“Why do you say ‘who will be Pharaoh,’ Jabez?” I asked, for we were standing in an empty place alone.
“That I may not tell you,” he replied cunningly, “yet it will come about as I say. He who sits upon the throne is mad as Meneptah was mad, and will fight against a strength that is greater than his until it overwhelms him. In the Prince’s heart alone does the light of wisdom shine. That which you saw to-day is only the first of many miracles, Scribe Ana. I can say no more.”
“What then is your message, Jabez?”
“This: Because the Prince has striven to deal well with the people of Israel and for their sake has cast aside a crown, whatever may chance to others, let him fear nothing. No harm shall come to him, or to those about him, such as yourself, Scribe Ana, who also would deal justly by us. Yet it may happen that through my niece Merapi, on whose head the evil word has fallen, a great sorrow may come to both him and her. Therefore, perhaps, although setting this against that, she may be wise to stay in the house of Seti, he, on the balance, may be wise to turn her from his doors.”
“What sorrow?” I asked, who grew bewildered with his dark talk, but there was no answer, for he had gone.
Near to my lodging another man met me, and the moonlight shining on his face showed me the terrible eyes of Ki.
“Scribe Ana,” he said, “you leave for Memphis to-morrow at the dawn, and not two days hence as you purposed.”
“How do you know that, Magician Ki?” I answered, for I had told my change of plan to none, not even to Bakenkhonsu, having indeed only determined upon it since Jabez left me.
“I know nothing, Ana, save that a faithful servant who has learned all you have learned to-day will hurry to make report of it to his master, especially if there is some other to whom he would also wish to make report, as Bakenkhonsu thinks.”
“Bakenkhonsu talks too much, whatever he may think,” I exclaimed testily.