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

Chapter Thirteen

Across the courtyard, the great library was closed. Still, torches burned on either side of the intricately carved great bronze doors. Their light played over the marble columns and cobblestones, making the shadows dance. Bhaskar studied the front of the building for a long time, making sure nothing but the shadows moved. No one knew he was gone, he reminded himself. And no one would expect him to come here.

Nonetheless, he skirted the courtyard and kept to the shadows as he approached the library. He left the main entrance with its imposing doors behind and circled to the alley that ran along the side of the building. Down the long alley, four smaller doors provided entrance for servants and deliveries at various points. The darkness was almost complete here. He kept his hand on the side of the building as he crept forward, counting the doors as he went. At the third, he stopped. Pressing himself against the wall, he looked up and down the alley, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing stirred.

Cautiously, he pressed against the door. At first, he thought it still barred. Desperately, he shoved harder. The door inched open with a scraping noise that seemed to echo in the silence. Heart pounding, he slipped inside and pushed it shut behind him. The room, a delivery area, was pitch dark. His foot caught on something and almost fell. Righting himself, he felt around in the darkness and found a crate. It had clearly been set against the door so it would remain closed without the bar.

He felt his way slowly through the room until he reached another door and crept out into a passageway. Now he knew where he was, and his steps quickened as he made his way into the main hall of the library. Here, he could see a little. His eyes, strained from the pitch dark of the closed room, welcomed the scant moonlight filtering through the high windows of the building.

He paused after a few steps to glance around. The library, usually filled with the quiet conversation of scholars and bathed in sunlight from the open doors and high windows, had always seemed bright and welcoming. By night, the library appeared ghostly. Every step seemed to echo and even the familiar smell of papyrus and ink seemed otherworldly.

A faint glow emanated from behind a nearby row of shelves and Bhaskar made his way toward it. Before he was halfway there, a man stepped into the aisle. The lantern he held kept his face in shadow, but Bhaskar had no doubt.

“Hemhat.”

“You came.” The other man’s voice held relief.

Bhaskar rushed forward and embraced him. Up close, he could see deep lines of strain etched into Hemhat’s face, aging him beyond his years. “I thought you might be dead.”

“I had no way to reach you with that Medjay devil dogging your every step. Did you bring it?”

With all his heart, Bhaskar wished Anpu were here now, but he could not betray Hemhat. Still, he made a final effort. “Hemhat, are you sure this is the best way? The Commander is not so bad. I am sure if we took the sundial to him he would protect you.”

“You would be in jail now if you didn’t have the protection of your emperor,” Hemhat pointed out. “You are under constant guard as it is. I don’t know how you escaped him, my friend, but you should not have endangered yourself by coming. I should not have asked it of you, but I’m grateful you are here. Give me the cursed thing, and let us conclude this sorry business.”

Bhaskar wanted to continue to argue, but he could see it would make no difference. And, after all, he had no real assurances he could make to Hemhat.

“Wait here,” he said. Then he made his way deeper into the library. Even without the lantern, he had no trouble now. He had walked these aisles day after day. He passed scrolls by Euclid and Pythagorus, their positions as familiar to him as Mrigashira's journey across the sky. The highest shelf at the end of the row held the scrolls by Aristarchus, not quite as dusty after Bhaskar had taken them down and replaced them.

He found the scroll easily. Even in the dim light he could see it did not align exactly with the others. He removed it and placed it carefully on the floor, out of the way. Then, standing on tiptoe, he reached to the very back of the shelf. He had a moment of panic when he encountered nothing but empty air. A faint clatter sounded, so distant he barely noticed it on the edge of consciousness. Then his fingers brushed silk and he pulled the sundial from its hiding place. He unwrapped it and held it up, needing to trace the ancient glyphs a final time. A stray beam of moonlight caught the gold on the gnomon, and it gleamed as though lit from within. Then a shadow passed over the moon and the gold light disappeared into shadow. Bhaskar wound the silk back around the sundial.

He took a deep breath and started back to Hemhat.

As he stepped out from between the shelves, he finally became aware of the sound, so familiar he sometimes failed to notice it—the chink of ivory against ivory that only he could hear.

“Bhaskar, run!”

Instead, he froze at the sight that greeted him.

A knife rested under Hemhat’s chin. A muscular dark arm circled Hemhat’s body, pressing him back against a chiseled chest.

A wicked sword glinted along one side of Anpu’s white shenti. The commander’s voice was lethally calm. “Bhaskar, come here.”

“Anpu,” Bhaskar said. “Put the knife down.”

“This is not a negotiation, Bhaskar. I begged you to trust me. Even if you could not, I hoped you would do the right thing. Bring the artifact here. We will return to the palace and discuss what is to be done from there. You still have the protection of your emperor and I will plead with the temple for leniency. If the Ptolemies are merciful, you will be exiled rather than executed.”

He spoke without mercy. Bhaskar let the coldness of the words wrap around his heart, insulating it. He would deal with his heart later. “What about Hemhat?”

The knife’s tip pressed into the soft flesh under Hemhat’s chin, just enough to draw a bead of blood. Hemhat’s eyes darted to Bhaskar, silently pleading as a whimper escaped his lips.

“Hemhat is the thief who embroiled you in this mess. He’s lucky I haven’t gutted him already.” He was serious.

“There is, of course, another option,” came a new voice.

Callius stepped out of the shadows.

“Now I will finally see what you have been hiding, my friend. Whatever you have there, bring it here.”

“Callius, why are you here?” Bhaskar asked dully, no longer able to summon any further outrage or hurt.

“You should have trusted me with the full inscription while you had the chance. We could have shared the knowledge.”

Bhaskar kept silent. He had already shared the full inscription, but he wondered if Callius had been as forthcoming. He had been sure he was right about some of their later translations, yet Callius had steered him to different meanings, all the while pressing for the rest of the text.

“Callius,” Anpu had shifted slightly. He still held Hemhat, but his attention was on the newcomer. “Leave now and you may still see the sunrise.”

But Callius only laughed, the sound mocking. “Commander, I think it is you should leave. Or perhaps you want to meet your god in the Duat tonight.”

More men appeared silently from between the tall shelves, all armed.

Everything happened at once—Anpu flung Hemhat into one of the armed men, then pivoted to slide the knife into the heart of another. The other men rushed in, weapons raised, and the sound of steel meeting steel echoed off the walls. Someone grabbed Bhaskar’s arm, and he wrenched away just as Anpu’s knife embedded itself in the man’s chest. He ducked behind a column, clutching the sundial as the night dissolved into carnage. Anpu danced among the shadows, dealing out death with a brutal efficiency, but Bhaskar could see he was outnumbered.

The fight was over quickly, almost too fast to comprehend. Callius’s men closed in, disarming Anpu and forcing him to the ground, a sword poised to strike. The paralysis that had kept him frozen behind the column broke. In desperation, Bhaskar leapt to his feet.

“Wait! Stop!” He stepped out into the open, pulling the sundial from its cocoon of silk and holding it high.

Everyone froze.

“ Iret Ra, Wat Osiris ,” Anpu whispered, reverently.

Callius stared at the sundial, a fanatical hunger suffusing his face. “The Eye of Ra, Path of Osiris. I did not truly believe it had been found.”

“Let Anpu go,” Bhaskar commanded. “And you can have it.”

Callius gave an incredulous laugh. “You had your chance. Now I will take the sundial and be rid of this Medjay hound on my trail as well.”

“No, Callius, wait!” Bhaskar thought desperately. “I translated the rest. You were right, it contains a hidden spell tied to the movement of the heavenly bodies. Without my knowledge of celestial movements, you will never decipher it. Let Anpu live and I will teach it to you.”