Free The Deathstalker by Gill Harvey

was up to something.
    .
    Isis was on tenterhooks all morning. She was desperate to find out what had really happened to Hopi and to tell him about meeting Nes, but she didn’t get the chance. Her brother was tired. He ate some flatbread for breakfast and promptly fell asleep. Isis squinted up at the sun every few minutes. She would need to make up an excuse to leave the house just before noon. Meanwhile, she got on with sweeping the courtyard and steps, trying not to think about the meeting that would soon take place.
    But it didn’t escape her notice that all three women were looking very glum. Sheri and Kia usually bustled about doing chores, but today they sat in the courtyard doing nothing in particular.
    The sweeping finished, she joined Mut on the first floor, where her dance partner was sorting out the troupe’s large collection of oil and perfume bottles. Isis tried to help, but found that her fingers were shaking. She was sure that if she carried on she would end up breaking something.
    ‘This bottle’s nearly empty,’ she announced to Mut, holding up a bottle of almond oil. Then she had a brainwave. ‘I’ll ask Nefert if I can go and buy some more in the market.’
    ‘Go on, then,’ Mut responded. ‘You’re only making a mess of the sorting.’
    Isis got to her feet, gripping the bottle tightly. She ran down the steps. The courtyard was empty – not even the boys were there. She looked into the back room, then moved on to the front. There was no sign of either Nefert, her two sons, or Kia. There was only Sheri, taking things out of a wooden casket.
    ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Isis. ‘Where is everyone?’
    Sheri didn’t turn to look at her. ‘Nefert and Kia have gone visiting with the boys,’ she said, with her back to Isis.
    Her voice sounded strange, sort of muffled. Isis studied her. Suddenly, from the tension in her shoulders, she realised that Sheri was crying again.
    She stepped closer. ‘Are you all right, Sheri?’ she asked.
    The older woman gave a loud sniff. ‘I’m sorry, Isis. I’m fine, really.’
    ‘Oh, Sheri.’ Isis put the oil bottle on the floor and rushed to give her a hug.
    Sheri hugged her back and Isis heard a sob. Sheri cried for a few moments, then controlled herself. ‘It’s so silly, after all this time . . .’
    ‘No, it isn’t!’ declared Isis. ‘I still cry for Mother and Father. So does Hopi. I know he does.’ She looked up into Sheri’s gentle face. ‘I wish I could help you, though. I wish we were going back to the camp. We might have found something out.’
    Sheri shook her head briskly. ‘No, no, Isis. It’s quite all right. It just brought back memories, that’s all. But I shall put everything away again now.’
    It was then that Isis noticed what she was holding. The casket was full of Sheri’s belongings and, dangling from her fingers, was a weapon made of bronze. It was an ornamental dagger.
    ‘Was that your husband’s?’ Isis asked in awe.
    Sheri nodded and sighed. She held it out, flat, for Isis to see. ‘Yes. It belonged to Henu.’
    ‘Henu? That was his name?’ Isis stroked the blade in wonder. The handle was carved into the shape of a lotus flower at the end, with several ankhs , the symbol of eternal life, entwined with patterns further down. It was beautiful. She tested the edge of the blade.
    ‘Careful!’ exclaimed Sheri, and Isis jumped back. It was still razor sharp.
    A drop of bright red blood welled up. ‘It’s only a scratch,’ said Isis, looking down at the blood, then sucking her finger.
    ‘I’d better put it away.’ Sheri reached for the leather scabbard.
    Isis watched as Sheri wrapped the dagger in linen and put it back into her box. She frowned. The blood had made her think of something. The dagger seemed oddly familiar, but how could it? It didn’t seem possible. She was sure that Sheri had never shown it to her before.
    .
    Hopi leaned over the low wall that ran around the roof of the house, watching the street below,