Cursed Times - Only Yesterday! Sequel to Wattys 2015 winner!

Chapter 9 - Trueth: Scheming

'The Lord Imhotep will be with you in a short while,' the servant said, shutting the garden gate behind Trueth and her company. She had asked the man for some refreshments; her friend was still looking far too haggard for her liking. As a result, a selection of cheese and fruit had been artistically displayed next to a reflection pool mirroring the spectacular colours of the evening skies. Only the silhouettes of lilies floating on the surface marred the effect.

'This place is so beautiful,' Trueth said. Carefully, she removed a paw from the tasselled spread the food had been placed on. Blondie retreated to her lap and continued staring at the food as if willing it to teleport toward his muzzle.

'Yet you do not wish to be here.' Seisi carefully wiped his mouth with a moist cloth.

I do like his hands, Trueth thought. Strong and slim, they could belong to a piano player, or—in this case—a harpist. She sighed. 'I don't know what to do.'

'Murder!' Metjen slammed the gate into the garden wall and strode towards them. 'Can you imagine that? They just cut his throat!'

'You're not what I want,' Trueth said.

'Good,' Metjen said. 'About time you realised that.'

'You are still alive, my friend,' Seisi said.

'Why wouldn't I be?'

'That's amazing, I don't know how he manages to escape all his enemies,' Trueth said. 'Can you be a bit more explicit? Who's dead?'

'Our high priest.' Metjen air-seated himself at Seisi's side.

Seisi shot bolt upright. 'What? Why him?'

'I've got no clue.' Metjen grabbed a handful of grapes and started eating. 'But he was decidedly deceased when I found him.'

A tall figure threw a shadow over the impromptu picnic. Imhotep, High Priest of Thoth and guardian of the people, was in his early sixties, his salt and pepper hair cut with almost military precision. The Al-Nour family disagreed on what to consider his most scary feature—gleaming hazel eyes, a baritone that spoke volumes without decibels—or his ruthless determination to serve the light, even if it had come at the cost of a cherished daughter's life.

'Do you want to bring shame on us all, Metjen? What are you doing here when your duty lies in the temple?'

As she had to hoist a heavy cat as well as herself, Trueth was slower to jump up from the floor than her two companions. All three of them bowed, their hands either crossed in front of their chests or clutching a solid feline. Seisi's genuflection was lower than hers or Metjen's. Blondie, however, chose to yawn his welcome.

Imhotep inclined his head. As usual, his face was impossible to read but its very stillness conveyed his opinion of Metjen's behaviour.

'I've just come from the house of Ra,' his multiple grandson protested. 'Ptahmes told me to go away.'

'Why am I not surprised.' Trueth caught herself. Fortunately, Imhotep appeared not to have heard her.

'This makes no sense. You are a Golden One; your duty is to partake in the rituals required to cleanse the temple and elect a new prophet,' he said.

Trueth wondered whether the head honchos had each other on the mental equivalent of a short dial and noticed when somebody went into permanent radio silence. How else would Imhotep have known of the demise of his colleague?

'I'm afraid, I haven't read up on all the dogma yet,' said Metjen. 'But that guy should know better.' His features had taken on stone Pharaoh mode, matching his ancestors' aloofness.