The Pharaoh Key

31

GARZA FELT COOL water on his face and slowly opened his eyes. A boy was carefully dabbing at his cheek with a damp cloth. Gideon and Imogen were hovering nearby, staring down at him with concern. He was in a small, elegant tent. Some kind of hubbub was taking place outside.

“We told them you needed rest and quiet,” Gideon said.

“The chief’s wife?” Garza asked, raising his head to speak.

“Alive. Her shoulder’s a bit chewed up, apparently, but the rest of her is fine.”

Garza lowered his throbbing head. “And my face?”

A silence. “The cuts are superficial,” Gideon said. “You’re damn lucky it missed your auricular artery.”

Imogen leaned toward him. “I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met. Even if you are a nob some of the time.”

“Nobody was doing anything. I couldn’t let her just be eaten.”

“The reason they weren’t doing anything,” she said, “is because they thought that leopard was an invincible demon. It’s been killing them for years.”

“I just got lucky with my shot.” A thought struck him. “What did they do when they saw the crossbow?”

“We had some fancy explaining to do,” Gideon said. “We told the chief we were making it for him as a surprise. I’m not sure he believed it, but he kept the crossbow for himself. And decreed that no others should be made, on pain of death.”

Garza shook his head.

At that moment they heard a fresh commotion outside and the tent flap was thrust aside. The chief himself stepped in and spread his arms. He started speaking effusively and came over, embracing Garza once again.

“I think,” said Imogen, “he’s thanking you.”

“I figured that much out.”

More embraces. Garza saw that the old man’s eyes were full of tears. Then the chief rose and spoke.

“What’s he saying now?”

Imogen leaned forward. The chief slowed down, and she nodded. Her eyes went wide. She nodded again.

“He wants to know if you are well enough to walk.”

“Why?”

“It seems he wants to make some kind of announcement.”

Garza raised his head again. The world spun around him. “Christ. Do I have to?”

“If you can. Whatever it is, it seems pretty important.”

Helped by Gideon and Imogen, Garza managed to get to his feet. He put one arm over each of their shoulders, and the three of them ducked out of the tent and into the early-morning sunlight. The tent was in the high-rent district, only a few steps behind the chief’s own dwelling. And the chief was now standing on the little promontory of rock he used for important speeches, staff in hand, looking at Garza and smiling. The crone stood a few paces behind him. A crowd was gathering below—the entire tribe, from what Garza could make out—and there were smiles and approving nods all around. Then the world spun again and he paused to clear his head.

More slowly now, they approached the chief. The old man bowed. As Gideon and Imogen released their holds, Garza managed to return the gesture without collapsing to the ground.

The chief began speaking in a stentorian voice, now facing the crowd below, now turning to face Garza. He gestured several times. There were gasps from the assembled throng. The chief continued speaking, his frail body animated, his movements full of passion. Then he turned toward Garza expectantly.

Garza, who had understood little of what had just transpired, glanced questioningly at Imogen. The look on her face startled him.

“Um,” she began, “I don’t know quite how to tell you this.”

“Spit it out. How bad can it be?”

The chief looked from one to the other, waiting.

“It’s not bad, exactly. It’s…” She paused again.

“What?”

She took a deep breath. “It turns out the young woman you rescued isn’t the chief’s wife, after all.”

“No? She wields an awful lot of influence for a concubine.”

“She’s not a concubine. She’s his daughter. Her name is Jelena. And…” Her face reddened. “In return for saving her life, he will permit you to marry her.”

“Oh for God’s sake…”

“Manuel?” said Gideon quickly.

“What? This is absurd—”

“Stop for just a moment and try to look honored. You’ll offend the chief.”

And as Garza glanced back at the chief, he in fact saw a growing expression of displeasure. Lillaya, the crone, was beginning to frown as well. He did his best to put on a big smile, then said sotto voce to Imogen: “Can you tell him thank you, but I’ve got a girlfriend, or that I’m cherishing the memory of my dead wife, or some damn thing along those lines?”

Once again it was Gideon who replied. “We need to proceed very carefully here. He has no male heir, and he seems to consider you worthy of being his son-in-law. This is obviously a tremendous honor. If you refuse it…I think the offense might be great.”

“You can’t expect me to marry her!”

“We’ve come a long way, thanks to you,” said Imogen. “Gideon’s right. This is as much a danger as an opportunity.”

Before Garza could protest, the chief launched into another long speech, which Imogen listened to, her brow furrowed with concentration.

“What now?” asked Garza.

“He pronounced that the wedding will take place in a week’s time. I think he’s already assumed you’ll accept.”

“A week?” Garza sat up. “Wait a minute, I’m not doing this.”

“Keep smiling,” said Gideon. “Just keep smiling while we talk.”

“Hard pass.” Garza grinned broadly over clenched teeth. “No fucking way. Not gonna do it.”

Gideon leaned in. “Why not? This will get us in good with the tribe, solidify our position here. Make it easier to continue our search. And who knows? It might be fun.”

“Fun? What a pig.”

“When in Rome, and all that.”

“My God.” Garza turned to Imogen. “This is not right, on so many levels.”

Imogen leaned toward him. “Manuel? I don’t think you understand. This isn’t the kind of invitation you can refuse.”

She turned to the chief and, haltingly, fumbled out a couple of sentences. The chief beamed with pleasure, and once more came over and embraced Garza. “Samu! Samu!”

When the chief had stepped back, Garza looked at Imogen. “What’s samu?”

“It means ‘son.’”

“You told him I accepted?”

“Of course. Would you rather I told him you refused—and get our heads impaled on those stakes for sure?”

Garza hesitated. “I guess not.”

“Then just remember it’s for a good cause—our survival. Now keep smiling!”

Then, just as the chief seemed about to launch into another speech, there was a hubbub in the gathering below. Garza, his vision still a little blurry, blinked downward. He could just make out Mugdol—Blackbeard—pushing his way through the crowd until he was standing alone before them. An incensed look on his face, he made a fist; pounded it twice against his chest; and then—with a few angry words—pointed it at Garza. There was another gasp from the crowd.

As with one voice, the chief and Lillaya spoke to Blackbeard. There was a brief, heated exchange. Then, almost reluctantly, the old man nodded. He turned to Garza, spread his hands, and spoke several sentences. Garza gestured to show that he did not understand. Then Lillaya came forward and conferred at some length with Imogen.

“Well?” Garza asked as she turned toward him. The crowd, too, was still looking up, great anticipation on their faces.

“There’s, um, there’s a problem.” A grave look was on her face.

“I won’t marry her. Then there’s no problem.”

She waved this away. “Because you saved his daughter’s life, you deserve to have her hand in marriage. But our friend down there—” she gestured toward Mugdol, who was now standing, arms folded, legs apart, glaring up at them—“protests that, as the lead warrior of the tribe, she is already promised to him.”

“Fine. Let them get married.”

“It’s not that simple. The chief has already given his consent to your marriage. And according to custom, there is only one way to settle this.”

Garza’s headache suddenly grew worse. “I don’t think I want to know what it is.”

Imogen paused a moment before continuing. “You’ve been challenged to a fight—a fight to the death.”

Garza simply groaned.

Several of the tribal elders came forward, and now there was a brief conclave between them and the chief. At length, the chief spoke to the crone, who in turn spoke to the three.

“It seems there’s no way out,” Imogen said. “You can’t refuse the chief’s invitation, and you can’t refuse the fight. The chief has allowed you two days to recover. Whoever survives the combat will marry his daughter in one week—just as he already decreed.”

“Great.” Garza grasped hold of Gideon as dizziness returned. “If this is what the engagement is like, I can’t wait for the honeymoon.”