Page 22 of Secrets in a Sandstorm

It dawns on me why I am the deadweight. The buffer between corrupt official and thief is no longer needed.

I am no longer needed.

The scribe will liaise directly with Ay.

No doubt he sees Ay only as a thief, not as the craftsman he is. Or the man. The lover.

I stare at the flames, not sure what my next move will be. I have no weapons with which to fight, and Ay only has his flesh. And flesh is a poor shield against swords and spears.

Ay catches my gaze and gives a very slight shake of his head as if to tell me not to do anything. It is better we walk out of here alive and make a new plan.

“I do not understand,” I say slowly. I cannot think of what else to say. There are three soldiers and the scribe, and only one exit. Two of the soldiers press their weapons to Ay’s skin. I do not know if it is sweat or blood rolling over his chest. Either way, I would lick it up.

My love, my god, should not be kneeling before them. He only kneels atmyfeet.

“This hippo now works for me.” The scribe grabs Ay’s hair and yanks him closer to his crotch, and his grin becomes a leer. “I wonder if he will work as hard for me as he does you.”

Fury swells my heart, and I pray the crocodiles eat his lips, his tongue, and his cock.

How dare this scribe come here and disrupt our arrangement. How dare he harm Ay and suggest that he is only good for serving.

“He is not a whore. He works for love.” I fail to keep the rage out of my voice. I am a cobra dancing, waiting to attack something much bigger and more dangerous. All I need is an opening.

The scribe laughs. “Love?”

“I pity the man who diminishes what even the gods desire.” But then, love requires selflessness, and I now see the scribe’s greed has convinced him of his own immunity. But even corrupt officials can be caught. And we have saved enough to pay another official to ensure the scribe’s downfall. Then we will flee, and if we live as beggars, I do not care. I will sleep on stones with the stars as my sheets as long as Ay is beside me.

All we need to do is escape the cave.

“Do not pity me, priest, because the gods are favoring me tonight.”

“Tonight. But will they smile on you tomorrow? Or when your heart is weighed, and you are judged?”

His face hardens. “This priest has admitted to tomb robbing and is making threats. Arrest him.”

One guard walks around the flames and stalks toward me as though expecting me to attack. I have no weapons…

I step back, and Bast bounces against my thigh.

…but I have a goddess.

I pull out the statuette and hold it in my fist, ready to fight as I murmur a prayer to Bast and any god who happens to be watching this tableau.

“Be calm, Djau,” my love murmurs.

“Be quiet.” The scribe shoves Ay, which is like shoving a boulder, and Ay barely sways. “You have killed a man. It is by my grace that you will not be charged with murder.”

“He breathes,” Ay says softly, as though he can reason with the scribe. “Collect your gold and let us be. My men will not work for you.”

“You will make them,” the scribe snaps.

“I can’t. They are free men who choose what risks they take. The priest’s blessing goes a long way to calming theirworries,” Ay keeps his voice level and calm. He does not anger quickly. His moods change like the seasons, where I am like a mouse, first one way and then another.

We are two halves, incomplete alone as there must be balance.

“Then I will find you another priest,” the scribe hisses. “If you do not work, you will be arrested for tomb robbing.”

The guard grips my arm and walks me closer to my love.

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