January/February 2005

Kysen ran stealthily and silently to the temple as the chilly night air whipped around him. His black hair and dark clothing let him blend into the night, and his blue eyes scanned the road ahead of him. The buildings of Bubastis were dark, the people sound asleep, dreaming of the festival just four days away. But Kysen could not think of the festival. He had to think about survival. It seemed to him like just yesterday when his father grew ill. The expert carpenter could no longer work, and they did not have enough money to support the two of them. Kysen had to steal for them to live. So far, he had been stealing little things: bracelets, scarabs, and even a small sculpture. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough. So tonight he was going for something that would sell for hundreds of deben, deben that would pay for a doctor. That item was the necklace of Bastet. I’m only twelve, Kysen thought to himself ruefully, and I’m stealing from the gods. *          *          * Maya’s eleventh birthday, about a full moon ago, was not a happy one. It was the day her mother died. Her father, Khay, was so depressed that he locked himself in his room for much of each day and prayed to Osiris, god of the dead. Even when Khay was not praying, he paid almost no attention to Maya and burst into tears all the time. “Bastet,” whispered Maya, kneeling “please make my father better . . .” Of course Maya was very sad, but not as sad as her father, who had been married for thirty years. So Maya decided that he needed help. One night, when Khay had been crying more than usual, Maya crept out of their large house and walked quickly to the temple of Bastet, which was nearby. Cats, which were sacred to Bastet, ran everywhere in the temple, and green candles, Bastet’s sacred color, flickered in their holders. Maya walked down a long hallway, with the cats rubbing against her legs. Ever since she was little, cats seemed to like her. That was what made her go to Bastet’s temple instead of praying to another god. Soon she saw the statue of Bastet. The god of happiness was portrayed as a large, black cat. It had golden earrings, a scarab carved on its chest, and a beautiful silver necklace hanging from its neck. “Bastet,” whispered Maya, kneeling, “please make my father better . . .” Her prayer was interrupted by a chorus of hisses. Maya whirled around and saw a boy, little older than her, kicking away the cats. “Who are you?” she called to him suspiciously. She didn’t like the fact that he was wearing all black clothing. The boy had been so preoccupied with the cats that he hadn’t noticed her at first. He froze and turned to Maya, his blue eyes full of surprise. Kysen realized that she could report him to the priest and he could be killed. Without thinking, his mind a flood of panic, Kysen leapt at the girl and knocked her to the stone floor. She blacked out. Then the young thief wrenched the necklace off the statue and ran into the black night faster than he ever had. *          *          * Sunlight streamed through the temple doors and with it came Pure One Rahotep, the priest of Bubastis. He saw the unconscious girl on the floor and the bare neck of the statue. “Bring water,” he commanded a servant, and walked through the cats to Maya. The servant returned with a bowl full of water. “Here you are, sir,” he said. Rahotep took the bowl and dumped the water over Maya’s head unceremoniously. Her eyes flickered open, and she mumbled, “Where am I?” “In the temple of Bastet where you stole her necklace last night, you fool!” he answered harshly. This shook Maya fully awake, and she stood up. Then she remembered what had happened the night before. “But it wasn’t me! It must have been that boy. He came in and knocked me out,” Maya argued. “You have no proof of that,” said Rahotep, “and no one but you was here this morning. Therefore, you must have stolen the necklace. And stealing from the gods can only be punished by execution. “But there is an alternative. If you can return Bastet’s necklace to me before sunset tonight, I will spare you. I’ll bet you hid it somewhere. Oh, and don’t try to escape: soldiers are posted at every gate.” Then he and his servant turned and left. Maya collapsed into tears: the boy was long gone, and she was going to die at sunset. *          *          * The work of a thief was never over. Kysen had done the hardest part, but he still had to find a foreign merchant who would buy the necklace (if the merchant was from Bubastis, he would recognize it), get a good price for it, and pay a doctor to help his father. Most importantly, the soldiers could not capture him. That would mean both he and his father, who would never get a doctor, would die. People were everywhere in the marketplace of Bubastis. They were trading, shouting, laughing, and thieving. Hiding the necklace under his cloak, Kysen hurried through the crowd to the stalls of the merchants. They called their wares into the crowd, claiming that they had the lowest prices in all of Egypt. Most of them Kysen recognized; they were the local merchants. But there were some others, too, from Cairo and other Egyptian cities. Kysen read the signs: Food, Fabric, Toys. None of those merchants would buy Bastet’s necklace. Finally, Kysen came to a merchant who had no customers. His sign read: Jewelry, Riches, and Other Oddities. Kysen eagerly stepped forward. “Hello there, son!” cried the merchant cheerily. “I’m Osorkon. Who are you?” “Kysen,” answered Kysen, but instantly regretted it. If Osorkon recognized the necklace, he could tell the