Free Sting of the Scorpion by Carole Wilkinson Page A

that he could see his father. Now he was so close he began to worry. Seeing his dead son appear at his bedside could easily make Pharaoh die of shock. He looked at the figure lying on the bed. What he saw was an old, old man. A man so thin and feeble it was impossible to imagine that he was the most powerful person in Egypt, that he was a god on Earth. The frail body looked nothing like the powerful, erect figure Ramose had just seen in the palace paintings, nothing like the memories he had of his father.
    The priest’s head dropped to his chest. Ramose crept to the bed. He thought that his father was sleeping, but when he leant closer, he saw that he was awake.
    Ramose looked down at the old man’s face. He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. Tears ran down his face and fell on the bed sheet. One tear fell on his father’s hand. The hand rustled on the linen sheet like a dried vine leaf.
    A pair of pale, watery eyes turned to him. The eyes looked at Ramose blankly.
    “It’s me. Ramose, your son. I didn’t die. There was a…misunderstanding. I have travelled. I have learned much.”
    Ramose gently took the dried-up hand in his. “Father, I don’t want to alarm you. I know you are ill, but I have to speak to you.”
    The eyes stared at him unblinking. His father had no idea who he was.
    “Father, I am Ramose. I have come to take my place as your elder son…as your heir.”
    The dry, white lips moved, but no sound came out.
    “Are you thirsty, Father?” asked Ramose.
    He hurried out to the sitting room. The jar of wine he had brought from the kitchens was empty. He poured out a goblet of water instead.
    “Here,” he said. “There’s no wine, but the waters of the Nile taste better than wine.”
    The old man raised his head a finger-width, but could get no further. Ramose helped him to sit up. He held the goblet to his father’s lips. A few drops of the water trickled into his mouth. His tongue ran along his lips moistening them with the river water. The old man’s eyes found Ramose’s again. He looked at him for a long time.
    “Ramose,” he whispered. The words came slowly as if each one was a great effort. “I have looked forward to meeting you and your brothers in the underworld.”
    “Yes, Father,” said Ramose, his heart beating fast, tears running down his face. “It’s me, Father. But I’m alive. I’ve been in hiding.”
    The old man smiled at his son. He raised his frail hand. Ramose felt the dry skin gently rasp his cheek. Then his father’s eyes closed, his hand dropped to the bed. Ramose felt the body in his arms turn from a living thing to a lifeless shell as the spirit left. He laid his father down gently. His face still held the trace of a smile.

8
GHOST IN THE SCOOLROOM
    Someone hurried into the room. Ramose didn’t move.
    “Ramose,” the person said. “I thought I would find you here.”
    It was Keneben.
    “My father is mingling with the sun,” said Ramose. “He’s dead.”
    “May Amun protect him.”
    Keneben touched Ramose’s shoulder. “You can’t stay here, Highness. It is too dangerous.”
    Ramose looked up at his tutor. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there in silence at the side of his dead father. It could have been a few seconds or an hour.
    “I wanted to tell father about my adventures,” said Ramose softly. “When I was young, he always thought I was foolish. I wanted him to be proud of me.”
    “Priest,” said Keneben sharply. “Wake up, Priest. Pharaoh has rested from life.”
    The priest woke with a jolt. He looked from the stern face of the tutor to the servant boy weeping silently over the lifeless form of the pharaoh.
    “Don’t just sit there, Priest!” said Keneben. “Get the physician.”
    The priest tripped on the hem of his robes as he stumbled out of the room.
    “Come, Prince Ramose,” said Keneben. “We must plan what to do next.”
    “I have to see my sister,” said Ramose. “I have to tell her.”
    “Princess