The God’s Guardian (The Pharaoh’s Promise #3)

Chapter Ten

Eventually, the search was over and Bhaskar suffered the humiliation of being escorted from his home like a criminal. More guards flanked him, silent except for the shoves that kept him on their path. When they turned on to Canopic Street, he saw a cluster of temple guards. They turned to watch as he was marched past. One of them—the same guard who’d blocked him from reaching the runaway horse—locked eyes with him. Recognition flickered between them, and the man’s gaze narrowed in a silent judgment. Bhas looked away, lowering his head as the world blurred around him.

If he had thought they would take him to the neighborhood komai, he was disappointed. Apparently, his crimes were great enough that he must be brought directly to the strategion. The journey though the city seemed endless. Just before they reached the imposing structure, a voice began to cry out. “Bhaskar Bhai! Bhaskar Bhai!”

Bhaskar stiffened in shock, then spun around, heedless of the guards. A short distance behind them, a small, lean figure in a white dhoti was pushing his way through the crowds.

“ārya Bhaskar, kim gha?ate? Stand aside you fools, what are you doing with Vidwan Bhaskar?”

“ Pravar?”

Then the guards closed in like a wall, blocking his view of Pravar and forcing him to continue. His mind whirled. What was one of his father’s shishyas doing in Alexandria? Pravar had been at the shrine since before Bhaskar was born and he couldn’t imagine the man anywhere else. He was as much a member of their family as Bhaskar. Yet it had clearly been Pravar, still shouting in heavily accented Greek.

He had little time to dwell on the matter as they finally reached the strategion. The guards marched him into a vast, open hall, its high ceiling doing little to relieve the claustrophobic press of bodies. Some people shouted, proclaiming their innocence; others were on their knees, pleading for justice. Smoke and dust filled the air along with the sweat and the faint tang of ink and papyrus. Along the walls, magistrates and clerks sat at rows of stone tables. They all appeared busy, scribbling down records and deliberating over disputes.

The guards didn’t slow their pace, cutting a path through the chaos to reach one of the magistrates, who wore the white himation of his office. The magistrate barely glanced at the papyrus handed to him before turning his impassive eyes on Bhaskar.

“State your name.”

“Bhaskar,” he began, then hesitated. Would his ties to the Mouseion offer any protection? Or could he resolve matters without his colleagues learning of this? “Of Badrinath,” he said at last.

The answer seemed to make no difference to the magistrate as he handed the papyrus to the scribe next to him. “Bhaskar of Badrinath, you stand accused of trafficking in stolen goods. You will remain in custody until your case is reviewed.”

“But, kyrie—” Bhaskar started.

“When your case is reviewed,” the man said without interest. “Next.”

The guards seized his arms, jerking him into motion. As they left the main hall, Bhaskar heard a commotion behind them. He almost thought he heard Anu’s voice, but he paid no mind, focused on his own misery.

They entered a long, sloping corridor lined with torches that did little to illuminate the winding passageway. As they descended, the torches were spaced farther and farther apart until they reached the cells beneath the strategion, a row of small, windowless chambers carved into the bedrock and secured by heavy iron bars across thick wood doors.

The guards shoved him into a cramped room, barely tall enough for him to stand upright, and shut the door behind him. With despair, he heard the bar being lowered on the other side.

Alone in the cell, he took stock of his situation in the dim light. There were no torches in the cell. The only light came from a slit of a window, barely wider than his hand, cut high where the wall met the ceiling. The opening provided little relief from the oppressive stench of mold and filth. A bucket sat in one corner, swarming with flies and crusted with the refuse of past prisoners. Another corner contained a small, clay jug of water, its surface clouded with sediment. There was no furniture, only a mound of straw against one wall, which he presumed was to be his bed.

At first he paced, unwilling to touch anything in the cell more than necessary and unable to stand still as the events of the day played over and over in his thoughts. Callius. Hemhat. The guards. But as the meager light began to dim, he sank down onto the straw, his back against the wall, and faced his greatest regret.

He was to be with Anu today. They were to go to the necropolis. Now they might never see each other again. Even if he were able to find some way out of this situation, to convince a magistrate of his innocence, Anu would not want to see him again.

The thought of facing the impassive, uncaring magistrate sent chills through him. Even minor thefts might result in a flogging or crippling fines. His mind shied away from what the punishment for theft of the sundial might be. Hemhat’s words had been clear—execution.

He buried his face in his hands. He had not told his family goodbye, and now he would never see them again. He had known it was a possibility when he set out, but then he had judged the adventure worth it. He had succumbed to the lure of the Mouseion and thought only of the knowledge he might gain and the name he would make for himself. Now he bitterly regretted not listening to his parents or factoring the loss of his family into the cost of the journey.

At least they would have his siblings, his older brother Raghav, his father’s right hand who already administered many duties at the shrine. Savitri would still be there with her birds and songs, and her twin Devanand, already whispered to be a mystic and gentle where she was wild.

He thought of Pravar, too, but in his despair, seeing him in the streets seemed like a fever dream. Pravar would never leave Badrinath, much less Bharat.

His mood became blacker as the cell darkened. He looked up at his window, the thin slit cut into the thick rock of the building. If he stood, he could glimpse a bit of the street, but nothing of the sky.

He would never see the stars again.

Just as the last light faded to black, Bhaskar heard voices in the corridor. He scrambled to his feet as the door was unbarred and thrown open. Two men stood there—one in the armor of a city guard, the other in the sand-colored shenti of the temple.

The guards gestured him out the door and he obeyed mutely, too glad to be out of the dark, cramped cell to ask any questions. They retraced his earlier path, climbing the steep corridor, but before they reached the great hall, the guards veered into a side passageway. Eventually, they reached a small room. Once again, he was motioned inside and the door closed with a heavy thud.

He was alone, but here at least there were oil lamps and a wooden table with benches on each side. He sank gratefully onto one of them and waited, too numb for hope or speculation.

His numbness vanished when the door opened and Anu walked in. Bhas leaped to his feet, overjoyed, but faltered as he remembered everything that had happened. He dropped back onto the bench. Anu’s mouth was set in a grim line.

“Are you okay?”

Bhas stifled a hysterical laugh. “I am unharmed.”

“Have they told you why you are here?”

“I am accused of theft,” Bhaskar said, his voice coming out flat. Seeing Anu cut through some of the stupor of the last hours. He drank in the sight of him, his dark skin gleaming against the pristine white shenti. He was wearing the bronze armbands again and Bhaskar realized he must have dressed for their outing. But one question loomed in his mind. “How did you know where to find me?”

“My friends saw you being taken through the streets.”

Doubtless a truthful answer, but one that revealed little.

“And why are you allowed to see me?” He swallowed the other question—the one that gnawed at him— Why did you want to?

“I called in favors.” Anu’s tone did not encourage more questions. “Bhaskar, nothing was found in your rooms to implicate you, but the city guards are not satisfied, nor the temple. A very valuable artifact has been stolen and they will stop at nothing to retrieve it. If you know anything, you must tell me.”

Bhaskar stared at him.

Anu’s frown grew deeper. “I am trying to help you. Why won’t you confide in me?”

“How can you help me?” Bhaskar demanded. The time for patience was over. “Who are you?”

“I am Anu.” He sounded angry. “The same Anu who watched over you from your first night in the city.”

“I am in jail, Anu, accused of a crime punishable by…by…harsh penalties.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word execution. “How can you possibly help me?”

A muscle tensed in Anu’s jaw. Bhaskar thought he wouldn’t answer, but finally, he spoke. “I work for the temple. I will use what influence I have to protect you, but my hands are tied if you won’t trust me.”

The temple. Of course.

Bhaskar thought of the terror in Hemhat’s eyes, the warnings from Callius, and Anu’s stance on relics of the ancients. He didn’t know if Anu could protect him, but he couldn’t protect all of them. Would he even try to help the others? Could Bhaskar trust Anu at all, or were his loyalties solely to the god of the dead?

He gazed across the table into Anu’s eyes. The ridiculous, thick, curl of lashes he so adored mocked him, false promises of tenderness or some imagined intimacy.

He remained silent.

Finally, Anu straightened. “Send for me if you change your mind.”

The sound of the bar falling into place on the other side of the door seemed very final.