Free House of Dreams by Pauline Gedge Page B

eyes that had narrowed and were watching me carefully.
    Thank all the Gods my hands were behind my back, for before I could stop myself I was feeling for the amulet my mother sometimes lent me. It was of the Goddess Nephthys giving power to the chen sign that protected the wearer from all evil and I wished I had stolen it before setting out that night. But it was not on my wrist. Now I was defenceless before this monster, this creature from the Underworld, and I knew in a flash that if I showed horror or any fear he would order me killed at once. Those blood-filled eyes told me so. My fingers twined around each other in an agony of effort not to scream, to remain still, to hold that loathsome gaze. He sat immobile, staring back at me, and then he smiled.
    “Very good,” he said softly. “Oh, very good indeed. There is courage beneath that impudent exterior. Come closer. My eyes are weak.” On legs trembling with fatigue I walked up to him, and as I grew closer the smile faded. He searched my face and as he did so his self-control seemed to falter. “Blue eyes,” he muttered. “You have blue eyes. And delicate features and a lissom body, finely jointed. Tell me your parentage. Guard!” Now I did let out a shriek but the time of my danger had passed. The soldier’s shadow appeared on the drapery.
    “Is all well with you, Master?”
    “Yes. Bring a jug of beer and send to the temple for honey cakes.” The shadow faded and I heard footsteps on the ramp. “Sit here beside me,” the Seer invited, and I sank onto the cot. My terror was fading but not the repulsion I felt, and I could not look away from his face. I was exhausted. “Your gift is refused,” he went on with a half-smile. “I don’t lust after girls, or women either for that matter. I learned a long time ago that lust interferes with the Seeing. But I do not grieve. Power is more satisfying and lasting than sex.”
    “Then you will not See for me!” I broke in with despair. For answer he took my palm and his alien, bloodless forefinger traced the lines on it. His touch was cold.
    “You have no right to disappointment,” he retorted, “for what are you? I did not say that I would not divine for you, merely that I refused your gift—such as it is. You have an inflated view of your own worth, little peasant girl. Blue eyes,” he murmured to himself. He placed my hand back between my naked thighs and pulling another sheet from the cot bade me cover myself. “Few men have seen me,” he went on. “My servants, Pharaoh, the High Priests when I stand before the Gods to do my homage. You have been honoured, peasant, though you do not know it. Some I have killed for catching me unawares. You knew that, didn’t you?” I nodded. “Never forget it,” he said harshly. “I value loyalty above all else, because of what I am.”
    “And Master, what are you?” I dared to ask. He examined my face again before replying, his expression inscrutable. The lamp sputtered and I saw the tiny flame become doubled and leap crimson in both of his eyes.
    “I am not a demon. I am not a monster. I am a man,” he sighed, and in that moment my revulsion began to die. Genuine pity took its place, not the scornful pity I had felt for my father by the Nile but a gentle adult emotion. I shed a little, a very little, of my overwhelming selfishness. His sigh was soon spent. “Give me your forebears,” he ordered crisply and I did so.
    “My mother is a native Egyptian, the midwife in Aswat as her mother was before her,” I explained, “but my father, who is now a farmer, was a Libu mercenary. He fought for Pharaoh Osiris Setnakht Glorified against the invaders and if our present Horus of Gold demanded it he would fight again. He is very handsome, our father.” He leaned forward.
    “You have a sister, then?” I shook my head.
    “No, a brother, Pa-ari. Father wants him to inherit his arouras when he dies but Pa-ari is going to be a scribe. He is very clever.”
    “So