The Treasure of Isis

Copyright 1998 by Christopher P. Jacobs

Babylon of Egypt, due to its strategic position where the Nile began to divide into the branches that made up the Delta, served as a regional Roman headquarters and a trade center. Ships from both the Mediterranean and from upper Egypt had to pass through on their way to the canal which led to the Red Sea. The town was not far from the pyramids and ancient burial grounds, which were always a tourist attraction, and was near the older Egyptian cities of Memphis and Heliopolis.

Chapter 5
(of 27)

His uncle and brother were bargaining with fruit merchants in Babylon's open-air market. They seemed to be taking forever to stock up on the supplies for the next leg of their journey. Why did they have to check out every table before starting to bargain, Marcus wondered. Food is food. There were more interesting places around here to explore. He looked around longingly. Another glance at his companions told him they would be some time yet.

Marcus slipped away discreetly from all of the produce and livestock that crowded the square and headed towards one of the alleys which opened onto it. Each alley was full of tiny shops, each of which in turn was brimming with fascinating things for sale. He strolled slowly past the carpet merchants, the leather merchants, the silk merchants, the linen merchants, the spice merchants, the perfume dealers, the glassware dealers, the brassware dealers, the copper and gold and silverware dealers, among many others, taking in all the colors and scents and sounds. If he happened to pause too long by one shop or another, its proprieter immediately invited him in for a cup of hot tea. Merely approaching a wine merchant or beer seller prompted loud offers of, "Come in! Try one cup! You won't be disappointed! Good price for a jar. Better for two!" When things like this would occur he would shake his head sheepishly and scurry along to the next shop. He noticed more alleyways leading off from time to time, most of them containing still more shops.

When he finally stopped and looked behind him, he could no longer see the opening onto the main square because of all the twists and turns in the narrow street. As he scanned his location he wasn't even sure if he was still on the same street he started into, there were so many seemingly identical streets leading off both sides. Had he unconsciously turned into one of them while he was preoccupied with all the different shops? He thought he had been going in a straight line, but now it was obvious he had no idea where he was. Perhaps he could ask for directions. No, that would show how foolish he had been. Unless, perhaps, he mentioned he was a visitor and paid a small gratuity to get instructions on how to reach some notable landmark, say the Temple of Isis, where he could again get his bearings. They would surely direct him through the square he had so recently exited and suddenly lost.

Marcus looked about and then checked his small purse for the few silver coins it contained. He did not notice that a dark figure had been following him for the past several minutes and was now lurking in the shadows of a nearby alley. There were no shops in the immediate vicinity, only blank walls with a few scattered doors to tenement housing, their windows one or two floors above. All the merchants were back about a hundred paces or more and beyond, where the street had made a sharp angle.

 

As they walked along the road from their headquarters towards Babylon, Barud turned to Gamal. "Look over there. That cluster of houses. One of those guys works in our fields. Nemrishem advanced him some money almost a year ago, quite a bit, actually, and he hasn't paid up anything yet."

"We're gonna need it pretty soon, the way things have been going," Gamal said. "Did Nemrishem forget about it or what?"

"I don't know. He always talks tough enough with us, but gets a little too soft-hearted with some people. He talked to that guy, oh, a couple of months ago, but still nothing. I think we should have a little talk with him ourselves. A serious talk. Business is business, as Nemrishem would say to us."

"It certainly couldn't hurt," agreed Gamal. "Just a friendly reminder. But we have to make it quick. I have an appointment at the docks at sundown. I think I'll be making a major sale with this last statuette from the tomb." He patted his cloak. "Some really dark guy I've sold to before. It pays to hang around the riverfront."

 

"And that's the way to buy fresh figs," said Nesi-Amen.

"Mm. They certainly were delicious." Pa-Ser was impressed.

"Be sure not to eat more than two or three at one time, or your body won't forgive you the next day," Nesi-Amen warned. "Now where did Marcus run off to? We've got to get going soon. The ship to Philae leaves tomorrow morning and we should check the passenger register before they close tonight. It's getting late."

"What if he doesn't buy his passage until the boat leaves?"

"That's always a possibility, but the temple personnel are usually more organized than that. And there's always the chance we might run into him somewhere along the riverfront and thus avoid an extra trip tomorrow."

"Ah. I hadn't thought of that."

They walked around the perimeter of the square, quickly scanning each alleyway that opened onto it, searching in vain for Marcus. "Wait." Something had caught Nesi-Amen's eye. "Let's stop here for a few moments. I hadn't seen this shop before." They entered a tiny room from one of the alleys a few paces from the main square.

"What is it?"

"This, my boy, is an antiquities dealer. We could find a clue to our destination here, although from the looks of it almost everything is probably a recent forgery designed for gullible tourists. That papyrus looks genuine. Let's see what it might tell us."

Just as Nesi-Amen's hand was about to touch the crumbling scroll, the shop's proprietor appeared and abruptly started speaking in Greek. "You like to buy antique? Ah, you have very good judgement. Very old. Very old. Once belonged to ancient pharaoh." He grabbed the papyrus and started to unroll it, while Nesi-Amen cringed at the rough treatment it was receiving. When the shop owner had flattened out a portion he pointed to a column and proudly announced, "It say here all about Isis and Osiris way back when Osiris was Pharaoh."

Nesi-Amen leaned closer to examine the fading scrawl and breathed a sigh of relief. Then he looked at Pa-Ser and winked. Pa-Ser looked at the document and grinned at his uncle. The text was in Greek, and not a very legible hand, at that. What they could read, both recognized as nothing more than a standard legal document, in this case an unusually long and detailed marriage contract from the time of Caesar Augustus. It was over 300 years old, but hardly what they were looking for.

Marcus continued slowly along the alley in the direction he believed led back to the square. He was also looking for somebody, anybody, who might tell him they way, even if they demanded payment for the information. He moved to tuck his purse back into its hiding place. All of a sudden a hand snatched the purse from his grasp and the startled Marcus saw a youthful figure in typical but colorful native peasant clothing, face concealed by a scarf, moving rapidly away from him. Before the startled victim could get out the words, "Hey! You, boy! Stop! Thief!" the figure had disappeared around a corner. Marcus ran as fast as he could in the same direction, cursing to himself, maddened by the injustice of it all. He had just been prepared to offer money for help, and now this! But by the time he reached the corner himself, the young assailant was nowhere to be seen. His heart seemed to stop for an instant, and then to pound even harder with a mixture of disappointment and outrage, which was only partially alleviated when he recognized the bustle of the marketplace at the end of this alley. Out of breath and downcast, he scuffed his sandals against the stone pavement as he headed in the direction of the square. As an afterthought, he paused and looked back from where he had just come. He almost thought he saw a head duck quickly into a doorway, but dismissed it as wishful thinking and continued on. A few steps later he turned around again and this time knew he had seen the unmistakable pattern of his attacker's robes disappear into the same doorway as before. His heart began to pound with excitement now, and he crept as silently as he could towards the doorway.

Step by step he edged closer and closer along the wall, but no one had yet emerged from the passage, now right beside him. Perhaps the door had not been locked after all, he thought. The thief could have gained access to the building, left by some other exit, and now be far away from here. That must have been what happened. Marcus breathed a little easier and relaxed, and resigned himself to his loss. Just then, from the doorway, a now-familiar scarf-covered face appeared directly in front of him, less than an arm's length away. Both figures were momentarily paralyzed with surprise, but the instant he saw the thief turn to bolt away Marcus lunged with all his might. He threw his arms around the thief and both fell to the ground, struggling wildly with each other. Marcus had been involved in one or two tavern brawls back home, but never had he contended with such a fierce fighter. The years of heavy labor he had spent on the farm served him well now, and his renewed sense of injustice fueled his passion. The two wrestled back and forth for several minutes on the dark, dirty street, rolling up against the alley wall to one side. Marcus noticed his opponent's protective scarf start to loosen and fall away. He quickly landed a powerful blow to the thief's exposed jaw, a blow whose force was compounded when it drove the thief's head against the stone wall. With a choked grunt, the thief slid down slowly and soon lay flat on the street, moaning softly. Oblivious to his own cuts and bruises, Marcus' pulse quickened as he beheld his handiwork and seated himself firmly upon his victim's abdomen, breathing heavily.

Regaining his composure, he began to search the thief's robes for his money purse. This boy seemed awfully young and delicate looking to be such a strong fighter, Marcus thought to himself. And he also seemed well-equipped for hiding his loot within his garments. There were folds of fabric everywhere, occasionally yielding small treasures which must have been some other robbery victim's belongings. Still Marcus had not found his own purse. He started to loosen a wide band of cloth around the thief's chest that appeared to be concealing something. When he thrust his hand under it to feel around for his purse, the thief suddenly groaned again and spoke. "You won't find anything of yours in there, boy," came a hoarse voice.

"Quiet, you!" Marcus raised his right fist while his left hand continued to grope. Then all at once he stopped, stared the thief in the face, and his own face turned deep red.

The thief smiled weakly. "As I was saying, everthing in there belongs to me. What you want is a bit lower down."

Marcus turned even redder and felt his ears get hot.

"Here, I'll guide you." She grasped his right arm and tried to move it under her cloak towards her waist.

At this Marcus stood up and stammered. "You're a... girl! I... I had no idea."

"I gathered as much. You're a good fighter. And you are actually embarassed. I like that."

Marcus blushed again.

"They call me 'Nemrishem'," said Nemrishem.

"A small sleeping lion'that's appropriate," Marcus mumbled, still taken aback.

"Actually it's more like 'little tiger' using a word from my native tongue," she said, her voice sounding stronger. She moved to sit up, then put her hands to her head, groaned, and lay back down. "By the gods, you hit hard." She let out a pained sigh and licked at a small trickle of blood flowing from the corner of her mouth. Then she reached under her garments, wriggling her hand with difficulty into the loincloth bound tightly around her waist. Shortly she pulled out the small coin purse Marcus had almost forgotten in the unexpected turn of events. "Here," Nemrishem shook the little leather bag, producing a faint jingling sound. "It certainly wasn't worth all the trouble for this. If you need it so bad you must be worse off than I am. And besides, you've earned it."

Marcus reached hesitantly for his purse, his eyes transfixed by Nemrishem's disheveled, prostrate figure. "Look... I, uh... I know it's not much, but if you really need it... you can keep it, I suppose. My uncle has some money, and..." He looked at her in all sincerity. Then he asked, "Can I help you up?"

Nemrishem gave another weak smile. She sat up with an effort and pushed the small money bag into Marcus' hand. When he moved to refuse it, she said, "Don't worry about me. I can get along. I have a few things I can sell. By tonight I plan to be substantially richer. I'm meeting someone at sundown who..." She broke off. Why was she telling a complete stranger all of this? Especially one who moments before had been locked in seemingly mortal combat with her. She watched him slip his purse under his cloak and wrap a waistband tightly around it. She rubbed her head once again and then reached both her arms up to him. "All right. Help me up now."

Marcus pulled her to her feet, marveling at her strong grasp. Then he thought to himself, of course she'd be strong. She nearly beat me up. "I'm Marcus," he said to her, and quickly looked at the ground. "I'm here with my uncle and brother but I seem to have lost them. Well, actually I got lost myself and couldn't find my way back to the marketplace. And then you..." He looked up at her, rather hoping for a word of sympathy.

Nemrishem was rearranging her garments and replacing the scarf around her face. She looked at him and almost rolled her eyes involuntarily, but caught herself in time. "Yes. Well. The market is back that way." She pointed towards the mouth of the alley with its clearly visible traffic busily crossing back and forth. "I hope you find them."

"Thanks." Marcus smiled and started to move back towards the square. Then he paused and looked at her. "Are you... going the same way?"

Once more Nemrishem almost betrayed her growing exasperation with this country boy's new attentions to her. Once more she decided to be tactful. "I... must prepare for my meeting. I have some things that must be done first." Then she turned serious. "Now, look. You are the only person in the world who knows I am not a man. Not even my closest associates guess the truth." She put her hands on his shoulders. "Do not give me away. I am asking you. I may be in a position to reward you some time. Perhaps even soon."

Marcus looked confused, but was flattered by her touch and especially by her confidential manner with him. It made him feel an inner pride in the secret knowledge he had of her. "Why do you..."

"Please," said Nemrishem. "I beg you."

"Don't worry," Marcus said reassuringly. "I will tell no one. But you don't have to give me anything. It will our secret."

"Thanks." Nemrishem could see he meant what he said. "Now you should go. I will leave later. It would not be good for you to be seen with me." She turned him around and gently pushed him towards the marketplace.

Somewhat reluctantly Marcus walked away. When he had reached the end of the alley he turned to look at her one last time, but she was nowhere to be seen. He stepped into the marketplace, scuffing his feet in the dust, just a little bit dejected. When he looked up, to his amazement and relief he saw his uncle and brother approaching him. He ran towards them.

"Here you are, finally!" Nesi-Amen chided. "We were ready to go to the docks without you. Now hurry!"

"But..." Marcus protested.

"What happened to you?" asked Pa-Ser. "You look a mess."

"It wasn't all my fault. I was looking in shops and then I got lost and then robbed and in a fight and..."

Nesi-Amen shook his head. "What did I tell you about exploring back alleys by yourself?"

"At least I got my money back. And I met..." Marcus broke off, a tinge of embarassment returning to his cheeks.

"That's fine," said Nesi-Amen. "But it's time to come along now."

"You what? Who?" Pa-Ser said to Marcus.

"Nothing. Nobody." Marcus suddenly remembered his pledge of silence and felt guilty for almost breaking it.

Less than an hour later the three were among the hustle and bustle of the busy river port, stepping off the ship that was in the process of loading to leave for Philae the next day.

"It looks like our Mer-Nub has not yet booked passage back to the temple," Nesi-Amen said. "We will have to return here by dawn before the boat leaves to see if he is going then. If not, the next boat is in three days."

"It will be smaller and faster, so there's a good chance he will be waiting for that one, anyway, isn't there?" Marcus suggested.

"Quite possible, my boy," said his uncle. "But meanwhile, I have a meeting at sundown which might prove fruitful. You two stay around here for awhile and see if he ever shows up. Return to our lodgings in a few hours. I will meet you there."

"But what..." Marcus started to ask.

"You will recognize him if you see him. Tall and very dark-skinned, fine facial features, high cheekbones. And of course, he will be dressed in Temple garb from Philae. You needn't even speak to him. Simply determine whether he will be leaving tomorrow. Follow him to his lodgings, if not, so we can find him again. Now I must be going." Nesi-Amen hurried off.

Marcus turned to his brother. "Is he always like that?"

"He does seem more preoccupied than usual," Pa-Ser admitted. "But if he thinks you are reliable he will often just tell you to do something and then go off on his own business, expecting to find it done when he returns."

"This will be fun," said Marcus. "Kind of exciting."

"Oh?"

"Sure! Until we arrived in Babylon, I had never seen so many people in one place. I suppose there were more back in Alexandria, but I was too young to notice. There was always an adult with me, so it was never so overwhelming before."

"There's an adult with you now, isn't there? And you're an adult yourself, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but it's different. We can just blend in to the crowd and watch what is going on all around us. Look at that kid over there. What's he up to? Do you think he looks suspicious?"

"Where?"

"Right there by the ramp to the boat we just got off."

"Oh. Could be. Looks like he's trying to find someone." "It also looks like he's hiding something under his cloak."

"You're right. Don't lose sight of him. Wait a minute. I just saw some guy duck behind a corner who seemed to be staring right at that kid. Something is going on."

"Let's try to get a little closer, but keep out of their direct sight. Look there! He sees someone."

"What do you know! It must be our man. He fits the description perfectly. And behind that wall'the other man just stuck his head out. He is watching them, too. I wonder who he is?"

"That kid is taking our man behind a stack of crates over there. I bet he's trying to sell him some stolen tomb loot, just like Uncle said."

"I just hope it is the statue that we need."

"Me, too. Now look," said Marcus. "They're coming out in the open. The boy looks pretty happy. He must have made a sale. But our man does not seem particularly pleased. They're splitting up. We should each follow one."

"That other guy is going after the kid, now'look!"

"Our man sees that, too. He's rushing off in the opposite direction. You follow him and I'll see what happens to our little black marketeer. Hurry! We'll meet back at our room.

 

The sun was big and red on the horizon across the Nile. Nesi-Amen disembarked from the small boat he had rented, and looked about the quiet, seemingly deserted island which lay between the river's western bank and another, longer island that was full of farmland. This island was also crammed with fields, but everyone must now be at their evening meal, he surmised. He detected a small village in the distance, near the island's center. That was where the mysterious note had directed him to go. Several paces from where he landed a narrow footpath led to the small island's interior. On foot he should just make it there by sundown.

As he got closer to the village he could see on its left edge the two small mud brick buildings he was looking for. Their tan, unpainted walls made them stand out from the dozen or so bright white structures which housed the tiny population of the island. Soon he was able to make out a dark figure in the shadows between the abandoned huts. The sun had just set, making it difficult to see. Then the figure took note of him, moved for a moment into an open area, made a furtive beckoning gesture, and again retreated into the shadows. Nesi-Amen quickened his pace and presently saw a door he thought the figure had entered. A small, flickering oil lamp on a table inside revealed someone robed from head to foot in a dirty, if colorful peasant pattern, face covered by a scarf. He thought he recognized the fabric's design from the marketplace earlier that day. Perhaps that was how the papyrus scrap with directions to this meeting had inexplicably materialized in his coin purse.

A raspy voice broke the silence. "You found my message, I see. The scribe I hired earned his pay."

"Where is the rest of the scroll this fragment came from?" demanded Nesi-Amen. "I certainly hope you did not tear it all up into note paper. How many others are there and when can I see them?"

"Show me your gold first," the stranger demanded right back. "We can talk of scrolls when I know it will be worth my time."

Nesi-Amen dug out his coin purse and produced a small gold coin. "This is for talking. If your information proves worth my time, we can negotiate. I expect you are fully aware that there is more where this came from, as you or your agent were so gracious as to remove nothing when inserting your communication. I was highly impressed. Such a sense of honesty among thieves intrigues me. Were it not for that demonstration of ethics I never would have decided to come here alone as you instructed. I understand why you might wish to keep your face covered. But do you have a name that I may know with whom I am conducting business?"

"People call me Nemrishem."

"Ah. A little tiger, are you? Your speech betrays you to be of non-Egyptian eastern extraction. Arabia, perhaps? Palestine? Or merely semitic ancestors?"

"You ask too many questions that are no concern of yours." Nemrishem produced a large scroll from under heavy folds of fabric. "Here is the rest of the roll that you already have the corner from. My agents reported that someone of your description was unusally interested in scrolls, and I wanted to prove to you my claims are genuine."

Nesi-Amen eagerly took the scroll and gently unrolled it on the table, fitting the torn corner into its original position. He examined the text closely in the dim light and gave a satisfied nod.

"Can you really make any sense out of all those little lines and pictures? What is it, anyway?" Nemrishem was honestly curious, and actually seemed caught up in the obvious aura of excitement Nesi-Amen was starting to show as he perused the manuscript.

"Indeed, my boy," Nesi-Amen replied. "This is a document I have not seen in many years, long before you were born, and have never read completely." He had no intention of explaining the encoded information about the wherabouts of the treasure-laden tomb he hoped was still undisturbed. "A collection of prayers and magical spells for the dead, intended to insure a happy afterlife. It came from the tomb of my childhood teacher, which you, it seems, or someone you know, have discovered. How much do you want for it?"

Nemrishem felt a bit uncomfortable, and said apologetically, "Look, this is how I make my living. As far as I'm concerned when somebody dies they will have no need for anything anymore, and it's both a crime and a waste to bury things that living people can use."

"Believe me'I'm not judging you, son. And surprising as it may seem to you, I have recently come to the indentical opinion myself. I'm willing to pay well for whatever remains in this particular tomb."

Nemrishem's eyes brightened.

Nesi-Amen went on. "This, by pure chance, is the one piece I hoped would be intact, and it appears to be so. It tells me exactly what I wanted to learn."

Nemrishem peered over his shoulder, squinting in vain at the columns of carefully drawn hieroglyphs and the colorfully painted pictures stretched out above them.

Nesi-Amen continued to examine the scroll, nodding slightly from time to time. "There were also a number of statues, three small ones in particular..."

Nemrishem cut him off. "The last statue, I'm afraid, is being sold tonight. Perhaps at this very moment. This scroll and a box of some more are all that are left now, except for the mummy itself."

"Hmm... Most unfortunate. You do remember a set of three statues, about a foot high, all gold with square wooden bases that looked identical?"

"I think so; a woman sitting down, wearing horns on her head, a man with a falcon's head, and, let's see, a man with his hands crossed on his chest, and that had a tall hat and two feathers beside it?"

"Precisely. You have a fine memory. Can you also remember who bought them. Is the last statue you're selling one of them? I will make it well worth your while if I can recover all three."

Nemrishem's eyes brightened again and then frowned in thought. "Well, they are all gone. The woman went some months ago. The other two just in the past week. The statue tonight is a standing woman who looks like she has a small basket on her head. It's smaller than the others, but heavier. Must be solid gold, so it will get a good price. At least it better. We need it right now."

"But the buyers'can you recall them?"

"Let me think. The woman sold to a dark guy, looked Nubian."

"Yes. That checks out."

"He may be the same one who's buying tonight's statue, too, if that helps any."

"I suspected as much. Yes. Go on."

"The other two were just a few days ago. A Greek tourist and a Roman soldier. I remember the Greek. He said he was going to visit Rhodes and Byzantium next, before returning to Athens. A really rich guy. He got the tallest statue'the one with the fancy headdress."

"Osiris."

"What?"

"Nothing. And the third? The bird-headed man?"

"That one's the Roman's. He should still be with his unit, I would think. It's the one with the eagle head on its flag. I guess that's why he wanted it. A mascot or something. Although I know it's not an eagle's head. Maybe he can't tell the difference. Or maybe he just liked the body. Very muscular. What I really remember is that he would not pay much for it. Claimed it was too light to be real gold. It wasn't very heavy for its size. None of those three were, really. Gilded bronze, I guess."

"Oh, they're gold, all right, my boy. Just not solid. But that's another story. I'll track him down tomorrow. Now what about the rest of the papyri?"

"I brought one more with me," Nemrishem said, pulling it from more voluminous folds of cloth. "The others, plus the box, I can have here tomorrow at this time."

Nesi-Amen examined this scroll, expressing satisfaction. "Yes. I remember this one. I copied out most of it myself. Here is some gold, I believe you will agree it is a generous amount, for these two, and a down payment on the remainder." He put a firm but gentle hand on Nemrishem's shoulder and his voice turned more serious. "If you are returning to the tomb for them, son, I should like to accompany you. I was last there at the age of eleven, at the time it was sealed. I made the trip for the burial all the way from Alexandria and all by myself, except for two funerary priests and the mummy."

Nemrishem's eyes frowned for a moment while she muttered, half to herself. "Eleven. I was about eleven when I stumbled across that tomb. That must be six years ago, now..." She turned directly to Nesi-Amen. "Yes, of course. It is only right you should come."

"You're older than you appear, young man," remarked Nesi-Amen. "And you have an inner understanding far beyond your years."

Nemrishem blushed behind her layers of scarves and robes. She felt an unaccustomed pleasure at the compliment. For a passing instant she almost wished she were not disguised as a boy. She looked hard at Nesi-Amen. "And that burial must have been far more recent than I thought, for it looked to me like it was from ancient times, yet you are in your prime. You cannot be much beyond thirty. Surely forty at most."

Now it was Nesi-Amen's turn to blush. This young boy was an expert at flattery. But then he would have to be a good con artist in his line of work. Still, he was able to recognize ancient craftsmanship for what it was. And he seemed to have a genuine concern for the way he did things. With the proper training, perhaps he could be... No. What was he thinking! This was just a ragged young tomb robber out to make a profit from the dead. "You are more than generous with your compliments, my dear boy. A priest of Amen thanks you from the bottom of his heart. Now when do we leave? I am most anxious to obtain those documents."

Nemrishem snapped back to her normal, businesslike manner. "We leave now. It is dark and we will not be noticed by prying eyes. If we can 'find' a horse on the western bank we can be there and back before midnight. If we must walk, it may be dawn. Are you sure you're up to it?"

Nesi-Amen slapped Nemrishem heartily on the back. "You forget, my boy'I am 'in my prime.' Let us hurry!"

Nemrishem laughed, put out the lamp, and ran out the door, Nesi-Amen in hot pursuit.

 

It was getting late. Marcus and Pa-Ser had followed their respective quarries and reported back to each other at their room several hours ago. Pa-Ser had quickly overtaken Mer-Nub, and introduced himself as Nesi-Amen's nephew. He related his experience to his brother.

"He seemed pretty skeptical of my explanation, at first, thinking I was simply after gold instead of a genuine statue with hieroglyphic inscriptions. But then who would expect anyone my age to be able to understand the ancient writing? I didn't blame him. When I recited a passage from the 'Lamentations of Isis' and then mentioned about sleeping in the Temple of Isis on Philae, he finally started to warm up to me. He cautiously showed me the statue. It was Nephthys'not the Osiris or Horus we need to find. Then I read the inscription on the base, and he was amazed, and suddenly it was like I was a long-lost friend. And he wants to meet the noted Nesi-Amen. He has heard of his reputation for a long time. I told him to call on us tomorrow night, but I'm worried something has happened to Uncle. He should have been back shortly after we arrived."

"Oh, he may have just got sidetracked if his meeting yielded what he was hoping for," Marcus reassured him. "But our poor little statue-seller has been thrown in prison. That guy after him turned out to be some kind of inspector or something, some government official or other. He grabbed the kid and started arguing with him about selling gold statues, trying to get him to tell how many he had, how many he had sold, and who bought them. The kid had nerve, I must admit, but it looked like he was starting to waver when the inspector guy dragged him away and was telling him he'd be rotting in a Roman dungeon if they didn't feed him to the lions first."

Marcus and Pa-Ser finally decided to have their evening meal without their uncle. As the moon rose higher in the sky outside their window they tried to hide their worry with several games of Senet. Then they took turns reading aloud from The Grouch, a favorite comic play by Menander, until they finally fell asleep in their chairs.

 

On Sarapeon's instructions, Photis and Smettet leaned forward until their three heads almost met over the small, flickering flame floating in the bowl of oil. They joined hands in a circle as they peered into the orange tongue of fire, and their faces and shoulders were now the only things illuminated in the room.

"This is exciting, don't you think? You know, you look really spooky," Photis said quietly to Smettet. "Like a ghost or something. You both do. I wonder if..."

"Shh!" Smettet hissed. "Do you want to spoil the ceremony?"

"The spell is not yet broken," Sarapeon chanted in the same eerie tone of voice he had been using earlier. "It is a strong spell, but you must both continue to concentrate." With his foot, Sarapeon tapped Demetrios in his position hidden under the table, giving him the signal to slink out unnoticed into the next room and get ready for his next role in their midnight performance.

"Ablanathanalba, yoh, yoh, yoh," chanted Sarapeaon. "Ast, Asar, Hor, Hat-hor, Mosa, Yasu, Imhotep, by Ptah and Khnum and Amoun-Rioh, by Yaldabaoth and all the Aeons, I summon thee and command thee to speak through the lips of this boy." Sarapeon looked up to the ceiling while he spread his arms apart. He moved a hand over the flame and rubbed his thumb and forefingers together. At this, the flame turned blue and jumped higher for a second.

"Ooh!" Photis jerked her head back and gave a small squeak of surprise. "What boy? What's going to happen now?"

"Shh!" Smettet frowned at her chidingly.

Sarapeon gave no answer but only stared between Smettet and Photis. Demetrios had come up directly behind them and was holding a small lamp under his chin. As soon as he stirred, Photis spun around on her seat and let out a shriek at the unexpected sight of him. Smettet gave a start but then smiled to himself at his own reaction.

"The boy is in a trance," Sarapeon's voice resonated musically. "Take his lamp from him and give him the bowl of burning oil. Lead him into that circle on the floor and sit him on the four new bricks in its center. Now open the shutters on the window so the rays of the full moon can fall upon him. Next we must all rest our fingers on his head and recite together to force the spirit to reveal its presence and speak to us."

"Will it be a good spirit or a bad spirit?" asked Photis. "What if it's a bad spirit that comes? What if it doesn't want to tell us anything? How do you make it tell you what you want to know? And how does it know to go into that boy? Will it hurt him? What if it goes into one of us instead and doesn't want to leave? How hard is it to drive out evil spirits? I hope it's a good spirit."

"Hush!" said Smettet. "Will you keep quiet? He knows exactly what he's doing. You're the one who wanted to come here, remember?"

"I know, I know," Photis whined softly. "But I'm starting to get a little scared of what might happen."

"Be still, my child," Sarapeon commanded in a reassuring voice. "The boy has been through this a number of times. And it is your own guardian spirit we shall be addressing."

"Oh," said Photis. "That should be all right, I guess. But are there going to be any more little amulets or statues moving around by themselves?"

"Only if I recite the correct spell," Sarapeon explained. "That was the first part of the ceremony. This spell is an invocation for the spirit to come into the room and speak to us. His words will come from the mouth of the boy. You have nothing to fear, my child."

Photis placed her fingers on Demetrios' head. "All right. I'm ready." She turned to Smettet. "Are you ready? Do you know what you want to ask? Good. Let's do it, then."