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Safari – a Khempunk Adventure – Chapter 08

Paul Kemner.com Posted on July 24, 2020 by pkemnerJuly 24, 2020

(Chapter 1 is here)

Chapter 08 – Sacrifices

So, Mr. Fleur…” the high priestess began.

AP had no idea how to fill the awkward silence, as she looked at him across the ornate desk with an expression of trepidation, with perhaps a touch of defiance. He was five hours late, but they were the ones who had given him an address eleven hundred years out of date. He accepted the glass of amber liquid and tasted it. Temple beer – sweet and spicy, with a trace of…not hops…rue? And cookies with a filling of fig jam as well. If this was usual refreshment for temples, he would enjoy being a priest. He brushed a crumb from his beard, hoping that as a priest he wouldn’t be made to shave it off.

She cleared her throat and continued: “I see that you were conferring with the god Khonsu this morning, and I hope Miss Aziza fulfilled her role adequately, but I’m afraid that we just don’t have any experience in summoning Wepwawet. Perhaps if you helped?”

“Excuse me? I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about! I came here to interview for priest training!”

“You did send us a message this afternoon? Blazing green hieroglyphs, three feet high?”

“Wait…I sent my message with this device. It’s called a Time Concordance. Here’s the text of it.”

Taking the device, she read from the small screen, “We have been wandering for hours, lost.” She looked back at her visitor for a moment, her expression unreadable, then slid a paper across the desk.

“IN THE COMPANY OF KHONSU, FORSAKEN…” He began, trailing off as he skimmed down the page. “…ORACLES HAVE FALLEN SILENT…” He reached the end and read aloud, “…A SACRIFICE TO WEPWAWET IS REQUIRED OF SESHAT FOR THE BELOVED OF KHONSU.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Zizi was afraid we were going to kill her…poor kid. I told her it would make a bad first impression.” He stopped laughing abruptly as the realization struck him. “She must have thought I was serious.”

The High Priestess chuckled as she examined the bizarre device. “How did you send that message? With this?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it’s not very smart, and I use it to translate tomb inscriptions. When it finally linked with your computer, Seshat Core, that must have colored the message just a bit. So “someone you can spare” became “sacrifice.”

She frowned, puzzled. “Computer? Seshat Core?”

He let his gaze drift to the ceiling while thinking of a way to explain. There were intricately rendered images of the goddess Seshat overseeing the building of a temple…perhaps this very one where he sat drinking beer and eating fig cookies. “You said you saw the message in blazing hieroglyphs. That means you have a receiving device somewhere in the temple. The computer must have looked for a way to display it.” He could see that she didn’t understand. “Let’s look at it this way; these are things that the device might be doing for you; sending messages between the administration, faculty, and students. Keeping track of what books the library has, and where they are. Figuring out budgets and keeping financial records. Listening to really stupid music, talking with people in Burma, or watching clips of singing dogs. Does any of this sound familiar?”

She gaped at him, speechless.

“How are you doing all those things now?”

She closed her mouth and opened it a few times before speaking. “The staff does those things, of course. How else would we do them?”

“You have a machine you call ‘The Staff?’ That’s it, then! Let’s go take a look at it.”

“What? Machine? The staff isn’t a machine. It’s…they’re…the people who serve in the temple.” She paused a moment before adding “What’s left of them, anyway.”

“‘What’s left of them’?” he echoed, a note of alarm creeping into his voice. “Are they being sacrificed too? Under those circumstances, I’m probably not interested…” He started to rise, leaving the warm embrace of the plush chair.

She gaped at him again. “No! Of course we’re not sacrificing anyone! The place is so stagnant that even mummies look lively by comparison! The number of candidates drops each year, and I’m not willing to let mediocre applicants in just to fill seats. I’ve tried to make changes, but you can’t change six thousand years of tradition overnight. Overnight? Even five hundred years would not be enough to get them to change the brand of tea. You should see the kind of fights that happen over the most trivial…”

It was AP’s turn to gape. The High Priestess had been bottling her frustrations up for some time, and now the cork had popped. As she continued her litany of grievances, he began to realize that almost everything had gone from new, past antique, all the way to ancient, sitting in the same place in this office. Sitting for hundreds? no, thousands of years! Behind her stood a gilded sculpture of some pharoah, thousands of years gone; countless clergy must have served under its heavy gaze.

“Sorry to unload all of this on you. You know, it did feel good to get it out. There are only two or three people here who feel the same way, but they’ve just given up. That blazing message is the most exciting thing that’s happened here since the Experimental Plumbing Disaster last century” She gave him a mischievous grin.

“Zizi doesn’t seem like she’s given up… I was quite impressed by her. From the message you got, she had no indication of where we were. Out of the entire city, she found us. Has she done that sort of thing before?”

“Zizi has been a thorn in the side of-” She broke off abruptly, suddenly remembering that she was talking to a virtual stranger. “Sorry, I should not discuss a student’s academic career with a fellow student. Assuming that you will become a fellow student?” She raised her heavy eyebrows inquiringly.

“It’s still my goal to be a priest of Seshat; so as long as human sacrifice isn’t on the syllabus, and we can work out the distance learning arrangements, sign me up. Do I have your permission to check around the school and the lower levels? I shouldn’t need to go near the sanctuary, but if I can locate the main computer room, well, it would be an unprecedented resource in this world.”

As she contemplated the idea of such an amazing resource and what it could do for the temple, the High Priestess’s expression was like a little girl who’d been given the key to the ice cream vault…and a big spoon. After a moment, she frowned. “I’m not sure where you would find this ‘computer’ you’re looking for. Of course, we can give you maps of the buildings, but the complex is quite large. It could take weeks to search everywhere, and I understand you were only planning to stay for a day. It’s already past sunset.”

“Is there anyplace safe we can stay nearby? We haven’t even talked about my training, but the question about the computer seems like it’s far more important. I think it might be worth a day or two of our time to investigate this.”

“We have lodging space here at the temple, but will Miss Boone mind staying that long? Won’t she want to leave for her own temple?”

“Oh I’m pretty sure Jo can find something to keep her occupied.”

~~~

“You ask her!”

“Me? You’ve been here longer, you do it!”

The two Junior Library Assistants stopped arguing and peered around a row of wooden bookshelves at the visitor. The rumors after the arrival of Miss Boone and her servant were varied and bizarre, and no one knew what to believe. Everyone said that Acolyte Aziza was to be killed as a sacrifice, but she had returned with the visitors, alive and well, chatting happily with them. She had told her roommate that she was judged “unsuitable for a blood sacrifice.” The servant was meeting with the High Priestess, perhaps to select a better offering for Khonsu. Miss Boone was so engrossed in the books, she didn’t seem to have noticed the young assistants following her. She already had several leather bound tomes, supporting them on one shapely hip as if holding a child.

“Have you ever been to the temple in Dendera?” the older boy asked his associate. “I heard she’s one of their priestesses. And her grandmother was High Priestess too. They say the festivals up there get pretty wild.” He couldn’t imagine this woman conducting herself in such a wanton manner, even with his vivid imagination. She was so demure and quiet. She seemed far more interested in looking at every title than in…in… in doing whatever those priestesses were supposed to do. Maybe if he helped her find the books she wanted he could find out.

Miss Boone moved out of sight and the assistants scrambled to follow. But at a safe distance.

“Do the priestesses kill people? Why would anyone go up there for a festival if they’re going to get murdered?” At thirteen, the younger assistant was still reading horrific tales of reanimated corpses and bloodthirsty cults, innocent of the interests that had lately fascinated his sixteen year old companion.

As the assistants rounded another row of bookshelves, they caught a glimpse of the woman’s frilly dress disappearing around the far corner and they broke into a run to catch up.

The older boy skidded to a halt at the end of the row then nearly fell over as his associate cannoned into his back. “Will you watch it?” he hissed, peeking around the dusty bookcase. It was too late; their quarry had already disappeared and it would take hours to find her again among the maze-like stacks.

“Excuse me?” The soft voice from behind them made the older boy jump. The younger one had dropped to his knees, whimpering. Miss Boone had circled around the shelf while they were trying to catch up. She regarded them warily from over an armload of heavy books. “I’d like to get past, please.” Her dark eyes seemed to glint and dance in the dim light, further terrifying the younger assistant.

“Sorry, Miss.” The older assistant regained his composure and bowed, hoping to appear gallant. The effect was spoiled by his associate’s frightened gibbering. “Get up, you fool!” He hauled the boy to his feet. “My name is Mehntu-Re. Er…at your service, Miss.” Was she getting angry? He couldn’t tell, so he bowed again. “I’m sorry about Sahd-Huru, he’s been reading execration texts again. Um. Is there anything you need? Can I find a book for you? Carry something?” Sahd-Huru had finally stopped whimpering and now stood goggle-eyed, in awe of his superior’s ability to talk casually to such a powerful being.

The woman shifted the heavy load from one side to the other as she thought. A copy of The Course of Anubis slipped out of her arms and fluttered to the floor. “Well I guess you can carry that for me. And this one.” She handed over Constructing a Better Ushabti “And this. This one too. Oh yes, there is one more that I’m looking for. Do you have a copy of Advanced Embalming for Modern Practitioners? What’s wrong with him?”

Sahd-Huru had slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

Posted in Geekery, Safari - Serial, Writing | Tagged Khempunk, Safari, Steampunk, writing | Leave a reply

Safari – a Khempunk Adventure – Chapter 07

Paul Kemner.com Posted on July 4, 2020 by pkemnerJuly 24, 2020
This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is ST-Nile-Cairo.jpg

(Chapter 1 is here)

Chapter 07 – The Opener of the Way

Abiff threw the worn bundle of reeds over the side, grabbed a fresh handful, and resumed scrubbing the deck. It kept him busy, but unfortunately left his mind free to dwell on his problems. Traveling upstream should have been a wonderful adventure. He’d never been on a boat, never even been out of the city. But his entire life had been torn apart over the last few days, all because of that junk his father had dug up from the basement. Now he had no father, no basement, no house, no life.

“Abiff! Habibi, where are you?” The boy stood up from behind some crates where he had paused for a moment to rest. His mother beckoned to him from the small deck stove where she had been stirring something spicy-smelling in a large pot. She tucked a piece of bread into his hand. “Eat.” She regarded him for a moment with red-rimmed eyes before turning away again.

Abiff chewed the stale bread thoughtfully as he returned to his scrubbing duties. He hadn’t yet told his mother that he had hidden several small items from the basement in his bag. He wondered if he might be able to sell them. His mother worried about everything, and he didn’t want to add to her burden. If she knew about the objects, she would worry about those, too. It would be far easier to keep silent and sell the items to tourists when she wasn’t around. Tourists would buy anything from a cute little boy with a big smile. If he could raise some money he could be a man, instead of a child, fed scraps like a dog. Another bundle of reeds joined the last one, floating downstream as the underpowered boat struggled against the current.

~~~

The young acolyte stood at the corner of Kamal Farag and Al Somal Street wishing for a sign. No, not wishing. Praying. She was definitely praying, O Seshat, in your wisdom, please grant me some sign or omen, or something. Please? Oh, and please don’t let me be killed by whatever I’m supposed to be meeting…

She was hot, tired and thirsty from wandering, and she had no idea where she was supposed to be going. The message transcript she had been given was useless, in addition to being terrifying. The gloating smile plastered on Old Stick’s face as he gave her this assignment only added to her sense of doom. Looking to her right, she spotted part of the sign of her one of her favorite hideouts, a British-owned ice cream shop. If she was going to die, she might as well have a treat beforehand. It’s not like she would have a use for her allowance if she was devoured.

~~~

Fakeeh leaned in the shade of an awning, watching the door of Ha-B-B Ice Cream Parlour. He was sure that his quarry was still inside. On at least three occasions, only blind luck had allowed him to re-acquire their trail. They were truly masters at eluding pursuit. At one point, they had turned abruptly and walked right past him, the tall man giving him an almost imperceptible nod. The beautiful young woman had shot him a look of reproach as they passed, her luminous eyes saying “How clumsy to allow us to spot you.” It left him standing stunned. At last, worthy adversaries.

A teenage girl in a white dress had been wandering up and down the street for several minutes now, muttering to herself. Finally she straightened and strode through the door, as if facing a terrible fate. Probably going to meet some boy. Ah, youth…Fakeeh was glad to have left those days behind.

~~~

Zizi stood for a moment inside the shop, letting her eyes adjust after the blazing sunlit streets. She didn’t see anything especially horrible waiting for her. She walked to the counter and studied the menu board for a moment. Last day on earth? No need to watch my figure; I’m going to get the biggest bowl of ice cream they offer. With double fudge sauce. And sprinkles.

The boy behind the counter slid her the bowl, raising one eyebrow. “What’s up Zizi? I’ve never seen you order anything larger than your head.”

“Hey, are you from Per Seshat?” The voice from behind Zizi made her squeak and spin around, nearly dropping the huge bowl. A fair skinned lady was looking at her with concern in her large dark eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Seshat? Yes, I’m from Seshat. Why? Who are you?”

The lady smiled with relief. “Oh, finally! We’ve been waiting for you!” Just then Zizi noticed the American tourist at the table behind the lady. They didn’t look frightening at all. Just tired, like her. As Zizi relaxed, the boy turned his attention back to the stubborn ice cream churn. He gave it a kick, scuffing the copper casing and causing it to spew steam at him.

The American man motioned her over to the table. “As long as you’ve got ice cream, you might as well sit down and eat it before we leave. After this many hours, a few more minutes aren’t going to make a difference.” He stood and pulled out a chair for her.

The lady extended her hand. “Josephine Boone. Call me Jo. I recognized your temple garb when you came in. I serve at Per Heteret in Dendera, and the acolytes there wear similar gowns.”

As Zizi devoured the gooey dessert her new acquaintances explained how they had gotten lost looking for the temple. “You said Safekh-Aubi Street? My mother told me that was the name before the Arabs arrived. It hasn’t been called that for… what? at least a thousand years! Who in the world gave you that address? Do you still have the invitation?”

Zizi took the folded letter from AP. “This is from the Registrar. What a rat! I’m sure he did this hoping you’d never show up. I heard a rumor that… ooh, that must have been you! He threw your application out, and later that day the weekly oracle kept saying “The rejected must be admitted.” The director found out about it, and there was an argument in her office that could be heard by anyone in the hallway. There were a lot of anyones in that hallway once the word got out.” She chased a wayward sprinkle around the bowl, her spoon leaving trails through the remains of the fudge sauce. “Anyway, I really appreciate you not killing me.”

“No trouble at all. Killing a fellow student while she was eating ice cream would just earn me a bad reputation. It could be hard to find study partners, or someone to check my homework.”

Giving up on the last sprinkle, the girl tossed her spoon onto the table with a clatter. “I know a shortcut back to the temple, Johnny,” she called to the counter boy, “We’re going out the back way. See you after the Festival of Emergence!”

~~~

After having lurked in the same shadow for hours, Fakeeh suspected he was becoming conspicuous. He strolled down the street, glancing into shop windows as if he had all the time in the world. He glanced casually into the window of the ice cream shop, but the man and woman he had been following were nowhere to be seen. Hiding his annoyance behind a charming smile, he entered the shop and ordered a sasparilla float, dropping a generous tip into the jar on the counter. His quarry was gone, but the remnants of their visit still stood on the table, traces of the woman’s ambrosial perfume wafting through the air around it. Behind the counter, the teenaged British boy returned to swearing in English and kicking some unfortunate contraption. It retaliated by spraying him with something orange that smelled of mangoes.

Ignoring the foreign boy’s struggles, the assassin took in the details of the duo’s repast, the better to learn more about them. The woman had drunk coffee with cream and sugar; a smear of her lipstick remained on the porcelain cup. The man had drunk several sasparilla floats, one of Fakeeh’s preferred refreshments. Had the empty glasses been left as a message for him? A third person had joined them, perhaps the troubled girl? Could she have been following him while he was following the others, putting on a convincing act? The huge bowl had one lonely bit of candy left in the bottom, surrounded by strange markings in the remains of the fudge sauce. Fakeeh leaned down to pick up a spoon from the floor, giving the bowl a closer look, and he almost laughed out loud as the pattern of fudge in the bowl resolved into a rude word.

For the first time in his career, he had the sensation of being expertly outmaneuvered. The game had become too easy, dealing with brainless louts and he had become lazy and bored. Now he felt a thrill of danger, and dancing on the edge of it appealed to him.

His smile now genuine, he strolled back out into the street to deliver a message to his employer. Yes, a worthy adversary.

Chapter 08: Sacrifices

Posted in Safari - Serial, Writing | Tagged Khempunk, Serial, Steampunk, writing | Leave a reply

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