Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 3 - Death in Delhi (3 page)

Added to the equation was her own not inconsiderable list of talents. In that regard, she had far more than would be expected from one so young. Not yet beyond her mid-twenties, Rachelle knew the social graces of the aristocracy, had been educated in an elite school and taught personally by the magister, and had herself learned much from her own study. First and foremost, despite her striking beauty and feminine appearance, Rachelle was a warrior; one able to fight using a considerable array of weapons or with nothing save her hands and feet. Her lovely face, youth, and curvaceous form had been the undoing of many a foe. The seemingly delicate femininity and soft body masked the mind and musculature of a scholar and an athlete. She was more than a match for most men in wit and repartee as well as swordplay.

Besides her ability to use arms, ride and hunt, Rachelle had an incredible range of knowledge and skills gained from the combination of having Inhetep as her mentor, her years at the Temple of Neith, the travel and adventure she and the magister had experienced thereafter, and her own desire to know more and excel. Although she was not yet a master of anything other than those physical skills relating to combat and the chase, Rachelle delved into everything from the arcane arts to current happenings, healing techniques to the lore of the counter-world of Phaeree. She could speak four languages, play chess, plan a formal garden, select a wine, discuss the form of the multiverse, tell fortunes, and even get by in the slums of Memphis. In fact, she now sought to surpass Inhetep, and Rachelle could already boast of an area of heka practice where she did so. By music and song Rachelle could lay a magickal casting, something even the priest-wizard was quite unable to do.

Working together to uncover a crime and bring the perpetrators to justice, they had proved to be an unbeatable combination. "I know you are always harping about the need to be alert and avoid overconfidence, Setne. I am not underestimating the enemy. I just don't think there's anyone you and I won't be able to best."

"Neither you nor I know just who the foe is yet. And never, never tempt the gods by voicing what could be deemed a challenge. Beware hubris, girl!" he admonished with a trace of nervousness. "You know as well as I that there are many who would see us destroyed—and remember that the deities who rule the vast Hin-dic lands are different from those of Egypt, Rachelle!"

"Yes, Setne. I am contrite." She wasn't.

That was plain to Inhetep, and it worried him a little, but he passed it off. "Well, the party we are deserting is due to arrive at any minute now. I'm all packed, so I think we should be off. Are you ready, my dear?"

"I've been ready and waiting for you this past quarter-hour or more, Magister Turtle."

"Come on, then. We must get to the old family necropolis without being seen."

She was astonished. "There? How? The servants will—"

"I mean by anyone chancing to arrive before we are gone. Who cares what the staff sees?" he said hurriedly as he strode towards the door.

"But why?" Rachelle asked as she tried to keep pace with the long-legged wizard-priest. "I've had our horses saddled, and the groom is waiting."

Inhetep was heading for the side exit, which would take them to the working yard. It had a small door leading outside the compound. "They will wait a long time then, Rachelle. We have no time to waste riding all the way to Mersa Gawasis."

When he named the principal /Egyptian port on the Mare Rubine, it brought her up short. "Wait a moment," she called out, but he was not listening. Rachelle ran and caught up with him as he crossed the littered animal yard. "We must ride with greatest speed to get to Mersa Gawasis, Setne. It's leagues away, and—"

"Mere horses won't do at all," he said as he ducked to exit through the postern.

"How fast can we go?" she asked crossly, annoyed at his sudden reticence. "Even your stork's shanks can't outpace a courser's!"

"Magick beats all in that regard, my dear. Come on now, don't be huffy. I'll tell you what's afoot in just a moment." Inhetep took her arm to assist her as he led the way over the scrub and rough ground which lay between the walled house, its well-tended gardens and fields, and the ancient burial place of his ancestors. It was about a mile distant in space, two thousand years in time. The main feature was a very small pyramid; the scattering of other structures and sealed shafts leading below remarkable only for their being inviolate over the many centuries.

Rachelle understood instantly. "You have another of your—"

"Hush! Wait until we're there." In a few minutes, they came to the site, and the magister ushered her into the mortuary chapel which projected from the western slope of the pyramid's weathered form. He made a perfunctory obeisance before the tiny altar dedicated to his many-times-great grandfather, touched a place on the back wall, uttered a strange series of words, then pushed. "Let's have that light from your dagger show us the way, if you please," he told her, referring to the dweomered amethyst set into the pommel of her dagger.

She complied, stepping into the narrow passage revealed by the opening of the secret door. He paused a moment to shut the rock panel after them. Inhetep then told her it was safe to say whatever she wanted to. At the moment, however, Rachelle was too busy negotiating the unfamiliar way to respond to the invitation. In a few yards, the level floor was replaced by steeply descending steps.

"Now can you explain all this to me, Setne? In all this time you've never showed this place to me. How do we get to Mersa Gawasis from here—a secret tunnel?" She was only needling him, or course. Rachelle had a good idea as to the answer.

"A man must retain a few secrets, especially when faced with a girl like you, Rachelle," In-hetep told her with a hint of merriment in his voice. "Seriously, this is a most important place to me, and one whose location I want none to know unless there is absolute need. There was never such need in the past, but now there is. Below Is a dweomered node which is an adit to the Central Nexus, but concealed from those using the main body. We can step into it here and exit in the port city."

Because of her training, Rachelle knew that, among other things, the Central Nexus was primarily a place adjacent to the Mundane Plane of yEarth which one utilized to open portals— gates or doors—to other places, virtually anywhere. She also understood that heka energies thus active could be noted and traced. Thus, who did what and their origination and destination could be sussed out by an expert heka practitioner. "No one will know we used the portal?"

"Its secrecy hasn't been broken since its inception, my dear."

"Then why don't we pass up Mersa Gawasis and step through to the city of Delhi itself?" They had finally come to the end of the stairway and were now in a small chamber deep in the bedrock beneath the pyramid. She looked around, noting ancient wall paintings, hieroglyphs chiseled into every surface from floor to ceiling, some appearing to be fairly recent additions.

The magister saw her expression. "Yes, I happened to have carved those myself only a decade or so ago. One day when your studies have progressed sufficiently, I'll explain all of this to you. Suffice for now to say that we can't use the nodular access to trundle anywhere in the multiverse. There are only a few points which are accessed through its limited space. We will get to the port without being detected. From there we'll use the fastest means of normal travel to get to Sindraj. Then it will be time for your horses, Rachelle, although not our horses."

"I can't believe that you wouldn't have provided for a door leading to such a great metropolis as Delhi." Her statement was only partially made in jest. Rachelle understood enough of what she saw to realize that the subterranean place they stood in had keys which enabled the knowing user to pass into the preternatural planes, supernatural ones, and more. That he could use 11 to get to the port on the Mare Ru-bine indicated that there were probably also doors leading to various other places on Earth and probably even the counter-world, Phaeree. Surely a hundred of the major capitals of the world wouldn't strain Setae's capacity.

"No. Not mine. The size of the node is quite finite, you see."

Rachelle jumped when he spoke. "I hate it when you read my mind!"

He chuckled. "You were thinking so hard and openly anyone with a grain of heka could have done that. Besides, you are always trying to probe me, aren't you?"

"That's no excuse—and what I do is different. I have to keep track of you somehow, Setne Inhetep! Now keep your senses to yourself and show me how we get to Mersa Gawasis. How can we get there if you keep dawdling?"

He was smothering a smile as he used a greenish copper ankh to call up the little shimmering space that was their egress from the hidden place to the distant port she had just named.

TO THE SEAS

They stood in a cluttered room. Sunlight streamed in through a dirty window somewhere high above them. Rachelle noted the dancing motes of dust in that bright shaft of light, for the welter of things elsewhere were too confused to focus upon immediately after the disconcerting passage between dimensions. "Ugh!"

"Come now, it isn't so bad a place to exit."

"I mean the transition, but I'll take issue with your assertion in any event. What an array of stinks and stenches! And what are those shriveled things over there?" she added with a shudder.

"Sssh. You'll offend our host." Inhetep wormed his way between the boxes and bales, racks and shelves, opened a door whose planks had great cracks between them, and finally stepped through strands of cheap beads into the front of a shop. "Good morning, Mesta-f!" he called cheerily. "May I present my companion and right arm, Rachelle? Rachelle, Adept Mesta-f Alowti."

Rachelle noted that the man was unusual in two ways. First, he didn't seem the least disconcerted at seeing the magister and herself step out of his back rooms. Secondly, she was surprised to discover that the man to whom Setne spoke with such evident warmth and pleasure was obviously a Yarban. Not that the magister was prejudiced, of course, but the enmity between /Egypt and Yarbay was thousands of years old. Were those two exchanging signs? She knew that Setne could communicate in several secret ways involving no more than the twitches of digits, positions of hands and arms, or facial expressions. There, that seemed to be a longish response by the chemical-stained old fellow. But then the magister was introducing her. She stifled her speculation, smiled, and extended her hand and arm to grip the smirched and burned one thrust forth by the fellow at hearing the introduction. "I am honored. To meet a great practitioner is to gain status," she murmured in formal greeting.

Mesta-f inclined his head, gave her forearm a perfunctory squeeze, and said unsmilingly, "I am too old for that sort of work these days. Put out to pasture. Proprietor of a run-down establishment providing materia of dubious nature to dabblers in this backwater. That's all

I'm able to manage now." He spoke in staccato rapid fire, turning to Inhetep as he concluded, "Just passing through, I presume."

"Yes, quite right, old friend. We must be away quickly. And by the by, Rachelle, don't you believe a word this man tells you. Dodderer indeed! He is able, and dangerous—in more ways than his skill managing heka, my dear. Watch his hands!" The magister's eyes twinkled as he said the latter. So, too, Mesta-fs.

"I've seen nothing," he told Inhetep as he shooed the two out the door. He first patted then pinched Rachelle's bottom in the process.

"He . . . assaulted my posterior!" she hissed as they passed into the bright forenoon of the street outside the shop.

The magister frowned. "Heed my warnings more carefully hereafter, wench," he scolded.

"Where did you meet such an odd old reprobate, Setne?"

With a grin, inhetep took her arm and steered her in the direction he wanted to go. "Odd? Well, yes, I suppose he is. Mesta-f was one of my instructors when I first entered school as a lad, Rachelle. He was not quite so old then, but he didn't look much different. He was head of the Alchemy department, went on from there to head up the Pharaonic Academy. A good bit of his research and inventions are still highly classified secrets of state."

"Then what's he doing in that dirty old shop we just left?"

"That, Rachelle, is no 'dirty old shop'! It is one of the leading establishments for materia In the whole of the Triple Kingdom, I'll have you know. As to his being its proprietor, though, it's a matter of racial prejudice, I fear," the magister explained. "He was originally born Mustapha something-or-other, to a noble family in Yarbay. Seems there was a blood feud raging in the clan then, so the family fled here to save their skins. He was just a boy then, and he soon embraced our pantheon. It was natural, inevitable, perhaps, that one of his bent should find Khnemu the perfect deity, and our gods correct, so to speak. Despite his strict religious adherence and the years of service thereafter, the triple crown—probably Pharaoh's advisors— wasn't comfortable with so able a foreigner, a Yarban of all things, in such an important role."

Rachelle was distressed to hear that. "But a cast off and bitter man is far more dangerous to the state, isn't that so?"

"In some cases—most, probably. But in Mesta-fs case, I am happy to assure you that he isn't bitter and doesn't care a fig about losing his official position. He never was cut out to be a courtier or a bureaucrat. He sees his commitment to Egypt as something divine, not secular, as it were. It is an intellectual choice supported by spiritual affinity."