“We’ve come to collect the king’s tax,” the man went on, still chewing. “Please show my men to your store.”
Rae saw her father’s jaw tense. But when he spoke, his voice was calm. “I would be most pleased to do so, except that we have only eighty hekats of wheat ready today. We can have the other twenty in ten days’ time, if that suits you.”
The nomarch stopped chewing and was silent for a moment. “What suits me,” he said with casual malice, “is getting what I ask when I ask for it.”
“With all due respect,” Rae’s father replied, “You’re ten days early—”
The nomarch continued as if Rae’s father hadn’t spoken at all. “Furthermore, the tax is now one hundredand fiftyhekats. Bydecree of King Amunmose.”
Rae felt the blood drain from her face.A hundred and fifty hekats, she thought.But that’s…We couldn’t possibly…
As if sharing her thoughts, her father scoffed. “You can’t be serious.That would take out more than half of our harvest. The king must know that the crops have been poor this year. What are we to live on?”
The nomarch’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure I don’t care, Ankhu. But if you would like to keep your other hand, you’ll produce the remaining seventy hekats and have it ready in four days. I’d much rather have it now, but what can I say? I’m feeling generous.” He spat the mastic gum onto the ground at her father’s feet. “And if you don’t have enough wheat, perhaps I’ll take your daughter as payment instead.” He sauntered over to Rae, his heavy-lidded eyes roving up and down her body. When he leaned in close, his breath bitter and hot, it took all her willpower not to lace her arm around his neck and squeeze. “She’s an able-bodied girl,” the nomarch mused. “I’d be happy to put her to work at my estate.”
Rae looked over at her father. His face was a mask of studied passivity. “You’ll have your seventy hekats.”
It was only after the nomarch’s soldiers had carried the prepared wheat onto the boat and the king’s scribes had marked the number on their scrolls and sailed on; after her father, silent and brooding, had returned to the house; after she had stowed their tools and made sure the zebu were settled in their pen for the night; it was only then that Rae walked out through the fields to the desert, fell to her knees, and screamed her rage into the night.
4
Karim
A bouquet of dry flowers tied with strips of cloth.
An animal bone blackened by fire.
A still-sharp flint with a carved wooden handle.
A shard of pottery the color of the sky.
Karim laid these items in a row on the sandy ground and stared at them, hoping that if he looked at them long enough, they might reveal their secrets. So far, they were silent on the matter. Kneeling on the valley floor, golden cliffs rising on either side, he ran his hands through the sand, searching, sifting, letting the grains run through his fingers.
“How long we will sit in this heat, hey?” Hager muttered, dragging the back of his hand across his brow. “I’m roasting.” He perched on a nearby boulder like a spider—all skinny limbs and sharp angles. Like the other Jackals, Hager wore a dark coarse robe, open at the chest, with wide sleeves that he’d rolled up to his elbows. A cloth of similar style draped over his head, shielding his long, narrow face from the blazing sun.
“Until I am filled,” Karim replied as he stood, brushing the sand from his palms. He rubbed the dark stubble of his chin thoughtfully. “Something is here. I know it.”
“Aha, heknowsit,” Babu jeered. “Just as he knew it yesterday. And the day before that. And yet, our hands remain empty! We waste our time, Karim. Here is nothing but rocks!”
“Yes, there are many rocks,” Karim agreed. “Some on the ground, others in your head. But there is more than that, Babu.”
Babu shook his head. “You tell him it’s a bull, and he tells youto milk it,” he said to Hager. “Why don’t we leave him here, hey? He can sleep with his trash and be happy.”
“Because without me you’re lost, Babu-sen,” Karim said warmly. “You couldn’t find an oasis if one bit you on the ass.”
Babu had twenty-one years—only two seasons more than Karim—but he was at least a double handsbreadth taller and built like a hippopotamus. Even so, Karim couldn’t resist baiting him. When it came to finding tombs in the desert, he was very good. Keeping his mouth shut? Not so much.
“Pah!” Babu grumbled, then spat on the ground. “You best watch where your words will lead you, sen—or you might find yourself at the end of my dagger. A Jackal you may be, but my patience has limits. When the sun passes its zenith—we go.”
Karim bit back a retort and nodded. “Fine.”
“You really think there’s something out there, hey?” Djet asked, sidling up to Karim as he surveyed the valley for the hundredth time.
Djet was plump and smooth-faced, barely out of boyhood. He’d begged Babu to let him join the Jackals, despite his age. After losing both his parents in a raid on their people’s camp a season ago, he was left with nothing and no skills to speak of, aside from his curious mind.Never too young for tragedy, Karim had thought at the time. At Karim’s urging, Babu had relented, allowing Djet preliminary membership to their esteemed company, who were renowned across the Red Lands for relieving the Khetarans of their buried treasures.
“I do think there’s something, yes,” Karim replied. How could he explain to the boy, or to any of the Jackals, that it was more feeling than thought? That whenever he searched for a tomb, something tugged at him, like a rope around his chest, pulling him in the right direction?
Better not to explain. Better to trust his instincts. They hadnever failed him—so why was this day any different? He’d found the objects, and searched all the obvious places, but so far, no luck. The Jackals had already uncovered half a dozen other hidden tombs in the valley, although they’d all been plundered before their arrival. Still, they’d managed to find a few choice baubles, and that kept them looking for more. They’d scoured the area from back to front though, and Babu was convinced there was nothing more to find.
