Imhotep sets the statue on his alter. The cat seems to be smiling at him. He examines it, walking circles around it to see it from all angles. Touching his chin Imhotep considers.
“Speak.” He orders the item. Nothing happens.
“What are your terms? I wish all the knowledge possible. About everything,” he says. A thought tickles his mind, forcing its way in. All the knowledge in the world for the blood, the life of one per day. Imhotep blinks.
“Done,” he says. I know how to talk my Pharaoh into allowing me to fill this quota. No, not this Pharaoh, the one who follows. This Pharaoh, the current one in power, will never see the benefit. He must be replaced. An evil grin crosses his face as the plan spins a tangled web in his mind. The Pharaoh will be its first victim. He picks up the heavy statue. It hums in his hand, as if with a life force all its own.
“Djoser, I’ve had a dream for a new style of tomb, one that rises majestically from the sand. It will be intricate, perfect, and bigger than any other tomb. People will see it and marvel at its size and prowess. However,” Imhotep leans in closer to his subject, “I do not wish to waste it on your father. He is an old fool who wouldn’t allow me the chance to make my advances in architecture and medicine. We could change Egypt.” He continues, knowing the greedy gleam in the young Regents eye. Every Pharaoh wants to be remembered as better than their father. He can’t turn this down. Imhotep smiles, lifting his chin with his evil thought. Djoser considers, looking out over the blowing sands. Imhotep watches a boat sailing along the Nile, the peaceful way of life so tranquil, so monotonous.
“What is your plan for my father?” Djoser asks, warily.
“Your father is old, growing weaker. With your support no one will ask if he dies suddenly.” Imhotep doesn’t meet the others eye, still confident his bargaining chip is big enough to overlook the horror of what he asks.
“You’ll be known as the Pharaoh with the Chancellor who brought about new advances in medicine, building, and sculpting.” Imhotep continues taking in the sights of the Nile, the tall bank grasses blowing in the breeze.
“Wonderful breeze today,” Djoser says, “Strong enough to blow out a weak flame I assume.” he looks at Imhotep.
“Quietly and with the utmost respect.” Imhotep hides his inner excitement.
Taking his leave, he nods to Djoser. As Djoser waves a hand his direction, Imhotep masks his expression carefully.
“Pharaoh, I believe it is time for you to entertain my presence. How do you feel today?” Imhotep bows slightly before the Pharaoh. Khasekhemwy stands, following him out. Keeping his smile hidden he leads the Pharaoh into his office, letting him lie down.
“Please hold this; it will help your pain.” Imhotep offers the cat statue. He examines the Pharaoh’s decaying teeth, knowing this is his answer.
“Are they still causing you pain?” Imhotep asks.
“Increasingly.” The Pharaoh answers. Imhotep turns; using his table he mixes his herbs, masking the scent with a stronger weed. The resulting paste is pungent, and deadly. Imhotep rubs the mixture along the Pharaoh’s gums.
“This will help.” Imhotep meets the old man’s eyes.
“It feels better already.” His tone grows weak. Imhotep takes the statue, knowing he is already gone.
