NINSHUBUR AND THE THIEF OF NIPPUR
Outside time. Across worlds. Between rivers. Two children in ancient Mesopotamia become unwitting emissaries to heaven and the underworld, as gods and humans go to war over honour, love, and destiny. This work of historical-fantasy fiction contains period morality which may unsettle some readers.
PART ONE
OF THE SERVANT GIRL’S TRIALS ABROAD IN ACCURSED LANDS
CHAPTER TWO
It had not taken long for Ninshubur to convince her dimwitted father to amend their travel plans. The travelling merchant’s daughter had simply to play up the financial and sexual opportunities visiting a new country may pose. The two had troubled one of the deceased king’s scribes for a map of Kemet’s neighbouring states, eventually settling on returning to Sumer by way of Punt in the south, instead of heading northeast through Edom.
“But why not pass on the tablet back in Uruk?!” Said Ninshubur’s father, remembering the value-for-money quality of brothels along his usual route. “I’m sure our lugal can send necessary aid.”
Ninshubur shook her head.
“No, we are too friendly with Kemet.” She said, pounding the map with her little fist. “The nesut wants old enemies to rise up against Waset’s visir, and help give back power to the royal family!”
After a brief, petulant sigh, Ninshubur’s weary father nodded. They had made camp by Kemet’s broad river, utilising the leather canvass they were set to deliver on their way south through Upper Kemet. They would usually sleep, somewhat uncomfortably, under the cart itself, but the fresh breeze the river brought north with it inspired them to sleep further out.
“And they say Punt has fine women?!” Her father said, pouring more water into his nedjem wine from Kemet and taking a meaningful sip.
“The finest!” Said Ninshubur, clasping her hands onto her father’s knees in a display of showmanship. “Men from around the Wadj-wer and Alkebulan flock to experience the most excruciating shudders of ecstasy imaginable!”
Her father wiped his moistening lips, his wine-stained tongue protruding to lick imaginary nipples.
“I’ve always wanted to try lying with a black woman!” He said, a hand rubbing the mound of tunic between his legs.
Ninshubur, knowing her father needed just a little more encouragement, sparked a twinkle in her eyes and gave a laugh.
“Well, these ones are blacker than the night’s sky!” She said, grabbing the cup from her father’s hand and taking a long gulp.
The man nodded, failing to notice that his wine-hand was now empty.
“It shall cost us to hire a ship,” he said, the vision of ebony beauties, dancing at his feet, fading from his mind, “if we are to circumnavigate Saba.”
Ninshubur hesitated for just a second, her mind scrambling for possibilities.
“We will not need to!” She said, clapping excitedly. “We shall sell your old cart and become passengers on a ship heading to Sumer, then we shall buy a new cart with the stones given to us in the sale!”
Her father rubbed his chin, with Ninshubur knowing full well that the idiot was not considering her scenario in the way in which she required.
“But… I have become attached to my cart.” The man said, his head falling.
His daughter placed the wine-cup down and snuggled into her father’s wiry frame. She knew at times, like this, that a simple feminine touch was all that was required to lift the simple man’s spirits.
“Then do it for me.” She whispered, her hand rubbing his sagging chest. “Do you not love me, father?!”
With the image of his beloved cart still in line of sight, the man resorted to familial commitment, against all natural reason.
“Of course I do, my little darling!” He said, squeezing her body tightly, which made the wine spit out of her tiny mouth.
The idiot often did not know his own strength. Or, at least, he kept forgetting it.
Ninshubur knew that, in order to save the royal siblings within Kemet, she would have to once again bear the brunt of her father’s feverish libido. It was a duty she regularly took on with modest humour, as a loyal family member would in such times. However, all being said, Ninshubur did not enjoy being used in such a fashion.
“Shall we get to bed?” Ninshubur said, throwing the last of the thick Kemet wine down her throat in one morbid flick.
In the tent the idiot had made for them and their donkey, father and daughter lay still together and took advantage of their pack-animal’s warm flatulence. Ninshubur felt sure she was to become the hero of Kemet, and was not at all ashamed that she had roundly manipulated her father into being complicit in shady political intrigue. After all, future generations would surely not remember her more questionable manipulations.
Since the girl was sure her father would require no further attention from his daughter, Ninshubur allowed the effects of the strong Kemet wine to send her into a slumber. It was, at that moment, in which she felt her dress being gently pulled up by foreign hands.
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