A Stranger in the Pharaoh's Court - 3

You found yourself back at the palace for the second time in two days. The disbelieving guard had thanked you and then arrested you, in that order, for causing a disturbance in the market. You know that no good deed goes unpunished. The simplest option was to submit yourself to their judgement and hope that everything blows over. The other men are roped up and brought with you.

You have to admire the craftmanship of their armour. Glowing bronze plate and flowing white fabric. Their helmets resemble the deities of their culture, birds of prey and more. The Anubi have helmets with moulded ears that you can only assume are hollow for their real ears. Your march through the gilded halls of the palace is halted before you reach the dungeon by a stern and familiar looking woman. “Guards, what crime has this man committed?”

The head of the contingent bows her head, “All-knowing Eye, we are apprehending this man and seven others for fighting at the market.”

This must be the elder Al-Hathor. She is almost identical to her excitable and dedicated daughter, with a few extra wrinkles under her makeup covered eyes. You don’t want to entertain the thought of her curvier, once child-bearing body at this moment in time. It does beg the question of where the man of the house is currently. “A troublemaker? I did not expect her holiness to set her sights on a man like you.”

You look to the others for permission to speak, “You know who I am?”

She holds a thick paw to her chest, “I know everything that her holiness knows. It is little exaggeration to say that I am the left side of her mind. It is my duty, and my honour, to be entrusted with her desires and wants. Upon her return to her private chambers, she summoned me on the spot and demanded that I engrave my mind with the details of your person.”

“Uh huh.”

“She then regaled me with a list of sexual positions she wished to use on you, in numerical order.”

This got weird really fast. You decide to take control of this conversation before she decides to give you too much detail about how thirsty her holiness is. “While I appreciate the Pharaoh’s eagerness – is this not information she would prefer to divulge to me personally?”

You seem to have snapped the older Anubis to her senses, “Ah. Of course. Take the rest of these scoundrels to the dungeon, the Pharaoh wishes to commune with this one personally.” The soldiers salute, quickly untie your bound hands and march the beaten criminals down the hallway and out of sight. “With me, commoner.”

You stick closely to the advisor until you reach the throne room – your pass the wide double doors and continue further down the hall until you reach a humbler, smaller pair of doors that lead into a small study room. “Humbler” by the Pharaoh’s standards means that the place is lavished with ornate gold engravings, marble pillars and flowing silk sheets to keep the sun out, of course.

The woman of the hour is sat behind a large wooden desk. A feathered quill in her left hand and a lock of her long, dark hair trapped in the other. Her full, plump lips are pursed in concentration. The Anubis bows her head, “Your holiness, your guest has arrived.”

“Thank you, Al-Hathor.”

She takes her place next to the Pharaoh. You stand silently and await her first words to you. But she seems more occupied with whatever document she was composing onto an aged piece of parchment. She has the benefit of all the time in the world after all, she does not age. You on the other hand, are growing older and more infirm by the moment. It’s an agonizing wait.

Bahiti Am-Heh, along with her long list of titles that you couldn’t possibly remember at this moment in time, finally puts the quill down after several minutes of writing. Her ruby eyes regard you with fondness and competitiveness in equal measure. “I hear tales of a battle occurring within the avenues of my market.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. It is. According to some of my eyes, they tell me that a man matching your description dispatched the criminals in the blink of an eye, without awaiting the assistance of the guards I assign to the market for that very purpose.”

“What a coincidence.” Her eyes narrow, maybe trying to piss her off is a bad idea. You shrug, “Alright. Maybe that was me.”

“I did not take you for a skilled warrior.”

You rub the back of your head, “I try to keep it a secret. It causes too much trouble when I show off too much.”

“Yet you stepped in still.”

“Sure. I wasn’t going to let them rob the poor guy.”

“I can assure you, not a single soul within that market is poor by any measurement. I believe we can waive this offense, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, your holiness,” the senior Al-Hathor nods. “I will strike it from the record when our meeting is adjourned.”

“However,” the Pharaoh interjects, “In return, I must ask of you one favour.”

You know where this is going. “Is it marriage?”

“Nothing so crude. I am more than capable of winning your affection without blackmail.”

“I’m sure you’re a master of romance.”

“I am a master of all which I desire, son of man.”

“So what do you want from me?”

She smirks, “I merely wish for you to accompany me to a meeting, this coming evening. The woman in question is a dreadful bore, obsessed with displays of strength and avarice unlike any other. On our last few meetings – she attempted to embarrass me in front of my court with poor displays of sportsmanship.”

The Pharaoh rises from her seat and rounds the desk. The full weight of her authority weighs heavy on your shoulders. She’s near the same height as you, but she feels as tall as the stars in the sky when she sets her eyes on you. Her divine hands take your cheeks in her grasp, “I want you to be there. That is all.”

“It’s not going to be that simple. Not a chance.”

She releases you and turns to her assistant, “Fufufu. That is for you to discover for yourself. Al-Hathor! See to it that our guest is dressed appropriately for the occasion.”

“Yes your holiness. Will that be all?”

“Yes. See to it.”

Before you even have a chance to say goodbye, you are pushed through the door by Al-Hathor and dragged by your arm for several minutes. You storm through the bowels of the palace, which feels even larger on the inside than it looks from the outside. Eventually you reach a section of the grand building that isn’t quite as grand as the rest of it. The gold trim is mostly absent, and the doors are no longer engraved with jewels and murals to the Pharaoh.

“This is where our seamstresses work. Can I trust you to stay here and follow their instructions?”

“I wouldn’t want to be rude. And uh, I don’t think I can find my way out of here.”

She doesn’t find your commentary amusing, “I have to speak with the guards about your record. I will return and take you to the throne room when it is time for the meeting.” She opens the door and pushes you inside. The room is quaint in comparison to most. Several large devices of wood and steel line the two sides of the space. Two spider-women hang from the ceiling, their many beady eyes staring straight at you.

“You two, dignitary outfit please!” she commands. The two women descend to the floor and skitter over to you. They are very large, with black spider bodies below their waists. The curvature of their body is still pleasing to the eye. Although finding a monster girl who isn’t pleasing to the eye is truly a fool’s errand. You turn to thank Al-Hathor for her time, but she’s already gone!

“What do we have here?” one of the women titters. “A handsome young man has come to visit us!”

“Hello,” you say in a vain attempt to break the ice and protect your chastity.

She leans down and picks at your clothes with her carapace covered fingers, “These rags are simply dreadful! How long have you been wearing these for?”

“Uh, I borrowed them from a friend. And I wasn’t exactly planning on visiting the palace today.”

“Nonsense, there’s never a bad time to look your best!” You find yourself in a total daze as the two women fawn over you like a pair of finely-aged aunts. They push you to a changing room, hidden by dangling crimson curtains, and ask you to strip yourself. You cautiously hang up your precious dirty rags and emerge to see the pair armed with a series of measuring devices and devious grins.

Their hands get plenty of personal time touching you, but they never make an overt attempt to seduce you. You imagine sleeping with their customers is an easy way to get kicked out of the palace. “I haven’t seen you in the palace before,” the outgoing one comments, “Are you new? And to receive the dignitary treatment as well! I suppose that the Pharaoh has taken an interest in you?”

“I’d say it’s about time that her holiness found herself a man!” the other giggled excitedly, “Oh! I do hope we get to make her a lovely wedding dress.”

“That isn’t really our... relationship.”

“Oh, hush you, let me dream!”

You watch them work for nearly two hours, at a speed that makes your head spin. They pull out fabric of a deep navy blue that shimmers under the light and carefully cut it into pieces. One of them embryoids the fabric with detailed gold patterns that show divine figures and prostrating men. The other sews the pieces together into a long coat with a high collar. You’re spun around on your feet as pieces of flowing white silk wrap around your torso and hang down to cover your crotch. The coat is slipped on over the top of it, and they even trim your hair for good measure.

The younger arachne brings out a mirror and places it in front of you. You have to admit, they do good work. This coat probably costs more than Shem’s house. The thought sends a tingle of paranoia down your spine. You defiantly need to keep this clean and in good condition. The seamstress smiles, “Wonderful – if you weren’t the Pharaoh’s already, I’d have snapped you up myself.”

“I’m not the Pharaoh’s.”

She rolls her eyes, “The denial of a man who is in over his head.”

“I can’t wait for the wedding!”

You sigh. You take a seat by the door as the two begin to clean up after themselves. Must be nice to have a pair of people on hand to make clothes for you whenever you want. The coat is bulkier than what most people wear around the city, but the silk it’s made from is surprisingly airy and well ventilated.

When Al-Hathor Sr. finally returns, the two spider women have long since interrogated every piece of information out of you that you’re willing to give. She grunts as you approach, “Apologies, the task took longer than I expected. It is almost time for the meeting, let us be away.”

You wave goodbye to the kind spiders and follow her, “So what kind of meeting is this anyway? Is there anything I need to do?”

“No. You merely need to stand there and look pretty. This is a competition of aesthetics. As much as I despise speaking ill of her holiness, her counterpart brings out her… childish side.”

“Counterpart? Like a neighbouring Pharaoh?”

“No. Her name is Caiti Al-Mesi, she is an Apophis.”

“Hm. Aren’t they natural enemies?”

“In everything but actual warfare, yes. The two have been at odds for decades. Attempting to construct their nations to an apex above even the clouds themselves. Only then will one of them declare victory over the other. Although the days of sabotage and subterfuge are not past us yet.”

“I’m just going to stand back and watch the meeting?”

“Yes. That is all. I will show you to your place.”

The throne room has been rearranged in the day since you arrived. A huge, lengthy table now dominates the centre of the room. Dozens and dozens of seats run down each side. Servants and handmaidens hurry to and fro in a blitz to prepare the room for the show. Several other men and women in clothes similar to yours loiter near the windows to try and keep themselves in the breeze. The sun is shining through the entire hall leaving few places to hide within the shade.

You join them in standing around and doing nothing in particular for half an hour, before the Pharaoh finally enters the room alongside several guards. She stares a hole through you with a lustful smile – she must think you cleaned up nice too. Not that your rough appearance would stop her from jumping your bones if given the chance.

You’re escorted to line up with the rest of the guests at one side of the room. The Queen takes her seat atop her gilded throne and nods to the guards at the door. They leave, and a few minutes later they return with the infamous Caiti Al-Mesi. You’ve never seen an Apophis in real life before, and they certainly defy description. She’s huge, in more ways than one. A long, powerful looking tail covered with midnight purple scales trails behind her. Her skin is a vibrant lilac. She’s covered from head to tail in silver amulets and trinkets. Several other people follow her inside.

All is well for the moment. Neither of the women begin a magical duel to end all magical duels. You take a sigh of relief, that you immediately revoke the moment you notice who is with her. There’s a familiar flaming mouse amongst the procession. Before you can duck behind the pillar and avoid causing a fuss, she decides to point at you, hands blazing, and yell at the top of her lungs before either ruler has spoken.

“Onii-sama!”

The Hinezumi launches herself at you with the velocity of a rock launched from a catapult and knocks you flat on your behind. The air in the room freezes as every eye in the room is suddenly focused on you. There are a million things you want to say at this moment. Assert that it isn’t your fault, beg the queen not to execute you on the spot, but instead what you utter is less graceful - less helpful than either of those things.

“Ako, why?”