A Spare Body

“How many bodies should we have in stock, Ibebi?” Ahmose stood in the doorway between the Embalmers’ Workshop and the small mortuary. “Four, Boss,” the Chief Embalmer answered promptly, “old Ma Aswana, that scribe Phatat, Jocubi the Surveyor and the idiot that broke his neck climbing the city walls the other night.” “So if I told you we have five,” the Supervisor continued to look fixedly into the mortuary, “would you find that interesting?” “What are you talking about, Boss?” Ibebi sounded almost puzzled. “I’m talking about the dead provincial governor that’s lying in the middle of the floor,”