“Stop!” Kepi ran to the riverbank and shook the stick at them. “Stop, thieves! Stop!”
The current carried the little boat quickly to the center of the river. The bigger boy steered with a paddle while the younger one fiddled with Babu—tying him tight.
“That baboon is Tehuti in disguise!” Kepi shouted. “You’re cursed!” That was a downright lie, but Kepi was desperate. Father told a story in which the god Tehuti disguised himself as a baboon and went into Nubia. If these two boys really were Nubian, and if they knew the tale and recognized Tehuti’s name, maybe they’d be so frightened, they’d let Babu go. “Tehuti!” she shouted. “Tehuti! Tehuti! Tehuti!”
Both boys paddled vigorously now.
Kepi ran and ran. The back of her head ached where it had smacked the ground. Her stung finger throbbed. But she ran hard. A fast person could outrun a boat, and Kepi was fast.
Those boys didn’t scare her. Kepi was sure the littler one had head butted her; he’d never have been strong enough to slam her to the ground like that with just his fists. And while the big one looked strong, he might be a coward. After all, he’d stayed at the boat and left all the dirty work to the littler one. Kepi would throttle both boys good if she could only get to them. But the water was deep, and Kepi wasn’t a good swimmer like Nanu was. Besides, the water hid crocodiles, and even though it was still only midday, if a girl happened to step on his back, a hungry crocodile might not wait till dinnertime.
Well, she’d just have to outwit the boys. They would come to shore sooner or later—and as long as it was on her side of the river, she could catch them.
She ducked behind plants as she ran so the boys wouldn’t see her if they looked. This section of the floodplain was cultivated with barley, wheat, and flax pretty much continually all the way to the big city of Wetjeset-Hor. The ground was soft and her feet were strong. She could do this.
Now and then the little boat disappeared from sight, and Kepi had to run harder until it was in sight again. The sun wasn’t that hot, but she was moving so fast, she worked up a lather. Sweat drops burned her eyes.
How could they go that fast? The boat was made of bundled reeds lashed together and curved upward at both ends—like the kind Egyptians used, but even more narrow and not quite so long. A boat that shape would certainly travel the rapids better. But the boat seemed to travel the open river better, too. It skimmed along northward as though it was going with the wind instead of against it. She was falling farther and farther behind.
There was only one chance—if the boys were stopping at Wetjeset-Hor, she might be able to get them.
The fields stopped abruptly, and Kepi found herself in an open area that held circular stone structures arranged around large boulders. There was a place like this near where Kepi lived, so she recognized what it was: a small cemetery—the kind from long ago. The boulders were natural to the earth, but the circular stones marked graves. Kepi pressed her lips together hard to keep from shuddering. Who knew what was under the ground? Father said that long ago they put bodies right in the earth, without coffins or even reed mats wrapped around them. Sometimes the floods would loosen them, and when the waters receded, bones would litter the area.
Kepi sucked on a lock of her hair and straightened up to full height. She walked tall like that, eyes on the ground, and picked her way carefully, to show her respect for the dead. She wouldn’t tread on a single bone.
Once she had passed the last grave marker, she looked ahead on the river. The little boat was out of sight! She barreled through thickets, paying no attention to the thorns that scratched at her arms.
A loud hiss stopped her. A huge ibis stood right in Kepi’s path, not two body lengths away. She stared; from the bird’s long, curved beak hung a glistening white rope. The ibis fanned out his tail, stretched his curvy neck long and straight, and erected his crest. Specks of blood sparkled on his black feet. Oh! That rope was an animal’s nerve. A big animal.
“Hello, ibis,” said Kepi in a friendly voice, though she couldn’t hold back her tremble. After all, it was a crime to disturb an ibis. They protected the crops and ate the eggs of crocodiles. “Please, let me pass. Thieves took my baboon, and I have to hurry.”
The bird gave a cackling cry: Te-hu te-hu te-hu te-hu!
“Tehuti?” breathed Kepi. In Father’s stories the god Tehuti came not just in the form of a baboon, but also in the form of an ibis. But this couldn’t be the god Tehuti in disguise. It couldn’t. The gods never showed themselves to Kepi.
Kepi gave the bird wide berth as she walked. The bird just watched her. Once she was past, she whispered, “Thank you.” She wanted to move quickly again now. But the thickets seemed to grow ever more dense. She pushed her way through until she suddenly burst out on the other side.
It was as though she had entered a different world. A giant pile of rot spread before her. The stench was so unexpected, she gagged. Two more ibises poked around in the carcass of an ox. That’s where the nerve must have come from. The ox clearly hadn’t been killed for food, since his whole body had been left. What a waste. Kepi had never tasted ox; it was far too expensive a meat. Her family ate goat on holidays, but fish the rest of the time. This ox had died recently; it was in better shape than the other carcasses. The remains right beside it she recognized as a ram only with difficulty. This was a dump for animal bodies. Crows hopped through, stealing from one another.
A hand stuck out from under a clutter of feathers and tails. It was curled up and dried out, but a human hand for sure.
Kepi clutched her stomach and doubled over till she was in a squat. Her village had a refuse pile at the outskirts. Every village did. But human remains were never in them. That poor person, disposed of like trash. No one could come visit his grave; he’d die the second death, the death of being forgotten. Kepi rocked on her heels.
When she finally dared to look around again, her eyes met those of a cat sitting on the other side of the ram carcass. Its eyes turned away, and it pounced. Kepi heard a death screech. The crows screamed and took to the air. The cat trotted off with a rat caught in its jaws. The crows quickly settled back down to their squabbling.
A vulture wheeled overhead. Two black kites glided high above him. The tips of their wings spread like greedy fingers. How could the sky look so clean and fresh, all clear blue and white, when the earth below it was a slime of blood and gore?
Te-hu te-hu te-hu! The giant ibis now pushed through the bushes and stepped into the pile of rot. He eyed Kepi.
Kepi gulped. The bird looked like he was going to chase her. That snapped her to attention. The city of Wetjeset-Hor had to be close. If only the boys had stopped there . . . She stood and picked her way carefully past the refuse pile, then broke into a run.
The mud-brick buildings of the town appeared immediately. Kepi stayed near the water, but she couldn’t keep herself from glancing up the narrow streets, so full of people and carts and geese and goats and sheep. She came to the city only for special occasions, and never alone. It would have been a thrill to stop and gape, if only this wasn’t such an urgent mission. Maybe once she got Babu, they could take a little while to marvel at the variety of pots and cloths and hides and jewelry and foods—at all of it, before starting home again. Father and Mother couldn’t fault her for that.
A string of fishing boats was docked along the river, their harpoons cleaned and drying in the sun. And trade boats, too. There were so many in so many sizes. Kepi inspected them as she wove her way among men in noisy conversation.
And there was the little reed boat, bobbing between two fishing boats. Kepi crept closer. The younger boy was nowhere to be seen, but the older boy lay in the bottom of the boat, on his back with his eyes closed. A small handheld drum lay beside his head. His left hand rested on his chest; his right hand was hidden from her sight. The blue marks on his abdomen showed clearly now—two parallel patterns of slash marks, as though ticking off years. Or conquests. Something about this boy’s posture—maybe just the length of him, maybe the definition of his arm and leg muscles, maybe all of it together—gave Kepi the sense that he was exceptionally strong. Her skin turned to gooseflesh.
Along the side of the boy closest to Kepi was a cloth covering various lumps. Kepi watched, hoping the cloth would move. She dared another step closer.
The boy’s eyes opened. There had been no special noise to wake him—it just happened. He squinted against the sun and pushed himself up and finally saw Kepi. Instantly his right hand appeared, with a knife!