The Lion of Bastet by Robert J. Muller EPUB & PDF

The Lion of Bastet by Robert J. Muller EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online

• Status: Available For Free Download
• Author: Robert J. Muller
• Language: English
• Genre: Alternative History
• Format: PDF / EPUB
• Size: 2 MB
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SHESMU VOLUNTEERS
I don’t like cats,” said MacIntyre in my ear as we sat down at the
small table in the Myu-Myu Club.
“It’s just a couple of dances, then we can leave,” I replied.

A social obligation. The head of the R’ames Society, Nesimen, was hosting
us at a small after-event party. The Society, a nonprofit foundation,
promoted talent in the culinary arts. Its annual award ceremony was the
social event of the year in the culinary world. Menmenet was the capital
and center of food culture in the Ta’an-Imenty Republic, and I was now the
best chef in Menmenet. I was owner of the Neferti, my restaurant on the
Bay waterfront that served New Remetjy cuisine.

But it was the Per’ankh restaurant that made me the best chef in Menmenet.
I had the Best New Chef award certificate in my pocket, my girlfriend at
my side, and a glass of an outstanding local white wine in front of me, and
all was right with the world. My career was advancing by leaps and bounds
since I’d taken over as executive chef of the Per’ankh, the restaurant where
I’d apprenticed. It was the best restaurant in Menmenet. French fine dining,
not Remetjy cuisine, but you couldn’t have everything.

With Nesimen’s happy approval, I invited some friends to celebrate with us.
Nekhetsebek was my chef at the Neferti, and Henutsenu was the Neferti
house manager. Sebek and Henutsenu were an item, which contributed to
the roaring success of the Neferti—excellent communication between the
front and back of the house.

MacIntyre whispered in my ear again. “It’s not really the cats, it’s the
murders.”
“OK, you’ll have to expand on that for me,” I said, sipping my wine.
MacIntyre grinned and drank some of her glass of Hermitage, a big red
Syrah from the Rhône. She’d taken a liking to it when we passed some time
there on a trip a few months back. She confined her knowledge of wine to
telling the difference between red and white. I hadn’t introduced her to
Anjou so as not to confuse the issue with light rosé, but she was learning
fast.

At any social event, Remetjy women compete with one another for the most
alluring fashion, and Remetjy fashions tended toward extremes. But
MacIntyre was not a Remetjet. She was a transplanted American. As a
plainclothes medjat, she dressed halfway between the severe black
American business style and the more conservative Remetjy, but tonight she
had crossed over and adopted Remetjy party dress. The dress, what there
was of it, was white with faint red and black designs at the edges, the edges
shaped and folded to emphasize the attributes of the wearer. On one edge,
she wore a gold feather pin, emblem of the goddess Ma’at whom she served
as a w’abet, a working priestess. She’d explained to me early in our
relationship that she wasn’t religious, but you had to be a w’abet to get
promoted on the force. That applied especially to promotion to semetyt on
the Homicide Squad.

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