Chapter One

In Shadows

The city of Bubastis slumbered, silent, still wrapped in dreams and darkness. Even the moon was no more than a flickering lantern in the night, obscured by fleeting clouds that chased across her face, like the restless dreams of the city's sleeping people.

Not everyone slept. Here and there, a thread of golden lamplight outlined a heavy, closed shutter. So it was at the home of Udymu the baker. The light cast a shifting, twitching pool across the table top where Udymu placed the last glinting gold piece on the pile and leant back. Rubbing his shoulders against the rough mud wall of his shop to settle an itch, he folded his hands across his paunch and smiled upon the day's takings with great satisfaction. Letting his stool rock forward again he scooped up the coins and emptied them into the goat skin purse at his belt.

As he did so, he thought he heard an odd sound, outside in the quiet street, a spitting, hissing sound like water dropped on hot coals. Tensing, the baker got to his feet and lifting the lamp from the table, checked that the door was barred. He stood for a moment listening intently but all was silent. He gave the windows a shake, just to be sure, just to be safe.

Satisfied, his thoughts turned to joining his wife in bed, when he heard a noise in the bakery. Udymu sighed; unlike the other, this was a familiar enough sound.

'Rat, rat,' he muttered aloud. Turning his heavy body slowly like a ship coming about, he stepped through the curtained arch into the next room, setting a little cloud of flour adrift from the grubby curtain as he did so.

The baker would of course not have this problem if he kept a cat, and he had considered it. Truth be told, Udymu was a miser. A cat was another mouth to feed and the law was stringent about their good care. What if it died? He had often thought to himself. I would have to go into mourning and close the shop for days!

No, Udymu had another solution to rats, for he was blessed with many sons. Better by far my sons should chase them with sticks, taking turn and turn about. Tonight, his youngest, though not the brightest son, Den was on duty. The idiot boy will be asleep. Nothing that a prod with a hot stick from the fire won't cure, the baker thought, with a somewhat uncharitable and even un-fatherly eagerness. Indeed, he shall be lively enough in a moment.

As he entered the bakery, the hairs on Udymu's neck stood up all by themselves, he shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. Is there a storm coming? The hairs on the backs of his arms began to lift too. From nowhere, a small quiver of apprehension ran though him.

The first thing he saw as he raised his lamp, was a still wet and sticky rat turd upon the workbench. Foul vermin! Where are you? he thought, swinging the dim light right and left.

Den swam into view in the flickering shadows, slumped against the oil jars, dark curly haired head down, gently snoring, ratting stick loose in his slumbering hands.

The baker looked across at the fire. Damn the child but it is almost out, just a mere glimmer... The bread pits will take an age to heat at dawn if it goes out now...

There was a sudden crash and Udymu, who was already on edge, jumped and started, his heart beating double time. The flame of the lamp wavered and shook, sending weird black shadows racing around the room like so many black and sooty demons.

A wooden bowl rolled across the floor. Spinning around and around, it clattered to a stop. Den stirred and muttered in his sleep, taking a firmer grip on his stick, he frowned but did not wake.

Upon the shelf, where the bowl was kept, a small, dark shape slunk and scurried. There you are! the baker thought, snatching up the bowl in readiness for throwing it at the unwanted visitor.

There was a sudden tingling on the back of Udymu's neck, as if the shutter in the other room had opened to let in the cool night wind from the desert. It was accompanied by the oddest feeling that he was being observed.

The air in the room became heavy, the feeling of an impending storm grew stronger and Udymu's teeth were set on edge. The fat baker was divided for a moment between hurling the bowl at the rat and looking behind him. The rat took its opportunity to hide.

Down by the oil jars, Den's frown deepened, as if he dreamt a nightmare. He began to wriggle, his free hand feebly batted the air, as if to ward off something, while the knuckles on his stick hand turned white with the aggression of their grip.

The feeling of being watched grew unbearable. Tentatively, the baker turned, not knowing what he expected to see, a small knot of fear gathering in his groin. What he saw was nothing, lamplight and shadows. Somehow, the shadows made him afraid, though it was his own shop and he knew its every inch, knew all that it was possible for every shadow to conceal. Yet now, tonight, they made him fearful.

There was that curious sound again, the spluttering, hissing sound. Udymu looked down at his feet. There was an odd, viscous pool of some dark liquid soaking into the earthen floor. A line of splattered droplets trailed off into the darkness, as if something had spat at him. As he watched, the fluid began to smoke and bubble, eating into the floor and releasing an acrid chemical stench.

Astonished, afraid, breathing heavily and sweating profusely, Udymu raised his lantern high above his head. The dense shadows in the corner of the room furthest from the fire somehow drew him. They had a horrible fascination for him. There was nothing to see but darkness and yet somehow, the shadow was too solid, too unnaturally squid ink black. He became convinced that some nameless dread crouched there, malevolent and bleak.

'Who's there?' the baker called out, with a tremble in his usually cocksure voice.

There was no reply but the thick, black shadow seemed to stretch and flex to take on a sinuous life of its own. Udymu's heart beat out a death march behind his flabby chest.

There was a whooshing sound, like a falcon taking flight. Something hard and sharp glittered in the lamplight. Udymu looked down in astonishment at the blood running over the curve of his belly and trickling down his leg only to be swallowed by the dry and hungry floor. There were gashes, evenly spaced across his abdomen, cut with a blade so sharp he had not felt it slice into him. Then, he caught his breath as the pain began.

Again, the rush of air, Udymu shrieked, blood spattered the walls and splashed the face of the sleeping Den who jolted awake. More blood slewed into Den's astonished eyes. He rubbed them, and focussed on the corpse of his father slumped upon the stained ground. Not immediately comprehending the horror that he saw before him, he stared vacantly at the thick red blood upon his hands.

The fire flickered and went out. The boy began to scream.

Outside in the town, dark cloud whipped the moon's bright face with fretted banners suffusing the lime-washed houses with a soft glow, then plunging them back into grey anonymity. A fitful wind teased and tugged at Iah's pelt. The uneasy night was in the cat's heart and mind, filling him with apprehension and undefined disquiet.

The streets were quiet enough, the narrow alleyways and courtyards empty, only the odd rustle of palms disturbed the heavy silence that hung over the tightly packed buildings. Yet still he felt ill at ease.

He restlessly shifted his paws on the warm, stony earth and thrust his whiskers into the wind, searching, testing. What was it? With his vibrissae he felt the air behind him part for an instant, as something plummeted from the high mud brick wall above. Iah caught sight of a shadowy shape, as he half turned. Spitting he sprang back, twisting in the air, fur rising on his body. He called out a warning.

'Be at peace, cat Iah,' said the newcomer, padding out of the shadows, the merest hint of amusement in his tone.

'Pardon my Souk, I did not recognise you,' Iah said with relief, letting his body relax.

'It is well enough. I am glad that you are alert,' said The Prince of The Markets.

'I can't be other than alert on such a night as this,' Iah said, the tip of his tail twitching.

'How so?' The Souk answered calmly, even though he had his own misgivings.

'There is not one thing that I could report and yet the night is wrong. It smells wrong, it feels wrong,' Iah said, pensively.

The Souk said nothing, but perhaps that in itself had meaning. Instead, he asked,

'Has my Captain passed this way?'

'Yes, my Prince, the lady Captain was here but moments ago and intends to patrol to the east.'

'Then it is the west for me,' Souk said. 'I bid you a good night, even if it doesn't feel like one.' Turning, the long-limbed cat loped effortlessly into the enfolding darkness of the alleyway opposite. Watching him go, Iah felt his isolation more keenly than before and his sense of foreboding grew.

Leaving Iah, Souk pushed west into the part of the markets where the well to do merchants kept permanent shops and kiosks. By day, it was busy with the voices of the hind-legs and their animals, the sound of their feet going back and forth and the smells of their food but at night it became the territory of the cat people. Quiet, moon washed and as familiar as his own paws, and yet, tonight it took on another look. The low buildings seemed to hide enemies on their roofs, stone jars and amphoras left standing from the day, to conceal strangers.

The Souk shook his shoulders.A leader cannot show fear but Souk was as disturbed by the quality of the night as Iah. He had the right of it, it smells wrong and it feels wrong...

As this thought crossed his mind and as if it were waiting its moment, came a curious and unpleasant odour. The smell of the dead, the smell of mummies, incense and the temple? Here, in the markets? The temple lay across town. He had never smelt the like here and then another smell, is that blood? He tilted his head, spread his whiskers, opened his mouth and drank in the night air. Finding the direction, he set off at a loping gallop. Bands of moonlight and starlight broke across his path, like waves, the shifting light and the fitful breeze as one, disorientating the senses.

At length he came to a confluence of three ways, near to the shop of the baker Udymu. Three dark, silent ways. They were two storey buildings here, thick walled against the heat of the day and the cold of night. Their bulk gave them a lowering presence. The Prince of The Markets put his nose to the ground, head down, nostrils twitching. He entered the first and darkest of the alleys. He paused.

No, not here, he thought. He retreated, crossing the mouth of the second narrow street, nor yet here...

The third way, nearest to the bakery, was an assault upon his keen senses. The Souk contorted his mask into a disgusted sneer. Death and blood.

Cautiously, he advanced into the darkness. The air in the narrow way was heavy and oppressive. Is a storm brewing? It was pitch black at first; even the cat's eyes could see nothing. His ears swivelled this way and that. Somewhere, a child was sobbing; a disconsolate, disturbing sound. Souk spread his whiskers and vibrissae, feeling the flow of the air currents. Something is moving, something is coming this way...

Priah, Captain of Cats, lifted just one paw to proceed, then she froze, paw crooked in mid-air. A keening cry, full of fear broke on the night. Whipped and twisted by the restless breeze, she was unsure of its direction but certain of its owner. My Souk is in danger, she thought, and it was a worried thought, for the Prince was known for his reckless bravery.

Why do you cry out so? she wondered, nose twitching, searching for his scent. Where are you? Urgently she started to trot back along the route of her patrols, ears swivelling agitatedly. I need to be high... Priah knew the market territories like few others, she knew the nearest accessible rooftop.

With two quick thrusts of her strong hind legs, she gained the flat roof. Instantly there was a challenge, low and menacing from the darkness. She nearly collided with another cat hiding in shadow. Priah responded with her own high, skirling battle cry. There was a flurry of blows, Priah's cool, green eyes struck fire as she howled out her anger, the other cat hissing like a boiling cauldron.

They parted, backing away, holding each other's gaze, fur lifted, tails puffed. Priah took in the other cat with a swift glance from head to toe, losing no concentration. The stranger cat was a heavily built female, broad shouldered, with a broken coat and yellow lamps for eyes. She was continuing to hiss in an irritable way, as if Priah were no more than a nuisance to her.

'Back away, or regret it,' said the yellow eyed cat, her call now low and harsh as a male's, disrespect in her eyes.

This Priah would not tolerate. Was she not Captain of Cats? Was this not her home? She launched herself at her adversary, screaming her defiance. The larger cat danced backwards in silence.

'Next time I will hurt you, little girl,' yellow eyes sneered.

'Twice, we have clashed,' Priah said coldly, sarcastically, 'yet it is not I who has taken harm.'

Following Priah's gaze Simoom, of the yellow eyes, looked down at her breast and for perhaps the first time in her life, allowed her eyes to register the unaccustomed emotion of surprise. She was bleeding. She lifted her gaze to meet Priah's triumphant stare. Masking her own feelings, she said,

'You were lucky, precious courtier.'

'Perhaps, yellow eyes but I was taught, that luck is made and not found. In battle I am a lucky cat. Shall we see how lucky?' said Priah, pacing slowly forward showing the backs of her ears insultingly to her enemy.

'What of that terrible cry, in the night? Was that not your master's voice?' Simoom replied unemotionally, mockingly. The memory of that awful sound burst back upon Priah's mind like a thunderclap. She could dally no longer.

'I have your scent, broken coat and I will find you, if you cross my territory...' Priah said, darkly.

Simoom took two steps back and threw herself off the roof and into the night.

The desert wind blows where it will, Simoom thought to herself, defiantly. Priah raced to the edge of the roof in time to catch a last flash of the other's sulphurous eyes, as they disappeared into the maze of close packed dwellings that made up the town territories. Priah hissed and spat.

The Souk screamed again louder and more piteously than before. Great Mother, blessed be thy names, protect him lady where I cannot... Priah thought in distress, leaping desperately from the roof, sure of her way at last.

Priah flew through the darkened city as if she had wings. Few were faster than Priah of the markets. Love, loyalty, fear and panic drove her on. She careened recklessly into the thick darkness of the alley beside the baker's shop without pausing. Then her paw struck something soft and wet. She stumbled and, tangling in her own galloping feet, pitched to the ground in a heap.

Rolling swiftly back onto to all four paws, she stood breathing heavily. She shook herself and took a couple of soothing licks at her chest fur.

Calmer now, her senses began to speak to her. There was the heavy, smell of blood filling the night with horror. In a pool of moonlight, a still, dead shape lay. Looking around her, she began a low rumbling purr of distress. Blood spattered the walls and sprayed in arcs across the floor. Lumps of something red and moist cast oddly shaped shadows on the earth. Excited insects buzzed and hummed. With a sick feeling, she realised just what manner of thing it was that she had tripped over.

Her sides heaving, she began to wash, frantically and ritualistically. It was The Souk. He who had given Priah her chance, who had stood out against the others in council to take a female for his captain.

Holy Mother, great protectress, take this warrior's brave soul beyond The Field of Reeds, to dwell with thee in joy and comfort everlasting. Blessed be thou. She recited the traditional prayer silently to herself.

You taught me much my Prince, though I was a poor and impatient pupil. I take back any words I ever said in anger. Noble and bright were you and the fiercest of warriors. From Priah, there was no higher praise, though in her thoughts of him, perhaps there was that she couldn't admit even to herself.

There was a sound behind her. Priah was immediately a fighting cat again, springing through one hundred and eighty degrees in a split second, whiskers forward, ears back and tail thrashing.

'Captain, no!' It was Iah's terrified yowl. Priah's raking claws stopped within an inch of his muzzle. Their eyes locked, the fire died from Priah's and she regained her composure. Iah dropped his head and looked away licking his chest nervously.

'Is it our prince? Should I run to the temple? Should I run and fetch Icara?' he said.

'Even Icara is not Isis,' Priah replied with grim humour that masked her heart's truth from her subordinate. 'And to my knowledge, only she can make whole a sundered corpse and give it life.'

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Copyright Robin Tompkins all rights reserved - This file may not be shared or stored by any means, mechanical or digital without the permission of the author.

Taken from 'The Field of Reeds - In Shadows (Book One)

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