" who entered was the same man who had been ordered to the kitchen by the sour-faced proprietress. Without word, the fellow dropped the tray on the brass table, looking expectantly at Inhetep. Setne inspected it to see that it was what he had ordered, spotted chutney and chapati bread alongside the vegetable curry. He breathed in. The aroma was quite good! He turned and smiled at the waiter. He got no greeting in return. The man didn't look any happier than his grumpy and suspicious mistress. Despite the stone-faced look, the magister handed the fellow a couple of rupees. "Thank you, my good man," he said firmly, opening the door. The waiter grumbled as he left.

Rachelle laughed. "He didn't deserve anything, Setne, but you were rather stingy."

"Neither too much nor too little. The gratuity was sufficient for the service. Now then, let's have a bite of breakfast. Then you can get more of your beauty rest while I putter around with a few things. We have all day, you know."

She began attacking the food, hungry as usual. Smiling, Rachelle said, "This is actually quite good, even if it is uncommonly spicy!" Then, thinking about what her companion had just stated, managed to add sarcastically, "I figured you had something in mind, Setne, other than having the two of us stroll across the countryside of Sindraj attracting attention as Egyptians on a secret mission."

"Hind."

"Who?"

"Not who, my dear, the state, A 'what,' if you will. At the current time, Bombay is a part of the Hind Empire, I expect soon that there'll be another war, and then it might change hands again."

"Don't lecture," Rachelle said between mouthfuls. "And eat something, too." She did worry about him, for when distracted, Inhetep often forgot all about meals.

He tore off a small piece of bread and washed it down with the tea he had been sipping. "There. Plenty for what little 111 be doing. You need far more nourishment than I, so enjoy your breakfast while I talk. Now then, here is what I have in mind: we leave here early tomorrow morning, pass through the city gates when they open, and join with whatever pilgrimage we happen to come across that is heading for the sacred waters of the Punjab."

"What about disguises?"

Inhetep smiled knowingly as he went back to the bottomless coffer. He had no problem locating and withdrawing something this time. He held forth the items as if they were a prize fish. "You see, Rachelle? I neither lecture nor come unprepared. Straight from my store of costumes back home!"

"I am amazed, Wonder of the Ages," she responded diyly. Secretly, she was impressed that he had brought along garments which appeared to be Hindic; clothing which would be unrecognizable from the ordinary native dress here. "What's this about pilgrims?"

"The folk of this whole subcontinent are always traveling about for one reason or another—business, pleasure, and most frequently to visit this or that shrine or holy place. The five rivers of Delhi are one of the most holy of places, and we should have no difficulty finding a group going there. Large bands are less likely to attract muggers and bandits than are small parties, so a couple of more travelers will be welcomed."

Rachelle had finished eating. She got up from the floor. "I don't like this business of sitting cross-legged to eat at a table too low for normal seating." She stretched, took off her coarse outer gown, armor, and finally her traveling boots. The magister watched her, patient for once. From a comfortable reclining position, the amazon continued. "From what I know, we are still a long, long way from where we need to be. Trudging with a horde of pilgrims across half of the Hlndic lands will take us months. There isn't that much time, even if your theory about the affair is correct. Tell me how we get around that!"

"Astute as usual," the magister said, meaning it. "We'll stay with our first band of fellow travelers for a few days so as to become acclimatized, more or less. That should be sufficient for me to get my accent right and to leam enough to avoid glaring errors in customs and the like. Once that's taken care of, we can use a little heka to jump ahead to the locale of a similar group closer to our destination."

"What about me? I can't speak any Hlndic at all."

"No problem. I shall be an older and wealthy merchant escorting his new young wife to the holy rivers. 1 will explain that you have taken a vow of silence until the goddesses there bless you with fertility and you bear me a son and heir."

She made a face at him. "Typical male ego. Why on /Earth would I want to do that? Never mind. That's a fine idea. Ill happily play the silent .and adoring armpiece of the big merchant indulgently taking his useless female on pilgrimage so she can become fecund and thereafter pop forth an unending stream of his brood."

"Excellent, my dear. I knew you'd be compliant. Now then, I'll have to make you shorter and fatter, of course, and brown of skin. You've seen the peasant women here, and we musn't attract attention. Ill have to appear less tall myself, handsome still, naturally, and shade my complexion from its noble copper hue to a somewhat woodier color." The hard pillow she threw just missed him. Setne grinned and continued with growing verve. "You'll have to carry all the baggage, walk several paces behind me, and keep your eyes downcast at all times. And speaking of caste, I propose that I be a Vaisya, proper for a merchant. You, on the other hand, will be a lower caste Sudra so as to avoid any desire on the part of most others to want to know more about you. ..."

That was sufficient for Rachelle. She launched herself upon him, and Inhetep collapsed in helpless laughter under her assault. "Ill show you who's what around here, you effete bookworm!" Her pummeling was only in mock outrage, for she was merely asserting her general equality while letting him know that she understood he was lying the whole time. "Now, then, do you yield to your superior?" He managed to stutter agreement, so she climbed off his chest and returned to the bed.

"I get the general picture, Setne. I suppose that means we can't do any sightseeing in Bombay."

He got up from the floor and came over to stretch his six-foot-six-inch frame slantwise across the bed. It creaked and shimmied, but didn't break into flinders. "Whew," he breathed In relief, partially from the cessation of that which had elicited his laughter, partly in relief that the bed hadn't collapsed under him. "That's right. We don't want anyone seeing us while we look at the marvels of this metropolis. Too bad, for there are all manner of temples and the like worthy of inspection. Perhaps on the way back."

"Yes. Ill have a lot of cash to spend then, too. Oh, by the way, will we go from near here to near the place we need to be?"

Inhetep said no. "There are the little disagreements on the borders to worry about. We'll skip ahead to the first such crossing, then as soon as possible do it again to place us near the second frontier." He was now as careful as she not to mention Delhi. "Only then can we jump a third time to come as close to our final destination as possible."

"Hmmm. Three weeks sailing, then about a week of walking, and we arrive. A month isn't actually much of a delay considering the distances involved, is it? That is, as long as you are sure you can pick up such a cold trail."

"Those calculations are on target." He patted her head approvingly, then ran his fingers through her long ringlets. "Ill hate to straighten out those beautiful locks even for a short time, Rachelle."

She rolled onto her side and looked into his green eyes. "That's the first time you've been nice to me since we began this mission, Setne."

"I know, and I'm sorry." He sighed. "Even though I might not show it in other ways, undertaking this case has made me nervous, put a strain on me—not that I'd have it otherwise. I love such mysteries, and I want to solve this one. I guess what I'm saying is that I don't really mean to take out my anxieties on you . . . but I do."

Rachelle put her arm around him. "That's because you and I are as close as two people can be, because you love me, don't you?"

"Yes, it Is so, and I do my dear, I do," he murmured as he moved to face her and return her embrace.

In the late afternoon, Setne ventured downstairs and ordered a second meal sent to them. It was another spicy and exotic dish, but both enjoyed it and finished the whole of the bowl and the rice which accompanied it. They conversed a little while after Rachelle set the used tableware outside their door in the dimly-lit hallway. Then the priest-wizard began sorting through what he had brought along, handing Rachelle her own items for her inspection. The wondrous little coffer produced such things as his staff, which he kept out, and her archery equipment and armor, which were replaced after she was finished caring for them.

Rachelle made a sling bag out of a large piece of cloth meant to be a wrapped garment for her to wear. Inside that went a few other native clothing items, a little pot, kettle, bowls, and cups. She even had packets of spices, sugar, salt, and small sacks of rice, lentils, and beans. "This is like carrying full field gear," she told the magister when she hefted it. "Toting this around will certainly help keep me in trim." It was plain she didn't really like this part of their journey at all.

The wizard-priest had his own similar carrying bag of cloth, with an assortment of things likely to be typical of an actual pilgrim on the roads of Hind. The coffer nestled between bottom layer and top so as to be unobtrusive. The staff now looked like a stout, natural one cut from a tree. "I know, don't tell me. This is a lot of rigamorole to go through just to go through the gyrations of solving a crime and recovering the stolen goods in a far-off place. I agree. It seems we've been through too many similar exercises for like reasons in the past. Just remember that this time it was you who wanted the gift and the reward for success. Don't blame me!"

"Well, I do. You're the one who's supposed to be so smart as to avoid such obstacles." Rachelle laughed softly as she added, "So that's that. For punishment you'll have to guarantee solving the case and getting me the pieces to complete the jewelry ensemble."

"I could have done this alone."

"Not on your life, Inhetep. Not after that fiasco in On!"

The magister winced, recalling the beautiful Xonaapi and her prodigious expenses—his expenses, as it turned out to be. "You chose to be absent."

"And I don't so choose here and now. Now promise!"

Of course he promised. He was glad to have her and knew Rachelle would be there if it cost her everything she possessed. "I'll even throw in a bauble of my own," he added at the conclusion. "Frankly, I don't think I'd be half so successful without your assistance."

At that Rachelle smiled and returned to practicing being' a Hindi pilgrim. Setne brought forth a handful of magickal paraphernalia. Soon he would have to make the two of them seem to be common folk of this land bound for the Punjab, perhaps 700 miles distant as a bird flew, closer to a thousand as the winding roads of this land went. The prospect was a bit daunting, even with heka to aid them. If anything requiring strong energy and potent castings were required, that would be as visible as smoke rising from a fire. Whether the observer were merely some state practitioner or part of the group responsible for the theft, it would mean trouble, possibly worse, for Rachelle and him. Governments afraid of spies, or a gang of powerful thieves bent on more than robbery, each offered only hazards. Better to play off lost time against likely capture, danger, or death. Those would come of their own accord as things progressed. No sense in asking for them sooner than need be.

Inhetep was determined to arrive in Delhi unbeknownst to any, maharajah and miscreants alike. Then he and Rachelle could do some special investigative work before announcing themselves and formally accepting the commission of Sivadji Guldir, handed down to them from his famed Peacock Throne. The gift and promised reward were far too grand for what had been stolen. More was at stake, and without knowing the true scope of it all, there was no chance of success. It would be like playing a game without being told the rules regarding victory.

He didn't want Rachelle to worry about all that, so he played little pranks, put on a front, and went along as if this were just another of his strange and bizarre cases. Perhaps it was, but the magister felt uncertain and uneasy, as he had from the start. Perhaps he shouldn't have allowed her to influence his judgment as she had. Rachelle's eagerness to go to Delhi, her obvious desire for the fabulous necklace, a gift he would have returned if he hadn't agreed to take the case, made him undertake the mission. Now he was hoping he wouldn't truly regret it, more for Rachelle's sake than his own!

Ruminating thus, Setne fell asleep, half sitting, half lying on the bed. At a little after three, his inner alarm roused him. He arose so silently that even the amazon's light slumber was undisturbed. It took a little while to work the cricks out of neck and back, but before long the magister was feeling wide awake and fit. What he needed was at hand, and with a few gestures and sound he accomplished the laying of the castings required. That done, he put his things in order and stepped to the bed.

"Come on, lazy girl," he said in a soft voice. "It is time dedicated pilgrims were taking to the road!"

—— 5 ——

ON THE 1NDORE ROAD

\

It promised to be a hot day as usual. The dawn brought only the faintest of breezes with it, a puff which barely stirred the vapors which had risen from the waters to climb up over the city, layer by layer, through the night. Fog from the harbor, smoke from thousands of little fires, and unknown exudations created the covering. At least it cooled things off for a little while. This duty wasn't bad. He'd be back to the barracks when the sun was hottest, eat the midday meal, and then get to sleep until the evening mess call. The whole night thereafter would be dedicated to drinking, and maybe a little gambling or sport with the painted women who waited in the Street of Lust.

"You smile?" growled his fellow guardsman. "You like herding peasants in and out of the gate?"

In fact, the soldier didn't like that at all, but he laughed at his comrade. "Better than labor detail—or duty on the frontier!"

The other guardsman was going to make some reply, but just then the under-officer barked a command. They swore under their breaths but moved with several others. Soon the heavy bar was lifted, and the twin panels with their long iron spikes, set so as to keep elephants from shoving them inward during siege, swung back. The Kurla Gate of Bombay was now open. Everyone was busy for an hour after that. As usual, a mob of vendors and farmers wanted to enter, a river of similar peasants stood impatiently waiting to leave the city. By shouting, shoving, and swearing, the guardsmen kept the two streams of humanity from flowing together in an impossible jam, directing one current to the left, the other right.

"That's the opening rush," the surly soldier spat as the throng dwindled into scattered groups and lone individuals.

"Now you know why I smiled," his fellow guard said. "When the gate shuts this evening, I'll be rising from my bed, ready for . . . anything!"

The other soldier ruminated, spat, and said, "You'll probably get the pox."

By then the magister and Rachelle were a mile distant, walking along the dusty road at a steady pace meant to eat up miles without tiring them. Both were used to heat, of course, because they were /Egyptian—Rachelle by adoption, but that of no consequence for she had endured nearly two decades of the blazing desert clime. Neither appeared to be from Pharaoh's Triple Kingdom, naturally. The castings so carefully laid by the wizard-priest had altered their looks entirely.

The young amazon was now brown of skin, her blue-black hair straight instead of curled in ringlets, her height diminished a little. Anyone who knew her, though, would otherwise have recognized Rachelle, thinking perhaps that this Hindic beauty was a half-sister with uncanny resemblance to her pale-skinned sibling.

On the other hand, Inhetep was totally unrecognizable. Instead of six and a half feet of height, he was now more than a head shorter. His head was still hairless, but it was now the color of light mahogany, and his eyes were dark hazel, not bright green. He was clearly a man of the South, Madras, perhaps in Hind. Of good caste, but no Brahman. His garments were unremarkable but not stained or shabby. Thus reasoning, any observer would identify him as a Vaisya, confirm that by what he carried and his woman. Both had relatively large bundles with them. Ergo, they were merchant and wife traveling to sell goods in distant towns or else combining that work with a holy pilgrimage.

Several shabby wanderers eyed the two speculatively, then passed by or decided not to follow them. The merchant was big, nearly two spans above five feet height, and he wasn't fat.

His eyes were alert, and he seemed to move with purposeful strength. There was also that heavy staff in his hand. Better to seek easier pickings elsewhere than test that one.

Rachelle's laughter was a bit forced. "Have you seen them, Setne?" she said in low voice when no other travelers were nearby to see her speak. "The skulking footpads and robbers?"

"How could I miss them?" The magister had, after all, been the bane of criminals for longer than she had lived.

"They fear you—you as a man, Setne. Not as a magister, not as a heka-bender, only because of your strength and your staff!"

"So? What's unusual about that?"

She didn't reply. He had a point, but it made Rachelle feel useless. After all, it was she who usually threatened off such casual would-be attackers with her bearing and sword. Then she turned to him and smiled. "You could be a fine warrior if you chose to be, Setne Inhetep!"

"Pish! What would I want to do that for? That sort of thing is your purview, Rachelle—I mean, Manasay" He said it so the middle syllable was stressed in proper Hind fashion. "And stop calling me anything other than Chandgar."

"I am not to call you anything, Setne. I, Manasay, am under a vow of silence. Call yourself Chandgar." She giggled.

"Then remain silent," Inhetep grumbled. "How far have we gone?" he queried as he glanced around to see if any others were near, might have caught a scrap of their exchange in /Egyptian. None were close, and there seemed to be no large groups ahead or behind.

Rachelle didn't respond to his question. Inhetep was about to repeat himself, then remembered what he had just commanded. She looked at him with a bland expression, but there was triumph in her dark eyes. Setne twitched a brow to let her know he was merely speaking rhetorically. Then he announced, "This is not the path for us, Manasay, and whenever we come to a main thoroughfare heading off to the right and proceeding northward, we will follow that road. We need to find fellow pilgrims traveling to the Punjab!"

It was several hours later before they came to such an artery. A knot of people were preparing a meal, shaded from the full sun overhead by a massive old banyan. The magister headed for that group, Rachelle following a bit behind him, eyes downcast. When he found a clear spot close to the others he stopped. "There is a good place for you to cook us our lunch, Manasay. You will need to search for some wood to make the fire, so hurry up. If I am still conversing with the other good folk here when it is ready, simply bring my bowl to where I am."

Rachelle nodded and seemed to work dutifully as he commanded, but Inhetep caught the look she shot him before she bent over her bag to extract her utensils and ready the rest. Smiling with more than artificial joviality, he walked to where five persons were circled around eating. "I beg your pardon, good travelers. My name is Chandgar. My wife and I have come from far away on a pilgrimage. She is barren, but we seek the blessings of the goddesses to change that. Are you by chance journeying to the Five Sacred Rivers?"

"All the way to the Punjab? No, friend Chandgar, not us. I am merely a merchant, a buyer of trees for fine lumber. I guess you are likewise of the Vaisyas, no?" Inhetep nodded, saying he was a minor dealer in medicines and amulets. The man nodded, having no particular interest in that line, but friendly still. He introduced his son, his son's two wives, and then his manservant. "We go but a few leagues, you see, to set up an office in Igatpur. Come, though, get your spouse and join us now. My son's wives love to gossip."

"I regret to say that my dear wife, Manasay, has taken a vow of silence until her loins produce a son. She is no company whatsoever, poor thing. I, however, am most anxious to have conversation. Did you know that I have always loved fine wood?"

Eventually Rachelle brought his bowl of onions and lentils to where the magister sat listening in what seemed rapt attention to the lumber buyer and his son as the two told stories about buying trees, the rowdy crews hired for the felling and transportation of them, elephants at work, dishonest sawmill owners, and still more. "Ah, yes. High time, for I am famished." He patted the ground, motioning to her. "Do not be shy, Manasay, come sit here with my new friends. I am learning much." Although Rachelle couldn't understand a word he spoke, his gestures were plain. She brought her own serving of food and sat next to him.

The younger wood merchant's wives looked at Rachelle-Manasay, found her altogether too beautiful, and shot surreptitious glares at her. Rachelle ignored them, trying to make sense of the strange-sounding conversation of the men. IH have to learn Hindi, she vowed to herself. I just know he's saying absolutely horrific things about me, she thought as the two natives laughed heartily in response to something Setne had told them. Even gossiping with those cows would be better than sitting here like a lump! Sit in silence she did for a full two hours, though, unable to guess the meaning of more than a few of the constantly repeated words. Then the magister stood up, pulled her to her feet, and pointed. She stalked to the place their things were, gathered her bundle, and waited.

"We go with this company to a town up in the hills. Tonight we camp outdoors, I am told. Tomorrow by sundown we should be in

Igatpur," he said softly, speaking in ./Egyptian. "You're doing fine. Keep up the good work. When we arrive in town, well be on our own again. Then I can use a portal to jump us ahead."

Rachelle snapped, "Fine. Fine for you! Are you having fun playing the big man?" Then she lost her irritation. "Sorry, Chandgar, it is just tiresome not to be able to understand anything, let alone having to remain silent."

"Oh. Of course. I can fix that, although youH still not be able to speak." Without haste, the wizard-priest pulled out several little folded bits of colored cloth, each of a varying hue. He handed her one of brown. "When nobody is looking, unwrap that. It's a talisman which will make the Hindic words sound like ./Egyptian to your ears. I meant to give it to you yesterday, but I forgot in all the confusion."

With great pride in herself for exercising restraint, Rachelle merely smiled and accepted the cloth. Only after a few deep breaths did she then say, "Thank you, Setne. And was the luncheon all right?"

"Well, my dear, you aren't very much of a cook, but that isn't why I love you, is it? You know, I feared that darkening your complexion and giving you straight hair would detract from your good looks, but now that I've grown more accustomed to it, I believe you are prettier than

ever. Come on now, we must keep up with the others."

She shouldered her bag, smiled, and walked quickly to catch up. He was, after all, the magister. If he had added the last bit to placate her, Rachelle didn't care. She knew it was true. . . .

Because she was able to hear what was said as if the speakers were using /Egyptian, Rachelle managed the balance of the day's long trek without being irritated and bored. They found a place to sleep that night: a little patch of grass at the edge of the fire's light, just far enough from the two dozen other travelers to be quasi-private and close enough for mutual protection in case of bandits or prowling tigers. They were able to converse in whispers after the others had settled down upon their mats and fallen into a sometimes not-too-quiet slumber.

After an exchange of trivial matters between them, Inhetep said, "Tell me what you think."

"About the folks around? Our impersonation? I'm not sure what you mean, Setne. I do believe that it Is going as you'd planned, and nobody suspects we're not actually natives."

"No. Not that. What do you think about the missing jewels?"

That gave her a moment's pause. "I haven't considered them recently."

"Yes, you have," the wizard-priest contra-dieted in gentle voice. "Only you haven't done so consciously. Just relax and say what comes to mind."

Rachelle started to protest, then relaxed. She turned her thoughts to the stolen crown jewels. "The maharajah shows great concern that there's more to it than the monetary loss."

"Are you sure? After all, any set of baubles sufficient to rate as crown jewels when bedecking a monarch seated upon the gem-encrusted Peacock Throne must be grandiose indeed," Inhetep retorted. "In fact, I am given to understand that there's a hyacinth the size of a pullet's egg atop the crown, and a jacinth nearly as big set in the orb—plus all the usual diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls, sapphires, and the like."

"There are six pieces in the set," Rachelle told him in response to that. She ticked them off for him, "The crown, the scepter, the orb, the collar, the girdle, and the ring. Not only are there magnificent corundum gems and the rest, Setne. There are elemental stones included—one big empyrium, a pair of perfect asylphars, four mahydrols, and three matched terrionds. Grandiose indeed, and priceless!"

"That was incisive! I knew I could count on your intuition to help me along. But how do you know so much about his lost jewels?"

"I make a point of knowing about many things, Magister Inhetep, including the most famous gems of the world. You should do the same."

Inhetep prodded her. "Then you retract your assessment."

"Not in the least! To have such fabulous treasure stolen from under his nose is an incredible blow to Sivadji Guldir. If he is typical of monarchs, he must be beside himself with doubts and suspicions of those around him— not to mention the damage to his ego! What occurred is almost as bad as having his famous throne spirited away from under him. If the loss were known to other rulers, he would be a laughing stock. Were it to become common gossip, then he would lose all face with his subjects."

Setne chuckled. "Right again. Have you thought about the ramifications of what you said regarding Guldir Maharajah Sivadji's position, his state of mind?"

Her voice was small when she replied, "Yes. We will be in extreme jeopardy if we somehow fail and are unable to discover the culprit and restore the lost jewels."

"We will be in danger even if we do, should the matter remain a well-kept secret at that time. As you say, if word got out, the mighty monarch would be embarrassed in the extreme."

"I'm sorry I got us into this now, Setne. Let's go back, quickly. The risk is far too great for even a reward equal to the value of the silly fool's lost coronation regalia."

The magister sat bolt upright when she said that. Just as quickly, he lay back down again. He was stiff, tense, but silent.

"Are you all right?" Rachelle hissed.

"Shhh. Wait a few moments." He remained silent for several minutes as Rachelle fidgeted, hoping anyone watching wouldn't notice while she took deep, regular breaths and feigned slumber. Finally the magister spoke again in a harsh whisper. "You did it again, Rachelle! You just showed me something else I had completely failed to consider."

"Oh. I'm glad. I thought you'd been bitten by a snake, or stung by a scorpion, or seen a lurking assassin. ..."

Inhetep laid a finger on her forehead. "Keep that wonderful mind in a serious vein. I am deadly earnest about this, Rachelle. What you just pointed out, what was obvious, what I should have seen immediately, is this: there is no urgent need for the recovery of the crown jewels of Delhi."

"What?"

"No need for getting them back in a hurry. You can stake your life on the maharajah having at least one imitation set available. On the few state occasions when he must wear the crown jewels, the fakes should serve as well as the real ones. After all, until a new ruler is installed, the regalia is merely for show."

Rachelle considered that for a moment. "Yes. The powers of the real crown jewels would only be activated in a coronation. That makes sense. Yet what if they were spirited outside Delhi? Fell into the hands of an enemy of the state? Sindraj, for instance?"

"For an opposing head of state to acquire such things by thievery brings discredit, not approbation. The Brahmans, all scholars and ecclesiastics, and thus the Hindic pantheon's faithful, would ostracize such a one. After all, save in a few cases all thieves are of the Pariah caste—untouchable and apart. No. I submit that if the crown jewels of Delhi come into the hands of any of the surrounding rulers, they will be returned. Courtesy between monarchs, if you will."

Not ready to give up, Rachelle tried another tact. "The regalia might be smuggled to a distant land."

"Magickal attempt would be detected, for the enchantments upon such items are certainly potent in the extreme. Likewise, heka is required to disguise the inner power of the crown jewels. To conceal such things from probes means they must go to ground and remain cloaked. Bringing them out and moving them would set off all manner of dweomered alarms, count on it. Trying to get them past any sort of inspection would be impossible. The missing jewels are somewhere in the state, probably in or near the city of Delhi."

Rachelle nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see that gesture in the dark. She spoke even more softly and slowly than she had before. "Why all this fuss, then? The necklace, the promise of lavish reward, the plea for immediate attendance upon the matter. ..."

"Why indeed, my dear? I haven't a clue . . . yet. With your continued help, though, I believe we can get to the bottom of things quickly, once we get to Delhi, even though the waters are deeper than I had imagined previously and there seems to be much murkiness in them." So saying, the magister gave her arm a pat by way of saying good night, then rolled on his side.

In no more than a minute, Rachelle heard his soft snoring. She envied Setne's ability to fall asleep almost anytime, anyplace, despite conditions or problems. When it was appropriate, the wizard-priest would take advantage of the opportunity and sleep, whether snatching a catnap or resting for a full night. While his body slumbered, Inhetep's mind went on working, that she knew. As for her. Rachelle had to remain conscious to solve problems. She lay awake for an hour after he dropped off.

The next day proved to be unremarkable. Inhetep chatted with this or that one of the small band as they trudged slowly up and down ever-rising hill country. As predicted, at the end of it they made the town of Igatpur. There the band dissolved, everyone going their separate ways, a sprinkling of farewells and platitudes about visiting or meeting again heard. Inhetep had managed to learn a fair amount of information regarding the way beyond, so the magister and Rachelle went into the center of the community, walked on, and exited the place by moonlight.

"We now walk the Indore Road, my dear," he informed her in /Egyptian as they left the dim lights of Igatpur behind.

Rachelle giggled. "Indore Road? That's rather funny."

"I don't see why."

She was still amused. "Oh, come now, Setne. You speak Phoenician well enough to know slang!"

"Flatulence isn't applicable to an artery of commerce," he responded after a moment of consideration. "Besides," he added, sniffing noticeably, "I can detect no trace of it here." They both laughed, glad to be free of their roles as natives. "I think it is time for us to bypass the intervening land. Let's get off the road, just in case. Find us a good spot, huntress."

"No problem," Rachelle said, leading him into the scrub bordering the highway. She was a skilled outdoorswoman, and it was no problem for her to locate a hidden place where terrain and vegetation secluded them completely. "Of course, this is just the sort of place a prowling leopard or hungry tiger will come," she told the wizard-priest as he admired her find.

"Ill leave the defense against such predators to you, my dear. Now then, have you got your dagger handy?" He was rummaging around as he spoke, then pulled out a flat leather wallet.

Rachelle responded by producing that weapon from somewhere under her garments. Without being asked, she understood what the magister desired. Plainly, he wanted to study something. "Here is your light," she said, cupping her palms around the glowing amethyst in its pommel so as to keep the rays downward and confined to the area around him.

Setne held a map, moving it so it was nearer the shining stone. "Yes. Good. Ill take us to a similar place beyond the city of Jaipur, so well be quite near the border between Sindraj and the maharajate of Delhi."

"How great a distance is that?"

"From what I can tell about the crookedness of the roads of these Hindic nations, Rachelle, I'd say something over two hundred leagues."

"By all means, dear Magister! I have no desire to trudge dutifully behind you carrying this mountain of supplies over more than six hundred miles of hill roads. Get on with your casting, and 111 be eternally grateful."

"How grateful?"

"Sufficiently so as to refrain from nagging."

"You are under a vow of silence."

"Nonsense."

"All right. How about—"

Rachelle made as if to prod him with the point of her blade. "Get busy! We can discuss rewards for performance when the crown jewels are recovered."

"I was afraid you'd say that," the magister said. His tone conveyed no hint of jest.

BORDER CROSSING FROM JAIPUR

"Nauseating or not, Setne, I am growing ever more positive about the art of dweomercraeft you practice. When we get back home I want you to teach me how to create spatial doors."

He knew that Rachelle referred to the queasy feeling she had whenever she utilized the dimension-warping place created by his casting. "You are a dabbler in dweomers, my dear, barely initiated in the basic arts."

"Then youH have a lot of instructing to do, won't you." It was a statement, not a question.

"As you wish—but we'll see if you stick to it when the time comes," the wizard-priest added. Of course, Setne was pleased that his amazon companion thought it worthwhile to gain more skill in one of his most potent areas of ability. He had used his skill to enable them to traverse hundreds of miles. By application of several of the Laws of Magick, he had made a short-lived anomaly in the three dimensions of length, breadth, and height. Being small and temporary, such a portal was thus referred to by those able to use heka power as a "door." Had it been larger, more permanent, the anomaly would have been termed a "gate" instead. No matter. Its existence had enabled them to step from a place near Igatpur in the Kandesh province of the Hind Empire all the way to a location not far from the city of Jaipur in the Rajputana province of Sindraj. Some step! Through the application of Similarity, Inhetep had, through a little reversal of position, managed to cause the anomaly's "other side" to exist just a few miles southwest of their desired destination. He was proud of it, not merely for its accuracy, but for the amazingly small disturbance he made in the aether and elsewhere when he activated the casting. "Of course, if you do study with determination, you'll become able in relatively little time—a few years. After all, I am among the best—"

"Yes, O Marvel of Magick. Now stop lecturing. Your chest thumping might be heard all the way to that city. And just how can you be sure that the scattering of lights in the distance is actually our desired city? How do you know it is Jaipur?"

"How quickly they forget," Inhetep murmured under his breath as he took Rachelle's arm. "Well, there's no practical way to be positive about that until the morrow. I doubt that

I could be so far off as to bring us to a city of Jaipur's size in a wrong direction. When the sun is up, well walk down there and find out for ourselves. Until then, I think we should make camp, eat a bite, and get some sleep."

Those words caused her to wince. "You want me to cook, don't you?"

"No, not really," Setne said with a shake of his head and a sad voice. "But we must eat, so there is no alternative." He laughed when she struck him with her fist.

They found a good place, and after the magister had laid a protective globe around the area, built a little campfire, cooked a meager supper, and went to sleep. No prowling animal or human predator would be able to molest them without suffering severe harm in the attempt. Any such intruder would discover a perimeter of energy which inflicted injury and alerted those protected by it that something was attempting to get at them. Both Rachelle and Setne were undisturbed. No assailant approached, and they slept in relative comfort, conditions notwithstanding, until the full sunlight and the cries of raucous birds and chattering monkeys awakened them.

They were some distance from the walled city now seen clearly from where they were in highlands, so it took them almost two hours to arrive there. First, they had to find their way back to a road, then follow it down to Jaipur.

They walked purposefully on empty stomachs, for both agreed that breakfast could await their finding a good meal in the community. There was a light flow of people and animals through the gate. Guards collected tolls, and with nothing more than paying over a bronze coin, an anna, wizard-priest and amazon in the guise of Hindi travelers went through the gate. It was indeed Jaipur.

In a short time, Inhetep located a place which catered to travelers, providing accommodations and meals. Once inside they both noted it was pretentious and thus would overcharge. Rachelle went from subservient wife to a sharp-eyed lady of a household in an instant, the trick merely one of changed bearing and mien. Similarly, Inhetep stood straight and strode confidently to where several persons were clustered in a group, chattering together. It was evident these were staff, not guests of the establishment, and they were bent on ignoring a pair of shabby, travel-stained inferiors daring to enter their exalted premises. The foyer, if such a large and grand hall could be properly termed that, was impressive. Floor and walls were brightly tiled. Vivid paintings adorned the walls and rich draperies screened several doorways. A big fountain in the center shot many small and silvery streams of water upwards to tinkle and splash in tiered pools alive with brightly colored little fish. Large oriental carpets covered sections of the huge floor. Ornate furniture of teak and mahogany was scattered about in appropriate places. Vases and brass-work, even ivoiy, made the decor fairly shriek that only those with great wealth dare enter.

The magister stopped when he was within a few feet of them, dropping his burden. Rachelle was at his side, likewise relieving herself of the bag she carried. The studiousness with which these actions were ignored was almost laudable. Inhetep, however, had no such reaction. In fact, he was annoyed at the pretension and implicit insult conveyed.

He snapped his fingers. "You there! Yes, you!" he snapped when one of the men turned languidly to stare down his nose at the offensive display. "I will speak to the owner now. Immediately. Fetch him!"

Contempt fled sniveling before unease, followed by fear. What if this fellow was somebody after all? After a slight hesitation, the man swallowed and said, "Yes, sir." When their comrade said that, the other three looked at Inhetep, trying to seem self-assured and casual.

"You have duties here?" the magister said in his authoritative voice. The gossipers scattered, suddenly remembering important matters demanding their attention.

Just then a man in an expensive robe of silk appeared, the one sent to fetch him fluttering in his wake. "How may I be of assistance?" he inquired with a tone somewhere between lofty doubt and efficient hospitality.

"That remains to be seen," the magister said sharply in reply as he ran his eyes over the shorter man as if appraising him. "You are the owner of this . . . place?"

"Ah, well, no. I am the manager, however, and—"

Inhetep sniffed when he identified his position, cut him short with, "That will do if the owner isn't here. Your establishment is lax. Your help inefficient and rude. That reflects badly on the owner—and worse on you who are in charge of such a staff. Train them or find competent people. Such advice I give you at no cost."

The manager's mouth worked, but Inhetep refused to allow him the opportunity to say anything. "We have come all the way from Bombay, stopping here because the secretary of Prince Parvanarma assured me your facilities were adequate. I shall be sorry to disabuse him." With that, the magister turned as if he were leaving.

"Please, sahib," the manager pleaded. "Do not be over hasty, I beg of you." He came to place himself between the two and the exit, saying rapidly in unctuous tones. "This is indeed a worthy place of rest and enjoyable relaxation, offering every amenity to the visitor of high caste and distinctive taste. Stay here! I will see that any little oversight you experienced on first arriving will be more than made up for—"

"You view inattention, insult, as little? I shall tell that to the prince himself, as well as communicate your attitude to the owner. What is the name of he who owns this place?!"

"You misunderstand! No, wait! I speak in confused fashion because I am so distraught at the heinous conduct of those who formerly were employed here. Allow me to show you to a lounge where you can have tea and such other refreshment as you might desire while I personally attend to your suite. There will be no charge for the refreshments. ..." He paused for breath as he said that, peering up into Inhetep's face. What he saw didn't reassure him. The manager hastened on with even greater urgency: "Or for the room, of course. Never would the Rajah's charge a noble client such as the sahib for its services, considering the unfortunate circumstances!"

"Services? We shall see. However, since your offer indicates there might be merit to this place after all, I suspend my previous judgment. We will be staying two nights, possibly three. We will need some light comestibles to accompany our tea, and don't be long in readying our rooms. There we require a bath. Have a servant ready to run errands. One cannot carry amenities when traveling incognito with . . . special instructions, shall we say?" The last was in friendlier voice, the conspiratorial tone and words hinting at secret matters, whether of financial dealings or state affairs.

The manager took the cue. "Naturally, sahib, naturally. Is there anything else?"

"That will do. I am beginning to feel better about your establishment. If the remainder of our stay continues in this manner, you shall be rewarded, ah . . . ?"

"Dushatara, sahib. Dushatara, manager of the Rajah's, at your command always."

"Register us only Sahib Chandgar and Sa-hibah Manasay. You do not know I am fakhir to Prince— Never mind. The tea room?"

"The morning salon is there, great sahib, just through those draperies to your left. All you asked for will be served there. Now if you and your lady will excuse me," and with that he backed away several steps, then turned and nearly ran off to take care of all he needed to do.

"I do so love to do that," the magister said under his breath as he and Rachelle proceeded to the room in which they could finally get some breakfast.

"Browbeat overweening functionaries? Get a free suite?"

"Both!" Setne admitted enthusiastically. He smiled and added in a whisper as they passed through the heavy draperies into the jaosh chamber beyond, "My Hindic is much better that I had hoped. Otherwise, though, this exercise is the same in any land one visits. All Dus-hataras everywhere are alike. Trample on the hapless, sell their souls to those of power and prestige. It makes me ashamed to actually be among the latter."

It was some considerable time later. Fed, bathed, Setne shaved, and each now wearing new clothing purchased with coins supplied by the magister to a hotel servant who shopped for them, the two strolled languidly along an avenue in the city. "Well it's nice for a change, Setne," Rachelle said under her breath so nobody would overhear her /Egyptian speech, "to have the chance to see a Hindic city. Let's see what that shop offers."

Inhetep demured. "We can't carry much more with us, Rachelle, and I need to think. Window shopping only." When he saw her pout, the magister reassured her. "Tomorrow you can examine every place offering goods in the whole of Jaipur if that suits you. Right now, I need to walk around and get the lay of things here."

"Why tomorrow, then? I know you too well not to be suspicious, Setne Inhetep!"

"I will be busy gleaning information on the morrow, my dear. When I am engaged thus, you 11 have plenty of free time to do as you like. I have but one thing you must do."

She stopped short, halting the wizard-priest in his tracks by holding fast to his arm. "What do you mean you'll be out? I will be with you."

"Impossible," Inhetep told her bluntly. "These lands are far more unenlightened than /Egypt and some other states. Here women aren't allowed alone in many sorts of places, are unwelcome even in the company of a man in others. No help for it, Rachelle. You will shop alone while I do my investigation. Besides, I really do need you to do an important errand while I am trying to learn something here."

"What is that, pray tell?"

He smiled and said, "Close. I need you to locate a seller of religious items. One carrying shrines of a portable sort, able to fit easily into your travel bag. When you find the right establishment, you are to select an impressive but not ostentatious shrine consecrated to the goddess Sita. Something in the five-hundred-annas range, I should imagine. No solid ivory or silver, no encrusted gems. Finely carved hardwood with such inlay as seems discrete. The figurine of the goddess should be removable."

"This is important?"

"Vital. You know I wouldn't say it was if it wasn't—-just as I wouldn't go alone if it were possible to include you."

That made sense. Rachelle, was above all, a reasonable person about most things. She still had one doubt, though. "You have seen such shrines?"

"Yes. Well, I have, but I haven't noticed any for sale here in Jaipur. There must certainly be a shop which purveys them, though."

"No doubt," she said as dryly as he was effusive. "I don't question that, it is your estimation of the cost which I suspect. What made you choose five hundred as the price?"

The magister cleared his throat and looked skyward a moment or two before responding. "That is a reasonable sum to pay for such a thing, of course. A mere wooden shrine couldn't be more expensive."

"Tomorrow shall be as you say, Setne, but when you depart, I want three times—no, four!— the amount you think 111 need. That's final." She heard him sigh heavily as he nodded his head.

After a long walk through the heart of the city, Rachelle fascinated with the exotic sights, sounds, and smells, they returned to the hotel. There they enjoyed a brief rest and dined. The service they received was impeccable, their slightest wish seemingly anticipated by a hovering steward. After a leisurely consumption of digestives in an ornate side chamber provided to patrons for after-dining relaxation, they returned upstairs for an early night's rest in soft beds. The little orchestra and dances performed downstairs held no interest for Rachelle, and Inhetep was lost in other matters. It was a true pleasure after ship, slum room, and outdoor camps, to be nestled in such luxurious comfort. Both slept late.

Shortly before mid-morning they came downstairs. Having already had sufficient breakfast in their suite to carry them through to evening, they exited the Rajah's and soon went their separate ways. "Ill be back before twilight," the magister told Rachelle. "Please do not remain out any later—it would be too dangerous and certain to attract attention."

"Attention?"

"But of course. YouH be mistaken for a courtesan."

She nodded her agreement. Rachelle would show anyone mistaking her for a whore the folly of his error in short order. That she didn't fear, but under no circumstances did the ama-zon wish to draw unwanted attention to them, and her correction of one approaching her for sex would certainly bring the city guards. Anyway, she was thinking as she entered an interesting bazaar, with so few coins, there'll be no need to remain out for more than a few hours. I could spend twice this amount in such a short time.

When they departed from the hotel the next day, Rachelle had the desired shrine tucked safely away in her sling carry-all. Although their recently acquired finery was again replaced by common garments suitable for walking the dusty roads of the land, Dushatara, manager of the Rajah's, was as subservient as ever. So too his staff, among whom were several new members. Without showing his distress, the magister handed him a lakh. The coin instantly disappeared, hardly a flash of gold seen to mark where it had been. "See that those people who deserve reward are taken care of," Inhetep said rather curtly.

"Of course, sahib," the fellow shot back with ease, which implied that such advice was indecorous and unneeded.

Outside Rachelle spoke to him about his action. "If you give such lavish gratuities, Setne, you shouldn't lecture me!"

That was most irritating to the magister. The shrine had cost over twice what he had thought reasonable for such a thing. He had had to pay such a big departing gift to the manager so as to assure the fellow didn't talk about his visit afterwards. With so large an amount to pocket, Dushatara would not relate the matter of the supposed official having visited, the fuss, and the free lodging. It would be hushed up, but the expense was as great as if he had actually paid for their accommodations. "Bah! If I hadn't needed to assure that officious worm's silence, I'd not have given him a gold lakh for his services!"

"Setne! Many of the staff there were excellent—after the first little difficulty."

He clamped his mouth shut and made no reply to that. The two thus proceeded In silence through the Alwar Gate. It was still a long way to the city for which the gate was named, and before they arrived in Alwar they would have to cross the border between Sindraj and their destination, the maharajate of Delhi in which lay the aforenamed city. Horses would have hastened their progress, but mounts were uncommon for average folk here. To approach the border riding horses would be to raise a warning flag to the guards. Well away from Jaipur, they surreptitiously moved off the road, and once again the wizard-priest used his words of magickal power to create an anomaly to transport them to a place very near the imaginary line which separated Sindraj in the south from Delhi in the north.

"This is risky," he said as he activated the casting. He peered at a distorted area on the trunk of a big tree, the place which marked the spot he had created the "door" for them. "Perhaps I can ..." With that, the magister thrust his head into the seemingly solid bole. He vanished to the abdomen, looking for ail the world as if he was a monstrous growth springing from the trunk to the ground where his feet were rooted. "Why are you staring so?" Setne asked in puzzlement when he withdrew and turned to speak to Rachelle.

She laughed nervously. "You seemed a very odd part of that tree, Setne. It wasn't actually funny, more eerie, and ..."

"That's fine. 1 understand. The exit point is fortunately in a secluded place. We must hurry before the heka runs out and this portal disappears." He held out his hand. Rachelle took ahold, and with him leading, they went through. A few heartbeats later, first Inhetep, then Rachelle, stepped from what appeared to be a similar tree bole. Only the sickening sensation and the changed surroundings enabled them to discern that they had passed over leagues, not simply stepped through one side of the trunk to come out on the other.

"Which direction now?" the magister murmured, peering around with uncertainty.

She glanced at the sky, then pointed. "Let's try that way, Setne. From the position of the sun, that's north, and if we angle eastward a bit we should cross the road—if you managed to get us along a parallel to it."

"I think I did. Let's see." In a relatively short time, they came upon what was certainly the Alwar Road. It was broad and busy. Hardly a glance was directed at the two as they stepped from the underbrush to join the flow heading northward. Couples coming from the bushes weren't remarkable, after all. One fellow winked at the magister after eyeing Rachelle. Setne winked back and let it go at that.

Afternoon found them amid a cluster of hovels, a miserable little hamlet which marked the place where the maharajah of Sindraj's rule ended, being replaced a little beyond by that of the potentate who sat upon the Peacock Throne. "What business have you in Delhi?" a soldier demanded roughly as the two came to the place where travelers were allowed to pass out of Sindraj. He was brutal looking and had cold eyes.

"We go on holy pilgrimage to the sacred rivers of Punjab," Inhetep said with neither arrogance nor subservience.

Somehow that seemed to arouse the guard's suspicion. "Is that so?" he growled, stepping closer to both. "Have you anything to declare? Any proscribed things? Contraband?"

"No. Nothing of the sort."

"Ill see if that's so," he snapped. "Lay your packs upon the ground. I will also search you both—the woman first."

Setne saw a glint in Rachelle's eyes. It spelled trouble for the soldier if he dared to lay his hands on her. No such commotion could be allowed. The priest-wizard acted quickly then. "Wait! I urge you not to lay a finger on her, good soldier!"

The man spun, hand on his weapon's hilt. His face was flushed as he nearly shouted, "What was that you said to me?!"

"Have a care! That woman is under vow to the goddess Sita. She is making a pilgrimage because the goddess came to her in a vision, told her she must do this. That is why I am here. I dare not rouse a deity's ire, do you?"

"I don't believe you! Hah, I don't give a pinch of monkey's shit for that lie," he continued as he grabbed for Rachelle. An instant later, he was knocked backward, the event accompanied by a sharp crack of sound and a flash of light.

Many other travelers had been witness to the whole scene. In fact, several other guards had been watching casually, hoping to see something interesting from what their comrade did to the two. They were soldiers, sick of border duty, bored, and generally nasty at the best of times. "When the man ended up prone, they drew their weapons, came closer, but hesitated. Perhaps it was some conjuror's trick, but what if the tall man spoke the truth?

An officer appeared from one of the huts. "What is the problem here?" he barked when he saw the frozen tableau. One of the guardsmen explained. The officer looked at the fallen man, kicked him awake, and told him to stand at attention. Then he approached Inhetep and the amazon.

"Who are you?" he asked civilly enough. The magister answered, supplying names for both himself and Rachelle. "Why do you speak for your wife?" he then queried, and of course the magister gave him the story of the vow of silence, embellished by a personal vision of the goddess. Hearing that, the officer seemed neither to believe nor doubt. "Sita. I see. What happened to the guard who was going to search you?" he said suddenly to Rachelle, looking directly at her.

Rachelle's eyes showed she understood his question, that she had an answer, but she didn't otherwise respond. "As I said, sir," Inhetep filled in, "she can not utter a word until her pilgrimage is done, her vow fulfilled. I tried to warn your man. I think the goddess has placed a protective mantle upon my wife. I dare not touch her," he added ruefully. The latter almost convinced the officer, but he was careful.

"You there!" The officer motioned. The stricken soldier came to stand before his superior. He moved a little jerkily, and he was undoubtedly bruised and sore. The guard's eyes were filled with an almost laughable mixture of hatred and fear, which he hid as he looked at the officer.

"Sir?" He was told to go and bring the swami subadar. He went off, his now-odd gait eliciting more than one suppressed chuckle from the growing throng who watched this exciting show.

In truth, the officer was tempted to laugh, but instead he waved the crowd off, ordered the idle guards nearby to get busy processing the folk, and then led his two charges so as to meet the approaching magickal practitioner partway.

Out of range of the curious now, the officer had Inhetep repeat the whole story. The swami subadar used his powers. "I can find no deception, but ..."

"But what?"

"There are very strong auras and flows of energy, sir. I can not be sure of anything."

"Is that so! Tell me, Merchant Chandgar, how do you explain that?!"

"I? I explain such things? No, sahib officer. I am only a businessman, no worker of magickal wonders. I can only tell you it is the goddess in her shrine. My dear Manasay spends hours of time in devotional meditation and prayer before it each night and day. Sita is within!" Inhetep pointed helplessly towards their gear, his look beseeching the aid of the army heka practitioner.

The swami subadar rose to the bait perfectly. "That's easy enough to check on, sir. Shall I examine their things?"

With an affirmative answer, the commander of the detachment guarding the border crossing called out for one of the men to bring the two bags to where they stood apart. "Empty them," he ordered. The guardsman dumped both.

"Aiiiy!" the swami cried when that happened. "Have a care! There is very potent heka coming from—" He stopped to bend down and rummage through the mess. Then he stopped and held something up. "This shrine! Should I open it, sir?"

"Open it, Subadar," the officer said.

The swami put the little box on the ground, sat cross-legged before it, and after a few mumbled incantations in preparation, pulled the doors outwards, doing so carefully, possibly with trepidation. Immediately upon so doing, he gave a gasp. Then the fellow prostrated himself, bending so that his forehead was flush upon the ground despite his position.

The officer saw nothing remarkable in the shrine, only a small idol of the goddess in question: Sita, wife of the great Rama. "Come on, man!" he barked. "Stop that. Tell me what you see."

It took a few minutes to get the swami out of his adoration, back on his feet, and able to report. "Surely, sir, that shrine holds the power of the goddess. Never have I experienced such an energy. Sita's own voice spoke to me, commanding that I leave her faithful handmaiden, Manasay, wife of the man Chandgar, untouched. I am to send her on her way to the springs which form the Five Rivers. This man spoke true."

"Very well. Thank you, Swami Subadar. You may get back to what you were doing. You two may leave. Get away from here. Cross the border to Delhi and get on to your Punjab. Do not return this way—if you do return!" he added.

Something about this whole matter bothered him, but he no longer cared. What difference if this couple went to the land of the enemy? Even if the fellow was a trickster, he was not going to detain him. Under no circumstances did he want either that man or his good-looking woman around.

Thus the two entered the lands ruled by Guldir Maharajah Sivadji. At last they were in Delhi, if not at the great capital city of that name.

—— 7 ——

A CRY IN THE NIGHT

In a few hundred yards, they had to pass through those soldiers set to guard against the unwanted incursion of those coming from Sindraj. It was Delhi which was pressing the conflict between the two states, the Peacock Throne which sought territorial gain from its neighbor to the south. But that was in the far west, in Multan. Here they were fearful of only one thing. That was, of course, an invasion. Spies would always get across borders. No clever one would ever come along a road such as this. Smugglers would likewise avoid an open crossing. They were cursory in their checking, demanding only bribes for admittance.

"It is five annas each to enter," the man stopping Inhetep and Rachelle said.

"I am no prince to pay such an outrageous sum!" the magister said hotly when he heard that. "I am an honest merchant who can afford but a single anna," he said loudly. Then he handed something over to the guardsman.

"Honest merchant! There is no such thing!" the soldier shouted back. But he accepted what Inhetep had given him, and with some curses waved them on past where he stood.

"What was that ruckus for?" Rachelle asked.

"Oh, he was covering up. I gave him two annas when I said I could afford but one. That way he could keep one for himself without having to put it in the pot for all his fellows to divide. It works nearly always."

"There's more to you, Magister, than meets the eye," Rachelle scolded. "Knowledge of such a roguish trick is a sign of a misspent youth."

"And now a misspent maturity with you, my dear!"

She made a face at him. "You mean middle age."

"Nothing of the sort. We ur-kheri-heb-tepiu defy such mundane conceptions."

"Yes. You go from undoubtedly stuffy younger age to a stodginess of septuagenarian sort without benefit of any intermediate period."

"But last night you said—"

"Be quiet, Setne. Someone will hear us." At that point, Rachelle was no longer joking. The thoroughfare leading to Alwar was no place to be chattering in /Egyptian.

"Right." He said that in the lingua franca, knowing the talisman she wore would enable translation. "Now I will speak, you will listen in dutiful silence." Her glare would have been sufficient to egg him on, but by now Setne had tired of the game. "Walk along briskly. I wish to get to the city as soon as possible. I am tired of shank's mare. When we reach Alwar, we will find good horses and ride the remainder of the way to Delhi. It has been nearly a month, and I fear our patron will be beside himself."

The amazon looked at Inhetep with one brow raised. The look conveyed her concern.

"As close as we are, and with no opposition likely to alert such an arrival, why not fast steeds? Would you prefer the comfort of a how-dah atop the back of a great elephant?" Rachelle looked disgusted. "I thought not. Horses it will be, then." They walked on thus, the magister sporadically keeping up similar one-way conversations as they went.

Thankfully, their goal was only a dozen miles on the other side of the border. That explained the unusually heavy traffic. Its proximity to Sindraj also explained the unusually good state of repair of Alwar's walls and the strength of the military force garrisoning the city. As difficult as such a place might prove to be, there was one great advantage to the presence of the army there. Horses were plentiful, if more than a trifle dear due to demand. After a night's stay in a nondescript inn, they entered the horse market to accomplish the magister's purpose.

Rachelle was a great judge of horseflesh.

which was saying a lot, for Inhetep was also knowledgeable in that regard. After visiting several stables, the two finally found a pair of mounts which suited them both. At first, the dealer didn't believe that a merchant of his sort could afford such animals. He was about to walk away when Setne named an insultingly low figure, referring to the stock as "broken down." That caused the man to turn in fuiy, proclaiming the quality of his horses in a loud voice, heatedly demanding ten times their value as a counter to the figure Inhetep had offered. This was the sort of haggling the trader couldn't resist! Long and difficult bargaining ensued. It was always acrimonious. At last, grumbling and swearing that the dealer was a son of a rakshasa, for only one of such wicked parentage could ask so many thousands for spavined jades, he paid over gold. The seller seemed as angry about the transaction as his buyer, but he nevertheless ordered a grinning lackey to put bit and bridle, pad and saddles on the horses in question. Of course, the fellow gave them the oldest and worst tack he had, but in truth he felt cheated. It seemed that Magister Inhetep, even in the guise of a Hindi, could drive a sharp bargain.

"Fine animals, Setne!" Rachelle exclaimed enthusiastically under her breath. "But the cost!"

He was all too aware of the inflated prices being paid in Alwar, but as he had paid only about a tenth over the horses' true worth, Inhetep wasn't actually displeased. He shrugged and didn't say anything in reply, though, glad to be no longer walking. He was eager to be in the maharajah's city, ready to begin his beloved investigative work. Because the wizard-priest was immersed in such thoughts, what his companion had said to him didn't really register.

Rachelle was familiar with his moods and knew what such behavior meant. She too thought it was high time to concentrate on the reason they were here. While it was enjoyable to take ships and wander through foreign lands when traveling for pleasure, the magis-ter's peculiar mixture of travel modes were not to the amazon's liking in this case. In truth, Rachelle had thought from the moment he had decided to take the challenge and go to Delhi, Setne should have used his heka to deliver them quickly and directly to the palace of the maharajah. She had questioned him obliquely and received answers which didn't satisfy. His levity, her teasing, were screens to mask concerns. But was he really wrong? That remained to be seen. However, she would stay especially alert just in case.

Horses instead of a casting. This was distinctly odd. Perhaps it was simply that Setne wished to see the land. He was an accomplished horseman, and she too could ride superbly. Yet the dangers of mounted travel across half the breadth of Delhi seemed an inordinate risk compared to instant access.

I will make a point of acquiring more skill in magickal matters when we get back home, she thought as they cantered northwards. Perhaps it is merely my lack of acumen in such regard that makes me so uneasy. Even as that thought trailed away, Rachelle doubted it.

Inhetep set a good, steady pace for them. He alternately went from walk to trot to canter, then back to trot and walk. After a couple of hours, he signaled his companion to halt. There was a shady spot ahead; grass for grazing. They dismounted. "We are now of the warrior caste, my dear. We are Kshatriyas. I am Sahib Chandgar, you Sahibah Manasay. If need be, we'll stay with the 'vow of silence' story, but 111 say it is regarding a matter of personal honor which I cannot relate. That will suffice."

"Are we going to keep up this pace? I hope so, Setne! At the rate we're going, we should be in Delhi city in what—two days? Three?"

The wizard-priest shook his head. "We'll cover as much ground as we can today, but seek a company of pilgrims to spend the night with. What I learn from them will determine if we press on thereafter or proceed in company at a slower rate."

"Well, whatever we do, Setne, don't you think that it would be better if we donned our armor and carried weapons now?"

The magister's now-hazel eyes opened wide in surprise. "Of course! I should have said that. Sorry. It's just that I am ..."

"It is nothing. No harm done, Setne. You're just too busy thinking about the problem of the missing jewels to think of everything. That's why I come along with you, shave-pate." Inhetep smiled ruefully and nodded. "Don't you think you should open up your magickal trunk, then?" she prompted. Again the magister bobbed his head, went to his steed, and fetched out the appropriate gear from the enchanted coffer. Rachelle donned her chain shirt, added the other pieces of armor, slung bow and quiver from the saddle, then girded herself with a sword belt. When she looked up, she was surprised to see the magister was in armor as well.

Noticing her look, Inhetep explained, "I actually anticipated something like this occurring. That's why I brought along this plain breastplate and the cap to hide my hairless head. With the staff turned into a lance, I believe I make a passable warrior."

"Not bad," she admitted. "The saber is a nice touch—better than this straight blade I bear. Why didn't I think of that?"

They covered fifty or more miles by evening, locating a big encampment of travelers in the twilight. When the two rode up and dismounted, the folk there shied away, watching them with something between suspicion and hatred. Such an attitude was not uncommon, for those horsed were undoubtedly of high caste, possibly of the nobility. Still, because Inhetep and Rachelle had no escort, the two score plus people gathered together were not quite sure. After all, armed riders could prove a big deterrent to thieves and bandits! Even with so large a number in their encampment, it was a fact of life that a pair of able, armed warriors were worth ten times their number of ordinary folk. Nobody approached them, however, but kept a distance and watched surreptitiously.

This was obviously an organized band. "Who is the chief man of this company?" the magister called out after he and Rachelle were dismounted and had unsaddled their horses.

After a slight hesitation, a somewhat heavy-set fellow of average height approached. "I have been voted as the leader of this company, master. We are mostly pilgrims going north to the shrines of the Punjab, although some are traveling on business. I am called Aghasur."

"You may address me as Sahib Chandgar. My wife, the Sahibah Manasay, is vowed to silence until she has completed her own pilgrimage and paid devotion to a goddess. That is of no matter to you. However, we have decided to camp here for the night. Be grateful of our protection."

"But of course, great sahib. Whatever you wish. We are all glad to have such exalted persons in our company."

"In your company?" Inhetep said that in accusatory tone, for something in the fellow's eyes irked him. "That remains to be seen, Agh-asur," he went on before the man could respond. "For now see that someone brings us food for our supper—the sahibah will give the one who serves us our bowls to fill. See to that matter quickly. You may return to your place now."

Aghasur gave a little bow, retreated as ordered. Soon he was walking about the other little knots of people, speaking to one or another, then moving on. In a few minutes, a girl of about ten came to fetch their bowls. She and her mother returned almost immediately, each carrying a full dish of rice and egg curry.

"That looks very nice," the magister said with a smile meant to make the two less nervous. "We thank you." The woman and girl looked down, frightened despite his warmth. They then hurried away in some confusion. Inhetep handed Rachelle her portion and began to eat. The stuff was delicious. He must have looked happy.

"No comments, Setne," the amazon hissed. "I am your guard and confidante, not your cook."

With equal care not be overheard, the wizard-priest responded, "And you excel in your capacities." He chuckled without mirth. "When we are done, you and I will go over and personally thank that family. Perhaps we can learn a little about what things are like."

It turned out that after initial hesitation, the magister and his companion were accepted, albeit with reservation, by the group around the fire. The woman who had cooked the food, her daughter and son, and the husband and father made up the majority. Two cousins of his had come along. There was also one who seemed to be a stranger. Although nobody said that, he wasn't introduced. He didn't volunteer either, but instead nodded shyly, then slipped off with the excuse he had to answer a call of nature.

"Who is he?" Inhetep asked then.

The husband spoke. "Oh, he is a nice enough fellow. Strong and willing to help. He gathers the firewood for us, cleans the pots and dishes in return for a little food. He is a peddler. We met him while leaving Alwar yesterday."

"You are all from that city, then?"

"No, sahib. He isn't, nor are half or more of the others. We met on the road—some yesterday, some today—just as we met you and the sahibah."

The magister wasn't surprised to hear that. "So, you all are going to the capital?"

"Many, sahib, but not all, I think."

"Aghasur seems a good leader for such a caravan. You and the others must have known him well and long to appoint him chief."

At that the fellow demured. "I hardly know him at all, great one. He is of good caste, though, and took charge when he met us yesterday. Soon thereafter, some of the other newcomers began to argue with our people. A fight almost broke out. Then Aghasur set matters straight, his associates forcing the rowdy newcomers to stop making a disturbance, to settle things peacefully and amicably. His band numbers a dozen, you see, and all seem strong and able to fight off robbers. He is a natural leader, and the ones in his company obey him. We let him become head man after ending the dispute so easily. Who could object after that?"

"Who indeed?" Inhetep murmured agreement. Before he could say more, and as if summoned by mention of his name, Aghasur appeared.

"Is all in order, warrior sahib? Was something wrong with the food served to you? If so I will—"

With a forceful gesture, the magister silenced his words in midsentence. "No need for anything from you, Aghasur. I am here to thank these good folk for their hospitality. The meal was excellent." Inhetep's tone bore a sharp reproof for the chief of the travelers and praise for the humble folk with whom he now spoke.

That made the headman babble apologies to all, issue a string of inquiries as to what service he might do to make amends, and so forth. Finally, as Inhetep stood in silence throughout the performance, Aghasur stopped his chattering. Peering up from a servile position, he watched the taller man with eyes bright in the firelight's glimmer. Was there cunning in that look, or merely hopeful expectancy?

"You abase yourself unnecessarily. I am not angry at you. These folk here have told me you are able, a natural one to lead the company. But enough of this. I am tired, so the sahibah and I will go to our own place for the night. I am a very light sleeper, though, so at the least disturbance we will be ready with our weapons. Tonight there will no thieves creeping undetected into the encampment to pillage and harm."

As they walked away, Rachelle whispered, "Does he fear we will assume command of the company? What is wrong with that? Who could object? I don't think I like that man. He's altogether too—" She bit off her words, for a small sound came from behind them.

Inhetep heard it too, and he spun. Aghasur was a few paces behind them. "What do you want?" the magister barked. There was a very hard edge in his voice.

"To thank you again, great ones. I ... I didn't mean to intrude. I leave now. Good night." He stood, looking at them, not actually moving.

Without a word, the wizard-priest turned away, ignoring the man. Back at their little bonfire, he said to Rachelle, "That one bears watching. He couldn't have been close enough to hear you were speaking a foreign tongue, but he might have caught the sound of your voice. I'll wager he now knows I lied when 1 said you had taken a vow of silence. Perhaps master Aghasur is simply jealous of his position, wants to retain authority—but perhaps it is something else. Let us keep one eye open at all times."

As if in response to the magister's words about being safe from robbers, Inhetep and Rachelle were attacked an hour after midnight. The amazon was indeed sleeping as if with one eye watching, and Setne had laid an alarm perimeter to alert him if anyone came near. Four men thought to crawl close enough to kill the two sleepers. Instead, their intended victims were up and smiting the would-be bandits before the quartet knew what was happening. With sword and dagger, Rachelle slew one while he wiggled on his belly. The other she cut down when he sprang up and tried to grapple with her. A party with main gauche, thrust, thrust, and double again with both blades.

The magister likewise speared a crawling assailant, then used his long weapon to fend off the other. Seeing himself alone, the robber bolted off, but he took no more than a dozen running strides before the spear-tipped magickal staff took him in the back. He shrieked and fell, dead before he sprawled onto the ground.

As quick as it had been, there was sufficient noise to rouse the rest of the camp. Torches were thrust into the fire's embers, whirled aloft to bring the clearing into ruddy illumination. Everyone was confused, shouting, fearful. Aghasur and his cronies were running about with clubs and daggers, ready to fall upon any other thieves. Then bedlam arose as one after another of the four corpses glowed a reddish color and vanished in a clap of miniature thunder, leaving only black, oily vapors to mark where they had been.

"Those were the ones who tried to make trouble—the ones Aghasur put in their place!" someone cried. "That is what happens to those who serve the Lord of Tigers when they are slain!"

"No!" somebody contradicted. "That is what the secret enfor—" A companion shook the speaker, silencing him. Those two looked at each other a moment, each with fear plainly etched on his countenance. The moment broke, and it affected the whole company. As if a pall had fallen over them, all went off quietly, no longer interested in what had occurred. Yet it seemed to Rachelle and Inhetep that many of the folk glanced their way, gave small nods, or flashed brief, thankful smiles before closing into insular knots.

"You brought this upon yourselves!" Aghasur accused as he and his followers came to confront the two. "Perhaps it would be better for all if you left this company."

The magister stared at the fellow. Aghasur managed to meet his gaze for some time before his eyes shifted aside. "Never speak to your betters in such manner, you insolent cur!" Inhetep said in a flat voice which carried across the clearing. "We will decide when to stay and when to leave. We have just decided to stay, so take your pack and get back to your fire. When morning comes, I'll settle with you."

Aghasur and his men slunk away. "I knew he was trouble," Rachelle whispered. "Hell be back later." But Instead, he and his cronies were gone when the sun rose. To her great satisfaction, the remaining folk seemed relieved, begged Setne to take charge, and the magister agreed.

All was relatively ordinary for the next two days. Each morning they traveled northward. They passed farmers, herdsmen, merchants, travelers, and pilgrim bands going the other way. Handfuls of fellow pilgrims and like travelers joined their company. At the end of the first day of Inhetep's being chief, their number surpassed what it had been before the death of the killers and the desertion of Aghasur's dozen. The original group was confident, happy. By the second day, there were nearly two hundred to be shepherded. Now and again one or another of the band would tell Inhetep, sotto voce, "We are with you," or "Your secret is safe," or even, "Death to the Black One!" He made no sign he heard. He said nothing of the strange comments to Rachelle.

She had her own words to speak. "You are a natural leader, Setne," Rachelle told him that night. She was only half jesting when she next said, "When we get back home, you should consider becoming a hatia and govern a district— better still, forget a mere sepat and think of being lord of one of Pharaoh's three lands!"

The wizard-priest looked at her, gave his head a slight turn of negation. "This role is one I dislike. I do it because there is something hidden, something malign which I think will crawl from its slimy darkness soon so I can see it."

"Aren't we going to reach Delhi city tomorrow?"

"Thus we must watch with special care tonight, my dear."

She gave him a grim smile. "You mean yet another night of watchfulness, Setne? I haven't let my guard down since boarding the Blue Cloud."

"Be even more alert," he told her. There was compassion in his voice, but she couldn't doubt that the magister was most serious. "Tonight is the only time for that lurking menace to slither forth to gather us in. If I am not mistaken. it will strike this night."

In that he was not mistaken. When it occurred, though, the attack didn't come in a creeping manner. It was heralded by a wailing cry which froze the blood of any victim not asleep. There was a silent rush of menacing figures. It was impossible in the confusion of moonlight and shadow to tell how many thugs were there. More than half a hundred, perhaps twice that number, and one at least was capable of using potent heka. Whatever casting he sent at them, both Inhetep and Rachelle were suddenly themselves again. That is, their Hindi disguises were gone, and for the few heartbeats' time the change required, neither could do aught but stand dazed, feeling the effects of the transformation.

"Thugs!" he managed to shout to Rachelle. "Stranglers of Kali!"

There was no free passage for the attackers, however. In a mere matter of heartbeats after the time the practitioner among the crazed stranglers activated his casting, Magister Inhetep had triggered one of his own dweoiners. There appeared a sudden smoking arc as a hundred separate sparks winked into being.

For a second these motes glowed, in the next they brightened into a multi-hued array of blossoming fires, and but a second after that each began its dance.

A flight of them whizzed high in angry amber lines, making sounds as hornets do. Others fluttered like butterflies with wings of flame. There were a dozen bright blue serpentine paths traced along the ground, and violet arcs as if grasshoppers were alight and on the move. Bright green embers jumped toward the on-rushing attackers as might insane frogs bent on meeting the assailants in midair. Some spi-raled aloft to spin and spit scintillating jets, which whirled crazily as their erratic flight carried them outward from the wizard-priest who had invoked them, while silvery and golden balls bounced and rolled forth in a determined fashion. Then, finally, all hell broke loose.

Some of the self-propelled manifestations ended their existence in deafening pyrotechnic bangs, the explosion heralded by an eye-searing flash of pure white light, the concussive shock following jolting any living thing within a yard. Others clung to what they blundered into, burning with such intense heat that whatever they touched ignited, if that thing was combustible at all. A few delivered jolts of electrical energy, or flared into smokey exudations of poisonous fumes. The most deadly were the ones whose star-shaped conclusion sent forth tiny spears of light which burned through armor, flesh, and bone.

Fully a quarter of the thugs were caught in that display and killed by the rainbow of brightly colored death. As many others, or more, were wounded, temporarily blinded and deafened, or otherwise hors de combat. Yet too many remained, and their leaders seemed unharmed. There was confusion, but no long delay. The rest of the attacking thugs rallied and returned to finish their work. A voice which could only belong to Aghasur bellowed for Kali's aid to assist in bringing the two down. The heka-bender among them let loose a bright light to mark Setne and Rachelle's position, for in darkness the multitude of attackers was now at a disadvantage against alert defenders unless they could distinguish friend from foe.

As that glare fell upon the two beleaguered figures, it showed Rachelle crouched, sword and dagger ready to cut down those before her. The magister, likewise illuminated, was also armed with his staff. The time allowed to them by his casting's deadly effects had enabled them to recover from the magickal transition and prepare for the assault which now came. Amazon and wizard-priest were ready for battle, revealed in their true forms—pale-skinned and beautiful girl of the Levant, towering ^Egyptian with shaved skull and green eyes which defied the stranglers who approached.

Perhaps they might have bested the two-score thugs, but before any such determination could be made, there came another wailing cry. The sound was as unnerving as the first had been, but its ululations differed. The rush of near-naked worshipers of the black goddess was halted. The thugs stopped, spun, and ran from the clearing as if pursued by devils.

Rachelle blinked and shook her head. The magickal light from above was fading slowly, but she could see a hundred feet before them. Two dozen corpses lay scattered nearby. Shadowy forms of the injured were disappearing into the gloom beyond where the witchlight's sphere made penumbrae, marking its perimeter. "They ran off!" she cried in jubilation. "Your blazing dweomer did it!"

"Ran off they did, Rachelle, but I doubt panic and fear caused that flight. It certainly wasn't my casting. They had rallied and were about to melee with us."

"If not in fear of another of your castings, Setne, why did they run away rather than attack us?"

"That, my dear, is another mystery we must solve, isn't it?"

BEFORE THE PEACOCK THRONE

A shrunken band of no more than two score followed their horsed leader and the sahibah to the outskirts of the capital city the following afternoon. Despite their awe and evident gratitude at what the pair had accomplished, not one of the company volunteered congratulations or words of any sort, even though the company had been saved from certain death. Thugs strangled all betoo, those non-initiates to the cult of the terrible goddess, Kali. The dead were her prize. All the victims possessed became the reward of the thugs. It was no wonder that Thugee was so popular with criminals of the Hindic realms. . . .

The native pilgrims and travelers were frightened and remote because they had seen that Inhetep and his amazon companion were not like them at all. The two were, rather, foreigners: the one towering head and shoulders above them, red skinned and green eyed, the other with a milky complexion and curly hair. They were strangers and imposters, regardless of good will, persons of no caste whatsoever. They spoke when the magister addressed them, but were tight-lipped, replying only in appropriate monosyllables. Rachelle observed this strange behavior in puzzlement. This changed to actual astonishment soon thereafter. When they were still not within sight of the city, their charges melted away without a word. Thus abandoned, Rachelle and Setne rode on to meet the great maharajah.

The view of the famed city of Delhi was breathtaking to Rachelle. Here was her first chance to see a great Hindi city from a distant and favorable perspective. They had come ashore in Bombay at night, of course. Jaipur was no grand metropolis, nor was Alwar. Little save slums, dusty roads, and the insides of hostels had she seen, except in Jaipur and Alwar, which were simply unremarkable. First, the whiteness struck her; the rising walls built along natural heights to shelter the buildings packed within. Next came the bastions and wall towers: massive rectangular works of great antiquity, with turret followed by turret to make them rise to a commanding position over gate and salient. Finally, the spire crowned domes and tiered monuments were visible over the walls. The westering sun's rays turned the tiled edifices to shimmering red-gold jewels.

"What is the history of this place, Setne?" There was no little awe in her voice.

"As far as I know," he told her, "there was some sort of town here for a thousand years before Delhi came into being. This place is a natural crossroads, a center for trade passing in the directions of the compass. It was invading westerners, though, that created the city you see."

"Tell me more."

"You know that the waves of early invaders, the Aryan tribes who came as conquerors, were absorbed." It wasn't really a question, but Rachelle said she knew. "Then Farzians came, defeated the natives, and settled in, constructing a capital for their new empire here. They were soon attacked by hordes from Bactrokush commanded by Babylonians, and those new invaders became brief masters of this realm. The Farzians joined the Hindis, or vice versa, to overthrow the latest conquerors. They succeeded for a bit, but then the Babylonians were back with Afghanis to stiffen their hosts. They stayed in control for a century. Then more Farzi came, aided the natives, and after a long and bloody period of warfare the more-or-less native faction triumphed. Since then, the territory has been nominally Hindi—that is, no other invasions from beyond the borders of the subcontinent have taken the place."

She smiled when he told her that. "Palu Ea suffered such a defeat and hasn't struck back?"

"The 'Divine Way' cause did indeed get booted from here some seven centuries past. It still rankles, though, I am certain. There have been periodic invasions launched into Hindic lands, 'holy crusades' to spread Babylonian 'truth' pass through Kabul to fall upon Sindraj or Delhi's kingdom—all to no lasting avail. There remains a large minority of non-Hindic peoples. More recently, the proselytizing priests of Babylon have managed to convert some of them, even a few Hindis, to their beliefs."

"The Utchatu is aware of this, naturally."

"Naturally," he drawled. "They even considered the effect of the faction as a fifth column in case of another invasion."

She looked sharply at him. "What about as a party supporting an insurgent candidate, a claimant to the throne who espouses Palu Ea?"

"No. That's a possibility which wasn't considered—at least not when I was there. A most interesting idea, my dear, in light of what we know."

By this time their mounts had carried them so far along the upward curve of the road that the palace gate was before them. Inhetep expected to be stopped, questioned, possibly even detained for higher authorities when he mentioned the commission of the maharajah. Instead, the sentries on duty got one look at the two and saluted.

"You are the /Egyptian called Inhetep Magister?" asked the one in charge.

"I am the magister," Setne agreed. "This is my associate, the Sahibah Rachelle. We are expected?"

In answer to that, the soldier shouted, and a troop of a half-dozen men formed up before the two riders. He hesitated only a moment before bowing. "Oh yes, Sahib Magister—for many days we have been alert for your arrival." He glanced at Rachelle, consternation apparent, for he had no instructions regarding her, that was plain, but his other orders precluded him from questioning her accompaniment of the long-awaited foreigner. He needed to get them to the king instantly! "Now you must follow the honor guard to the palace. His Resplendent Majesty the maharajah demands your immediate conveyance to him."

Rachelle understood the exchange and said in /Egyptian, "If our coming has been anticipated for many days, Setne, I think that we should be prepared for a somewhat difficult reception at the royal palace."

"Just what I was thinking," he said in low tone. "I'm mentally preparing a range of reasons which should take care of things and not sound as if I am making excuses. If the conversation comes round to Trade Phoenician so as to pump you, let me lead, but jump in whenever you like." Inhetep smiled. "You have a knack at handling situations and people alike."

The streets of Delhi were packed with people, but the throngs made way in haste and fear before the marching soldiers. Because the palace was set in the old part of the city, the procession had to pass through much of the new town and then go uphill to the citadel, which housed the maharajah's splendid court, audience and administrative halls, and his dwelling place. Along that rather lengthy way, both of the riders noted that the folk they passed looked at them with a strange mixture of curiosity and hatred. Was this merely because the two were such evident foreigners? Or was there something more?

The palace guardsmen were snappier, better armored, and more numerous than the regulars who manned the city's gates and walls. From the overbearing manner in which the officer at the massive entrance to the royal palace compound treated the escort, and the soldier's attitudes in return, it was evident that there was no love lost between the two bodies of military. The guards knew they were superior in dress and pay, and treated the regulars as distinct inferiors.

"I don't like their manner," Rachelle murmured to the wizard-priest as the charge of the special guests was passed from the soldiers to the royal garrison.

"Nor I, but such attitudes are common in many states of /Earth," Inhetep said in a half-apologetic tone.

Rachelle wasn't satisfied. "In the despotic and tyrannical ones, anyway. The status accorded to these popin—"

"Hush! We are about to enter the palace grounds. Remember, this whole society is rife with castes within castes." Considering the relative stratification of most states, ^Egypt very much included, that advice was heavy with meaning. It did not speak to the amazon's criticism, however, as both well knew.

Nonetheless, Rachelle stopped speaking and observed. The guards officer gave them a relatively deep bow in greeting, directing his obeisance and words to Inhetep. "Hail, Sahib Inhetep Magister. A runner has been sent to the palace to bear the news of your arrival. Come with me now, please." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and barked commands. A full dozen guardsmen fell in before and after the two riders, all marching in precision. When in place, the squad slammed the butts of their spear-like pole arms onto the pavement, coming to rigid attention as they did so. The officer strode to the head of the column, called out an order, and led the column off. Even though they had only to go a short way, a short walk across the forecourt and through a passage piercing a massive tower to get to the palace's courtyard, it seemed a very long process to the amazon.

At the entrance to the palace, they were met by a silk-robed, huge-turbaned major domo bedecked with many jewels and toting a heavy-looking mace of office which likewise glittered with cut stones. His train of guardsmen were even grander than the escort of Inhetep and the amazon, the interior soldiery sporting silvered armor and nodding plumes atop their helmets. "You are dismissed," the functionary said. The officer of the regular guards seemed disappointed at the curt instruction but voiced no word of protest. While he was getting his command turned around, the palace official looked over the two arrivals at his post. From his expression, the majordomo wasn't exactly impressed, or at least had expected something different from what he saw. "You are the Inhetep Magister commanded to appear by his Resplendent Majesty, aren't you?"

Setne watched the man in the huge turban for the space of many heartbeats before replying. "I am he whom your ruler begged to attend him. You will address me as Sahib Magister, my companion as Sahibah Rachelle. Announce us thus."

"I am the Premier Majordomo. Yahadura Dhiki! Nobody but his Ma-—"

"Addresses you so," Inhetep filled in as the man's mouth dropped open. "There is no need for you to introduce yourself to us; we have no interest in learning the hierarchy of servants in this palace. But you see, fellow, you are obviously wrong a second time. I have and continue to address you as one of lesser station, because you are just that. Now stop delaying us. The maharajah should not be kept waiting—111 have to mention how you kept us from immediately attending His Magnificence."

The venomous glare was hooded in an instant, replaced by a servile posture and tone. "This way, please, Dearly Received Guests. You understand of course, Sahib Magister, that I merely performed the duty demanded of me in ascertaining that you were indeed the maharajah's long-awaited, most noble visitors from distant ./Egypt." Without more ado, he hurriedly got their escort arranged and fluttered along at the magister's side, just a fraction of a step behind, until they came to the big panels of the throne room doors. As they approached, these ivory and gold inlaid panels were thrown open by more of the fancy guardsmen. Inhetep and Rachelle stopped immediately after crossing the threshold. Revealed before them was the splendor of the famed court of the Peacock Throne.

Yahadura Dhiki now stepped well ahead of the two, calling out in his best voice, "The

Sahib Magister of /Egypt and the Sahibah Rachelle present themselves most humbly before the power of the Peacock Throne and his Resplendent Majesty Guldir Sivadji."

Perhaps he would have gone on with the string of honorifics attached to the maharajah's crown, but Sivadji Guldir crooked his finger. The majordomo prostrated himself. Hissing to his charges to do likewise, he instructed them to crawl the length of the runner to a place before the throne where the maharajah would tell them when they might arise.

Ignoring those whispers, Magister Inhetep gave a full bow, with the courtly flourishes proper for a prince of Pharaoh's mighty realm. Rachelle was watching Setne out of the corner of her eye. Taking her cue from him, she made a low curtsy. Then both walked stiffly to stand three paces from the seated monarch, repeating their gestures of respect in abbreviated fashion. "Your humble servants, Resplendent Majesty," the wizard-priest said as he lifted his head from that second bow. He kept his eyes on the monarch, calm and level. Gold was everywhere. It was the least of the splendors there. Inhetep was not to be distracted by the marvels of mosaic tiles, masterful paintings, or even the multitude of faceted gems which encrusted the peacock-shaped seat of state in glittering array.

"You are given Our permission to approach," the ruler of Delhi said, granting that leave ex post facto. If he was unaccustomed to their mode of acknowledgement of royalty—and the /Egyptian court now followed /Eropan style, so it was unlikely Sivadji Guldir had ever seen such acts before—the maharajah seemed entirely unruffled by their actions and satisfied that proper homage had been given. This acceptance of something less than the Oriental prostration was explained a moment later, though, when he went on: "Welcome, True Prince of the Triple Kingdom, grand priest and wizard—and to you too, Lady, I extend Our gracious greeting. Is the fame which has reached Us justified?"

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Inhetep responded, while Rachelle made a third curtsy to accept that benison. "I am unable to answer the question, I fear, for I have no intelligence in respect to the information Your Majesty has received. I can say only that I try my best."

"You have Our leave to address me as Maharajah Sivadji. We expect your best to answer Our requirements! Do not disappoint Us. We are already annoyed at having to wait so long. Explain your delay in answering Our . . . missive."

"As you command, Maharajah Sivadji." Inhetep was forthright, his voice calm and with no hint of apology as he told the monarch, "There were certain matters which had to be attended to in order to prepare for our departure—things most necessary to assure that our services would indeed answer Your Majesty's requirements. It was also my considered opinion that when all aspects of the matter were weighed in balance, time could be traded for positive assurance."

Rachelle was watching the whole time. She had taken an instant dislike to the maharajah, finding the fat man toad-like in appearance. He was oily skinned and repulsive. This ugly grossness was repeated in the corpulent eunuchs behind him and the fawning, scantily clad women reclining at his feet around the be-jeweled seat. She did her best to mask her thoughts and conceal her growing revulsion. However, when his thick lips uttered their next words, the amazon's eyes glittered with a fire as hard as the stones of the maharajah's throne.

"You will stand on that assurance, and answer to Us if you cannot do so!" He then let his beady eyes slide from Inhetep to Rachelle. They moved slowly, staring at her head and going leisurely down her body, lingering at breast and thighs, before returning to look at the magister once again. "But We are sure you understood that already. Enough for now. You are stained from your long and possibly unnecessary travel across Our kingdom—improperly garbed for continued audience. Leave Us. After you have bathed and put on robes appropriate for the occasion We will sup with you." Maharajah Sivadji tugged at a pendulous earlobe before waving to signify the dismissal was to be obeyed. "We are pleased that you brought your charming companion along, Prince Magister. She is your ward, adopted in your house, is she not?"

"That is essentially correct, Your Majesty."

The maharajah smirked at his own display of personal knowledge regarding the tall /Egyptian. He also was pleased with something else. "She must be displayed to more advantage. We will have Our Dresser of Court Women see to that."

"That is not required," the magister said quickly, his words clear and distinct in contradiction. He had to be quick, for Rachelle understood and was about to react in a way guaranteed to bring an uproar to the court. At the very best, the wizard-priest might be able to extricate the two of them with some great hekau. More probably, they would have been cut down by the guards for assault on the person of the monarch. "Lady Rachelle is charged with my personal protection, Your Majesty. It would violate her sworn duty to appear in other than her armor."

Scowling, Guldir Sivadji signaled that the audience was over. With appropriate gestures, they backed three steps from the royal presence, then turned and walked from the cham-her. There were mutters and gasps from behind, but Inhetep and the amazon seemed deaf to those noises. The near-hysterical major-domo came flying out after them, having managed to creep backwards on hands and knees at a record rate in order to manage that. "This way, please, Pr— Sahib Magister, Sahibah. I will show you to your rooms. The bath is hot. Attendants are there to see to your slightest wish. If you require anything else, merely clap your hands, and I will come instantly."

Rachelle could not contain herself. She whispered angrily to Inhetep as they followed the functionary: "When he looked me over, Setne, I felt as if slugs were crawling over my body— in places slugs should not be! He's a vile . . . filthy . . . nauseating . . . And when he spoke to you about—"

"I understand and agree, my dear. This is no place to discuss the matter, though. Wait until we are alone."

Their suite consisted of two separate bedrooms, a parlor, and a huge bath chamber with a sunken tub nearly large enough to swim in. Being of the /Egyptian aristocracy, neither was surprised or disconcerted to find a bevy of half-naked serving women there to undress them, to perfume the water, dry them, massage and oil their bodies, and finally to help them don splendid Hindic garments. When the girls giggled at seeing Setne unclothed, however, Ra-chelle decided she had had enough of the maharajah's court. "Out!" she commanded in /Egyptian, her tone and pointing finger communicating her meaning as clearly as if she had uttered it in perfect Hindi.

They girls moved to obey, but one fell on her knees, weeping. "Do not dismiss us, Sahibah, I beg of you! The majordomo will have us beaten, flayed for displeasing you. We are sorry! We will not offend again, please?"

"Stay," Rachelle muttered, horrified at what she had heard, believing the sincerity of the plea. The magister repeated her instruction, embellishing it sufficiently to calm them down. "Very well, Setne Inhetep. Have your moment of glory at the hands of these foreign hussies," she told him. Then her voice grew serious. "I like this whole situation less and less," she exclaimed in a very low voice, certain that there were ears and eyes spying on all they did. "What sort of a man is he?"

"We shall see quite soon. Be on guard at dinner—and after. It is time we dug into the meat of the matter, and I do not refer to the repast we are about to share with the maharajah."

THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

At the appointed hour came a man who introduced himself as Gorvan. He brought the two guests to the private salon in which the maharajah was giving the special supper. "I am, lord and lady, the . . . what is the word? Chancellor is correct, I believe, yes? That is the one responsible for the treasure of state, is he not?" He spoke in carefully phrased Trade Phonecian, for he had learned that Rachelle was unable to speak Hindi.

"Yes, a chancellor is usually the treasurer. A very important office, Gorvan Sahib. You must have been most. . . distraught when the crown jewels were stolen," Inhetep said with some sympathy and a trace of uncertainty.

"Oh, yes, Magister. I was very, very unhappy to learn of that terrible theft—even though it brought me greater position in the government."

"Greater?"

"But of course, Magister," he said with a sly

smile. "That came right after the robbery, when I was promoted from master of the royal chambers to the recently vacant office of chancellor."

"I see," Inhetep grunted. Fortunately he wasn't required to engage in any more of that polite conversation. They entered the room in which they were to dine.

Gorvan showed them to their places, saying, "Just stand here until His Resplendence arrives. When he is seated, we may all then do likewise. Meanwhile, you will brought light refreshments. I must leave you now, but I will return soon. If there is aught you require, command any slave here."

As the wiry man slipped away and left them to themselves, both had a chance to examine their surroundings. Inhetep thought the place horribly gauche. Such an opinion was unusual, for he seldom considered taste foremost. Although the magister was certainly well versed in such matters, he was, after all, a wizard-priest bent on other aspects of life. That the place was over-decorated, cluttered in a fashion only possible for one determined to show extreme wealth by flaunting it in eveiy way, seemed undeniable. Nothing else could have possessed the owner to have done this to an otherwise pretty chamber of marble and tile.

There were at least big, over-stuffed chairs and a much-carved, inlaid table, so the ordeal of sitting on the floor as if he were a peasant too poor to afford decent furniture would be avoided. In fact, Inhetep noted that the seat at the head of the table was as wide as a divan, deep, and heaped with bright cushions whose patterned surfaces fairly screamed at each other. "Sivadji Guldir will enjoy his meal at some ease," he quipped to Rachelle. "That is, if he can manage to eat in this bizarrely furnished room."

"And I thought the tiger skins and elephant feet such clever touches. Never, Setne, have I seen so many rugs piled atop one smother, so much gold and objets d'art crowded like bric-a-brac. This is going to be an ordeal. Imagine the menu! Speaking of which, I had better taste all of your food and drink first. In such a nightmare place as this, poison can only be expected."

Inhetep barked a soft mirthful sound. "Don't be melodramatic, my dear. You know as well as I that I have taken such simple precautions as to ward both of us from something such as you suggest. I swear to you, it is this room which makes one say such things." He paused, ran a hand over his shaven head. "Hmmm . . . Now there's a thought."

"Will you share it?"

"Oh, no—sorry, my dear. It was nothing, actually. I was just rambling."

That seemed to satisfy Rachelle, distracted as she was by their surroundings. "There seem to be no other guests assembling," she observed after a moment. "I wonder how long we are to be kept waiting." There was no answer forthcoming, although a slave padded up and presented the two with a tray filled with various drinks. Rachelle examined the selection, peering, sniffing, even tasting. "Tea, Setne? There is also some fruit juice here, beer, white wine— a red, perhaps?" The magister was standing before a complex tapestry, staring intently at the scene it depicted. "Did you hear?" she prompted.

"What? Red? Ah, but no. Nothing, thank you," he said as he took in the tableau and his mind picked up the thread of her conversation. Then he reversed himself with an uncharacteristic suddenness. "Wait! Give me a goblet of the red wine you suggested. Perhaps it is just what I need."

Rachelle looked hard at her mentor but made no comment other than to select one of the gold vessels filled with the beverage he named. What he did made Rachelle even more uncertain. She watched as the magister thrust his finger into the wine, stirring it and muttering to himself. That was too much. "Setne, what are you doing?"

Inhetep withdrew the finger with a guilty expression, shook it off, and took a hasty swallow from the golden cup before he responded. "Just lost in thought, dear girl. Sorry for the bad form." Then an eyelid dropped to mask one emerald eye for an instant. "You know," he went on as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary, "this is a rather decent vintage—Magyar, I think, but quite drinkable."

They had only a minute alone after that before Chancellor Gorvan appeared in the room, his slippers making hardly a sound on the polished floor and heaped rugs. "A hundred pardons for my absence. I was delayed by an unavoidable matter of no import to you, but one I had to attend to. Good! You have taken refreshments. I will join you." He clapped his hands, and the big servant with the drink selection hurried to where the man could help himself. "You Eire having the Magyar red wine, I see. I shall do likewise." He did just that, gulped down half the contents of the goblet, and smacked his thin lips. "You find this good, no?"

Rachelle nodded politely. Inhetep said, "It is passable."

"Ohhh, yes, Magister Sahib. I am not surprised to hear you find it to your liking. It is superior to /Egyptian wines, is it not?"

If the wizard-priest was going to answer, the sudden arrival of Maharajah Sivadji precluded it. A huge guardsman entered the room, as tall as Inhetep, rolls of fat barely concealing the massive muscles beneath. He carried a naked scimitar with proportions appropriate to his size and strength. Immediately after entering he stepped aside, head bowed only to such extent as made it possible for him to keep his eyes fastened on all within the chamber. On seeing the guard, Gorvan flung himself prostrate on the carpets, somehow managing to retain the contents of the wine goblet.

"Now I know the reason for the piles of rugs," Rachelle whispered as their host came waddling in after his bodyguard.

Guldir Maharajah Sivadji looked more than ever like a toad dressed in regal adornments. Behind him came a pair of fan bearers and a half dozen of the seemingly obligatoiy harem women. Again, the sovereign ruler of Delhi appeared quite satisfied with the less dramatic gestures which Magister Inhetep and the ama-zon made in recognition of his royal presence. "Good evening, My most welcome guests. We must eat and drink now, for Our hunger demands it." He plopped onto his massive couch with a grunt. The women hastened to grab cushions and pillows, thrust them here and there, so that every conceivable place their master might loll would be supported. Not to be outdone, the male slaves fanned furiously as this occurred, as if they wished to demonstrate that their concerns were as great as those of the women. He grunted and the women instantly ceased their fussing and fell into seductive poses, secretly fighting for the more noticeable positions before their lord's divan.

Gorvan had stood at the maharajah's first words. He hastened to take Rachelle's arm. "You will sit here," he said as he tried to lead her to the left of the table. She removed the man's hand from her arm with polite firmness. Gorvan's expression was startled when she did so, for her strength was greater than his own. She made no protest, however, and followed his instruction to take the chair at the maharajah's left hand. The chancellor indicated that Setne was to have the honored seat on the monarch's right. Then, as if on cue, and before anyone other than Sivadji Guldir was actually seated, two others arrived.

"General Ratha! Pirimah Lady Sujata!" the maharajah exclaimed in evident joviality as the two named newcomers prostrated themselves. "Arise, arise. Greet Our guests—the princely Sahib Magister Inhetep of Egypt of whom We have spoken to you and his companion bodyguard the Sahibah Rachelle. Isn't she a lovely protectress? We should have such ones to guard Our person!"

There was a hasty babble at his words. "I shall see to it tomorrow. Resplendence," Gorvan said smoothly. The harem women glared at him as he spoke. The arising general gave Inhetep and Rachelle each a stiff little bow as soon as he was back on his feet. "I am honored to meet you," he said in a grating voice. Similarly, the lady arose, smiling briefly and nodding to Rachelle, flashing her teeth more broadly at the magister and bowing deeply enough to flash something else at him. "Your powers, Magister, are legendary," Sujata stated in flawless Trade Phoenician.

"Our court practitioner reminds Us of courtesy," the obese monarch called from the head of the table. "We command that all converse is to be carried on this night in the tongue of commerce." Switching to that speech, Maharajah Sivadji added, "It is a language none in this room save Us and our fellow banqueters understand." He beamed at his cleverness, the thick lips of his big mouth seeming to stretch almost to his dangling ears. He seemed unaware of the stream of servants bent under the weight of great platters, trays, and other things entering to fill the table's top with sufficient fare for a dozen diners.

General Ratha was lean, muscular, and rather handsome in a dark, bearded way. The scar on his face which ran from the outer tip of his left eyebrow down to the center of his cheek could be found dashing in some eyes. The chancellor pointed Ratha to the chair next to Rachelle's.

The court practitioner was almost stunning in her good looks, despite the fact that she was well into her thirties. Her eyes sparkled with admiration, and her attention was riveted on the magister. Rachelle took an instant dislike to her, seeing her to be as ugly inside as the maharajah was on the outside. Setne's interest in what she was saying made the amazon fume, but between the general's grave remarks and the need to watch the maharajah's every move, she couldn't catch much of what was being said between them.

Everyone was free to chat and eat as they chose, for Sivadji Guldir had begun stuffing himself immediately after introducing the two last members of the dinner party. The females attending him assisted his consumption by popping choice morsels of this and that into his mouth, if he hadn't filled it full on his own, as two eunuchs made dishes of all sorts hover before him, and the ever-busy fan bearers beat the air with their fans of ostrich feathers.

Seeing how he was engrossed in eating and drinking, Rachelle allowed the monarch of Delhi less constant attention, speaking with General Ratha, who seemed intent on nothing but his troubles with "bandit rebels" who lurked in the northern hills "unlawfully sheltered by both Katehar and Sirmur." He was dull, but at least the commander of Delhi's military wasn't disgusting.

It was just as well that the amazon was unable to hear the Pirimah Lady Sujata. After lavishing compliments on the /Egyptian wizard-priest for several minutes, the court practitioner moved her leg so that her thigh pressed against Inhet-ep's. "Let us exchange magickal secrets tonight, Magister. My chambers are just down the hall from your own. ..." And as she allowed her invitation to trail off, she smiled seductively into Setae's eyes.

"There is . . . ah . . . the small matter immediately before me, Lady Sujata," he said in vaguely apologetic tone as he eased his leg away from the hot flesh of the woman.

"Now what could that be?" the pirimah demanded with pretended crossness. Then she glanced archly across the table. "Surely not your bodyguard!"

The magister gave an easy laugh and shook his head. "To delay such an invitation from so beautiful a source on that account? Really, dear lady!" He lifted up his goblet and sipped as if in toast to her. "It is altogether another sort of thing I speak of—the command of your own royal sovereign."

As if he had been listening, before the pirimah could reply to what Inhetep had said, the maharajah gave a thunderous belch. Every head turned to watch. Nobody moved or dared speak. Sivadji Guldir swatted away a slender hand which happened to be approaching his face with more food, speaking as he motioned. "We are replete. It is time to discuss matters of state. Clear all this away!" he commanded, his arms flung out towards the laden length of the table. "Bring cool sherbets and fresh wine for Us to drink. Then get out!" He sat then, eyeing the assemblage before him, the similarity to a big toad striking, as the slaves scurried to comply with his commands and the fan bearers and members of the harem skulked off as if they were whipped dogs.

When the six of them were alone, the maharajah snapped, "Have you discovered the culprit, Magister? Is the guilty one known so that Our justice can be done to him?!"

"Not quite yet, Your Majesty. There are a few small things which I must see to before I can give you that happy report."

"What small things? I do not like delays in carrying out my wishes!" The tone of his voice was threatening, and the maharajah's ugly face darkened as he spoke.

If Inhetep was nonplussed by this display, he didn't reveal it in the least. "It is plain that your righteous ire falls squarely upon the head or heads of the party responsible for the theft of the crown jewels of Delhi, Maharajah Sivadji. I will do my utmost to see that the delay forced upon you by that criminal act is short. In that regard, and keeping in mind your expressed displeasure at the time the required steps must take, I ask Your Majesty to have your subjects here present lend me their full cooperation."

"Of course I command that. I want the jewels returned, that happy event followed by the slow death of the guilty parties, their heads displayed on the walls for all to see thereafter!"

"You are most gracious. Majesty, as befits so grand a monarch. Do you give me leave now to visit the place from whence the jewels were stolen? If so, I ask that your chancellor and the Pirimah Lady Sujata accompany me."

The glowering maharajah opened his thick, downturned lips and snapped, "You have Our leave. These 'small matters' had better not take long. I'll brook no weeks of investigating—not after your month delay in obeying Our command!" He looked at the magister to see what reaction his words had on the ^Egyptian, but Inhetep's green eyes revealed only polite attention. The maharajah clapped his hands, the meaty palms making a sharp report which was answered almost instantly by the appearance of his huge bodyguard. "I go to sport in the women's quarters. Report immediately when you have the information We require."

The magister murmured something polite as the maharajah heaved and the guard hauled to lift him from his seat. The Hindis prostrated themselves, Inhetep and Rachelle bowed, and Sivadji Guldir waddled out of the salon. As the door closed behind him, the priest-wizard turned to smile at the others. "Well, Lady Sujata, Chancellor, lead the way. Oh, by the way," he added as an apparent afterthought, "General

Ratha! Would you be so kind as to stay here with Sahibah Rachelle? You will certainly have much you can tell her about enemies of the state—there are rebels in the mountains, aren't there?"

Even as the military man was nodding and about to say something about the matter of hill bandits, the magister shifted to his companion. "Good. Now, Rachelle, please pay strict attention to the general's words. I will need you to repeat later all of the salient facts he imparts, Speaking of later, I might be some time in completing my examination of the vault from which the crown jewels were taken. You needn't stay up for me."

"As you wish, Magister," was all she said as the three departed. Then she turned to General Ratha and smiled. "Please tell me about yourself before going into the boring matters regarding those rebels."

Unlike many other treasure repositories, that of the maharajah of Delhi was neither deep beneath the ground nor high in a tower strongroom. The place where the great wealth of the state was stored was in a chamber adjacent to the great throne room, directly behind the Peacock Throne, in fact. Magickal guards and wards englobed both. Sentries stood by each, of course. The sheer size of the chair of state, the exposed position and continual watch assured that it remained unmolested. On the other hand, the little chamber hidden behind it was sheathed in layers of protective metal ranging from lead and silver to iron and adamantine alloy. Its single door was barred by multiple locks, then sealed by castings.

"Without an amulet to prevent activation of heka. Sahib Magister, a person would cause alarms and other castings to be loosed as soon as he came within three cubits of the entrance," the chancellor explained.

"Noncorporeal approach is considered?"

"Certainly—as is any form of dimensional transference."

Inhetep gazed at the wall panel which had been opened to reveal the door. "What about the floor and ceiling, or the other walls, for that matter?"

Gorvan was almost smug as he replied. "They are enchanted, enspelled as is the door. Warnings will sound, death in a dozen forms will be loosed. They are also solid. Absolutely intact and untampered with, as is the entry to the vault. Its locks were closed fast."

"Does an amulet deactivate the whole of the protection?"

The chancellor shook his head vigorously. "No, never! It simply enables the individual to pass."

"Who had, or still has, amulets to deactivate the heka?"

"The maharajah and the chancellor—but the latter amulet is in two parts, and it won't operate without the court practitioner being present. Speaking in the past tense with regard to chancellor, I refer to Prince Dahasti."

The magister cocked an eyebrow as he switched his scrutiny from the vault entry to the chancellor's visage. "Eh? Of course! I recall you mentioned being recently elevated to your office. Who is or was this Prince Dahasti, and what happened to him?"

"Was is correct. He would probably have been summarily executed for allowing such a loss to occur, but that pain was spared to my liege, quite unnecessary under the circumstances. When His Resplendence was unable to locate either his practitioner or treasurer, the maharajah came directly to this very place. When he entered, he found a pile of ashes and charred bones. With it was the remains of the chancellory amulet and some jewelry which could be identified as the prince's own. It seems Dahasti was blasted by whomever was responsible for the theft. He might have actually caught them in the act."

"The Prince Dahasti was a loyal and trusted vassal?"

At that Gorvan was most positive. "He was the nephew of the maharajah!"

"And since that time, what has been done inside the treasure vault?"

"Nothing, Sahib Magister, other than to add some small amount of coins to the strongboxes therein. Both Lady Sujata and I advised against altering anything."

"In fact," the pirimah interjected at that point, "I laid a preservation casting inside as soon as I was permitted, and have maintained it in the hope that something would thus be revealed by your greater art when you came."

"I see," the magister said as he briefly considered all he had been told. "Let us then proceed inside the vault. I was fortunate, I suppose, to have selected the two very persons needed to do that without the exalted personage of the maharajah himself, eh? Please proceed."

The two brought forth small objects, fitted them into one, and then took hold of Inhetep. "By such touch you are included in the amulet's field," Lady Sujata supplied.

A permanent magickal illumination existed inside the treasure repository, so that it was bright with a glow which equalled that of the noon sun on a summer day. That light made the black mark on the floor starkly evident. It was shaped vaguely like a body. Along one wall, open cabinets revealed empty interiors where a crown, scepter, orb, collar, girdle, and ring had once been nestled in velvet. There were shut ones too, in which were stored certain other great treasures of state— magickal ones, according to the chancellor. Arrayed on two of the other walls were precious art objects. Cases held rare books and tablets, even ancient scrolls. Stands ranked round the room displayed incredible armor of precious metals and weapons encrusted with precious stones. On either side of the entry were small steel boxes, some stacked nearly as high as the ceiling.

"What are those?" queried the wizard-priest.

Gorvan shrugged. "Merely the tax coffers, Sahib Magister—chuckrums in this stack, rupees here, annas . . . each sort of coin," he said with an expression that might have added, "I assumed a practitioner of your repute would know that."

Ignoring that look, Inhetep passed his hand over his smooth pate in a characteristic gesture. He asked, "What did you make of this, lady practitioner, when you initially examined the vault?"

"I was called in the day after it happened, Magister," Sujata told him. "Perhaps if I had been here immediately after the loss was discovered, but I wasn't," she confided to him. "I could find no clue, none at all. The auras remaining were totally diffused. Random heka was present, but type and source was untraceable—due to the blast of energy which incinerated the poor prince, I assume."

Inhetep nodded. "Speaking of the ex-treasurer, I see that the remains have been considerably disturbed; gone, in fact, save for these few bits." As he made that observation, Setne stooped and quickly scooped up a bit of dusty stuff in a square of paper he had drawn from the inner fold of his garment. "No matter, this should suffice."

Gorvan was concerned. "Is that sufficient? We had to take the ashes and remaining artifacts in order to make positive identification of the prince and the amulet."

"If I need that or anything else you can furnish, Lord Chancellor, I will not hesitate to call upon you. As of now, however, I believe this will be all I need. And I have seen enough here, too. Will you excuse us, Gorvan? I need to get some rest, but I have a few private questions of the pirimah. With the chancellor's leave, lady, I ask that we walk alone together. Your chambers are near my own, are they not? The few words I need from you regarding magickal matters can be taken care of thus, and that way we can all retire in short order after this trying day."

With a quick look of appraisal shot to the court practitioner, Gorvan assented. "But of course, Sahib Magister. I have other duties to which I must attend before retiring, and I appreciate the opportunity to do so now."

The three left the vault, then Gorvan and Lady Sujata returned to secure the door. The chancellor worked his several keys, and they separated the amulet. With all thus in order, Gorvan hurried off in one direction, Inhetep and the court practitioner strolling arm-in-arm together in the opposite.

—— 10 ——

POLITICS OF MURDER

As they walked slowly towards her suite, Setne queried her about something which he thought most odd. "Has no one raised an inquiry about the amulet?"

"Only insofar as to determine if it was truly the real key. Because of the circumstances, I could be no more than ninety-nine percent certain. But, physical and magickal proofs aside, I feel absolutely sure that all was as it seems. The prince and his amulet were incinerated there on the floor of the treasury."

He raised both brows at that. "You have no questions about how that occurred when he possessed only his portion of the two-part amulet?"

Lady Sujata gave a tinkling little laugh. "Oh, I forgot! You do not know, of course. I too have just recently become the court practitioner. He who was practitioner before me is . . . gone."

"I confess mystification, dear lady!" Inhetep stopped walking, forcing Sujata to likewise halt. He freed his arm and looked at her intently. "Please do not withhold information. It is vital that I know everything possible. Otherwise I cannot prevail, and ..." He allowed the rest to remain unsaid.

The dark eyes of the pirimah searched his green ones. "No, I wouldn't want you to fail— and for more reasons than displeasing His Majesty the maharajah," she assured the magister. Her dark eyes were filled with something which might be read as desire. "The court practitioner before me was a Brahman called Pur-shiva Yogi Rishi. He was but a middle-aged fool, despite his priestly status and great learning. I will not go into the great differences, political and moral, which existed between him and the maharajah. Suffice that they were intense, and the Purshiva Yogi Rishi's continual preaching and opposition would soon have led to his . . . replacement had not it occurred first."

"What do you mean, it?"

"The theft of the crown jewels, and his disappearance."

That took Setne aback, at least a little. "And there's no search for Purshiva Yogi Rishi? No suspicion that he was involved? This is more than passing strange."

"Only at first glance, Magister. I had much assistance in the magickal examination of the scene of the crime. The former court practitioner's presence outside the vault on the night of the robbexy was clearly recorded and lound in vibratory readings of the material there. The reading revealed that he and several others were there as well. Purshiva Yogi Rishi never entered the vault. Aural reading proved unquestionably that he was enchanted, bound and silenced by castings at the time. There was, in fact, a pool of his blood there. I personally used heka to positively identify it as that of the yogi. It was cleaned away, for attention must not be drawn to the anteroom in which the entrance to the treasure is concealed, of course."

"Of course. So you think that he too met with foul play at the hands of the thieves."

She turned away, taking his arm firmly once again, and resumed her progress toward her chambers. "That is so. By even my most potent means—and I have some great ones, sir—I find no trace of Purshiva Yogi Rishi on this sphere, no print indicating he is concealed on some other. No, Magister, he is dead. Probably blasted to ash somewhere, as was his former fellow. If it weren't for the loss of the crown jewels, I would say good riddance to both," Sujata added in a cold voice. But her tone was sultry when she next spoke. "At last we are here!" With that exclamation, Sujata opened the door to her chambers. "I heard you make excuses to your bodyguard, so we have all night to spend here, mighty one of /Egypt."

Inhetep placed a long finger to her lips. "Hush, lady," he said in a near whisper. "I have detected an invisible presence of the sort which enables spying!" As he said that, he held forth in his left hand a slender ankh carved from pure turquoise in whose loop there showed a ghostly eye. Startled, the pirimah drew back, gesturing with her own right hand at the object before her, uttering a string of harsh syllables as she made the sign. A second after Sujata did that, the wizard-priest passed his free hand over the ankh. When he completed his pass, the vision of the eye had vanished.

"What was that?" the woman demanded in a voice no longer syrupy and charming.

"Some foreign sending which meant no good to you, Pirimah! Perhaps I can find something specific when I am determining more about the ashy remains of the former chancellor. All that can wait until later, of course. For now let us go inside your suite, lady, and—"

"Give me that turquoise charm of yours," she demanded before he could say more.

"That is impossible, dear lady. It is a symbol of my gods, and it must not be touched by any not faithful to them." It was not exactly a lie. "The sending is gone, wiped away. Forget it. There are more important things of the flesh to think about."

With a hard expression making her face cruel, the Lady Sujata refused. "No. That is now impossible. Go. Leave me. Find out who dared to spy on me—us, and tell me as soon as you know."

"As you wish, lady," Inhetep murmured with a slightly deflated tone as he left her and went along the short way to where his own door was. "On the morrow?"

The pirimah made no reply but simply disappeared inside her chambers. The door closed rather loudly behind her.

Once within his own rooms, Setne sighed deeply. He then spoke a hasty enchantment of privacy. Finally he said a happy, "Whew! That was a near thing!"

Rachelle, sitting quietly and observing the whole procedure, was provoked sufficiently to inquire, "Just what was a near thing, Magister Setne Inhetep?"

"Being out there alone with the predatoiy court practitioner, my dear. I fear that Pirimah Sujata is no lady—" and he laughed at his play on words. Then he described the trick he had played with a special ankh to escape her harpylike clutches and laughed again.

"Laugh all you want, Setne. Sujata isn't just 'no lady,' that woman is a witch\"

The magister struck his palm with a fist. "You have done it again, Rachelle! Thoth bless you," he added as he grabbed her, and gave her a hug and a smack on her forehead.

"Done what?" she demanded with less crossness than she had previously evidenced.

"Why, struck the mark dead center. No wonder I could not read her by my power; even with a surreptitious casting I found only bland, general auras. It was if she were a nonentity, so to speak. But the reason for that is her own enchantments and devices, Rachelle. Sujata is undoubtedly an artisan with great skills in many other areas of heka practice, but first and foremost, that woman is a true witch—a follower and worker of vilest Evil!"

"The gods know I instinctively disliked her— intuitively, if you wish Setne," Rachelle added, seeing that the wizard-priest was going to interrupt her when she attributed her feelings to a non-magickal source. Not wanting to lose her train of thought, she hurried on. "In fact, I despised that bitch the moment I clapped eyes on her! Is she really a witch, Setne? Can you be absolutely certain? After all, she is the mahara-jah's chief enchantress, or whatever title they give in this country. To accuse her of such is dangerous to her and to us."

"Accuse? I hadn't that in mind, not at all." Inhetep thought a moment and stepped back so that Rachelle could see him plainly. "You tell me. Be the disinterested judge." Then the magister imitated Sujata's gesture, the motion and sign followed by a close approximation of her words, including pitch, tone, and inflec-t ion. When he completed the mimicry he asked,

"Well?"

"That was the Black Craeft, no question, Setne!" Her voice was assured, for Rachelle was positive after seeing what he had done. Being bright and capable, the young amazon was by no means content to be a mere guard to the magister. Sword wielding was fine, but she saw herself in other roles too. Amongst her many pursuits of scholarly sort, Rachelle included several which required the utilization of heka power, including witchcraft. That subject both fascinated and repelled Rachelle. It had done so ever since she had first heard of it as a child. In school, she had been allowed only a cursory look at the subject. When she had left the halls of formal education in favor of assisting Inhetep in his adventures aimed at thwarting evil, uncovering crime and criminals, Rachelle began to delve into witchcraft by reading every work on it she could lay her hands on. Between the magister's extensive library and what she found on her own, the amazon had over the past half dozen years amassed considerable knowledge about the malign practice. Of course, this learning was theoretical, not applied. Nevertheless, she was an authority of sorts. Her enthusiasm was possibly spurred on by the fact that Inhetep was virtually ignorant of the subject. Here roles were reversed: she the master, he the student.

"You must let me get close to her, Setne," Rachelle said earnestly. "Ill find out what motivates the Lady Sujata. You can bet that the pirimah has some machinations in mind—as the court practitioner she must have had a part in the theft, but there must be a larger and more evil plot brewing here." She stopped her urging and looked up at the magister with her most appealing gaze.

"She is dangerous—very dangerous, Rachelle. I'n not sure about her involvement in the disappearance of the maharajah's regalia, either." The dark eyes were looking into his green ones as he spoke, and it was beginning to effect him. "Still, I understand your desire, and we do need to know everything, including everything about our enemies. There can be no question of that. Sujata will happily see us both dead, although we probably aren't disposable until after recovering the crown jewels."

That gave Rachelle pause. "What makes you say that? She probably stole them herself, so the pirimah will want us out of the way, permanently and quickly!"

"Most doubtful. I am now reasonably sure that whomever absconded with the items in question is not among the court any longer." Telling her that, the magister then launched into a rapid-fire account of what he had learned while she had been with the military chief of Delhi. As he concluded his narrative, Inhetep asked, "And you? What did the general have to

say?"

"After I convinced him that I really didn't want his hands all over me, let alone to bed him, Ratha was fairly open. Perhaps he thought he might impress me into agreeing to some fast fornicating. Typical man—no offense, Setne.

"The so-called hill bandits came off sounding like a rather well-organized rebel force to me. General Ratha admitted as much in so many words. It seems as if it is a popular movement which includes actual outlaws, peasants, free folk, and even some of the rustic aristocracy. They claim to be led by a half-brother of the maharajah."

The magister broke in at that point. "How widespread is the unrest? Do these rebels have any following outside the areas they control by force of arms?"

"Ill say they do. Ratha let that slip when he complained about not being able to take the field and root the rebels out of their highland encampments. It seems that too many of his men must remain in city and town garrisons, being kept on a short tether to patrol the main roads."

"He merely complained about that?"

Rachelle smiled knowingly. "No. I used my wiles, wondered how such a clever and brave fellow could allow mere brigands to thwart him. 'Ha!* he bragged at that, 'I employ mercenaries to check the rebels, use thags to keep the stinking commoners in their place. Soon now too, when there is a change in theological direction, a force of hillmen more savage than the rebels' own will be available to me. Then we will have their miserable heads!' What did he mean by thags?"

"Thugs, of course. Never mind that for the moment. You say he bragged about assistance from 'savage hillmen'?" She nodded. That caused the magister to stroke his shaven head several times as he thought.

"That was very good, my dear. You are absolutely indispensable to me! But there is one other matter. Did the general appear unconcerned about the leader of the insurgents?"

It was Rachelle's turn to ponder for a minute. "Serpents, Setne, I don't know!" she said finally. "Ratha simply passed over the matter of the rebels being led by a purported brother of Sivadji Guldir with a derisive laugh. He never dwelled on it, so I'd have to say that he dismissed the possibility." Then her face lit up as she recalled something, growing suddenly grim as she brought it to mind.

"What is it, Rachelle? Have you remembered something critical?"

"Ugly, Setne. Perhaps it is critical. I don't know. It is something that General Ratha said before I led him into accounting the current difficulties with the rebels."

"Go on, please."

She cleared her throat as If she wanted to spit from the bad taste of what she was going to say. "I had commented on the maharajah's evident desire to be surrounded with concubines at all times, inquired about wives and harem ..."

"And?"

"After hearing the Sivadji Guldir had not married but contented himself with some hundreds of concubines and slaves, I asked the logical question: 'What will he do for an heir?' Then the general gave a laugh of wicked sort. Heir? He has any infant born in the harem taken and killed, just as he executed all of his siblings to become monarch of this land! Our maharajah has no worries about living long, maybe forever, save being cut down by an assassin. When none can claim the Peacock Throne by blood, there is no threat, you see.' That is as close as I can come to his exact words, Setne. The maharajah is a monster! No wonder he has hired a witch as his court practitioner," Rachelle concluded as the realization struck home in her mind.

"Quite possibly," Inhetep said as he put his arm around her shoulders in support and comfort. "That is the sort of thing we have vowed to face, though, dear girl; the purpose of what we undertake is just what we are finding here. Brace up. I have suspected much of this since before we actually arrived in the capital and were confronted with 'His Resplendence' for the first time." Rachelle hugged him back, took a deep breath, and was herself again. "Good! You must be clear and keen of mind, you see. You'll need to be at your best tomorrow."

The amazon looked at him inquiringly. "Why so? Do we—"

"No. You. I agree to your suggestion, Rachelle. Tomorrow, when I am spending some time following a clue which directs me to the thieves' quarter of the city, and thus able to wander the streets of Delhi on my own, you will call upon the Pirimah Lady Sujata as you urged. You will ask her whatever questions you wish, make notes, then be beguiled by her wondrous charm and personality. When the 'formal' inquiry is concluded, your real work will begin, of course!"

"Of course, Setne. I know all about managing that sort of thing. After all, I've had enough experience gallivanting all over the globe keeping you safe. There is one thing, though."

Inhetep's brows shot up. "One? What is that, my dear?"

"What do I tell the 'lady' when she asks what you found out about the 'all-seeing eye' you discovered peering at you before her boudoir

door?"

"Bah!" was the only response she could elicit on that score, as the magister stalked off to wash before retiring.

— 11 ——

SOCIALIZING WITH A WITCH

Before he left on his own investigation, the magister spoke to Chancellor Gorvan about the matter. Naturally, the man was uncertain but had no choice but to agree, cautioning that the maharajah would stand for no delays. Ignoring the veiled threat, Inhetep pushed on. "The Sahibah Rachelle, Chancellor, will remain here in the palace to pursue our investigations. In that regard, you will inform the Pirimah Lady Sujata that I urgently beg she give her attention to my associate. Please convey my regrets at being unable to see to this personally. Do tell the Lady Sujata that I look forward to seeing her later today, of course. In the meantime, the Sahibah Rachelle is going to gather information which I need to solve the crime. She is competent, having had some fair exposure to the work in the past. It saves my valuable talents for more pressing concerns."

Gorvan could understand the latter well

enough. "As you wish, Sahib Magister. I will Impart your request to the Lady Court Practitioner just as you voiced it to me. How many men will you need for your foray into the city?"

"Why, none at all," the wizard-priest said with airy authority as he walked away from the startled fellow.

The chancellor went hastily about taking care of things immediately after Inhetep departed. Gorvan was most circumspect when it came to relaying the magister's message to Sujata. Deep in his heart, the chancellor feared the woman greatly.

"Do make yourself comfortable, sahibah," the pirimah said sweetly as one of her slaves brought Rachelle into her salon a little after mid-morning. Sujata remained seated at her dressing table, finishing the last touches of her toilet— kohl and perfume. She didn't turn around as she spoke.

Rachelle could see the woman in the mirror. Well preserved for one so old, she thought sourly, then relented a little. Lady Sujata looked exquisite in the bright morning light, appearing to be no more than thirty, her skin and body younger still. It was the heavily kohl-rimmed eyes which betrayed her as being past the first bloom of youth. Just then, the woman's eyes caught hers in the mirror. "Please call me Rachelle, Pirimah," she said easily, allowing her eyes to rove on as if she were merely taking in the well-furnished, feminine room which belonged to the chief heka-user of the court.

"And you, Rachelle, may call me Lady Sujata," the woman said with a friendly firmness belied by the words. "I understand your master has sent you here to ask me some questions. I will be available in just a few moments, child." With that the pirimah returned to her primping.

This treatment came as no surprise to the amazon, of course. The assumption of superior-inferior roles, the belittling of her status with the magister, even the lack of courtesy displayed in not offering refreshment were natural. Sujata was a female, after all, Witch or no, a woman who found Setne attractive and intended to do something about it would behave thus. Should she go beyond the mild flirtation stage, the pirimah would become even more slyly aggressive. Rachelle usually chose different means of expressing herself, getting her way. She was well able to understand Lady Sujata's methods, for Rachelle was herself an expert. She knew how to use indirect approach, insinuation, position, influence. Rachelle could use her intelligence to play on sympathies, use her femininity and beauty, and it was now easier to do so. Her opponent allowed her own conceit to cloud her judgment. Armor and sword hid a strong mind and keen wit from the witch's eyes.

"You are most kind, Lady Sujata. I do hate to bother you. I know that being the head of the maharajah's magickal affairs is demanding, that you have so many important things to attend to. Please do not huriy because I am here. I am content to wait, see how it is that you bring out your natural beauty as you do." When the woman seemed surprised at her statement, Rachelle purposely made it seem she misunderstood. "Oh! I have offended you. I didn't mean to imply I was staring as you put on your makeup, Lady Sujata. It's just that in my role as a swordswoman I am not treated to the secrets of such feminine things."

The pirimah warmed a little, turned. "Poor thing, I hadn't thought of that. Hard armor and clumsy weapons are the poor tools of men, and yet you must rely on such. Yet you seem pretty enough even without those touches which make beauty what it is. Yes . . . with my direction we could make you over into one not even the maharajah himself could keep from lusting after beyond all else," Lady Sujata said with a speculative air as she gazed at Rachelle as she might inspect a fat calf brought for slaughter.

Resisting the urge to strike the woman, nauseated at the thought of the toad-like monarch pawing her, Rachelle shook her head and said, "No, Lady Sujata. I would never want to be beautiful for any man's pleasure—to be a plaything is abhorrent to me. Perhaps being a war-rioress is better. That way I am equal to men."

"Aaah, ha, ha, ha!" the woman laughed in something between pity and derision. "What a novel idea. To be equal to men!"

"You may laugh, lady," Rachelle said, allowing a hint of envy and irritation to seep into her voice. "You are high in the council of a king! Why, you must be the third or fourth most powerful person in Delhi—and a woman!"

The woman tossed aside her cosmetics, stood erect, and advanced on Rachelle as if she were a tiger about to seize its prey. "Third or fourth? You are a stupid little thing. I am the one who directs every action of that fat fool—" Lady Sujata bit off her words. She stared at the ama-zon, her eyes bright and hard, as if trying to read Rachelle with some malign power. There was no response from the young woman, though. Rachelle looked up with incomprehension, nervously returning the witch's gaze. She betrayed no sign. Her aura was straightforward, her thoughts were of personal success, domination. "Either you are a sister or a clever foe—which is it, Rachelle?"

"I ... I don't understand, Lady Sujata. I am here only to ask you for details which Magister Inhetep has dictated. I am certainly no enemy of yours how could I be?"

"Umm. Perhaps, perhaps. We will let that be for now. It is time for my breakfast. You will ask your questions while I eat. Come with me " Without waiting to see if Rachelle complied with her order, the pirimah walked purposefully through an archway which led to a shaded veranda. There a table and chairs stood, the former spread with a white cloth and covered with silver dishes.

Rachelle seated herself across from the woman after Lady Sujata had allowed a servant to attend to her at her own place. When the pirimah had taken a little crystal container of fruit juice from where it had lain half-buried in ice in the heart of a covered dish, and sipped, Rachelle took a deep breath and began.

"Who is the most ardent foe of the maharajah?"

Sujata opened her mouth, then shut it quickly. After a few seconds, she took up a little piece of some exotic Hindic fruit and daintily ate it. "Why do you ask that?"

"The magister needs to compile a complete list of suspects."

"You don't have anything with which to write down what I tell you."

"I have a very good memory, lady. I seldom need such an aid."

The woman smiled. "Good." Her look was distant, as if she were considering another topic entirely, however. Then the pirimah's eyes were aimed at her questioner. "His Resplendence has only one meaningful opposer here in

Delhi—and that includes the kingdom, you understand?" Rachelle said she did. "Do you know about the rebels?"

Turning tables was a device which Rachelle could avoid without seeming to. "Only what the blustering general told me. Nothing substantial. Is it among those outlaws that the chief enemy of the maharajah is to be found?"

"Yes. I don't suppose Ratha mentioned his claims, gave you his name. ..."

"He told me only that the man pretended to be of royal lineage. Please tell rne his name— pretend and actual." The pirimah admitted that the leader of the insurgents was known to them only as "Rama-dharma, the duty of Rama." At hearing that, Rachelle said, "Wasn't Rama a great hero of antiquity who became a deity through his nobility and strength of purpose?"

"A cursed dog," the woman said vehemently, no trace of fear showing at giving such offense to a deity.

"You mean the rebel, of course."

"Don't speak for me. I mean both! If I knew the pretender's actual name, though, little one, he would be no threat to the throne. Get on with your questions."

With her uncertainties well hidden, the amazon did as she had been told. "There is but one foe, the rebel calling himself Rama-dharma. There are no others. But what about palace intrigues—are there none who would see the maharajah discomfited by the loss so as to gain

thereby?"

"What would be the gain? All in positions of power here stand or fall by the fate of Guldir— the maharajah—at least for some time. Nobody here has the brains to range into the distant future. Not the general, nor that weakling Gorvan. All the others are petty, without hope of anything beyond retaining their current, undeserved, rank. Besides, to have done what was done dangerously weakens not only the maharajah but all who serve him."

That made her sit up mentally, but again Rachelle hid her intense interest in what she had heard. "The loss is humiliation if news of it should be broadcast. Lady Sujata, but surely the lack of even such precious ornaments as the crown jewels inflicts no important loss of power."

"You are ignorant. The regalia has more than symbolic significance."

Without adding to that, the pirimah turned her attention to the food, nibbling a little of this and that. Rachelle went over what she had been told for the woman's benefit. "There is only the bandit chief to look to then, and his motive in robbing the maharajah of the crown jewels was to hinder his plans by depriving the throne of the powers the regalia bestowed upon him."

Lady Sujata's eyes widened, and she looked at the amazon with a glimmer of new respect. "No. I didn't say that. It might be accurate in part, but it is inaccurate in general. Your magister will have to discover if some unsuspected villain who lurks in hiding perpetrated the crime. As to the motive, that is information unnecessary to the recovery of the lost jewels. After all, why else would I have recommended that the maharajah employ him? With his heka power and experience at this sort of thing, he should be able, must, get to the bottom of things before the dark of the moon. It is essential that the crown jewels be returned by that time."

Rachelle let out a little gasp. "Two days' time?"

"That is all. Can he do it?"

"The magister Is unequaled in his field. There are few suspects, possibly but a single one, and the lost items are potently charged with heka. If anyone can find them, Inhetep will."

The woman smiled thinly. "Good. He had better, for his sake and probably yours, too. But let us not dwell on unpleasantries. Tell me, do you wish your Magister Inhetep to marry you?"

"The wealth and position would be fine, but he is too hard to control." Rachelle lowered her tone as she confided, "If I had my choice, I would rather be married to someone more powerful than he, perhaps a vizier, one old and tractable."

Lady Sujata watched the amazon as she spoke. Her eyes were knowing. "Not a bad aspiration—for a woman of average abilities. Too uncertain, too many other women competing. You are educated?"

Even though it was more statement than question, Rachelle responded at some length. "Yes. It is usual for the middle and upper classes of /Egypt to be given some degree of education. For many years I was schooled. During that time, I was trained as a priestess of the goddess Neith."

"Were you, now? I thought we had some affinity. ... I am not acquainted with the pantheon of your land. What concerns your Neith? What teachings are ascribed to her?"

"Warfare is her forte, lady. She favors the bow, the hunt."

"I see. You are a huntress too, and ply a bow, 111 wager."

Rachelle's face showed how impressed she was. "That is so, my Lady Sujata. You are very astute."

"Astute is one way of putting it. Tell me, Rachelle, what is the true perspective of the goddess? She is not of the light, is she?" The pirimah's expression was crafty as she kept asking her questions. "You may speak freely to me, have no fear. I will repeat nothing, not even to the vaunted Magister Inhetep—rest assured you can trust rne."

"Light is far from Neith's ethos. ..."

Again the woman gave her somehow sinister-sounding laugh. "I thought so. You are a vassal of gloom stuck with a foolish fellow who thinks that there can be a position which bestrides light and darkness even as he violates his own tenets. Well, I am one who can use such fools to undo their ilk! You see, Rachelle, I too serve a dark goddess, one even more bloody and potent than this Neith of yours. Serve me and I will show you how you may bend men and even states to your will, and have all you desire!"

For the space of several heartbeats Rachelle sat frozen, staring at the woman's now-hard countenance. "You are a witch," she said at last.

"Is that so? And what if I am . . . ?" There was great menace in the question.

The amazon's hand made a sign, and she bowed her head towards the Lady Sujata. "I pay you homage, mistress. I am an initiate in the Black Craeft, but I have feared to take the last step."

"You show your wisdom by such hesitation. You must have a plan, know exactly what you desire to accomplish, before you commit. Now listen to me. I want you to act as my agent. You must learn exactly what your magister is doing. If you can, find out who has the jewels, where they are hidden. Tell me everything you learn. When the regalia of state is returned, I will rule Delhi through that toad who squats on the Peacock Throne. Then, in due course, as the maharani. If you have served me well, I will make you my lieutenant here, or else send you back to /Egypt if you so desire, to become great there."

"I can manage the carrying of information, Pirimah, but how can I accomplish the rest? I have no powers such as yours."

"But you will, for if you fulfill the task I have laid upon you, I will call up such a demon as you cannot imagine, one whose strength is unmatched. To him you will bend your knee, make your blood pact, and then you will wield the might needed to gain all you lust for. Men will serve you in thousands. Never will you need to be one of hundreds or dozens of women competing for a small place at the feet of some man."

Rachelle smiled. "It is a vision unreachable for most. I will serve you. Ah, but Lady Sujata, a moment! Doesn't the great goddess you are sworn to take umbrage at making a pact with the lords of the netherrealms?"

"Don't be silly. Why should black Kali object to my service to darkness? She may slay some dwellers therein, but it is her own place as well. I further her aims by being both a sworn witch and priestess of the goddess Kali!"

Rachelle stood up, inclined her head. "I will serve you as you command. Great Lady Witch."

"Of course you will take an oath to that effect."

"I swear my fealty and pledge my bond by Neith the Huntress."

Now the pirimah arose. "Not good enough. Follow me." She led the amazon into her bedroom. There she opened a tall cupboard, drew forth a box, and from inside it took out various items. "Hold out your hand." There was hardly a tremble as Rachelle thrust forth her little hand. "Pretty, but too calloused," Sujata observed as she used a lancet to pierce the tip of one of the fingers she grasped firmly. When a drop welled up as if it were a ruby bead, she touched a little doll to it. Now the figurine had a crimson mark upon its breast. "I place this upon the alter of Kali. Do you place yourself in the arms of the Black Goddess thus?"

"Yes," Rachelle whispered. She could say nothing else.

The witch used some charm to search for deception, then cast an augury to see if that revealed any duplicity. Neither means showed anything other than an unyielding determination on the part of the young warrior. "Then you are bound to her and to me. If you betray your oath, Kali's vengeance will take you—if my own fails, which I doubt."

—— 12 ——

DENIZENS OF DELHI

He arose and left their rooms so quietly that even the catlike senses of the amazon were not alerted to Inhetep's departure. He didn't concern himself with the sleeping Rachelle, for she had had her instructions, knew her work well— almost as well as he, the magister thought to himself with a satisfied grin. She looked so beautiful and childlike where she lay, but woe to the foe who thought she was vulnerable! Slipping out the door, the magister avoided the sentinel, heading for the rear portion of the palace. Surprisingly, he felt thirsty and a trifle hungry too, so Inhetep located the royal kitchens and asked for tea and something to eat. Wide-eyed, a scullion ran off to bring a cook, who in turn fled upon seeing the /Egyptian standing there. The pantler begged his forgiveness, at least, before hurrying away to find the steward.

"Please come this way, Sahib Magister," that 189

worthy intoned. "I will have a morning room prepared, a proper repast ready in but a brief time."

"Pish! You'll do nothing of the sort. Ill not budge from here. Listen carefully. I desire a big glass of tea and some food—bread will do. I want that brought to me here, now!"

The wizard-priest tapped his foot in impatience as the steward went around in confusion tiying to comply with the foreigner's strange orders even while making that part of the kitchen complex into something resembling a proper place for an aristocratic guest of the ma-harajah's to break his fast. Inhetep forbore scolding. He understood that the steward feared for his head if he displeased him or displeased his monarch by not treating a guest properly. The process was creating an ever greater uproar without increased promise of fulfilling the magister's instructions. Inhetep walked into the next room. Behind him there was a babble of shouting and the commotion of a dozen people trying to do their best to be in the same spot at the same time. The steward, pantler, cook, and baker were each demanding he be obeyed immediately. Thus, none noticed the departure of the one who had created the bedlam.

"Ill have that," Setne said firmly as he passed a startled worker and plucked a wooden bowl filled with a steaming, aromatic morning tea from him. He quaffed it off in big gulps as he continued along to another room, grabbed and ate a radish as he passed through. Outside finally, he found himself in the yard where ovens yielded flat loafs of bread. In fact, there was a whole pile of bread in his path. He snatched the top one and pulled it into two portions. "Wonderful!" the magister exclaimed as he sniffed at the fresh odor. "And it has onions baked into it, too. Perfect!" He stuffed a big hunk in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "Ahh." He ate more, but after the loaf was about half gone, he had had enough.

Despite raised eyebrows, Inhetep managed to find and exit the palace compound through the rear servant's entrance. He was clad in the simple garb of a Hindi working man, but his towering height and copper-hued complexion set him apart at a single glance. Ignoring the uneasy glances of those who passed, the magister used his long legs to effect. Inhetep still held the hunk of onion-laden bread. In the space of a few minutes, he was many streets and a whole world removed from the splendor of the Maharajah Sivadji's tightly guarded fortress.

Seeing a grubby child with skinny limbs and a big belly standing in the street before him, the magister went a little out of his way to hand the boy the remains of his breakfast. "Here, lad, take this." The urchin grabbed the bread and ran off clutching his prize. Not knowing whether to laugh with shared joy at the boy's good fortune or cry at the conditions which allowed such abject poverty, the wizard-priest simply dusted his hands and walked on. If there were those who decried the near-absoluteness of the monarchy of Pharaoh, he thought, they would laud it after seeing what a true despot brings to his subjects. Only the determined could find a way to starve in /Egypt. Between industry and the many charities of temple and fraternal societies, not one in a thousand lacked sufficient, if plain, food. "Like bread and onions," he said aloud as he turned a corner suddenly.

Of course he was being followed. Inhetep's sixth sense had informed him, not that he actually needed such intelligence. Common sense told the wizard-priest that the maharajah and other officials would put their agents on his trail to watch where he went. With his legs moving very quickly now, he covered the ground between the corner and a narrow passage before anyone following could get a view of him. Then Setne ducked into the gangway and broke into a lope, bent over so as to minimize his height. One or two startled pedestrians hastily withdrew from his path. There was an even smaller adit angling off to the right. Inhetep jogged into it, followed it to where it branched into two dead ends, then went left and up a steep flight of stairs, almost lost in the deep shadows of this nearly lightless place where only a little rectangle of sky far overhead allowed day to show.

"Perfect," he panted aloud. There wasn't a soul in sight to hear him or to see what he was about to do. His ploy was as obvious in its own way as those following him. That is, whomever was trailing after him would know he was a practitioner of heka and expect him to use it to alter his appearance. Once it was certain that he had managed to get away from constant surveillance, some device to detect mag-ickal disguise or change would be used to attempt to locate him again. "Time for the alteration," he murmured. Less than a minute later, he was again Chandgar. He drew a strip of blue cotton from his baggy loincloth, replacing the white turban he wore with a blue one by wrapping the long strip around his head. The casting which altered his physical appearance also blanketed the wizard-priest in such a way as to conceal emanations from his person. Thus, he would be nearly invisible to searches for aural or magickal radiation. Too invisible, and thus visible—unless there were decoys.

The magister came back along his trail to the small passage. There he turned right, so as to continue away from the route which brought him to the hidden spot. Now none of the people he met gave him a second look, for he was just another Hindi dwelling in Delhi. The little lane soon opened into a courtyard. There was a fountain in its center, an upthrust block with a spout trickling water for the residents of the neighborhood. Around the plaza were a handful of peddlers, vendors, and a sprinkling of customers. Inhetep went to the busiest stall, a place where vegetables were offered, and thrust himself between a man and a woman to get to the very front so as to be able to peer closely at the produce offered. The two he had brushed past glared, and the man muttered a curse which the magister ignored. "Not what I want," he said to the seller, who likewise sent doom after him as he walked away. In about five minutes, he had been to each place there, bought nothing, but incurred the enmity of a dozen citizens by his rudeness.

"Who was that fellow?" one asked.

His neighbor shook his head. "A stranger here. Say, do you suppose he was a pickpocket?" As he said that, the resident began to check his person for loss. He kept his small horde of coins carefully folded inside the waist of his loincloth. So too his fellow who was likewise frantically searching to see if his money had been stolen. "No. I have not lost anything," the second man said in relief. "He was just a pushy bastard."

More cautious than his fellow, the second local not only touched his coins but counted them. Even though no thief would take only some, it was reassuring to check just in case. The man was startled to find there was a silver one among the bronze and copper coins he knew he had. He hid his surprise. Where had the worn old chuckrum come from? He could t hink of only one way: somebody had carelessly given it to him in change. "I too have all my money," he said finally. It was most unwise to reveal newfound wealth to anyone, of course, even a good neighbor.

By then the magister was a long way from the two. Smiling contentedly to himself, he sought out the worst slum of Delhi to begin his work. Behind him were nine people with strong heka emanating from them. Each had a silver chuckrum, and the coin was the source of the magickal radiation, in particular indicating physical disguise. "Let them try to follow those false trails," he said to himself. Before long some of the coins would change hands, and silver should be hidden on the receiver's person. It would be an hour or more before the ruse was discovered—if any were indeed clever enough. By then he would be hopelessly lost to anything save a full-scale search of the city. The master of Delhi wouldn't do that. "Ill be given a hot reception when I return, but by then 111 have found all I need to know here," Inhetep ruminated. He came to the quarter he had sought, and entered the first public house he saw there.

"Beer," he said to the barman.

The fellow gave Inhetep a hard look of appraisal, and brought a wooden tankard. "One anna," he said loudly as he set the container on the stained and worn plank.

The magister produced the coin, dropped it on the bar, picked up his beer, and turned his back on the servitor. It was a typical dive: little light even in bright morning sun; narrow, deep, with many odd tables and chairs cluttering its length. As his eyes adjusted fully to the dimness, Inhetep saw there were already more than a handful of customers in the place. He chose a table as far away from them as he could. He put his back to the wall and drank.

For a few minutes, he was the subject of guarded scrutiny. Then he was ignored by the patrons and barkeep alike. Ignored but not accepted, he thought. He finished his beer, walked back to the bar, and asked for another. The process was the same as before, but this time he was eyed more closely by the man as he put the refilled tankard before the wizard-priest. Without attempting any conversation, Inhetep went back to his table. He glanced neither right nor left. This time he drank more slowly, waiting.

"Buy me wine?" The whore had come from the depths of the tavern's rear. Even in the gloom the magister could see she was very young, very well-built, and would have been extremely pretty had her face not been badly scarred by disease. He slapped his hand down on the table before her. She started a bit, unsure of what he was doing. Then he moved it, and she saw a bronze coin lying there. "Wine is a rupee, master," she told him in her toneless, professional voice.

"Drink beer then or do without," Inhetep responded with an emotionless tone which matched hers.

"Come on, master, you're a sport aren't you? Buy me wine, and then maybe 111 treat you to something special later." Inhetep ignored her wheedling. The whore grabbed the anna, got up angrily, and left him alone. Two minutes later she returned, a tankard in her hand. She plopped down in the chair opposite him, gulping the beer.

"Tea or fruit juice would be better for one so young," the magister observed in a low, flat voice.

"What the hells are you, some kind of a holy reformer?" She was angry because her commission on wine was an anna; for beer she got only the drink. "Do you want to get laid or don't you? It's a hundred—" His harsh laughter made her break off what she was saying. "All right. Because its early, 111 let you go for fifty annas."

Inhetep shook his head "Crap. The rate is half that. Do you think me stupid?" He finally looked into the too-old eyes in the young, pocked face. "Your name is Braji. No. I am not a spy for the maharajah. No, I am not any sort of policeman, either. Yes. I am not going to pay you for sex, just as you fear. No. It isn't because your face is ugly—it is scarred but pretty, by the way, and the smallpox which caused it happened when you were eight," he added as the astonished girl stared at him with her mouth agape.

"You read my mind. You are a swami!"

"Lower your voice," Inhetep commanded. "Otherwise you won't be paid." He saw that got through to her. She was ready to flee from him at the slightest provocation, but her desire for money held her there tenuously. "You are close, girl. Suffice to say I am a practitioner of the arts. No more stealing thoughts. Relax. I did that only to show you I am no enemy."

It took no magick to see from her expression that she thought that total bullshit as she replied, "Okay, you're my pal. Where's the money you promised, and what do I have to do to earn it? I don't do exhibitions with ani—"

"Shut up and listen to me, Braji," the magister said in a voice so harsh that the young whore froze silent in her chair. But as he spoke thus, he made a copper rupee appear on the table. "There are more, chuckrums too, if you play this right."

She in turn made the coin vanish. "For small change I don't do much of anything," she warned. She didn't mean it, though. Business for her was never good, and money always scarce.

"No lies or even misleading answers," the wizard-priest warned. "Remember I can read your thoughts if need be. All we are going to do is talk. When I'm satisfied you've answered a question fully and truthfully, you get paid. I have a lot of questions. ..."

"You got a deal. Ask away." If he said anything out of line, asked her to tell him anything he shouldn't know, she was determined to walk away. With a little luck, she'd at least have some jingle in her purse when she did that. She quickly shut away the rising thought of what would happen if it turned out he was one of the . . .

"Why do you sell yourself?"

Oh, so maybe this fellow was just another one of those kind. "My father is dead, my mother an invalid. Someone has to bring food home for my little brothers and sis—"

"Don't be a fool. Tell me the truth, I said, or else you can get your ass out of that chair now!"

"I have no hope of marriage—not looking like this. My family threw me out after a soldier raped me. I have to live, and there's no other way." A coin appeared. It was a rupee, and she took it wondering if she might have earned a chuckrum if she had been truthful in the first place.

"The government doesn't serve the people here, does it?"

That made Braji swallow hard. She risked it. "No," she managed in a small voice. The payment was silver.

"Can you recall a time it was less tyrannical, when it was maybe all right for what it was? Is it getting worse now?"

"Things have never been good from what I've heard, or what I recall as a child. That bastard who raped me wouldn't have dared doing that years ago—my parents said that, even though they blamed me. It is becoming worse all the time too, and if you are one of the maharajah's spies, I'm as good as dead now."

The magister smiled at her, a paternal and reassuring show. He produced a rupee and another silver chuckrum. "Buy yourself wine, Braji; then come back. I have more questions, but we want no suspicions as to what is really being transacted between us, do we?"

In a bit, she returned. She had her wine in one hand, a beer in the other. "On me," she said. When she saw Inhetep's questioning look, Braji told him, "Don't worry about the barman—Upura is a good fellow and won't say anything even if he suspected you were a rebel recruiter."

"Do you think I am?"

She shrugged. "I don't know—I've never met one. Are you?" The young whore actually giggled when he asked her for a chuckrum if she wanted an answer. "Right," she said as she regained her composure. "You ask, 111 answer and get the coin."

"How great is the hatred for the maharajah? Are there active rebels here in the capital? Have there been incidents?" As he posed the string of queries to her, the magister slipped three silver discs partway across the table.

She looked at the coins, then at Inhetep. "What you ask of me is very dangerous! I am afraid to answer, even for so much money."

"Here," Inhetep said. "Take them and don't answer if you are so afraid. Know that I am here as one able to assist those who wish to change things, and I will never reveal anything I learn to those who are tyrannizing you."

He had measured her character well. Braji was a prostitute but otherwise a very decent girl. Despite enforced hardness, she couldn't help trusting him. "The toad is the most hated man in the world!" she hissed. "He is not fit to rule a swamp. He has now surrounded himself with officials as bad as he is. His soldiers are rotten and the new mercenaries who swarm over the land worse. Tax collectors extort the last coin from widows. If my face were not so horrid, I'd probably be kidnapped for a slave in one of those pig's harems," she concluded, touching her scarred cheek, then adding, "I should be happy for this . . . blessing!"

"I understand. You became so vehement you forgot to speak about active opposition here in the city. Are there insurgents here in Delhi who are fighting back?"

She nodded, looked around to be sure nobody was near. "Yes. They have even come here once or twice to find men and women willing to join the cause. They have done small things only up to now. Killing a tax collector, making a particularly brutal soldier disappear. Even such little attacks have brought terrible reprisals—executions of randomly seized men, the burning of a building suspected to house a rebel sympathizer. If the opposition tried anything major, it would mean slaughter among the people. The maharajah's men would be loosed to do as they want here."

"So the insurgents build strength and wait for something, a general uprising when their forces in the hills are strong enough to come into the open and fight."

"You know the whole plan?"

The magister bent forward to push the three coins to her, sat back, raised his hand as if taking an oath, then lowered it while saying, "What I just told you is the way of all revolutionaries everywhere. I don't have to see the documents to know the details. What's more, I believe that I fully support it. Whether it will succeed or not is another matter. Yet even there I suspect I might be influential. Come, Braji. Let us go to your room."

That shocked her. "You want to have sex now?"

"No. You are like a friend to me now. But we must go to your lodging place to make sure that anyone who might be a spy for the maharajah thinks that is what I am after. Is it nearby?"

Braji nodded. "It is a little room on the fourth floor of the building next door. Come on." She got up with a false smile on her face and held onto the magister. She gave the barman, Upura, a wave as they left. He returned a knowing smile. "If he bought it," she murmured, "anyone else watching did." They walked the short distance to the entrance to the adjacent structure and climbed up the long sets of steps to arrive at her door. "Sorry for this place," she said. "It is the best I can manage."

Setne entered, and when she had closed the door he sat on the bed. "Can you take me around the city—especially to places where the rebels might be present?"

"I can, but..." Again Braji made her unconscious gesture, fingers over pitted and scarred face. "Let's be realistic. If I'm not recognized as a whore, my looks will cause trouble for you. I think you need another guide."

"Could you do it otherwise?"

"Maybe, I'm not sure," the girl admitted.

Inhetep reached into his shawl-like upper garment and pulled out a little box. "You know I have powers," he said. "Here is something I want you to use now, an unguent for your skin. Smooth it on wherever you have scarring, but be sparing. A little is good, a lot wasteful. There is enough for seven applications, understand? That will help you to judge how much you need to use each time after this."

Braji's eyes brightened with a flash of hope, then clouded. It was something she didn't dare consider. While this stranger seemed a good man, had given her over a hundred annas, not betrayed her as a traitor to the crown, trust and hope both were foreign to her thinking. Like love and caring, to survive in her environment all such potentially weakening emotions had to be shut out. "Ill use it, but you'll have to pay me a chuckrum," she said in her hard, business-like voice.

"Here," the magister replied, tossing a coin through the air. "Maybe this will finally convince you. Even if it doesn't, you need it far more than I." His voice was absolutely neutral. There was neither pity nor judgment in his words or expression.

Braji noted that even as she caught the spinning coin. It was gold. "You throw me a lakh as if it were nothing?" She looked at it closely, bit it to see if it were a counterfeit. "Did you conjure this? Will it soon vanish?" she asked with a mixture of wonder and suspicion. When he shook his head, Braji believed him. The man's eyes denied all duplicity. "Why . . . ?"

"Never mind. Take it—and stop wasting my time. Use the salve. Hurry up. The morning is almost gone, and there's a whole city for you to show to me."

Without hesitation, she put her fingers into the box, touched the pale green stuff inside. The contact made her whole hand tingle. Jaw set, she pressed gently, took the salved digits out, up to her left cheek, then repeated the process on the other. Braji pretended she was applying a beauty creme, that her skin was perfect, that she was the lovely daughter of a wealthy merchant, a Vaisya maid readying to be presented to a dozen handsome suitors. After all, she was but a girl and still had some bit of dream hidden in her heart.

"That's fine." The words snapped her out of her reverie. "Do you have a mirror?" When Braji said she didn't, he swore, then told her, "You'll have to wait a bit then to see the effect. I think you 11 be pleased," he added cryptically. "Just make sure you apply the unguent once a day for the next six days. Don't use it more often, and don't miss a day, hear?"

She shrugged, nodded. When he wasn't around, she would do as she pleased. "Is this a paste which hides my scars?"

"You'll soon see. Now let's get out of here. Are we likely to run into anyone on the stairs?"

"Not at this time of day. Too early by half. I was out only because I had no money and nothing to eat."

The magister opened the door, looked out, saw no one. "It is as you said. Now, dear niece, after you. I am your Uncle Chandgar from Alwar, and you are going to show me the capital. But first you'll need a more suitable sari, and a few other things too. You see, I have a very dear companion who happens to also be a beautiful woman like you will grow to be."

Despite her puzzlement at all this, Braji didn't believe a word of that. Beautiful indeed. At least she would get a new dress. If he made her take him into dangerous territory, she'd give this Chandgar, or whoever he really was, the slip. Maybe she'd do that before they got to a shop. After all, she was now holding over a thousand annas. Never press your luck, a wise old harlot had once advised.

—— 13 ——

ALL AROUND THE TOWN

The magister kept a tight hold on her arm as she led him out the back way of the building and along a filthy alley to a busy street. He maintained that grip until they came to a shop selling small objects for the household. "Well go in here for a minute, Braji. I see they have decorative things for sale."

"What?"

"Decorations. Look there, see the pretty frame around the little mirror which hangs just there? Look, see if you'd like it to hang in your room."

Of course she had no mirror there. Nor did she want one. She hated to see herself. Braji tried to avoid his suggestion by playing along with his proposed charade and saying, "No, Uncle . . . Chandgar. I like the brass incense burner over there ever so much better."

It was time to make her stop being what she had become. "The mirror, dear niece!" Inhetep actually used his strong fingers to cause her a little pain as he squeezed her bicep. Braji winced and went to stand before the mirror where it hung. Her attitude showed that it might have been a spider or venomous snake from her perspective. The magister was there, close to her, forcing her to finally look at her own reflection.

"Oh!" was all she said when she saw herself. She pulled back as if stung, then moved forward, cautiously, little by little so as to view only a bit of her face at a time. "It is a miracle," she whispered, as she finally stood squarely before the glass, fingertips of both hands playing across her forehead, slowly traveling down her cheeks to her neck.

"You want to buy that mirror?" the puzzled proprietor demanded in a half-querulous tone as if her careful inspection in the looking glass would somehow wear it out.

"Yes!" Braji cried excitedly. Then she caught herself and looked at Inhetep as if he might refuse.

He chuckled. "Here, fellow, my young niece wants your second-rate goods, so I give you a rupee. How much change do I get?" The bargaining which followed was only half-hearted on the magister's part, and he ended up paying twenty annas for it.

Braji was scandalized. "It is worth no more than fifteen, tops," she said as they walked out of the shop. "I will do the bargaining from now on—with your permission, of course, Uncle Chandgar."

It was almost as if she believed they were niece and uncle now, so filled with the wonder of her unscarred face was this girl who minutes before had schemed like the hard tart she had survived being. "You are doing much better now, Braji, much better. Ill certainly allow you to haggle with the owner of the shop in which we select your new clothes. Let us find such a place." She took his hand and tugged him along, for the girl knew exactly where she wanted to buy her clothes, a place which had saris fit for a princess. "Don't you have anything to say about what the unguent did?" Inhetep asked as they hurried along one street after another.

"Thank you!"

"No. I appreciate that, but I meant do you have questions about how it works?"

"Magick. You said you were like a swami, and I think you are the greatest, most wonderful one in all Delhi—the world! I will use the ointment faithfully each day for six more days, just as you said. Is there more?"

She was smart, no question. "You might notice a coarsening of your skin, and enlargement of the pores or something like the return of the pock marks by tomorrow morning. You must not use the stuff then, though. Wait until about the same hour to apply it again—an hour before midday or so."

"Yes, uncle." She said nothing more, trusting him fully now in at least the matter of the unguent, possibly more. "Here is the shop. Let's go in!" Before she suited her actions to her words, however, Braji stopped abruptly. Inhetep almost collided with her.

"Is something wrong?"

"I . . . well . . . This is a very fancy place, you see." She looked sheepish and crestfallen. It took no genius to tell she was ashamed of herself. "I have been inside once. They ask a fortune for their things. Perhaps we should go somewhere else. You have already paid me too much money, given me that which is worth more than all the gold in the world to me." Suddenly her face lit up again. "No. I have it! Ill use the lakh you gave me and buy a dress with it!"

The magister frowned and shook his head. "No. You'll need that to find new lodgings, get a new start."

"You are right. Let us go to shop where ordinary women get their clothes." Braji meant it. She was already starting to head off in another direction.

"Just a moment, niece. Do they have things which aren't too conspicuous here? Something nice but in good taste?"

She stopped. "I am not sure," she admitted.

"I have longed for the dresses which are like those a rani might wear, but I don't recall everything that they sell."

"Seeing that you know you like the goods in this shop, Braji, I think we should go in and look around. I have only so much time, you know." She was pleased, of course, agreeing readily. It was not entirely a lie, either. Inhetep did want to go many places before the day ended. He had much to learn, and that meant he had to visit all the quarters of Delhi and speak with the right people in each.

At first the woman who greeted them was cool. The two didn't look like they were able to afford the merchandise sold in the shop, and her voice told them as much. Inhetep spotted a couple of garments which were day wear, not blatantly expensive, and seemed tastefully pretty as well. "Which of these two do you like the best, niece?" he asked. "Because it's your birthday, I will buy whichever one you choose." That made the clerk hasten to attend Braji. The magister stood back while the two chattered, looked at his selections, and drifted away to look at others elsewhere. "We have much to do today," he called. Perhaps it hurried her a little.

'This one. Uncle Chandgar." Braji held up a lovely sari of pale turquoise, its edges trimmed in fine silver stitching. "It is the prettiest—outside those suitable for nighttime parties and such. ..." Her voice was wistful.

"There you have it. A shawl to go with it, and new sandals." He said it quickly so as to make her forget the fancier things which wouldn't do at all. "How much?"

"Don't talk so loud or look as if you will positively buy; and never, never appear to be in a hurry." With that Braji left him to his own devices while she selected the other things. It took her surprisingly little time to do that, and to strike a bargain with the woman helping her.

"No more?" Inhetep asked with some surprise. She smiled, told him that was the price agreed to, and he handed her some coins. With that they left the dress shop and went off to the part of Delhi which was principally that of the medial castes. "Now listen, Braji. Here is what I want to see." After reeling off a long list, the magister added, "and we should find somewhere which serves food, too. Make it a nice place that the well-to-do frequent."

They ate a good lunch, sipped tea afterwards. The priest-wizard seemingly listening to her chatter while actually paying attention to conversations going on around them. Sometimes, in fact, he used other means to overhear. After an hour he grew tired of it, settled their check, and the two departed.

"Thank the gods," Braji breathed as they hurried off to the next place on the tour he had set. "I was beginning to run out of polite things to say! Can't you do something other than respond with, 'How nice,' or 'Is that so?', or 'Of course'? Carrying on a one-way conversation and trying not to attract attention isn't easy, you know."

"You will certainly go far, dear Niece Braji, in your new circumstances," Inhetep said to avoid the matter. "What do you plan to do?"

"Why, be a courtesan, naturally," she replied instantly. "I can get ever so much for my favors now that I am beautiful. Then I'll save enough to buy a house, hire other women to work in it, and be the richest madam in Delhi." Braji looked up at him, smiling brightly.

Not knowing if she were serious or having him on, the magister changed the subject once again. He would not try to influence her values. "So now we go where?"

"To the big bazaar where everybody congregates. From there I'll take you to the avenue where most of the temples are located. Next will be the Street of Arms, then the Street of Smiths—it's right next to the armorers, and has everything from brass and copper workers to silversmiths and goldsmiths." She took a breath, mentally went over what she had said, then added, "Not too far away from there are several good places to eat supper, and after that well go to the tavern I know of where the latest ballads are sung."

He was pleased. "Just the ticket, girl! Nothing important missed. Tell me the way to get to the market." She pointed him in the right direction, and Setne took over from there. Although the population of the city was great, its size was compact. Delhi was packed into its crowded walls. Because this was the hottest time of the day, however, the traffic wasn't impossible. There were plenty of carts being pushed or pulled along by donkey power. Buffalo and oxen were too big and slow to be used inside the city, horses too dear for common work. There were even a few human mules bearing big burdens along to some destination or another. Other sorts of traffic were at a minimum. Many shops and outside stalls were shut down. Peddlers and other vendors were not active. Shoppers were at home, workers busy inside their places of employment. Even the soldiers who were commonly seen patrolling in pairs or sections seemed to have slipped off to some cooler place to rest.

"You don't mind this heat?" Braji was a little breathless.

"Pish! It is nothing. In /Egypt's deserts, girl, it gets hot!" the magister said sotto voce. He slowed his pace a bit, though. Just ahead the street widened dramatically into a large plaza. "Good. We're at the bazaar, and it isn't too crowded." He handed her a few coins. "We will split up but stay in sight of one another. While you are using eyes and ears to find what I am seeking, use these to buy some small thing or another. We must not appear to be spying." A minute later, they separated.

It proved to be a fruitless exercise. Perhaps those he sought for were avoiding the blaze of early afternoon as did normal citizens and soldiery alike. Discrete inquiries were out of the question in such a place. Inhetep let slip a muttered curse aimed at the throne here, some treasonous hint in what he said there. Besides getting an odd look or two, and making several sellers nervous in the extreme, he got nowhere. No sympathetic agreement, no rebel recruiter, nothing. An hour was all he could allow, and that time was gone. The girl was nearby, so he went to where she was intently examining braided shoulder bags and similar items. "Let us be off, niece," he said to Braji.

She smiled and nodded. "As you wish. Uncle Chandgar." Then, when they were out of earshot of everyone, the girl said, "I saw no one I recognized, heard no voice speaking of rebellion. But look, I managed to find a pretty little ivory necklace and earrings. I also bought a little bag to keep things in as we walk around."

"Later, Braji. I'm sure the things you found are nice, but I can't waste time looking at them now. We must hasten on to where armor and weapons are offered."

"We are almost there, Chandgar—Uncle Chandgar," she replied, taking his arm and giving it an affectionate little hug. "I took a route through the bazaar which brought us to the side which leads to the Street of Smiths."

Inhetep was not surprised to find that a number of the places there were closed and sealed, a sign proclaiming that the owner had been arrested and the shop seized by order of His Resplendent Majesty Guldir Maharajah Sivadji. Some weapons and armor makers remained open, arms were offered for sale, but there were few customers in evidence. The magister stopped in at each place, examining the wares, chatting a little about this and that. Again he tried his best but learned nothing. In the process, he found an unusual dagger of fine workmanship which he purchased as a gift for Rachelle. Oddly, he was treated suspiciously when he paid over the rather hefty sum the weapon sold for.

When Braji asked about it as they went on, he told her it was for a friend who was an enthusiast of such things. "Your magick is more potent than such tools," she observed, "but better still I think is influence through emotion or even ideas. It is the means most natural for people. In the end, it will prove more powerful than even enchantments, I think."

The magister looked at her speculatively. Such insight for a young and uneducated girl was unusual—disconcerting, in fact. He began to wonder what he had loosed by his well-intentioned assistance. "Possibly, niece," he allowed. "Forget about all that now. Concentrate on finding some insurgent talk, or better still one you recognize as a rebel. And by the by, we will not be making any purchases from the silversmiths and goldsmiths. Your 'Uncle Chandgar' is not made of money!"

"I would never dream of so much as suggesting such a thing, Chandgar."

"Easy to say, but when women see things which they believe enhance their attractiveness, apparent status, or financial security, such intentions often fly off as does a loosed bird." He harumphed a little to underscore his point, for just ahead was the place where precious metals were shaped into forms which only the wealthy could afford.

Surprisingly, it was in this locale that the wizard-priest's hints brought the first positive response. A silversmith muttered back that he was nearly bankrupt because of the obscene taxation which took not only his money but made it hard for others to have enough to buy his wares. That sentiment was echoed several times, albeit only faintly, as the two worked their way along the small sector where precious metals were wrought. Inhetep violated his own admonition and bought a little gold ring for Braji, in order to see if that would elicit more from a proprietor who had expressed a veiled suggestion it was time for a new government.

That proved to be a useless purchase, save from the delighted girl's point of view.

Discouraged to some extent, the magister allowed Braji to guide him around to peer into some of the surrounding establishments, places that purveyed expensive and rare goods for those wealthy patrons coming to the quarter to buy silver, gold, and jewels. After what seemed a very long time to him, the shadows grew into lightless pools. Shops were closing, witchlights and torches were set out. "At last," he murmured. "It is time for us to find a place for our dinner."

"Yes, I fear so—and I have not nearly seen enough here," she agreed ruefully. "Still, I am quite hungry. Down that way a ways is where there are many places catering to the better castes who like to have their meals prepared and served to them outside their homes."

They dined well, Inhetep selecting what appeared to be a large but not overly expensive restaurant, one he assumed would have many customers of average and well-to-do sort. However, the place was nearly empty. Service was very prompt, attentive. The food was well prepared. All in all, the magister thought it a waste of time. He was becoming heartily tired of a steady diet of Hindic cooking with its mouth-burning spices and invariable curry and curry-like dishes. His companion seemed quite content, even thrilled, with it all. The attention she received from the males, from proprietor and waiter to other guests, seemed to add considerable zest to the occasion for Braji. When he suggested it was time to leave, she said, "So soon? I thought we might have more tea Her glances, though, were sent towards a nearby table where several handsome young men were sitting. "You can flirt tomorrow and for a long time thereafter, niece," Inhetep said a little irritably. "Right now I need you to get me to the last place on my agenda."

"Oh, very well," she said with resignation which was tinged with regret. Then she patted his hand. "You are like an uncle to me, a very dear uncle, Chandgar. Please forgive me for being infatuated with this new world you've shown to me." Braji spoke in a low voice meant only for him. "Yes. Tomorrow I will make it mine, and I owe you much for that—all. I will pray you find what you seek at the tavern where the poets and musicians gather. Then I will have really helped you, no?"

The place she took him to was one in which caste was ignored. This was truly amazing to the magister. It seemed that even in the rigid society of this land there were free spirits who disregarded the structures of society in favor of more reasoned and intellectual precepts, and possibly less restrained and carnal attitudes as well. No matter. It was just the sort of gathering he sought. The tavern was filled with students, performers, and all manner of others typical of such an establishment. He heard recitations of an inflammatory sort, ballads were sung which obliquely lionized outlaws, praised motives, and lauded deeds which the mahara-jah's government labeled as criminal and treasonous.

Inhetep and Braji found a table just vacated and got to it before the others looking for Just such an opportunity could claim it for their own. A plain serving woman took their order and eventually brought them their refreshments. Because the tavern was so busy, that took a long time, and a kindly young fellow at the next table gave Braji a cup of wine to tide her over until they finally got their own. That gesture, of course, enabled him to converse with his neighbors, principally with the pretty young girl and not the older uncle. In such an atmosphere, the magister felt able to speak more freely, and so he voiced support of freedom from tyranny, hinted he would support with money and even arm a cause which would place a new ruler upon the Peacock Throne. He drank much and bought drinks freely for others.

After about two hours, what the magister had hoped for occurred. Several people asked if they could join them at their table. The wizard-priest told them they of course could, they were welcome. Chairs seemed to appear from nowhere. Three young gallants and two girls were soon wedged in with Inhetep and Braji. With them came more drinks, passed around freely. After a little while, the fellow at the magister's elbow said, "You do not approve of the way Delhi is governed?"

"I see no good," Inhetep shot back without hesitation, "only ill. Yes. I agree with all those who are calling for change."

"Your words are vague, and their meaning could be taken in many ways. Can you speak unequivocally?"

The magister looked squarely at his questioner. The young man had intense eyes and a strong face. "Do you mean do I support the movement to put Rama-dharma on the throne?"

The fellow hissed at him, "Be careful! Speaking that name could bring death to you in summary fashion, even here. We must speak more, but not in this room. I will leave you now, go to relieve myself, and not return. Wait a reasonable time after I am gone, then you and your companion must go through the back to a private room. You'll find it easily, as it has a door marked 'private'. I'll be waiting for you there."

"How do I know this is not a trap? That you aren't an agent who will arrest us?"

He laughed loudly at that. "You do not know, save what is in your own mind and heart regarding that matter." Then he got up and left before any more could be said.

It took the magister some time to catch Braji's attention and pry her away from the two young men who were attentively conversing with her in evident competition, vying with each other to win her favor. Both frowned when Inhetep crushed their hopes. "Come along, niece. We have an appointment to keep now."

"But Uncle Chandgar, it is still very early!"

He stood up, placing a hand on her chair, and the other on Braji's shoulder. "There is tomorrow, you know."

"Yes, there is uncle. Sorry." Braji smiled at the two gallants, then arose and followed as would a dutiful niece. "I hope this is worth it," she said to Setne.

"Worth? Well, yes, I would say so. It is why I enlisted you in the first place, Braji. We are about to meet a rebel, or maybe even several of them, I think. Go to the back and through the archway, please." They made their way through the crowd, not huriying, attracting no attention as they exited. The arch gave onto a long hallway. Along it were several doors, including the one Inhetep sought. "The one with the privacy sign on it, Braji. In we go!"

As soon as he stepped through the door, he knew that he had at last found what he sought.

Also extinction. The two gallants who had been left sighing at the table were now behind them, their daggers pressing into not only the magis-ter's back but also the shapely Braji's. An assortment of blades bristled ahead where they must go. No question about it, here were rebels.

"If you so much as open your mouths or twitch you are dead," said the young man who had directed Inhetep to this trap. "Now walk very, very slowly towards me. We know that you have magickal prowess. One of us can read such things. Don't tiy to use any device or utter a casting."

The two did as ordered, and chairs were thrust forth for them to sit. Then, bound and blindfolded, Inhetep and Braji were questioned. After an hour or more, the magister was allowed to prove his claims. He assumed his true identity, told his inquisitors what his mission was, and why he had come seeking them. "Now you must listen to me for unless you do, your whole cause is doomed to failure."

"Just what do you have to say that we must listen to, Egyptian?" The young man who demanded that answer was called Garuda by the others. It was obviously a style assumed for his position in the insurgency.

"I need to know if your leader is indeed of royal blood. Then you must let us go, never saying that we met."

"You are mad!" Garuda sneered. "Free the man who is bound to recover the crown jewels, expose our leader, overthrow our cause? Kill them both!"

— 14 ——

DEATH DRAWS NEAR

"Where have you been, Setne?" Rachelle's voice quivered with repressed tension. Her face was drawn.

Exhausted from his long day and harrowing night, the wizard-priest didn't notice that. "Touring Delhi with a just-made-pretty young harlot," he said truthfully but with a light-hearted tone. The magister hurried on to tell her in a deeper and more earnest voice, "I did What I think was a good deed, you see. Had to in pursuit of this case, of course, but the motive was pure nonetheless. When I finally managed to find those I sought, I was rewarded by having a near-fatal meeting with a band of rebels who thought me a spy for the crown. . . . Despite that extremely close call, I believe that 1 would rate the day a fair success—fair to middling good, in fact!"

If she heard the first part at all, she didn't believe him. In truth, Rachelle's state of mind made it unlikely any of his later words registered fully. Her reply indicated this. "It is past midnight! Don't you have any consideration at all? I was worried half-sick!" She glared at him, and as he was about to say something she snapped, "What was that you said about where you'd been?"

"Never mind that. Once said is enough. But you! You do appear haggard beyond belief, my dear. There's more to your state than mere concern for me—I am quite a capable man, after all, and not even you really expect me to report in!" His words held no rebuke at all. He was greatly concerned. "Tell me, Rachelle, what occurred to you today to cause this? Was it the witch, Sujata?"

Rachelle burst into tears. It was something she had never done in all the time she had been his bodyguard and companion, hadn't done since she was past age ten or eleven. She tried to regain self-control, took a breath, and managed to blurt out. "O gods help me, Setne. I . . . I think 1 have doomed myself to betrayal of you or my own death. Ill not flinch from the latter, but how will you manage when I am no longer here by your side?" Then the amazon collapsed onto a chair and wept again, uncontrollably.

The magister rushed to comfort her. He held her for a minute, then wiped her tears away with gentle fingers as he made soothing sounds. "Come on now, girl! I just avoided a dozen blades and not a few fell castings in order to return here to you. What's this business about you being doomed? Nonsense, isn't it? This is the ur-kheri-heb-tepi Inhetep you are speaking to now, Rachelle. The master smeti, investigator-detective par excellence— unraveller of mysteries. Whatever it is, I am sure I can take care of it."

Those words had no impact, so he had to continue his simple, soothing touches to assist her in her need. It took quite some time to calm her. First, Inhetep carried Rachelle to the bed, then lay down beside her, and only after some time had passed thus, finally spoke about a variety of positive things to assist her in regaining her control.

At last she stopped sobbing and managed to stutter. "Hadd be . . . (sob!) . . . subthig to . . . (sniff!) . . . blow by dnose, blease, Sedne." Inhetep understood, and gave her a linen square. After wiping away tears and then clearing her nasal passages, the amazon seemed more herself when she told him, "This isn't me, Setne. This is the witch's sending at work on me. I am no sniveling coward! Her heka erodes my strength, makes me servile and afraid. You must remove this curse or I shall be useless to you!"

"Whoa there, my dear! Perhaps, perhaps not. More likely the latter, I must say! In either case, you make it an easier task of subversion by any means. That witch might use mere words, not heka, to affect you! By thinking and then speaking thus to reinforce the implanted idea, you help to undo yourself. Drive such fears from your mind now. You are your own person. Nobody controls you. No malign workings on the part of another will bend your spirit to conform to wickedness, reduce you to subservience to another's will. Say that." Rachelle did a fair approximation of repeating what Inhetep had commanded her to say. "Good. Keep going over that in the back of your mind. Believe it! Now tell me all about your meeting with the pirimah, please. Well soon set this whole dirty matter aright."

She began at the beginning, telling him everything. At first, her account was almost mechanical. As she went along, however, Rachelle became animated. "Do you know that 1 think that that woman actually feels a certain liking for me? Gods forefend that there is something alike in the two of us! She admitted to being a Black Crsefter, a dedicated witch under compact to a foul demon—one of the great demons of the nether realms, according to her own words!" Rachelle's shudder as she said that matched her expression of disgust and loathing. "When I asked if such a pact didn't compromise her vows as a priestess, she said her goddess worked for the same ends, so she approved!"

"Ugly Indeed, my dear. Priestess to a killer goddess, the Mistress of Thugs. More is explained by knowing that. This woman is Indeed one to be reckoned with—a potent shadow behind the maharajah's throne. Fine work you did managing to uncover that," he reflected. Then the wizard-priest queried, "When she had told you all those things, Sujata made you swear to serve her, betray me, is that so?"

"Yes, but it came out badly, not at all the way I planned," Rachelle confessed with a voice laden great anxiety. "I swore by my dedication to Neith—an empty and meaningless promise, of course."

The magister understood the latter. No contract, so to speak, without consideration. Even the most evil of entities would laugh at one seeking to enforce such an agreement. "Clever," he said to her. "Your actions were most appropriate, not at all ill conceived. You have nothing to worry about after all, so why the concern?"

"No. You are premature in your judgment, Setne. I was not so safe in my cunning as I thought. Not clever enough by a bowshot. The damned bitch saw through that, made me swear an oath, and took out a drop of my blood to bind it. I am now marked. I cannot escape the words I agreed to. Yet what else could I do? To have refused would certainly have meant my death at that instant."

"Under the circumstances, Rachelle, you did the only thing possible. Forget the oath. It was coerced, and a forced swearing is breakable. I will use my hekau to negate it in due course."

She stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "Setne, my oath was before the black goddess of the Hindi's. I swore to obey. Are you saying that you can defeat the might of Kali?\"

"No, I claim no such thing. But it was the pirimah, Lady Sujata the priestess, who elicited the compact, not Kali. Do you doubt that my abilities are greater than that woman's— inferior to any witch save, perhaps, the Crone of Pohjola?!"

"That's absurd. Of course I do not. You are surely a more able practitioner, Setne, but—" "No buts. Wipe the matter from your mind. Forget it for now. In addition, dear Rachelle, I give you this bit of additional information. Be of good cheer, stout heart. It is good news which far outweighs a petty casting from some second-rate witch." He was careful to make that seem plausible, to hide the patent falsehood.

Rachelle's condition made workable the ruse he employed. She responded as he had planned. "Don't keep me in suspense, Setne! What is it you have learned?"

He grinned at her, stood up, and walked to a nearby stand. "Among other things, I now know for certain where the missing crown jewels are hidden!"

Rachelle looked horrified when he said that. "Don't tell me more—Sujata will be able to get that information from me, and then I think she will have you killed!"

"Bah. I don't give a fig for what that dabbler might attempt. I won't go into the details of my discovery, Rachelle, but not because of her, but because it is now veiy late. High time both of us were asleep, in fact, for tomorrow we will have much to do. Here, you and 1 will have some of the wine our charming host has so generously provided." The magister poured the liquor into two of the goblets ranked round the ewer and handed the one containing a bit more wine to her. "You get the extra drops, Rachelle. 1 think your day was even more trying than mine."

She accepted it gratefully. They both drank, taking long swallows so as to drain the vessels quickly. "That is a bit better," Rachelle admitted as she set the empty glass aside. Then the amazon prilled off her gown, settling back under the sheets nude. "Now I am feeling much better still," she told him as she rested her head on a pair of down pillows. "You were starting to tell me about your day before I behaved so badly. As I recall, Setne, you mentioned you had spent your time with somebody, but I don't remember who it was. Begin again from the beginning, and tell me everything you did. It will help me relax."

The wizard-priest took a deep breath, set aside his empty goblet, and lay down beside her, but stayed atop the sheets. "It began with my search for breakfast. What an ordeal that was!" Inhetep proceeded to regale her with an accurate if exaggerated history of his attempts to get a quick bit of food before leaving. Rachelle had to laugh. "Then, well away from the palace, I gave the slip to those set to keep track of me. Here's the way I did it. . . ."He paused, looked at her. Rachelle was sound asleep, a little smile still showing on her full lips. Setne leaned over carefully, kissed her forehead gently. "I do love you, amazon. Sorry I had to slip a little sleeping draught into your wine, but you've had too much for any one person. Sleep soundly."

He was up, pacing back and forth immediately thereafter. Inhetep left the bed chamber and paced still more in the big salon. How indeed would he manage to break the oath made to Kali? If they were in /Egypt or some other land in which its pantheon was recognized as supreme, then it would be an easier matter. In such circumstances, his own ecclesiastical prowess would suffice to invoke assistance from the /Egyptian deities, and the matter would be taken care of. Here he could not do so. The continual movement assisted his thinking, but after a time it was apparent to the wiz-ard-priest that the familiar activity was not going to be enough to enable his mind to produce what was required. "It is now about two hours after midnight," he said aloud. "That gives me plenty of time for both. ..."

What he meant, of course, was meditation and preparation thereafter. Inhetep was adept at yoga, having studied it under an ancient Hindi master, a guru who had made the magister into one of the greatest in /Egypt. That was not to say that he was a true master. Inhetep knew his ability tell far short of that. It did enable him, though, to do and achieve many useful things. "Here will be fine," he muttered, seating himself in the lotus posture upon a soft carpet. "Three hours of deep trance, and then awaken," he told himself." His fingers met in a certain manner, and the next second his mind began the process of ascending. Energy flowed through his body, and left to itself, his systems worked at greater efficiency to restore themselves. His conscious mind went into the state typical of the deepest slumber. Meanwhile, that part of the brain unused by most humans was stimulated into action. In that portion, the wiz-ard-priest was alert and active.

In truth, it was not only ^Egyptians who knew about the many parts of a person. Some, if not all, of that knowledge was common among those enlightened ones of the East— from Hind to Tibet and Ch'in. Inhetep's body was at rest, his heart beating regularly in slow rhythm. Only the physical part of his power was affected. He still could command the mental and spiritual force of his being, and the five other portions of that which made up Magister Setne Inhetep the ur-kheri-heb-tepi were unaffected or even made more potent by the trance. His double could roam ethereally or astrally, his spirit and soul were there, along with his name. All would be employed in the three hours given.

When his consciousness returned, the magister moved slowly out of his folded sitting position, performing a number of exercises in the process of eventually standing erect. It required half an hour to complete the regimen, but at its conclusion Inhetep felt splendid, his mind refreshed and alert, his body rested and finely tuned. He drank a little water but ate nothing. His body needed no nourishment; in fact, such foreign matter taken into it would detract from its efficient operation at this time. He thought of time then. "Very dark," he noted, peering out the window. "A full hour and a bit more before the eastern sky pales." He went to his bag and drew out the box. He knew instantly that his things had been searched, the container he held opened. That made him smile.

Setne flipped the lid up without saying the special words required. There was a statuette of the great Thoth inside, one which radiated the power of a fetish. It was personal to him and dangerous for anyone besides himself to touch. "Thank you, Lord of Wisdom, for guarding my secret," he murmured aloud. He meant that little prayer. Whomever had dared to tamper with their belongings had avoided doing more than simply opening the box. The priest-wizard shut the little coffer, spoke the enchantment necessary, and reopened it. Its opening now accessed a very much larger space, one as large in volume as any massive traveling trunk boasted. In that magickal hiding place were those things he needed for what was to come.

He had allowed himself one full hour before any interruption was likely to occur. Yesterday, the magister had risen at first light and found the palace barely awake; only its slaves, servants, and petty officials were required to be up and about then. General Ratha might keep to a soldier's schedule, but he was not the one who would be coming to disturb the two of them. The foxy little chancellor or the court's evil chief practitioner would be the agents coming soon. They would be sure to pay an early visit, earlier than usual for either of them. Inhetep expected a knock at the door at sunrise.

After most of the time he had alotted was spent, the wizard-priest replaced those things he no longer needed and closed up the magickal coffer. Clothed in his best garments, the tall /Egyptian looked every inch the mighty heka practitioner. He held a little goblet, one which might have been a ceremonial vessel of priestly sort, but which was actually for another purpose entirely. It contained an elixir he had prepared for Rachelle. It would banish any lingering effects from the drug he had induced her to drink so that she would rest.

He hurried into the bedroom, for the sun's rays were painting the sky a golden color. In a few minutes the call would come, he knew. Calling out as he stepped through the door, the magister said, "Here! Wake up sleepy head. Day dawns, and you lie abed still? For shame, girl! Now up! I have a little ..." The rest of what he was going to say to her died in his throat. What he had at first taken to be the amazon was merely the folds of the coverlet and sheets, tossed back so as to resemble a human form.

The magister hurried into the adjoining lavatory and bath, but the big chamber was desolate, as desolate as he felt when he saw that. Rachelle was gone. Just at that moment, he heard a pounding on the door, then the bang of it being thrown open.

THE JEWELS OR YOUR LIFE, INHETEP

"/Egyptian! Come with me now. The maharajah demands your presence before the throne."

The magister walked slowly from the inner room to the salon. He saw a young palace guard officer backed by a mere handful of men arrayed before the entry to the suite. "I have been sent to bring you before His Resplendence," the young officer said harshly. He was doing his best to seem bold and confident, but there was fear in his eyes, for he knew the repute of the tall, green-eyed man who stared at him un-winkingly. He was a great mage, one able to blast him where he stood. Trying to conceal his need to swallow, dry mouth making his voice harsher than even he wanted to sound, the officer barked the words he had been instructed to say; "Do not delay. You will come now, as you are."

This was the ultimate insult, a total disregard for his rank, power, and supposed status

as a guest of the imperial ruler of the state of Delhi. Inhetep read the situation, the man, the all-pervasive fear from the soldiers with him. It almost made him laugh. All this he had anticipated—all save the kidnapping of Rachelle. The magister was dressed, ready, and armed with everything he required, right down to the box bearing the figurine of Thoth within it. He had all save that which was most precious to him: Rachelle. Inhetep didn't laugh. When the young officer's eyes slid in fear from his own, the wizard-priest inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement of what the man had said. "I hear the words given to you by others. I agree to follow you because it suits me now. Woe to you though, feeble little man, if any harm has come to she who is my companion."

Although the /Egyptian spoke in low voice, his words sent a terrible chill through the officer's spine, numbing his brain. "I did no harm to your woman—she is in the hands of the pirimah who herself too—" He chopped off his babble, too late. He had spoken what he had been commanded not to, and for that the court practitioner would have his head.

No look of satisfaction crossed Inhetep's countenance. The guardsman had merely confirmed what the magister had suspected. His anger was directed at himself as much as towards the treacherous Hindis. Of course, the wizard-priest thought in self-reviling lashes, it was typical of one such as Sujata. Rachelle's being taken was his fault. Had he taken precautions, it could have been prevented. The icy fury which filled Inhetep spilled forth to sweep over the soldiers, and they shook before the blast of it as little flowers before a storm. "Well you should tremble, officer, but it will be your masters' hands who bring punishments upon you, not mine. All of you! Brace your weak knees and march. Lead me to your maharajah as you have been ordered!"

The seven men went off, all ahead of the Egyptian wizard-priest. It was absolutely improper. Half should have marched behind to assure he didn't flee. Instead, they proceeded him like sheep being driven to a pen by a shepherd—or a wolf. None dared to protest. Their commander opened the door to the chamber in which awaited Guldir Maharajah Sivadji and his chief advisors. His soldiers hastily made for positions to either side of the entry, moving back in two ranks so as to be out of sight and avoid the way of the terrible, tall man as he came on with unfaltering tread. With a voice shrill from fear the royal guards lieutenant flung himself prostrate, somehow managing to cry, "The /Egyptian whom You required to attend You is here, Resplendent Majesty!"

Ranked around the little dais and informal throne stood those who hoped to rule Delhi under the fat and lustful sovereign. While the maharajah stuffed himself with rich foods and dallied with his women, they would run the empire and reap the rewards of power. General Ratha scowled, hands on his hips. Gorvan the chancellor wore a crafty expression, seemed tensely alert, ready to seize any opportunity which this situation offered. Nearest to the throne, the Lady Sujata was at ease, a little sneer lifting one corner of her cruel mouth. It was she who knew how things would play out here. She held the trump cards, ready to use them to win the game at the end.

Feeling mighty from an earlier than usual consumption of bhang, his armed bodyguard at hand, and his useful councilors ready to serve at his command, the maharajah was sitting proudly in his chair, hauteur swelling his chest, the drug he had smoked stiffening his spine in the face of this vaunted Worker of mag-icks. Sivadji Guldir scarcely glanced at the /Egyptian as he demanded, "Well, great Magister, where are Our crown jewels? Your life is forfeit if you fail Us. Our pirimah informs us that you have learned the whereabouts of the stolen regalia. Well, speak! Tell us—" He looked scornfully at the tall man as he was making his threats, and Sivadji's heart skipped a beat. He didn't finish his words. He could not. Never had the maharajah seen so deadly a look in the eyes of anyone. He was paralyzed by It.

"I am come to discuss that, Majesty. As you can see from my garments, I expected your summons." That statement didn't faze the general, made Gorvan shift uneasily, and in the witch's eyes there flickered a hint of fear which vanished as her mind told her that this man was caught helplessly in the web she had spun. As for the toad-like maharajah, terror so filled him that he was unable to think or speak, only nod stupidly as the tall man asked in a bland voice, "May I have leave to speak a parable, Majesty?"

Seeing Sivadji consent in dumb show to that insolent request made the pirimah hiss in anger, but she could do nothing to prevent the man from speaking, for the stupid toad had granted royal permission for Inhetep to do so.

"Once, Mighty Maharajah, long ago, the land was ruled only by animals for the gods had not yet created mankind. The greatest of the animals was the elephant, of course. He ruled the jungle, and no other one dwelling there could refuse him. Yet the elephant was not satisfied with things as they were. Why? Because although he was greatest, there were those who did not serve him, others who refused to answer his summons to attend his fetes. His discontent was noted by the cobra. 'Greatest of Animals, Maharajah of the Jungle,' the snake said. 'Listen to my plan, for I see that you would have every living thing subjected to your will, and I can help you to accomplish that.'

" 'How?' demanded the elephant. 'If what you say is so, 1 will make you second only to me!' Then the cobra told him her plan, and the elephant smiled, for it seemed to be good. He commanded the tiger to drive the buffalo and all cattle before him to pay homage. The tiger did not fail, and all those were then his subjects. Next the elephant ordered the leopard and the wolves to round up all the deer and gazelles, so that they too would become his subjects. Likewise, those animals came perforce, and now his kingdom was an empire. 'I am lord of all the animals,' elephant boasted.

"The eagle flying far overhead heard those words. 'You are indeed a maharajah of animals, elephant,' the eagle said. "I acknowledge that so that I might make you wise as well as mighty. Know, however, that no animal can ever rule all others.'

" "What is this? How dare you speak thus?!' demanded the elephant in royal anger.

" 'It is truth, and truth must always be spoken freely, or you cannot be a great monarch,' the eagle told him without flinching at the elephant's terrible ire, for he was a brave and courageous friend. 'On the vast plains the rhinoceros roams as he wills and pays no heed to your court.'

"The elephant might have heeded, but the cobra was at his side and hissed words of false kind. 'The eagle says you are not lord of animals, that the rhinoceros is your master. The bird is a false counselor and no friend.' The elephant heard that and rage returned to his heart.

"Again the eagle saw this and cried from above, "Consider the fearsome dhole, the dog pack which hunts where it pleases. Even so, are you less of a king over them? The dhole acknowledge your monarchy.'

"Perhaps the elephant would have understood, but for a second time the perfidious cobra used her evil to blind him: 'See, the eagle again mocks Your Majesty. He will never cease his lying. He will turn all the animals away from you, for eagle desires to be the great lord of all.' Thus the vile snake spoke, and the elephant listened to her bad words and believed them. 'What can I do?' he asked the cobra. 'That eagle flies beyond even my reach.'

" 'Not for long if you trick him into coming near. Smile, pretend you agree with what he says. Tell him he must come close so that you may hear every word. Then he will be within your power, maharajah of all animals.'

"So the elephant called out with false words of praise to the eagle and told the noble bird to approach and explain further his truth. Being without treachery in his heart, eagle winged down to be near the great elephant as he said, 'And most of all consider the smallest—' At that instant, the eagle was plucked from the air by the elephant's trunk, hurled to the ground, and crushed to nothingness beneath his huge foot. 'So die all who say 1 am not the maharajah of all animals in the world!' trumpeted the elephant. Yet who killed the eagle? It was the cobra's venomous words, and the master was now ruled by the subject."

Inhetep looked at those before him. The Pirimah Lady Sujata broke the silence, her words acerbic, mocking: "Is that the end of your amusing little story, entertainer?"

"By no means, witch," he replied without heat. "You will hear that now." Unable to object, they watched and listened as the wizard priest went on: "The elephant now demanded that the cobra prove him to be the lord of all. With the elephant's permission, the cobra now ordered the others of his subjects as she would. Tiger and leopard were sent forth to bring the rhinoceros back cls 8l subject or to slay him. Bear and wolf were dispatched to do the same with the dhole pack. But soon these two forces returned, driven off by those they were to capture or slay. The elephant was furious, so to save herself, cobra sent all the warriors to get the rhinoceros. After that they would deal with the pack of wild dogs.

"Again the servants of elephant returned. We failed, maharajah,' they confessed, "because now the nose-horned one makes common cause with the dhole. They stand together, so we cannot overcome them.' Now the cobra was very troubled. Again her plans had failed, and her rule over the elephant was threatened. 'There are other animals in other places. If we had gifts for them, Greatest of Animals,' she told the elephant, 'they would come and serve you. With their aid the rhinoceros and the dogs who serve him will be slain. Your conquest will be complete, and none will dispute your right to rule.'

" 'Where can I get such gifts?' demanded the angry maharajah. The cobra told him that his many subjects had what was needed to buy support from the distant animals. 'Take what they have. Keep some for yourself as your due. Give the rest to the foreign animals, and they will come and serve you.' The elephant thought this wise counsel. So it passed that his subjects were stripped of food, many in fact enslaved to be given as gifts, and the jungle groaned under the tyranny thus imposed by the elephant.

"The cobra's latest plan was set in motion. At a terrible cost, allies from a distant place were bought. But the one thing the eagle had tried to tell the elephant, the warning he had been uttering when cobra's poison struck him down, came to pass. The smallest of subjects in the realm of the elephant, the ants, took umbrage at what was being done to them. They poured forth in their numbers, and marched against elephant. The mighty lord of animals laughed at their temerity, and so too did all those serving him. Small they were, and easy to kill. Thousands were crushed, but the ants pressed on undaunted. Their millions bore down even elephant, leaving naught but white bones behind when their fighting ceased. Before the end, the maharajah had called out to cobra to save him. She was slithering away, trying to free her body of the thousands of biting insects which covered it, as she called back, 'You are the one who would be king. Why ask me when you are lord of animals? 1 have my own problems to manage and have no time for yours.' "

Then the wizard-priest looked from one to another of those before him, letting his piercing gaze settle at last upon the maharajah. "If there is some lesson in this little tale, the discerning monarch will grasp it and act accordingly. If you find nothing of worth in my words, then say your say."

The ugly face of the maharajah had gone ashen as the parable progressed. Just before it was concluded, though, and Magister Inhetep had addressed him directly thus, another voice whispered in Sivadji's mind: "He prates of animals and ants. Do not be frightened by children's stories. You are about to seize your enemies and crush them. Let no weakness enter you now, or all will fail! You are a man and emperor, not a stupid elephant." By the end of Inhetep's words, the bloated body of the ruler of Delhi was straight-backed again, his face set in determination. As the /Egyptian gazed at him levelly with his odd, green eyes, Sivadji actually felt stronger and allowed that power to rise.

"Most entertaining—and a waste of your breath and my time. I ask one final time: where are My crown jewels?"

Encouraged by that, General Ratha gestured, and the guardsmen nearby pointed their spears at the tall priest-wizard. It was to be death for the arrogant man unless he revealed what the maharajah demanded.

Not to be outdone, the master of the royal treasury spoke. "My agents know what you did, traitorous /Egyptian. Your little trick with the coins wasn't good enough," Gorvan sneered, "at least not for long," he added almost as if in admission. "That you sought out the rebel outlaws, consorted with them, advised and comforted them is documented. It spells your doom, /Egyptian, unless you deliver what you were commanded. I am certain you know where His Resplendency's property is, so tell us."

But of course the most powerful of the three had the last word on the subject. Lady Sujata hissed out, "Yes. We know all. Do as Our Glorious Maharajah says, and quick, too. Otherwise, I shall have your leman's throat cut before your eyes!" As if on cue, two guards dragged an unconscious Rachelle into view from behind the arras which had concealed them.

Guldir Maharajah Sivadji snickered, the sound almost that of a toad's croak as he said, "You see, Magister, all your magicks are useless. You must do as I command."

—— 16--

TAKE ME TO THE VAULT

Nothing in the posture or expression of the wizard-priest was readable. No sign betrayed his plan to his foes. His mind was an iron barrier. The magister's gaze was likewise hooded, revealing neither fear nor anger, acquiescence nor resistance. "This is your course, Sivadji, Maharajah of Delhi?"

The fat monarch laughed more loudly than he meant to, the bhang slipping Into his mind and making his throat release the peals of mirth from his belly. After awhile he managed to choke it off, say in a booming voice, "All that transpires here is rny course, foolish fellow! Get on with it! Produce the regalia needed for formal coronations. I believe that I'll have your tongue pulled out if you bore me with more of your silly talk."

"Don't harm, the girl," Inhetep said in a flat voice. "I know how to recover your lost jewels."

"Harm?" The toad-like maharajah laughed in another burst, obscene in its sound. "Not at all. I plan to honor your ward with my favor. She will be added to my harem, you see," and he snorted his mirth again. The burning scorn in the eyes of the pirimah was lost to him, so delighted with himself and the way things were progressing was he.

"Even if I retrieve the crown jewels? Surely our agreement would be violated if you held the sahibah against her will."

"I piss upon such things, puny man," he said in reply to the magister's mild rebuke. "We have no agreement. You are Our slave. Do as you are commanded, and you will keep your miserable life. Fail Us, and you will die—your woman too, but only after I have used her in the most original ways, given her to my guards, and thereafter to the torturer. Stop delaying and deliver!" As he concluded his tirade, the maharajah was actually foaming, his mouth sending frothy spittle spraying forth as he shouted.

Inhetep inclined his head. "I concur, Guldir Maharajah Sivadji, no compact between us exists. As to your regalia, I can tell you with absolute assurance that I know who was responsible for the disappearance and where the crown jewels are now hidden. I can retrieve them, but that is a more difficult matter. It will take time."

"How much time?" That query came from the pirimah.

"I give you no time," thundered the maharajah, ignoring Sujata. "Now, instantly, or I'll—"

"Shut up . . . Your Resplendence," the witch said in a voice which cut the obese ruler short, the honorific she appended sounding as if it were a vulgar epithet. "Allow this man such reasonable period as is required to get us the regalia."

Sivadji's huge mouth worked, and his face turned purple as his anger at his chief practitioner filled him. Bhang or no, however, he swallowed his fury when the Lady Sujata glared back at him, her eyes as dangerous as any adder's. Doing his best to retain a semblance of royal prestige, the maharajah gripped the arms of his chair, inhaled deeply. "We have considered your words, your too boldly spoken counsel, and find them wise. Thus We forgive your transgression, for it was done in an over-zealous desire to assist Us, We are sure." He paused, and the pirimah bowed her head as he stared at her. "Yes. We agree." The toad-like head swiveled to point at Inhetep. "You have one hour, no more, to deliver. First the crown jewels, then 111 know the names of the guilty ones and how they managed the theft. Now begin."

Without a word, Magister Inhetep turned his back on the maharajah and his cluster of officials. Ignoring even the amazon held by the guardsmen with ready blades to end her life at a stroke, the wizard-priest began walking towards the door. Soldiers rushed to bar his way with their spetums leveled at his chest.

"Where do you think you are going?" demanded the maharajah, too stunned by the sudden action to even think of the lese-majeste which had just occurred.

"To your royal treasury vault, of course. That is where I must go if I am to fulfill your wishes." He slowed not a whit as he spoke, and faced with the choice of impaling him or yielding, the guardsman shifted their points, and the magister passed to the exit and was gone from the audience room, unmolested.

"Don't just stand there, you dolts! Go after him! Keep him in custody, and be ready to kill him at the slightest sign he disobeys," shrieked Sivadji to his viziers and guards alike.

All rushed to obey, and there was a jam at the door. General Ratha used his muscle to burst through and rushed after the receding back of the /Egyptian, trailed by a string of soldiers. "Halt!" he commanded, but his word had no effect. Inhetep walked on at the same steady pace, turning left and disappearing. Uttering the foulest of oaths, the general ran and caught up with his charge as Inhetep entered the antechamber in which the treasury's entrance was concealed. "It is fortunate for you, foreigner, that you didn't seek to escape the palace," Ratha panted iri angry, empty threat.

The magister turned at that, looking at the military man with the same expressionless gaze which had been on his face since the end of the parable told to the maharajah. "Is that a fact? Then the gods must have guided my steps here." Without another word, Inhetep stood there, his eyes now on the place where the secret way into the vault was hidden behind a wall panel. The wait was brief.

The others came boiling into the room, men-at-arms making way for Guldir Maharajah Sivadji, he followed by his own personal bodyguard, close behind the pirimah and Gorvan. Then came more soldiers and a handful of priests and men whose garb showed them to be practitioners of other sorts. "What is this?" the king finally bellowed over the commotion. He was wheezing, and ready for bloodshed.

"It is obedience to your wishes," said the magister dryly. He pointed to the chancellor and Lady Sujata. "Well, aren't you two going to use your amulets so as to open the door? You know I must get into the treasury—or don't you want me to be able to return the jewels?"

Gorvan looked at the pirimah, then at Inhetep. "Why do you need—"

"Stop dithering, you incompetent," the witch hissed at him under her breath. "I can read him, and he is telling us the truth. Somehow or other the /Egyptian has found an answer. He does have to go in there to get the regalia. I can feel the Tightness, but I can't tell how he will manage to accomplish it. Let him get on with it."

The maharajah's bhang-fired anger was growing again, spreading to include all. "Stop that whispering in Our presence! What is happening? We demand answers now!"

"A thousand apologies, Lord of Lords," Lady Sujata responded with a smoothness verging on insolence. "I, we—your chancellor and I— did not wish to reveal the precautions we plan to the foreign magician. That is all."

That made the toadish countenance of the maharajah writhe in scorn. "Precautions? What nonsense do you speak, Pirimah? You know that the vault is proof against entry and exit save through the one door. What, pray tell. Court Practitioner, is there to guard against if the /Egyptian is within the treasury? Are you and my money-minder fearful of his pocketing a few rupees? Put him inside!"

The verbal chastisement caused Gorvan to go pale, and a deadly glitter sprang into Lady Su-jata's eyes once again. Neither did more than to accept the abuse with humility, however. "Of course, Resplendency," the chancellor managed. "Your words recall to me why you are master, I your willing slave." The Lady Sujata simply said, "To hear is to obey." The two glanced at each other, drew forth their devices, and in a moment conjoined them to make a single magickal key. As Gorvan took the instrument and employed it to open the vault, the pirimah went to where a lone guardsman now held the semiconscious amazon.

"Give her to me," she snapped, and the soldier complied with haste, aversion to the witch plain in his expression. Sujata gave a low laugh at that, a sound of evil pleasure. Then she turned to the maharajah. "With Your Majesty's, permission, I will be ready to send this woman to the blazing hells of the netherplanes at the slightest sign of trickery from the /Egyptian." Sujata spoke in a loud clear voice, which Inhetep could not fail to hear.

"Kill? I want that choice bit of stuff for My pleasure!" the thick-lipped ruler of Delhi countered. It was almost but not quite a refusal. Even the bhang was insufficient to cause him to do that.

"Of course, Resplendence. I merely wish to assure that your orders are obeyed. Are not the crown jewels more important than a woman?"

Sivadji actually considered that for a moment. This one was especially beautiful of face, shapely of form. On the other hand, there were thousands of good-looking women available. He had to have the regalia, and if in the process the amazon had to be slaughtered, too bad. It was not actually that important. Best of all, h<-might have both: hear the screams of the dying /Egyptian from the dungeon while he enjoyed his female. That was a pleasurable thought. "Very well," he said with a wave which dismissed the matter. "Just get on with it."

"You heard, Inhetep Magister?" Gorvan had the door open now. The tall wizard-priest was before it, ready to enter the vault. "If anything goes wrong, I will blast your little Rachelle, send her spirit into the darkness of the abyssal pits." The pirimah saw his face and was surprised. His eyes could not hide his thoughts for a split second. The man was actually sneering at her words because he didn't care what happened to her hostage. Inhetep disdained her threat because he would sacrifice Rachelle's life to save himself. That sent Sujata's mind into a frenzied consideration of what he might do. Did this foreign heka-bender have some means of thwarting them? Could he escape? Not likely, but . . .

"I hear you," Inhetep said as she stared at him. "I will be as brief as possible." The magister entered the strongroom, ducking beneath the low lintel, beginning to close the door behind him.

"STOP!" the pirimah shouted in a voice possible only for a priestess and witch. The sound was terrible. Inhetep stopped, peering out from the vault at Lady Sujata with no little uncertainly.

"If I am to obey your liege lord, witch, I must be in here. I need privacy to assure my castings work properly."

"Why do you delay him, Pirimah? The vault is a safer cell than any in my deepest dungeons, a place from which there is no escape," Sivadji barked at her after hearing the /Egyptian's words.

"Something is wrong," she said rapidly, omitting any honorifics. Then she turned away from the fat monarch and dragged her hostage towards the vault entrance. "Hold, Inhetep Magister. Do not close that door. Your leman and I will accompany you."

Of course, General Ratha and Gorvan then chimed in their demand to do likewise. After them came the voices of the assembled under-clerics and magicians, sounding as if a chorus, demanding entry as well. "No! Never. It will make what I must do totally impossible. Kill me now, Maharajah of Delhi, for with such a pack of dogs as that in here with me, I cannot succeed in regaining the relics of state which were stolen from this vault," Inhetep said in disgust, dismissing the lot with a sweep of his arm. He started to come out of the treasure room.

"You will recover them for Us when you are in there?" The maharajah was incredulous. "This is the first I've heard of it," and he began to titter. That laughter died an instant later when he saw phantom shapes spring into being within the vault. To his utter amazement, he saw what appeared to be the shades of both his former chancellor and chief practitioner there inside the strongroom. The two were standing with the missing jewels in hand. Prince Dahasti with his arms loaded, Purshiva Yogi Rishi, who had supposedly not gone inside the vault at all, holding the royal crown in his left hand as he moved his right above it in magickal passes. The maharajah couldn't believe his eyes—or could he?

"is that so?" queried the magister, and with a wave of his ankh the translucent images vanished. "Perhaps your pirimah needs lessons in heka use, Majesty. I repeat, 1 must be alone."

Seeing that he was about to consent, Lady Sujata spoke. "Only a portion of his words are so, Most Resplendent Majesty. Heed him not, or else I cannot be responsible for what occurs. Perhaps he is unable to perform his castings with a crowd of onlookers there with him in the treasury. Yet 1 will not disrupt any enchantments, for I too am an able practitioner with great heka to command. Neither will bis woman's presence there cause any trouble. After all, she has been his constant companion for many years according to his own words. She and I must be inside to assure all goes as he claims it will."

"I object, Your Ma—"

"Be silent!" the maharajah shouted at the /Egyptian, cutting off his protest. Sivadji Guldir looked at the witch. "You guarantee all will go as it should if you are inside? You will stake your life on it?"

"Of course," Lady Sujata shot back. "With the girl hostage with me, of course," she added, just to make sure the stupid fool didn't think he could keep Rachelle outside and fondle her while he awaited the return of the crown jewels. "My life is as always yours to use or dispose of. Resplendent Majesty." That lie came easily from her lips. "I beg to accompany the Egyptian only to assure he obeys you fully and without trickery."

"So be it, Lady Sujata," the maharajah said to her. Then he called loudly to the magister: "The pirimah with the Sahibah Rachelle as surety of your actions will enter and observe, /Egyptian." He saw the magister raise a hand, open his mouth. "No argument, or your ward dies this instant, you slowly thereafter."

"Very well," Inhetep said tonelessly from his position by the vault door. "I accept."

"Accept this, too," the maharajah said as the two women were about to go through the opening. "Whatever happens to Our pirimah, or your companion for that matter, when you are inside there is of no consequence to Us. When you come forth, as exit you must, Our other priests, heka-benders, and guardsmen with bow and spear will be ready and waiting. If you bear the crown jewels, then We will reward you and set you free. If you come out empty-handed, then you die, /Egyptian!"

Green eyes fixed on his own made the maharajah glad he was some distance from the wizard-priest. Inhetep seemed resigned, though, for he said, "When I open this door, Maharajah of Delhi,, you can be assured that I will have your precious royal regalia." With that he closed the massive portal, and the fat lord of the land was grateful at not having to deal further with the magister. He orders his pipe, in fact, determined to enjoy more bhang while he waited. It could not be long. . . .

Inside the now-sealed vault, Inhetep strode to the empty cases where the crown jewels had been kept. "The jewels never were taken from this room, only removed to a dimensional pocket, you see," he said offhandedly as if speaking to no one in particular.

"That is impossible!" the pirimah said as if stung. "I personally examined those cases seeking for just such a ruse." She shoved Rachelle in the direction of the wizard-priest so as to get closer and see exactly what he was doing.

Inhetep laughed at her words. "Admit it, witch. You aren't as skilled as you think. You were deceived by the readings outside and in here, so you didn't give these cases a thorough going over as 1 did. Why should you? Didn't you see the jewels being carried outside?"

"Yes, my castings evoked those true past images, but—"

"Always buts," the magister interjected. "Pathetic. Those were false images, not true, you incompetent twit. See here?" He made a pass with his golden ankh, spoke words of hekau as he did so, and there was a shimmering in the cabinets. Suddenly that scintillation coalesced into solidity, a glittering of gems and gold, not magickal energy. "There are your 'stolen' crown jewels, right where they have always been, displaced into Inconceivability by a casting too advanced for your petty abilities to detect." He reached inside, took the royal orb from its velvet depression, turned, and tossed it to Sujata. "Catch!"

The pirimah had no choice. All of her plans rested with the precious regalia of state. All of it. If one small part were missing or inoperable, then her scheme would be for naught, all of her years of planning and work to reach her goal made useless. At this moment, when she saw fruition but a few days' distant, she could not allow the orb to fall and be damaged, even though it meant she must release her grip on Rachelle. With a small cry of anxiety, she loosed the amazon and reached to pluck the descending sphere of gem-encrusted gold from its arcing descent towards the stone floor of the vault.

But even with that distraction to absorb her, Sujata the witch, priestess of Kali, was not wholly concentrating on the physical act of preventing the orb from falling. As she did that, the pirimah called to mind a terrible curse. As her hand closed on the globe-like object, her other joining the first to assure the hold, Sujata's eyes sent forth a blast of heka, and her mouth spoke foul words of witchery aimed at slaying the /Egyptian.

Inhetep had expected such an attack. As he let the orb loose, he began uttering his own protective casting, so that the deadly eyebite sent at him by the pirimah flashed into nothingness without striking him. It was a stalemate for the moment, but only for that time. Already the witch was invoking the power of the globe she held, using it to link to the other objects which the /Egyptian had brought back to their places. Powers which she could employ but which were untappable by the foreigner. Once linked together, the energy and powers contained in the regalia were more than sufficient to overwhelm even the heka of the wizard-priest.

"I'll take that!" It was Rachelle who spoke, and as she did so she suited her actions to her words. As she plucked the globe from the witch's grasp with one strong hand, she used the other to slap Sujata across the face. The open-handed blow was sufficient to send the pirimah reeling aside. She fell to the floor, stunned.

"Well done, my dear Rachelle!" Inhetep cried. "I was hoping you'd be able to do something like that!"

"Thank you, Setne, for making that dirty bitch release her hold on me," the amazon said with a smile. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time." She laughed, looking over to where the Hindi witch lay sprawled in a most humiliating posture, her left cheek darkening where Rachelle's hard palm and fingers had struck.

Before either of the two could say anything else, however, Lady Sujata recovered sufficiently to shriek out in a voice filled with insane rage and fury, "Kali, come to your faithful priestess, I implore. A life here is yours, I swear!"

At the last utterance the whole room went dark, then light reappeared, but it was as if all were seen in negative. In the vault with them was a black-skinned figure, a woman over eight feet tall with four arms, her torso adorned by a necklace of human skulls. "I am here, daughter," boomed a voice from that dreadful figure. "Come to collect the life you have pledged."

"Yes, YES!" shrieked Sujata in frenzied joy. "Thank you, Mother of Death! There! There is the one who broke her oath to YOU. Take her!"

As the goddess reached forth with rumal and hook to strangle Rachelle, sink in the cruel iron point to drag the amazon's mortal remains physically to Kali's own sphere, Magister Setne

Inhetep interposed himself, his upraised ankh of gold the only glint of color in the weirdly illuminated strongroom. "Restrain yourself a moment, great goddess."

"What?! Who dares to challenge my right to the promised life?" the terrible voice of Kali boomed.

"Not I, great one. I only ask that you direct your efforts to she whose life is forfeit, your priestess called Lady Sujata."

The pirimah shrieked denials, cursing Inhetep and Rachelle. "She did break the oath she made in your name, Great Black Mother of Death. She agreed to give herself to you should she break it."

"Puny servant of the bird-headed Thoth, my priestess speaks right. I see the past events unfold as she claims. Out of my way, or I shall have your life as well as hers. Your lord has no power to save you here."

"La! Do not be so hasty, great goddess Kali. To make remarks about appearance demeans the speaker—and perhaps the Lord of Wisdom has allies here in the realms you are recognized in. In any event, form does not indicate content, does it?"

"What are you saying, man?" Kali thundered. Her expression was menacing, terrible, but she stayed her hand.

Inhetep pointed at the witch. "The form of the oath was in blood. The content was a demand for action which if not carried through made the one swearing yours."

"By your own words you give your leman to my goddess! Take her, Black Mother, don't listen to the /Egyptian! Why do you hesitate? Run your noose round that white throat and choke the life from she who is yours!"

Ignoring the ranting words, the towering goddess stayed her hand to ask, "Is there meaning in your words, man? If so, tell me. If not, or if you are wrong, then I shall slay you as well as the other."

"The form was blood. You did not give blood to your faithful, Kali. You forbade them to take life by shedding it, in fact. Yet that would be the effect of what you propose if Rachelle*s life is taken by you. You would be a surrogate of the witch, Sujata. She as your priestess shed blood, and that blood would then be the proximate cause, the means bringing death to another human."

"A fine point you make, mortal."

"Indeed, goddess, but in the end do not even the deities stand or fall on being able to distinguish such?"

"Don't listen to him! O My Great Black Mother, Lady of Death. Kill them. Kill them both! I promise for that I will—"

Kali pointed, Sujata was struck dumb. "I need quiet to think on this a moment. I do not come in answer to a call from one of my faithful to be made to look foolish, still ..."

"Goddess, it is the half-hearted woman you have silenced who is the cause of all this. As to her faith, only you can judge, but the oath she extracted from the woman she implores you to strangle is the true problem. Its exaction will violate your own law."

"So I am to be made foolish by returning empty-handed?"

Inhetep shook his head. "No, goddess. She who dared to call you here is the one to die in payment—a dual justice for causing the dilemma of the contract of blood and death as well."

"You would have me slay my own priestess?" Kali was angry at that, raising her four hands menacingly towards the man before her who dared to suggest such a thing.

The magister retired a pace, but spoke with no fear in his voice. "If it please you, goddess, the delivery of payment can be made by other means. The king she pretends to serve as pirimah, whom she would soon betray and replace, awaits outside. Sujata has pledged her life on a matter which will cause it to be taken forthwith, if I am free to do as I please."

"Which is?"

"Leave here, taking the woman, Rachelle, with me."

Kali leaned towards the wizard-priest. The goddess fully understood many connotations of what he had just said about Lady Sujata, deeming them true. Her so-called priestess was one who sat astride fences, would serve only to dispossess and herself be served. "What of the objects? They are sacred to this land, and 1 cannot stand idly by while you make off with them."

"Never had I contemplated such action, goddess. I wish only to send them back to the place in which they were sequestered. In essence, the crown jewels will never leave this vault."

It was not entirely satisfactory. Sujata's continued existence would be more favorable to Kali, make her stronger among the other gods. She moved the rumal she held, speculating, considering.

Seeing that it was not going as smoothly as he had hoped, the magister dared one thing further. "Goddess?"

"What now, man?"

He cleared his throat. "Thoth may not be potent in this place, just as you have pointed out. Still, he knows what is occurring and will be aware of my fate. He will communicate your compromise to those of your own pantheon, Kali."

"Is that a fact? Dare you threaten ME?!"

Again the tall /Egyptian took a hasty backward step to stand pressed against the cases. "Threaten? Never, goddess. It is simply a fact I state," and as he spoke, Inhetep brought forth the little coffer and opened it. A bright radiance came forth as if he had unhooded a lantern. There the green, ibis-head of Thoth showed its hue atop the golden man's body below. The atef crown with its plumes and horns adorning that head was bright, so too the striped headcover-ing, colorful collar, and linen kilt. Such rainbow hues as were displayed from the foot-high figurine indicated one thing. The spirit of that deity was present and signified its awareness of what transpired by casting the light which defied the negative darkness of the Black Goddess.

"I see ..." Kali said more softly.

Something enabled the witch to break free from her enforced silence. She jumped up and ran to the goddess. "No! No! You cannot allow this to happen. I am your priestess, and I forbid it!"

"You were my servant, Sujata. But not even my most faithful priestess ever, ever forbids me anything!"

The next instant, the witch was no longer in the vault. Kali touched her, and the woman disappeared. Then the goddess glared at Inhetep. "It shall be as you suggest, man of ^figypt. It will go hard on you if we ever meet again." Then the black form likewise vanished.

Outside there was an uproar when Lady Sujata suddenly appeared before the maharajah.

She was limp, unable to move properly or to speak. Around her neck was a strangling cloth. "What is going on?" roared the frightened monarch. He got no response. He stared at the pirimah, then a sound distracted his attention. The door to the vault had come open with a popping noise. The place appeared to be empty, and he ordered the chamberlain inside to see if the Egyptian and his woman were concealed in a near corner so as to make it appear that they had somehow escaped. Gorvan trembled but obeyed.

In a minute, he came flying from the treasure room with horror-filled face. "They are not there, Radiance, and neither are the crown jewels restored!"

After watching his personal guard cut the head from Gorvan's shoulders with a single backhand stroke, Maharajah Sivadji took personal pleasure in strangling the pirimah with his own hands, slowly tightening the noose, watching her eyes that tried vainly to convey something to him. Who cared what she meant by those looks. . . .

HOME IS REWARD ENOUGH

"That is as close as I ever hope to come to premature death," the magister said with an explosive sound as he threw himself down into his favorite chair in the study. "What a team we are though, girl!" he had to say as he sprawled there. He was absolutely delighted, surprisingly animated in expression and words, despite his physical exhaustion. "We may have managed it only by the proverbial hair's breadth, but we did it!"

Rachelle was not so effusive. "I agree that it was much too near a thing, Setne. What I don't see is what you are so pleased about!"

"Why, my dear, we have done our part to see that a most miserable tyrant has but numbered days on his throne. Had we assisted in the recovery of those jewels as the Maharajah Sivadji hoped we would, then we would have been guilty of a true injustice—perpetuating his rule and worse."

"Worse?"

Inhetep got up and rummaged around until

he found some tobacco to stuff into his hookah, which rested on its usual brass stand next to the big armchair. He again sat, puffing contentedly, soothed by the soft burbling sounds that it made. Rachelle was reclining on a couch, resigned to her wait, for she knew that now he couldn't resist talking about what they had just done; especially those parts where his deduction alone enabled them to follow through properly.

"Much worse," the magister said as if there hadn't been a delay of several minutes between her query and his response. "Lady Sujata would have been made the chief priestess of Delhi, the worship of Kali the only one supported by the crown, and then the Afghanis would have come—unless the witch managed to do in that toad before then."

"Now you truly have gone over my head, Setne, as well you know!"

Having elicited the response which he sought, the magister chuckled. "Just wanted your full attention, Rachelle. Where shall I pick up the threads so you will see the pattern?"

"How about the place where I missed something?" she said sarcastically.

"Then let's go to the beginning!"

She jerked upright. "Now just a moment, Setne. There's no need to belittle me."

"Not in the least, my dear. It is merely a matter of me being older and less taken by . . . appearances, let us say. You see, I was put off when the maharajah's parcel was opened."

"Do tell? What was there in that package to make you uncomfortable?"

Inhetep puffed, blew a big smoke ring skyward. "Bribery. Pleas and fawning promises which obviously weren't meant to be kept. The one obviously aimed at winning you to the maharajah's cause, the other added inducements meant for both of us."

"Me? That toad was aware of me when he sent his messenger here?"

"Don't be modest. To solicit my aid is to ask Inhetep and his companion, Rachelle, to attend to the matter. That much is known by anyone aware of my services. Certainly I am not to go about sporting a ruby necklace, so the gift was sent not to me but to you, despite the omission of your name."

Rachelle nodded. It made sense. "And I went for it in a big way, didn't I? Hungry for the lure of the promised wealth to follow should you succeed in solving the mystery of who stole the jewels."

"Nobody could blame you for liking such an exquisite piece of jewelry, my dear, or for thinking that a casketful of more like it would be nice."

"Face it, Setne, I was greedy."

"Not greedy, just a little too anxious to have such baubles. There was the lure of a distant land too, you know. No matter, for I decided to accept, and I did so on my own without any influence from you.

"Yet I had severe reservations. That's why we made the journey in such an odd fashion. I needed to find things out, and I didn't want to prejudice you in the process. Your opinions and thoughts are far too valuable to me to do that!"

"Stop flattering me."

The magister waved his hand to disperse the layer of smoke which he had created, for it was clouding his view of Rachelle. "No flattery," he said in clipped tones as he fanned. "I should have a slave or two to take care of this sort of thing as the toad had."

Rachelle giggled at that. "He is such a toad," she agreed, "and those ridiculously active fan bearers with their fluttering plumes beating around his fat head!" She laughed, then grew serious. "Better Kali than him," she muttered, thinking of the maharajah's plans for her.

"Better neither. You'll have to settle for me, and that's that. Now where was I? Oh, yes. On the way to Delhi. Some of that was really necessary, of course, once I opted not to bull straight on from here to the palace of the maharajah. The rest was aimed at giving you and me a chance to get to know a bit about the Hindis in general, the folk of Delhi in particular. With such information, naturally, we could judge the ruler and the way he governed."

She smiled. "It was pretty clear that something was lacking, wasn't it? By the time we came to the capital, 1 had the distinct impression I wasn't going to like the king. Little did I know. . . . The fear the people showed, the comments regarding how the government worked, made me certain that the Peacock Throne displayed little merit in the eyes of those ruled from its perch."

"You verge on puns. I am happy to see you are recovering, but I refuse to pick up that gauntlet—at least not until I have finished enlightening you." Inhetep ignored her facial expression and the razzing sound which accompanied it. "The thugs were the final weight which tipped the balance to the side favoring the rebels. Your discovery of the pirimah s dedication to Kali explained it, for someone in a high place had to be allowing such a band to operate."

"That is certain. They knew who we were— or at least that we were there on business of the maharajah. That was evident when they got a look at us changed from our disguises as Hindis and ran off rather than attacked."

"Very good, Rachelle! I see I shall have to work harder at this." He laughed. Puffing away for a moment as he considered, the magister then asked, "Were you impressed at how I got you out of the oath? Clever bit that, the blood and all, recalling Kali's having to strangle the 'Demon of Blood and Seed'."

She propped her head up with one hand. "I hate to say it, Setne, but I caught on as soon as you spoke of form and content. There is something, though, that I do wish you'd tell me about."

"But of course, I'd be happy to, my dear. What?"

"The day you went out alone to see about contacting the rebels in Delhi." When Inhetep shifted uncomfortable in his chair she knew she was onto it. "Yes, Setne. What was it you said you had done? I recall the words voluptuous and whore."

"Pish! Nothing of the sort. I said I had helped to recover a lost girl from a life of prostitution to something more noble, and in return she aided me in contacting the insurgents hidden in the city." He drew himself up and gave her his best expression of aristocratic altruism. Rachelle wasn't buying it, so he deflated his chest a little. "Very well. If you need eveiy sordid detail, here is what occurred." When Inhetep concluded, she laughed. He looked sour.

"So Braji is now probably a courtesan in great demand in Delhi!"

"No—at least, not if she stuck with her later decision."

"What was that?"

"When I left the rebels, she stayed, vowing to join them and fight for the cause of the claimant. It is one of Sivadji's half-brothers. It seems the old yogi, Purshiva Rishi, somehow managed to save one of the royal brood from his brother's tender mercies. He and Prince Da-hasti both are alive, lending their talents to the claimant in his mountain retreat. Because I had to, ah . . . rather strongly insist they not butcher me as a spy for the maharajah, most of the insurgents fled the city to join the growing army of rebels gathered to the soon-to-be ruler of Delhi. Braji went tripping off with those young warriors, happily receiving court from a half-dozen of them."

Rachelle laughed again, merrily. "That is a tale. If she gets to meet the royal rebel claimant, 111 wager that she charms him!"

"Not interested in that bet, my dear."

"How did you manage to convince the young hotheads not to run you through, Setne?"

The magister frowned. "It was necessary for me to employ heka. Most annoying, under the circumstances. I displaced myself to be free of threat, changed to show my actual appearance, and then had to go through a number of castings as if I were a mountebank or charlatan impressing yokels before I convinced them they were actually at my mercy and all that. Demeaning to everybody concerned, you know.

Made them look like weaklings, me a blundering bully who had gotten himself captured and then had to flex his magickal muscles to get free."

"You have wonderful muscles of that sort— and the physical sort too, dear Magister," she cooed. That made him more annoyed than ever, and Rachelle laughed. "Don't be so stuffy, Setne. You know I'm only teasing you because 1 have to have you tell me so much about what went on."

Feeling much better at hearing that, the magister smiled back, then himself laughed. "Funny, isn't it? When it comes down to it, all of us are just fragile little folk. Glad you're not too fragile, though, or you'd not have gotten that orb away from the pirimah. I'd have been in for it then! Which reminds me\ How did you manage to shake off whatever it was the witch had done to you?"

"The sleeping draught you gave me made me unconscious for the whole kidnapping, Setne. I heard that awful bitch mention a secret passage, so I knew how they entered the bedroom and took me without you knowing about it. Not trusting to common old drugs, she laid one of her witchcraeft castings on me. She knew I have studied the art, and that made her think 1 would be more vulnerable. Little did she know I am more skilled at apotropaistic things than at witchery. I managed a counter to her evil, so that the duration of its effect was foreshortened greatly. In fact, I had to pretend to be helpless from the time they brought me to the vault entrance. Your feigning no interest in whether I lived or died was superb play acting, Setne. You almost had me convinced."

She probably thought his slight raising of a brow had to do with the last words she spoke, but the magister was piqued at what the ama-zon had related about her kidnapping. "Fortunately, my dear," he said earnestly, "those malign fools didn't know much about me. If they had, the game would have ended then and there, for those familiar with Magister Setne Inhetep know that his companion is more dear to him than his own life."

"That was sweet, Setne. You had better mean it!"

"But of course. Could my head dispense with my body because it lacks a brain?"

"That does it, Inhetep. Now I'll make you sorry for your cruel jests!" She started to get up, then stayed put, sitting on the couch and looking at the wizard-priest. "Speaking of cruel jests, you keep me on tenterhooks, Setne. You haven't explained about how the two supposedly dead officials of the maharajah are actually living, how the seemingly stolen crown jewels were really there all along, and how we managed to get out of the vault which nobody could enter nor escape from without a special amulet! How did you manage that?"

"Oh, that's easy. Because the place couldn't be broken into, and no rebels outside the palace could force their way inside to make the chancellor and court practitioner cooperate, it had to be an inside job. Working from that premise, it was most probable that those two were working in conjunction, of course. What was said about the two by their replacements made that the only reasonable assumption.

"The two must have spent a very long time preparing their strike. Months, I'd guess— about the time it became clear to them that the maharajah's interest in the witch, Lady Sujata, would mean death for them. I'm certain that both were staying in the palace to better aid the rebels, but when she came along they had to abandon that post. What Sujata wanted was obvious. To become pirimah. The court practitioner of Delhi is always chief cleric as well as the head of magick. In her case, it meant priestess of Kali and Thugee. Unthinkable to both men, I'm sure! With the Purshiva Yogi Rishi's heka, they set up the seeming robbery. The 'remains' left behind were so good they almost fooled me, until I thought a bit and realized that half of the amulet key would never have been left behind with the supposed ashes of a slain treasurer. He might have been killed by thieves, but never would such a thing be left behind to be ruined by whomever did him in.

"Somebody's body was burned to ashes, but 1 can't imagine whose. The Yogi Rishi's blood was used, but not so much as to be fatal. Together with the proper castings, the whole thing threw everyone off the track. Why just the Crown Jewels? And why were the maharajah and his court witch so desperate to get them back? Because in order to properly invest the chief cleric of the land, the power of those objects—the crown, orb, and all—must be invoked. Only when she was properly recognized thus would the Lady Sujata agree to use her influence to bring in aid to put an end to the rebels. Among her other dark dealings, the woman was in touch with Kabul. Perhaps she would have called in the Afghanis; maybe she would have trusted to a growing Thug movement to strangle the rebels." Inhetep shrugged, palms held out. "So we foiled all that. The rebels will certainly triumph now, for the maharajah is a weak and hateful fellow doomed to die as he has lived. It might be months or a few years, but soon now we will hear of a new ruler taking the Peacock Throne." He glanced at her, saw there was still attentiveness in Rachelle's expression, and realized one question remained to be answered.

"Hmmm. What else. Ah, I recall. You wanted to know about the hidden crown jewels. It was

DEATH IN DELHI

a matter of elimination. If they couldn't be located anywhere within Delhi—city or state— and hadn't been spirited from the land, where could they be? Only one place was possible. That was a place where all manner of castings were made useless. Where was such a place? In the palace vault, of course! Now then, how could they be hidden? That was more difficult, but finally I hit on it. If the chamberlain and the court practitioner were working hand-in-glove on all things, it followed that the two of them managed to do something inside the strongroom. What could they do? What else but to create a special space in some inaccessible dimension to displace the regalia. The little spot wouldn't be detectable to any sort of search save one which went to the exact location in which it was tied to the mundane. The Yogi Rishi was good! He did it by accessing the ninth and least known of the dimensions, my dear. Into that place the crown jewels went, and there they are now—and will remain until the fellow extracts them to place on the person of the new maharajah he champions."

Rachelle finally stood up and came over to where the magister sat calmly with his fuming hookah. "How did you get us out of the impenetrable barriers surrounding the vault? None of what you've told me explains that."

"Well, you can thank Rishi for that. By allowing the ninth dimension to impinge on the vault, he opened a way for me to access the Central Nexus. It was some work, of course, channeling energy so as to make a sort of tunnel from it to the nexus. But once done, poof! And who's the wiser about something going from Inconceivability to a remote part of /Egypt? So here we are!"

281

"Yes," Rachplle sighed, "but sans recompense. I have hardly a jewel to my name. ..."

The magister pondered that a moment. "Well, perhaps I have a couple which will suit you," he suggested.

"Wonderful, Setne! I knew you'd not disappoint me. They are separately mounted on golden wire, aren't they? That's how I shall wear them, of course."

"Perhaps well take the matter up another time, my dear," Inhetep said as he dropped the stem of the pipe from his mouth and made haste to leave the study. "I am worn out from our adventure and feel an acute need of sleep."

Rachelle nodded. "So do I," she said as she followed after him.

—— 18 —

A SECOND PARCEL

A month had passed, and both Rachelle and the wizard-priest had dismissed, if not forgotten, the matter of their deadly adventures in Delhi. The two were in their private garden, Inhetep reading in the shade near the fountain, the amazon working with her flowers and herbs nearby, when Djemer-t came out of the villa. He coughed politely to let them know he was present, then announced in somber tone, "The post rider is without my lord."

"Fine," the magister said not looking up from his book. "Let him remain thus."

Rachelle had looked from her work as soon as she heard the butler's diy throat-clearing, and it was she who discerned that something was up. "You can handle the matter of mail, can't you Djemer't?" she asked archly, knowing full well that that was what he wanted someone else to do.

"No, my lady. Not in this case. It is a matter for His Lordship."

"Setne ..."

"Yes, my dear," he said, not looking up for her, either.

"Setne!"

He gave a sound of exasperation, flipped down the ribbon to mark his place, and snapped the volume closed. "What is the matter with you—and you as well, Djemer-t?"

Rachelle ignored him then, bending over a plant which seemed to be troubled by aphids. The butler did not neglect responding. Djemer-t looked down his long, ancient nose at the magister and said, "It is the post rider, my lord, as I initially informed you. He is without."

"A post rider without what?" Then Seine's mind finally focused on what had been said, and he stood up. "You come and disturb my reading to tell me the post rider is at the door? Have you gone into dotage? Take whatever mail he has for us and bring it here like a good fellow!"

"No, my lord." Djemer-t was unflinching as a cedar.

It took Inhetep aback. "No? Well, for heavens sake, why not?"

"Your instructions, my lord. You do recall the incident some time ago when a parcel was delivered."

"What's that got to do with this?"

"Your lordship will have to see for himself," the old butler sniffed, doing his best to conceal

an inner sense of triumph as he left the magister standing there.

Inhetep stared after him a moment, then said, "Well, I guess that means I'll have to go to the door and accept whatever missives the rider has brought."

"Wait a second, Setne. Ill come with you." Rachelle dropped her scissors and hurried to catch up with the long-legged wizard-priest.

There at the door was a rider in the garb of one of Pharaoh's Posted Service. As soon as Inhetep saw him, though, he understood why the butler had acted as he did. So did Rachelle. The man was certainly a Hindi, and the horse he sat astride was somehow oddly unhorselike. RacheLle's hand flew toward her ever-present dagger, while the magister's own reached to take up his ankh. The grin on the fellow's face stopped them both.

"No, no, sahib arid sahibah. I am no messenger of Sivadji the Toad. I come from the rightful maharajah , he whose name I may not yet speak but hope to soon proclaim from the highest tower in Delhi as ruler. He sends you his greetings, his thousand thanks, and this!" So saying, the rider tossed a square package to the two, turned his mount, and galloped off. The animal which bore him moved at a startling speed as its hooves worked into the air as if it were a long hill. Soon both rider and steed were

gone from sight, disappearing into the eastern sky.

"I am astonished," Inhetep finally managed.

Rachelle was gleeful. "Did you hear? He called him a toad! Come on, let's see what's inside the parcel!"

"Perhaps we should just—"

"Don't say if, Inhetep!"

The magister turned with resignation, stalking back to the garden, Rachelle in his wake. Much to the consternation of Djemer-t, they said nothing as they passed, but both wore expressions of smugness which the butler found intolerable. He watched them pass, then stumped off to make the cook's life less pleasant.

Sure that none were watching, Inhetep opened the wrappings and gave the box they had contained to Rachelle. She opened it and cried aloud for joy: "Look, Setne! You've got to see this. Why, it's a whole ensemble for me—a tiara, a necklace, earrings, bracelet, and a ring, too! Rubies bigger than that the fat toad sent— diamonds and pearls!" She held up the box so he could share her delight.

Inhetep made appropriate noises of appreciation. "You see? Those who know me know that you are the part of the team to bestow gifts upon. They will do you justice, my dear."

"Thank you, Setne. You are the most wonderful man a girl could hope for," and she kissed his cheek. "They are splendid, aren't they?" He agreed. "There is a problem, though, Setne dear. . . . Whatever will I wear them with?" That was a question he had anticipated with dread, for he knew the only answer possible.