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