Day 10 of month Wepet-renpet in Akhet, the season of the inundation
Hori had adjusted to life in the weryt. Under different circumstances, he’d have much appreciated the knowledge he acquired here. As a doctor he could have used these new insights—if only he still were one and not a prisoner. As is it stood, he could neither pass on his findings nor put them to good use, and that made him grow more irritable. He just wanted to smash himself against the walls of the weryt, bang his head against the stones until they yielded or his skull burst.
Not knowing what was going on in the world of the living was the worst torture though. His imagination conjured up horrific scenarios, and the more days passed without news from Nakhtmin, the more restless he became. If only he could investigate himself! His friend might overlook things, which he himself could have noticed. Seven days since Hori found the last message under the rock. Nakhtmin might have fallen prey to the murderer as well. No, he discarded the idea. They couldn’t have brought his body to the weryt without him noticing.
During the afternoon wash in the cleansing house, he sometimes asked the crew purifying the corpses if any young girls had been brought to the House of Death. At first they mocked him for his unusual interest, but soon that became boring, and they realized Hori had no sexual interest in these bodies. They knew his origins and about the pharaoh’s strange sentence since news traveled fast in such a tight-knit, isolated community.
Kheper once explained, “Our friend here has already had two young women from his circle of acquaintances on the table. He hasn’t lost his ties to the world of the living yet, so you should understand his inquisitiveness.” Unknowingly, he’d given Hori the perfect excuse for further questions and the statement was close enough to the truth.
Thus Hori learned that quite some time before his arrival, young girls from noble families, who might fit the pattern of the killer, had been brought to the weryt. Two cases seemed particularly interesting and warranted closer investigation. To Hori’s dismay, his colleagues wasted little thought on what may have caused a death. Without any ties to the world outside, one corpse was like any other. So there could have been more victims of the murderer he was hunting—without anyone having noticed. His tenacious questions led the men to tell him of their own account about cases that might interest Hori: all men and women from noble families close to the palace, as well as any young people without visible cause of death.
All the information rather confused him instead of clearing things up. And it certainly didn’t chase away the feeling of helplessness, which rose like the waters of the Nile.
Annoyed, Hori slipped into his sandals and headed for the anointment chamber, where Kheper already waited to instruct him in the deeper secrets of the process that turned a deceased into an akh, a transfigured person.