Chapter Text
Once free of the grime he carried with him during the days in the mountains and dressed anew in a clean black linen skirt and a sheer blouse, Khaba ushered his servants away to summon Ammet in the workroom. It wasn't because the magician would take his time in having to recite the spells to call Ammet back from the land of Hatti, but rather he wished to have some peace and quiet before the inevitable war of courtesies.
Upon his arrival, Khaba had found out he was being expected by none other than his beneficiary, the Queen Mother. She did not even grant him allowance to clean himself but demanded a word with him in the inner throne room at speed.
During Pinedjem's illness, the late king had made his wife regent; a decision that upset quite a few of the officials, but Isetemkheb was clever and cunning, and growing up at her father's court and then later her husband's sharpened her mind. She might have not been crowned King like Nefertiti and Hatshepsut before her, but instead chose to speak for Pharaoh – which was arguably as good as actually being pharaoh. Back then, she held court in the great throne room as she wore the White Crown of Upper Egypt and sat on the wooden throne that had been in the family for four generations now, adorned with scenes showing the gods, nature, and the royal lineage.
Now that her son ruled the kingdom, she was relegated to the backroom – but it still reflected how after all, there was another, strong, power behind Psusennes.
Isetemkheb was seated on an ornate chair made of ebony, less ostentatious than the actual throne, and attended by her steward when Khaba entered the throne room.
"Life, prosperity, and health, Queen Mother," Khaba said as he bowed his head and didn't raise it until Isetemkheb beckoned him forward.
"To you as well, Khaba. Did your travels bring you anything fruitful?"
"Quite so. I do hope that my absence was not felt too greatly at court."
There was a heavy sign and Isetemkheb rubbed her temples.
She had preserved herself far better than her late husband did before his time had come. She was short, stocky rather than voluptuous, and held herself upright like a reed stalk, never bending, never breaking. It was she who wore the Vulture Crown with an uraeus on her head and over her ornate braided wig that almost reached her waist. Her face was lined, especially on the forehead and her mouth, the latter from her perpetual frown. Her nose was wide, her lips full and there was something about her eyes that made people feel small and in awe. Her voice was strong and clear, sharp like a knife, and cracked like a whip when she grew impatient. She was no great beauty but she had a way about her that demanded respect and exuded power.
That, in Khaba's opinion, was much more important than good looks and being the object of desire among the courtiers.
"Have a cup, I know I am in need of one."
"Thank you, Mistress."
The steward, a skittish woman with a pug nose and long hair, offered him a cup of red wine.
Isetemkheb took a small sip. "We all fared well, but the king has proven to be rather insistent on keeping Meritites in his favour. I have not been able to convince him to grant my personal and spiritual adviser the most prominent role during Wepet-Renpet."
Khaba nodded. "That is unfortunate." Did she not have sway over her unruly son? He had been hoping that it would be an easy matter, but as it seemed, he would need to confront the High Priestess herself on the issue – and that he had been all too happy to avoid whenever he could.
"'Unfortunate' is an understatement," the Queen Mother snarled. "Tiya, do wait outside if you please," she said to her steward and waved her away. Once the steward was out of the room, Isetemkheb pinched the bridge of her nose.
"It is nearly impossible to persuade him about who he ought to give favours to. He can be quite stubborn when he wants to."
Khaba tilted his head. "You are his foremost counsellor – and mother. Surely he will not reject your word."
Isetemkheb glared at him over her fingers. "Were he to have an ounce of common sense, then yes. Instead he ran off, presumably to Karnak, after I told him I did wish to see you head the procession and the rituals instead of the High Priestess." She shook her head and murmured something intelligible.
"Yes," Khaba considered as he rubbed his chin. "Your son has always been quite fond of her."
The poor fool. Not only was his infatuation entirely misplaced, but also spoke of his lack in taste. As far as women came and went, Meritites was firmly among the unsightly and unpleasant members of her sex.
Isetemkheb clicked her tongue in annoyance. "And here I thought that marriage had cured him of his condition, but apparently not even the kingship stopped him from chasing one particular trollop." She took a large sip from her cup. "Ever since the mayor of Memphis arrived here, Psusennes has been holding small feasts in his honour. Nothing official, the only attendants are the innermost circle, my daughters, the usual. But I wouldn't be surprised if we were to have a surprise guest – of whom you will take care of. Keep her entertained and cut off from anyone with influence, provoke her, do something. That ought to be your primary focus."
Khaba had inclined his head. "As you wish, Mistress."
There were much more entertaining ways to spend the evening, but he had lived through worse. Khaba stood in his workroom, a windowless spacious chamber in the bowels of his apartments, with cabinets holding the most important tablets and utensils for summonings, a slab on which he conducted his experiments of dissections, another where he restored the findings he brought from tombs and other ancient sites, mummified beasts and creatures stored away in tombs that matched their inhabitants' shape, and a wired cage which was inhabited by one group of living creatures that called Khaba's workshop their home. Brown spiders with wiry legs and bulbous bodies sat in their silky nets and waited for prey that never came. Occasionally the magician would bring them flies and locusts caught by imps in his garden, and it was then when he could extract their venom.
His manufactured poisons, not only of animal origin but also from plants and powders, remained underneath the caged spiders, and was typically accessed by one of the slaves in his service.
He had six in total that he called regularly: the djinn Athpi, Penrenutet, Hebat and Petbe, and the foliots Callirhoe and Subula. The latter two were the overseers of his other foliot and imps, while the djinn fulfilled whichever task Khaba threw their way with vigour at hope for one day experiencing freedom once more. To keep them on their toes, he was as harsh as he could be without breaking them – only that way he could guarantee they remained useful as well as fearful of him. He knew they would never describe it as fear; they were too proud to admit that a human, in their eyes feeble, mortal and vulnerable, could hold such power over them, too self-absorbed in their own delusions of power, but the screams he tore out of them when they tested his patience too much proved them different, and Khaba knew that they knew he knew.
For a moment he considered calling upon the foliot to report to him. They had remained here while Khaba went to Hatti and kept an eye on the events in the palace and the very city, and he was actually interested in their reports.... but they were both exhausting individuals and only the thought of Callirhoe's grovelling and Subula's sandpaper voice was enough to actually summon and throw them both into the Dismal Flame without hesitation. Still, he couldn't afford to lose slaves, not now. Subula was one of the first slaves he had summoned back in secret, and Callirhoe's dislike for her fellow spirits made her comparatively easy to handle; he was used to the way they functioned. Terrifyingly easy creatures they were, not all that different compared to the fools made of flesh and bones he had to coexist at court with.
And maybe he was a bit of a sentimentalist. After all, Ammet had been with him for the better part of a decade now.
Khaba lit the candles on the floor, a habit rather than a duty. Over the course of the years, his binding for Ammet during the summons have become much more lax when he noticed that the marid was in fact not going to skin him the second he misspelt a syllable – not that he ever did; a true master magician knew to always be alert and strive towards perfection. No, no, the fact that he did less merely meant that he was testing his boundaries. It was an experiment, plain and simple, really no different than a dissection of a living creature to see how the inside of its body worked. How much leeway could he give a demon, a marid nonetheless, without having to pull back the chain?
The chain was something he never forgot. He used the same protection clause for Ammet as every other slave that forbade them to harm him, formulated in such a way that encompassed everything from physical harm over damaging his reputation to breaking his spirit. Demons might be quick-witted, but Khaba prided himself on being just as cunning as them, if not even moreso.
Standing in his pentacle, Khaba rolled his shoulders. He was in dire need of a full night's sleep in his chambers, on a proper bed and not on the softest spot on the hillside he could find. Luxuries in enemy territory were not exactly a choice given, no matter how much he regretted the uneasy nights, but at least he did have Ammet with him to protect him from all sorts of beasts, be they unshaven Hittites, wild animals, or ravenous demons.
He spoke his summoning almost casually as he drew circles on the scrying stone that laid on his bare chest with the tip of his long fingernail. It was always exactly eleven seconds between the last syllable of a summoning from the Other Place to when the demon called began to take a proper form in the pentacle. On Earth, it was seven seconds, although Khaba wondered if his slaves ever resisted their calling. Not that they could, of course, but whether it was possible for them to refuse him and their stubbornness keeping them wherever they currently were.
The seventh second passed, and just then a faint pillar of smoke rose from the tiles on the floor. Khaba watched, ever curious, as the smoke took shape and revealed a handsome young man, strong of limb, fair of hair, dressed in a simple white kilt befitting a servant of the royal household.
Ammet bowed his head. "Master," he said softly, "I see you have arrived well."
“Yes, indeed.”
“How much have you missed in your venture away from Egypt?”
Khaba exhaled. “The usual, and then some. Meritites has proven to be troublesome in the last few days, but that is a given. The King holds her in high favour, so high that he is willing to ignore his mother’s decisions.”
“The High Priestess is a bothersome beast — yet, she is still the High Priestess. That she will not be pushed out by you is unsurprising.”
“I know”, Khaba said, slightly irritated.
“And Psusennes is a stubborn man.”
“He is the king. It comes with the title,” Khaba said as he rubbed a sore spot in his shoulder. Today he would sleep sounder than a babe. “Nevertheless, the High Priestess should know her place. Ra’s first and most loyal servant she might be, but I have my place at this court as well and will not cave in.”
“Indeed. How do you wish to proceed?”
“Meritites will be present for the feast tonight. The Queen Mother requested of me to keep her attention on me.”
“Do you not think that this will raise any suspicions she might have?”
Khaba grinned. “Suspicions? Please, Ammet. She knows. And the way I know her, she will bring it up. I can use this to my advantage. If the Priesthood under her leadership looks weak, it is only a matter of time until her power crumbles away.”
“That I hope for you as well, Master.”
“You will of course play your own part. Meritites’s creature, her afrit — watch it.”
The marid frowned but nodded nevertheless. “As you wish.”
His reaction amused Khaba. “There are more interesting ways to spend your evening. What did you do while I was travelling?”
“Exploring the realm of Hatti. There was not a lot to see; all I witnessed was a kingdom on its eve of glory,” Ammet said.
“The Hittites might have fallen far, but they have persisted until now. Egypt has no interest in them but the Assyrians very much do — against them, they will have no choice but to bow to.”
“Their quaint capital would easily be overrun and their magicians are of low rank,” Ammet sneered. “And there was too little flesh on their bones to feed me.”
Khaba felt his heart beat faster. The binding clause he used for Ammet forbade the marid from harming any citizen of Egypt on their own accord unless their master commanded it, as was standard for summonings. It did no one any good if demons were allowed to feast on humans whenever they fancied a bite, and demons with careless masters that allowed them pleasures became careless as well. As special as Ammet might be, he was not willing to let him go soft.
And yet, the mere thought that the marid had to control his urges excited him. It was a hunger for substance, of a ravenous beast that could rain destruction at the snap of its fingers — a hunger Khaba knew, even if his was solely reserved for power.
“Don’t worry, you may sate your appetite soon enough,” Khaba said. “But not now and not on Meritites’s servant.”
“I will await for your permission then, master”, Ammet complied, even if the begrudging tone in his voice was all too obvious.
“Well, now that that is solved: let us hear what my other slaves have to report to me.”
“Perhaps it would be best if you hear out Subula first. He was the one watching the surroundings of Karnak after all. While Callirhoe no doubt has valuable information for you from what happened at court, Subula will know how the… situation… progressed.” Ammet paused.
“I know,” Khaba said. The arrival of the Mayor of Memphis meant that the extended royal family would be present and tensions would naturally be high, even without the involvement of the High Priestess. “Still, Callirhoe it is.”
Ammet smoothly left the circle and to stand at Khaba’s side. The magician clapped his hands and spoke a short summoning.
The foul smell of rotting fish penetrated his nose at once. Khaba had endured worse odours of a natural source, so he barely flinched when Callirhoe materialised out of thin air and hit the floor in a wet splash like a large fish.
The chimera had a had the silver tail of a fish, the torso and wings of an eagle and the face of a human, albeit with animalistic features. Large eyes that reflected the candle light starred at Khaba and the creature’s lipless mouth split into a wide smile full of sharpened teeth.
“Master?”
Khaba sighed. “Your report, slave.”
The chimera spread its wings and flapped them, spreading its stink through the summoning chamber.
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I myself was a bit surprised”, it said in a drawling voice. Then its eyes went large and almost pleadingly stared at Khaba. “I hope you will not consider this a fault on my behalf?”
Khaba smiled thinly. “The Mayor of Memphis and one of the late King’s daughters is here, and ‘nothing ordinary’ happened?”
Either his slave had been tricked or remained idle in his absence - both of which he was most unpleased by.
The foliot gathered its bearings and straightened into a position of slightly more dignity.
“Well, the current state of things weren’t disrupted is what I meant. If you mean ordinary human squabbles between people who cannot stomach each other — plenty. Lesser beings would be quite entertained by the eternal play that humanity presents on a stage so readily.”
“I do not care to hear the full extent of court gossip.”
“I thought so. There was a little scene where someone said something unsavory; I couldn’t tell you the source because the servants diluted the entire story but there is little love lost between the lady Nesitanebetashru and the princesses.”
“The usual, then”, Khaba murmured. He would surely see up close just how hostile the involved parties remained. As to why Isetemkheb had thought to not mention this, he could guess with certainty: the Queen Mother had been ashamed of it.
“Oh, for what it’s worth — Userhet is in a dreadful mood.” Callirhoe’s expression grew into one of spiteful mirth. “I don’t think he ever made his peace with King Pinedjem choosing his daughter as wife for the mayor instead of his brat. And for what? He’s unpleasant and lacks humour.” She sighed dramatically. “I got enough of him just having to eavesdrop while evading his guards. Guards who are very overzealous, if I might say so.”
“I did not ask for your personal assessment of character”, Khaba said, although he did agree with it.
Callirhoe shrugged. “I’m just saying. In case you are looking for an ally, should you ever find an enemy in Memphis. Not too difficult for your lot — making enemies, I mean.”
Khaba was not so proud to assume that Pahemnetjer and thus Memphis could never grow to become a thorn in his side, but time would tell whether the wind might turn. Perhaps he could use them in case the vizier became a problem for him… but these were not matters that he needed to concern him now.
“Time will tell. More important for now is the High Priestess.”
“Ah, yes. Psusennes is —”
“Looking for her. I know. He wishes for her to lead the procession still”
The foliot let out a throaty groan. “What do you need me then for? Just dismiss, for Zeus’s sake.”
Khaba snapped his fingers and at the sharp syllable he spoke, Callirhoe yelped and pulled her wings in close.
“Fine, pack it in! Who got your loincloth in a twist…”
“I decide when I don’t need you anymore”, Khaba said with barely suppressed annoyance, ignoring the murmured remark. Oh, he couldn’t wait for the day Callirhoe left his service, along with all the others. He only hadn’t decided yet if they would do so to return to the Other Place or if he wanted to watch them burn like cinders before they ceased to exist.
Besides him, he heard Ammet’s light chuckle.
Callirhoe glared at him, then the large eyes turned to the floor.
“I know, Master. All too well.”