Murder in the Place of Anubis Read Online Free PDF

to the house. One tore at her hair. Another beat her breasts and moaned. The third shrieked on such a high note that Meren covered his ears. His two assistants did the same.
     He had seen better performances. Whoever hired the mourners had not paid enough to get the extras. No raking of nails on flesh, no throwing of earth over the body. Meren hurried by the women, only to encounter the household porter. The man bowed several times, but Meren gave him no chance to protest the intrusion, ordering the porter to conduct him to the family.
     Once they were inside, the screams of the mourners  faded. The porter led him through an entryway, a columned outer hall, and up a staircase. Meren was halfway up the stairs when a shout made him look up. This was not a wail of grief, but a voice climbing the musical scale in wrath. Like the honking of disturbed geese, voices warred with one another. As Meren gained the second floor he heard a woman yell. It was a sound made powerful by healthy lungs, a noise that filled the world with its clamor.
     "Robbery! You picking and sneaking thief. Whore."  A man's voice joined in. "She took the broad collar." Meren swept by the porter and into the room from which the noise came. Before him were four people standing in the midst of a litter of papers, open boxes and caskets, chairs, and tables. Meren paused inside the door. One of the women cursed. She picked up something from a table and hurled it at the two men. They ducked and the missile sped past them to crash at Meren's feet. It was a faience spice pot. The pottery cracked and red powder burst forth, spraying Meren's gold sandals and feet.
     The woman who had thrown the pot squeaked and  ducked behind a chair. Meren looked from his sandals to the woman. She was young, with long arms and legs strung with tense muscles and a short, sharp nose like the beak of a sparrow.
     Knowing that he had startled them all, Meren  directed his gaze to each of the quarrelers. The older woman was looking at him with a puzzled expression. She had the dark brown skin of a peasant but the uncallused hands of a lady. Standing in front of her was a man as tall as she was, who had not made a sound when the others were shouting at the young woman. Beside him was a shorter man, a youth really. He balanced on the balls of his feet and caressed one of his wrists with his hand. Twisting the wrist back and forth within the grasp of his fingers, he stared at Meren.
     They were trying to decide who he might be. It was  a favorite tactic of his to appear without announcement, to disturb and unbalance. He knew they were taking in the transparent robe that fell to his ankles and covered a kilt belted in red and gold. His long court wig and inlaid dagger would cause apprehension, as would the two men who stood behind him like bodyguards, for only a great man walks abroad in fine linen, carries a  warrior's blade, and commands charioteers.
     "I am Meren." The name caused a stirring among  them like papyrus reeds shifting in the north wind. Four heads lowered, and Meren received their bows. "Evil has been done in the sacred place of embalming, and I am sent to hunt out the criminal who murdered the scribe Hormin."
     Lifting his foot out of a hillock of spice, Meren  skirted the shards of faience and took a chair of cedar with legs shaped like those of a lion.
    "There has been theft in this house?" Meren asked.
    Four heads nodded.
    "Last night?"
    Again the nods.
     Meren looked from one bowed head to the other and decided to break up the solid phalanx. If he confronted  each of them alone, it would be impossible for them to remain silent.
     "I will survey the house and question each of the  family." Meren nodded at the older woman. "You, mistress, are the wife of Hormin?"
    "Yes, my lord."
    This was the voice of the woman who had yelled as he came upstairs.
     'Take your family to the dining hall and await my summons." It was his experience that the anxiety of