by Lauren Haney
Bak longed to grab them both by the neck and knock their heads together. He had hoped that by finding an innocent reason for the wreck he might put an end to their enmity. Unfortunately, they enjoyed their mutual dislike too much.
"The lower portion of the rope whipped back toward the ship. It wrapped around the boulders, flew across the deckknocking men, brazier, and duck cage into the water-and buried a good, long segment in the bundled hides, pulling the ship up short and jerking it against the rocks."
"Look!" Imsiba shouted, pointing at the wreck.
The ship, relieved of much of its load and with most of its ballast scattered on the riverbed, had floated free of the boulders. It began to swing across the channel.
"Cut it loose!" Neny yelled. His voice, deep and dark, carried through the still air, reaching the men lining the channel.
"No!" Suemnut wailed. "My ship! My life! No!"
The men slashing the ropes holding the few remaining hides on deck abandoned their task, dropped into the water, and swam at high speed alongside the vessel. Bollards were jerked free, relea4ng the stout lines holding the ship in the channel. Where the bollards could not be reached, the ropes, too valuable to lose, were axed as close to the hull as possible.
The ship floated downstream, ponderous with the weight of the water it had taken on. Bak feared it would swing farther around, blocking the channel and putting an end to travel down the Belly of Stones, at least for the remainder of the year. But Neny knew what he was doing. The vessel held its course-floundering, to be sure-until a final steep slope of bubbling water carried it into the cove. Becalmed, the stern dropped ever deeper and the prow reared skyward, raising high the intertwined lily design. The men on the promontory held their breath, waiting. The vessel tilted backward, expelling air, and slid beneath the water's surface.
"Sir!" The police scribe Hori raced along the stone quay, his eyes locked on Bak and Imsiba, whose skiff was closing on a mooring post. "The commandant wishes to see you, sir! Right away!"
Bak muttered an oath. "Can I not change into clean clothing?"
"I wouldn't, sir." The chubby youth caught the rope Imsiba threw, made a loop, and settled it around the post. "A sentry reported seeing your skiff from afar. The commandant's expecting you."
"You'd best go, my friend," Imsiba said, with a goodhumored smile. "I'll tend to the skiff and that morning meal we thought to share."
Bak rolled his eyes skyward and grimaced. "What Commandant Thuty wants, Commandant Thuty gets."
"He has another man with him, sir, a lieutenant from Abu." Hori's expression remained serious. "And Troop Captain Nebwa as well."
"An officer from the land of Kemet?" Bak frowned. "An inspector, do you think?"
"He looks to be a man with a weight on his shoulders. One seeking aid, not trouble."
With a farewell nod to Imsiba, Bak walked with the boy up the central of three quays, passing a traveling ship similar to that of Suemnut and a broad-beamed cargo ship riding high in the water, its shallow hull rolling on the gentle swells. A sailor bent over its rail to spit in the water. Another hunkered down beside a brazier, stirring the contents of a bowl nestled among the coals. The odor of onions and fish set Bak's stomach to growling.
Moored at the southern quay, he saw a long and slender traveling ship, built for speed and pleasure rather than to ply the waters laden with merchandise as so many ships did in Wawat. A red-and-white-checked deckhouse and fore- and aftercastles surrounded by delicate railings of papyrus-shaped posts belied a sturdy frame and construction. The prow carried the ram-headed image of the lord Khnum, the god favored by the residents of Abu. Bak was impressed. The officer now speaking with Commandant Thuty had arrived in style.
Ahead, the tall mudbrick walls of Buhen rose stark white in the early morning sun. Towers projecting from the face of the riverside wall rose to the crenelated battlements from two stone terraces lining the water's edge. A sentry stood at the base of the twin-towered gate they approached, passing the time with three small boys. A similar gate to the north was busier. A long line of men trudged down the quay, carrying heavy copper ingots from a warehouse inside the fortress to a ship bound for the land of Kemet. They sang a workman's song, out of tune and of scant musical merit, but if volume was any indication, the words were heart-felt. An elderly, wizened priest, his head shaved bald, sat at the base of the southernmost pylon gate. He sat there often, warming himself in the sun after performing the morning ablutions in the dark chill of the mansion of the local god, Horus of Buhen. Bak saluted the soldier, ruffled the hair of one of the boys, and waved to the priest.
He stepped into the dark passage through the gate, and a cool tingle crept up his spine. An omen, he thought, maybe the lord-Amon himself warning him to proceed with care. He laughed out loud, driving the thought away, and the chill.
The sentry in the entry hall of the commandant's residence pointed Bak toward a flight of stone stairs leading to the second floor. Bounding up the steps two at a time, he burst into the warm, sunny courtyard. The space was cluttered with toys, water jars, loom, grindstone, and a deep basin filled with natron. In the white, salty substance, Thuty's eldest son, a boy of ten years, was dessicating a dog that had been his constant companion until its death of old age. The odor of decay had waned, Bak was glad, to note, so the child would soon be able to wrap for eternity the creature he had loved.
He paused at the door of the commandant's private reception room, where three men sat waiting, no one speaking, as if all they had to say had already been said. The commandant sat in his armchair, a stemmed drinking bowl in his hand, beside a small table laden with bread, beer, cold roast pigeon, and dates. He spotted Bak and beckoned. Troop Captain Nebwa, seated on a low three-legged stool in his favored spot off to the side, glanced toward Bak and nodded. The third man, a stranger to Buhen, occupied a stool in front of the commandant. He, too, turned around to look.
"You summoned me, sir?" Bak asked.
"Lieutenant." Thuty raked Bak with his eyes, taking in his dirt- and sweat-stained kilt, bandaged hand, and assorted bruises and abrasions. If he was troubled by such an untidy appearance, he gave no sign. "Have you eaten?" he asked, motioning toward the food on the table.
"At daybreak in Neny's village." Bak eyed the fare. A bowl filled with the tiny bones of birds told him the other men had already consumed their morning meal. "Nothing so grand, believe me."
"Draw a stool close." Thuty was a short, broad man whose powerful muscles glistened with the oil he had rubbed onto his ruddy skin. His brows were heavy, his mouth firm, his jaw set. A fire burned behind. his dark eyes, reflecting the strength of purpose that had earned him his lofty position.
As Bak selected a pigeon from the bowl and tore a wing from the body, Thuty nodded toward the stranger. "This man you see before you is Lieutenant Amonhotep. He's come from Abu, sent by Djehuty, governor of our southernmost province in Kemet. He's Djehuty's aide, his right hand."
Savoring the bird, which was braised to perfection, Bak studied the officer. Amonhotep, a few years younger than Bak, who had reached twenty-five years, was of medium height and slender, with reddish curly hair and green eyes in a thin, serious face. His frame was slight, but well padded with muscle. His brow was lined with worry.
"I've heard much about you, Lieutenant." Amonhotep gave so brief a smile Bak almost missed it. "The vizier, who's an old friend of Djehuty, praised you highly when he passed through Abu last week."
Bak's eyes darted toward Thirty, seeking an explanation, and on to Nebwa. That the vizier, who had recently toured the fortresses of Wawat, had stopped at Abu on his return voyage to the capital was no surprise, but that a man in so grand a position would speak of a mere lieutenant in charge of the Medjay police at Buhen was astonishing.
"Didn't I tell you the great man would spout your praise?" Nebwa gave his friend a lopsided grin, far short of the generous smile that normally accompanied his teasing. "In no time at all, your fame as a man who stalks human pr
edators will spread throughout the land of Kemet."
The troop captain, next after Thuty in the line of command, was a coarse-featured, untidy man, tall and muscular, thirty years of age. His belt was twisted, bunching his kilt up on one side. His broad, multicolored bead collar had worked its way around so the falcon-headed clasp lay on his left shoulder. His stingy smile, his failure to continue his needling, indicated a distinct lack of enthusiasm for whatever had brought Amonhotep from Abu.
Thuty remained mute, strangely hesitant to explain the officer's mission.
Bak, curious, suspicious, wary of the two officers' reluctance to speak up, dropped a thigh bone into the dish, licked the oil from his-fingers, and asked, "You summoned me for a purpose, sir?"
Thuty's eyes slewed toward the officer from Abu. "The tale is best told by one who knows firsthand what happened."
"How should I begin?" Amonhotep ran his fingers through his reddish curls. "Three members of Djehuty's household have met with an unfortunate death in a single month, one in the river near the governor's villa, the others within the compound in which the house stands. The first two seemed unlikely accidents, but we accepted them as such. Who wants to believe anything more abhorrent? The third was murder without question, a man found dead with a dagger in his breast. To Djehuty's way of thinking-and mine-that final death makes the first two suspect."
He stared at Bak as if expecting agreement. Bak let nothing show on his face. He had too few facts to reach any kind of conclusion.
"The last killing occurred one day before the vizier arrived," Amonhotep continued. "Djehuty, naturally upset by so recent a death, told the vizier of it and the other two. That worthy official was as disturbed by the tale as are all of us who reside in the villa." He paused, shook his head as if to rid himself of a bad dream. "The vizier thought of you, Lieutenant Bak. He told Djehuty how clever you are at laying hands on men who turn their backs on the lady Maat. He suggested we seek your help."
How clever I am? Bak thought. Suddenly he understood the young officer's mission, and his heart sank. The tale was intriguing, the puzzle it posed a challenge. But only if he journeyed to Abu could he hope to identify the slayer-and placate the lady Maat, the goddess of right and order.
"Djehuty is a proud man," Amonhotep said, "one accustomed to depending on his own resources. Yet how could he turn his back on the suggestion? Without help, we can do nothing. We've no one to point to, not a shred of proof that all three lives were taken at the hands of a slayer. So Djehuty agreed. He ordered his traveling ship provisioned for a voyage, and the day the vizier sailed north to the capital, I sailed south to Buhen. Now here I am after eight long days on the river, pleading my case to your garrison officers." He leaned toward Bak; his voice grew hoarse with emotion. "And to you. Will you, Lieutenant Bak, return with me to Abu?"
Bak stared at the officer, his thoughts racing. He liked nothing better than to follow the path of a slayer, searching out tracks often hidden by time and cunning, closing in on the one he chased, and snaring him. He had done so several times in Buhen, and he had gladly traveled south to the fortress of Iken to investigate the death of an officer. Unlike Iken, which fell within Thuty's command, Abu was a world away, the domain of another man, Djehuty, who had summoned him. Would he be free to move as he liked or would his hands be tied by authority? Would he get help from the garrison should he need it, or would he be forced to stand alone? Would those he spoke with be bound to answer his questions or would they laugh in his face and turn their backs to him?
More important by far: would he be free to return to Buhen after laying hands on the slayer? Would he, could he, lay hands on the one he sought?
He glanced at the commandant, but before he could sort out his questions, his doubts, Thuty stood up, walked to the door, and stared out at the courtyard. After a long silence, he swung around. "This, I feel, is a matter best discussed in private, Lieutenant Amonhotep. Leave us."
"Yes, sir."
Thuty stepped away from the door to let him pass. "I'll summon you within the hour with my answer."
As the young officer's footsteps faded away on the stairs, Bak opened his mouth to speak.
Thuty raised his hand to silence him. "As you well know, Lieutenant, the vizier is not a man to accept refusal. You must go to Abu."
"But, sir…"
Thuty slumped into his chair. "I enjoy my rank as commandant and thd, authority I hold here in Buhen and along the Belly of Stones. I dream some day of rising to the rank of general and standing at the head of a regiment." He picked up his drinking bowl, stared into its depths, set it down again. "Not only might that dream vanish if we ignore the vizier's wishes, but I might well be posted to Kush or Hatti or some other faroff and disagreeable land. It goes without saying that you'll walk beside me, wherever I go. Shall we take the risk?".
"No, sir." Given no other rational choice, what else could Bak say? "All I ask of you is a promise."
Thuty's eyes narrowed. "What might that be?"
"While in Abu, I wish to remain under your command." Nebwa gave Bak a quick nod of approval, lowered his gaze and, suppressing a smile, stared hard at his outstretched feet. He had guessed Bak's purpose and applauded it.
Thuty, taking care not to look at Nebwa, pursed his mouth in sham disapproval, though his pleasure was evident. "Your reasons, Lieutenant?"
"First, it will set me apart from others within the governor's household, allowing me to remain a free agent. Second, if I should fail in my mission or pose a threat to one who walks the corridors of power, neither Djehuty nor anyone else in Abu will have the authority to punish me for something beyond my control. Finally, I wish to return to Buhen and my Medjays when the task is completed."
Thuty planted his elbows on the arms of his chair and eyed Bak over entwined fingers, stretching the silence as if mulling over the idea. "I see no reason why I can't loan you to Djehuty for a few weeks. Let me summon a scribe and bind you in writing to my command."
Bak, seated on a mudbrick bench, stretched out his legs and leaned back against the white-plastered wall, savoring his last few hours in Buhen. The courtyard was sunny and warm, unusually quiet for so late in the morning, with no customers patronizing Nofery's house of pleasure.
The sound of a broom moving briskly across the floor could be heard in the front, most public room in the house, while a soft snore came through a portal to the rear, where the younger women slept.
"You leave _ tomorrow?" The query came from a third open door, from which the smell of roast goose drifted. Beneath a lean-to, which shaded half the court, a young lion cub lay sprawled, licking its paws and cleaning its face. Its ears pricked at the sound of its mistress's voice, but it never paused in its ablutions.
"At first light." Bak's eyes began to twinkle. "Too early, I fear, to bid you goodbye-unless you'd prefer I awaken you."
Nofery came out the door, scowling. "The very thought is abhorrent."
Mice scurried unafraid through the straw and the palm frond roof over the obese old woman's head, competing with sparrows for seeds and nest materials. She transferred her scowl to the movement on the roof, then glanced critically at the lion. Her eyes soon darted around, and she spotted a stool, which she dragged close to Bak. She plopped down, her heavy legs and ample buttocks making the stool almost disappear.
"It pains me deeply to admit it, Bak, but I fear I'll miss you. All the bar you consume, the humor you so often exercise at my expense, the use you make of my knowledge and friendships, the…"
Bak reached forward and pinched her fleshy cheek. "Be silent, old woman. Tears will flow from my eyes if you go on with your confession of fondness."
She slapped his hand away. "Fondness, indeed! It's the demands you make that I'll miss. Like I'd miss a toothache." "How would you ever manage without me?"
"None too well, I'd guess." Nebwa sauntered in from the front room, holding in each hand two pottery beer jars, their plugs already broken away. "If you hadn't made her your spy whe
n first you came to Buhen, she'd still be eking out a living in that hovel in the outer city."
Nofery lifted her head high and sniffed. "Will you never learn tact, Troop, Captain? I've no regrets about days gone by, nor do I wish to relive that life in words."
Chuckling, he sat on the floor beside her and handed her a jar of beer. "Drink, my little dove. Drown your sour disposition in the finest brew in Buhen."
Imsiba followed Nebwa into the court, carrying a small basket lined with leaves. "If the beer won't cheer her, perhaps this gift sent by Sitamon will put a smile on her face." Sitamon was Imsiba's beloved, an attractive young woman he planned soon to take for his wife.
He handed the basket to Nofery and joined Nebwa on the floor. She folded back the leaves to reveal a dozen or more small cakes made of crushed dates and nuts, dripping with honey. Her eyes. locked onto them, and she licked her lips. They were her favorite delicacy, a fact Sitamon knew well.
"So…" Nebwa demanded, winking at Bak, "… are you going to eat them all yourself or will you share a few?" Flashing him a contemptuous look, she handed the basket over. He took a sweet and passed it on. Bak and Imsiba refused the offer. Sitamon had meant them for Nofery, and she should have them.
She helped herself and took a bite, delighting in the taste and texture. "Would that I could go to Abu, too," she said, her voice tinged with yearning.
Bak gave her a surprised look. "How many times have you told me you prefer Buhen to any other place?"
"Can I not sometimes feel a longing for my homeland?" She frowned, as if unable to believe he could be so obtuse. "Can I not dream sometimes of returning to a valley of broad green fields and prosperous villages and cities where men and women walk the streets clad in fine linen and exquisite jewelry?"
Bak knew she had long ago been a courtesan in the capital, a creature of beauty who had lain with the most lofty men in the land. She seldom mourned the past, but now and again memories lay heavy within her breast. He asked, "Have you ever heard of Djehuty, sired in Abu and now governor of the southernmost province of Kemet?"
