A Place in the Sun by Jill Rubalcaba

Author:Jill Rubalcaba [Rubalcaba, Jill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter 7

The Mines of Nubia

The cook slopped a ladle of rations onto Senmut's plate. Senmut moved along the line, comparing water jugs to see which had the most. He tried not to look at his food. Although he had eaten insects in the desert, lots of them, he couldn't get used to seeing them surface and submerge in his dinner. But not eating meant death. And Senmut was not ready to die. Not yet.

He brought his dinner to where Menkh sat on a bench, apart from the others. "Gallery duty?"

Menkh was covered with soot. The overseers forced the small ones into the galleries, squeezing them through tunnels clawed out by the older men. If they came back, the air was safe to breathe. Many never returned. Menkh was small.

"Today, in the dark, I tripped."

Senmut waited. Menkh was shaken. In the weeks since they had become friends, it was the first time Senmut had seen him scared.

"I tripped over a body. I thought—I thought the air had killed him. I held my breath. But how long can you hold your breath? I was sure I would die, like the boy at my feet. Alone. In the dark."

"You are here.'

"Yes, but how much longer?"

Senmut wanted to say something to give Menkh hope. But there was no hope. They would die here. Today, tomorrow, a year from now. They both knew it.

"I am going to escape."

"To where?" Senmut looked out over the endless sands. "The guards don't even bother watching us. They know no one can survive out there without water."

"I would rather die in the desert than in the dark by some poison in the air I can't see." Menkh grabbed Senmut's wrist. "Come with me."

"I cant."

"The statue?"

"I must finish it first. I don't know if my father lives or not. But I must do what I can."

"How much longer?"

Senmut thought. How much longer? Without tools, he had used what he could fashion from strips of cloth and stone. He'd even used his fingernails until they were worn to stubs. The wood he'd found in the mine, left behind by a torch carrier, was nearly carved. The lion's head of Sekhmet had come easily, the flow of the gnarled acacia lending itself to the lion's mane. But Sekhmet's graceful woman's body had taken time.

The most dangerous part was yet to come. He wanted to gild her. He'd found just the right stone for pounding gold into thin sheets. But he would have to smuggle gold past the scribes who weighed and recorded every nugget the prisoners brought out of the shafts. The scribes searched the prisoners thoroughly, even checking their ears.

But Zuka had found a way. Senmut had seen him palming flecks and nuggets to bribe the cook for extra rations and the guards for special treatment. Zuka had found a way to get the gold past the scribes. Senmut had been watching. He hadn't discovered Zuka's method. Not yet. But he would. He would wait and watch. There would be gold for Sekhmet.

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