by Lauren Haney
Kasaya grinned. "She'd make a more satisfactory governor than her father, I'd wager."
Bak sat quite still, the words driving home a new thought, one that should have occurred to him sooner. "You must look after her, Kasaya. I've thought always that Djehuty will be the next to die, but what if I err? What if the slayer takes the life of the one most dear to him? His only daughter."
Bak scrambled out of the skiff and sent Kasaya rushing back to the governor's villa. He clung to his belief that the slayer would not strike until ten days separated Hatnofer's death from the next, but he deemed it best to take precautions. He could return to Abu with Ineni-or walk back, if he had to.
As he watched the Medjay raise the sail, he realized he had neglected to tell either of his men to lie in wait for the bearer of the unwanted gifts. He raised his hands to his mouth, thinking to call out to Kasaya, but decided not to. With the intrusions escalated to ambush, they surely had seen the last of the more subtle threats.
He followed an overgrown path through knee-high grass and brush so tall he could not see over it. As often as not, he splashed through water, puddles glimpsed among the thick foliage, residue of the recent flood. Birds filled the air with song. An ichneumon-mongoose-darted across his path so fast he almost missed it, and some unseen creature set the grass to waving off to his left. Sweat, drawn from him by the moist heat, trickled down his breast. The island, he guessed, was an immense sandbar saved by the lush growth from destruction by floodwaters and swift currents. The river had deposited this transitory haven and would one day carry it away. The lord Hapi at his best and worst.
Somewhere ahead, he heard the whinny of a horse. His heart skipped a beat and his pace quickened. The years he had spent as a charioteer had given him a deep love of the large and graceful creatures, a sense of comradeship with them. For an instant he wished… No, his task as a police officer suited him better, challenged his wits in addition to his body. He could not, would not go back.
He burst through a thicket of brush and vines. Ahead lay a pasture covered with grass so tall it brushed the bellies of fifty or more red-and-white-spotted, short-horned cattle. Two small boys sat on a mound of earth, watching the herd. A pack of curly-haired black dogs lay in the grass around them.
The boys glanced at Bak, who waved a greeting. One youth scrambled to his feet, put his fingers to his mouth, and gave a long, trilling whistle, signaling the arrival of a stranger. Warning their father, he thought, and Ineni and possibly others as well, men who would come running if needed. He walked in among the grazing cattle, animals as plump and healthy as any he had ever seen. Small brown birds clung to their necks and backs, harvesting insects, while egrets pecked the soggy earth around their hooves. Ineni had talked of having a skill for farming. If these animals were representative, the claim was no exaggeration.
As he cleared the herd, the governor's son and a toughlooking man with a bent nose waded out of the river. Both carried stout wooden clubs they looked prepared to use. Bak strode toward them across a patch of scruffy grass heavily trodden by animals.
Beyond, a herd of thirty or more horses stood shoulderdeep in the river, blowing, whinnying, throwing up their heads for the sheer joy of life, shaking water from their long manes. About half were a rich golden-brown, the rest white, gray, or black. A boy of twelve or so years sat astride a thicknecked black animal Bak guessed was the stallion from the land of Hatti that Ineni had mentioned a few days before. Three men half swam, half walked among the herd, controlling the animals with gentle hands and kindly voices and at the same time keeping a wary eye on Bak. A second boy stood close to shore, minding a dozen foals.
"So it's you." Ineni's voice was cool, unwelcoming. "Do you always greet visitors in this friendly manner?" Bak asked, nodding toward the weapons, "or do you reserve so warm a welcome for police officers?"
Ineni's eyes flashed anger. "If you've come at Djehuty's behest, Lieutenant, you've wasted your time."
"I answer to no man but Commandant Thuty-and he's. in faroff Buhen."
Bak was puzzled by the clubs, by the defensive posture. The herd was large and impressive, true, and extremely valuable, but the punishment for stealing horses was so harsh few men would take the risk. Even wild desert tribesmen were seldom tempted, with fear of impalement to dissuade them.
Ineni glared, too tied to his own purpose to pay heed. "I'll menage the Nubt estate as I see fit, not trade away its assets is response to a whim."
Bak scowled at the pair before him, not understanding."I've come in search of information, that's all. Now will you` drop those clubs and let me get on with my task?"
"You've not come to.. Ineni's voice faltered. He lowered his weapon and stared at Bak in confusion. "Djehuty didn't send you? You're not here to see these horses delivered to the animal market in Swenet?"
Bak's eyes darted toward the magnificent animals. "You're not selling them!"
"Djehuty ordered me to." Ineni's voice pulsed with anger-and defiance.
"You've decided to oppose him?"
"I have." Ineni half turned around to look at the herd. "A desert chieftain, head of a tribe of nomads, men who travel the burning sands through all the months of the year, has come to Djehuty time and time again, pleading for horses. Two days ago he came again, and my father agreed to trade away the herd, each and every animal, even the stallion from Hatti."
Bak muttered a curse, stunned by so rash an action. "Why?"
"I know what those tribesmen are. They're wild and unruly, men of great passion but no common sense. If the horses don't die from lack of care and the proper food and water, they'll run them until they drop, then they'll hack them to pieces for food. I won't let that happen."
"Where will you take them?" Abruptly, Bak raised his hands, signaling silence. "No, don't tell me. I was ordered to Abu to track down a slayer, not stand between a man and his father."
Ineni's laugh was soft, containing no humor whatsoever, but broke the tension between them. "I thank the lord Khnum, Lieutenant, that you care as I do for horses."
Bak squeezed his shoulder, smiled. "If ever I return to the regiment of Amon, I'll need a young team. Now I know where to find them."
Turning away, clearing his throat, trying to rid himself of unmanly emotion, Ineni called to the men in the river, "Bring them out now and dry them off. We must soon get them on their way."
They looked at him, at Bak, and at the man with the crooked nose, confused by the sudden order.
"Move, you laggards!" Ineni shouted. "We've a herd to save."
The boy, breaking into a grin, swung the black horse around and rode the beast out of the water. With their human guardians urging them on-amid sudden laughter and backslapping-the other horses followed. The foals scrambled to dry land, eager to rejoin their mothers. Bak had seldom seen such fine animals. All were sleek and fit, spirited yet wellbehaved. He longed to separate out a fine matched pair, to harness them to a chariot, to feel the reins in his hands and the speed of the moving vehicle.
The men caught the animals one by one and tied them to stakes sunk deep in the ground. Someone passed out rags, and they set to work rubbing down their charges.
Ineni picked up a rag, walked to the black stallion, and began to dry his neck. "Now, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?" He noticed Bak's bemused expression, laughed. "You think we're wasting time and effort? We're not. There's a shallow passage between the island and the west bank. They'll get their hooves wet, little more." He looked a new man and acted like one: bright and cheerful, resolute.
Smiling, Bak grabbed a length of frayed cloth and slipped into the space between the stallion and a long-legged white mare with a dark mane tethered to the same stake. He caught hold of her bridle and set to work. "I've a slayer to find, Ineni, and you owe me some answers."
"I doubt I can help you much." Ineni looked across the stallion's back, his good humor banished by the reminder of murder. "Simut told me you think the deaths were prompted by the sandstorm that came cl
ose to destroying the garrison a few years ago. I've never been in the army. Until I wed Khawet, I spent most of my days on our estate in Nubt, well north of the province my father governs and far from the garrison. I take no interest whatsoever in Abu."
Though weary of repeating himself, Bak explained, "Other than Hatnofer, I've learned that all who've died so far were either survivors of the storm or the sons of survivors. I'm now looking for men who lost loved ones, men who might blame their loss on Djehuty and the others who came back unscathed."
Ineni snorted. "I thought your goal was to narrow the field of suspects, not widen it."
"Whoever took those lives has an intimate knowledge of your father's household and complete freedom within the surrounding walls," Bak reminded him. "That fact alone keeps the number manageable."
Ineni eyed Bak, torn by indecision. The stallion nuzzled him, reminding him of his task and of the debt he owed the police officer. He smiled at the animal, rubbed its muzzle. "I could blame Djehuty-and I have-many times. My father was among those who vanished."
Bak's head snapped around. "Your… Your what?" "My father. The man who lay with my mother and sired me."
"Djehuty isirt…?"
Ineni gave a sharp, humorless laugh, startling the stallion, making him jerk the rope holding him in place. "My father-my natural father-was a soldier in the garrison when Djehuty was a young man, staying in Abu until he could find a suitable position in the army. I was still taking sustenance from my mother's breast when suddenly my father was posted to a faraway land. She couldn't travel with him, and she had no family to go to. In three days time, Djehuty took her into the governor's villa and that very night he claimed her as his own." His mouth tightened and he rubbed the horse so vigorously it sidestepped, narrowing the gap Bak occupied. "I'll always believe he coveted her from afar and finally whispered in his father's ear, seeking my father's distant posting. I've no way of learning the truth."
Bak slapped the stallion's flank, making more room. He could literally feel the young farmer's anger, hear it in the surge of words dammed up for years. Or had he confided in Khawet? His hatred of her father might account for the discord between them.
"My father was gone ten years. When he returned, his wife dwelt in the netherworld and his son in Nubt. He dared not say a word." Ineni's face registered a bitter anger; his hands moved swiftly over the stallion's legs. "He came sometimes to see me, and in a way we drew close. But Djehuty always stood between us. He seduced me just as he had my mother. He saw how much I loved the land, saw how skilled I was with men and animals. He gave me ever greater responsibilities and, at the age of seventeen, made me manager of his estate. The land became my mistress."
Bak stood erect to wring the water from his rag. "The land, not Khawet?"
"We were of a marriageable age and I cared for her, but ho." Ineni gave another of his harsh laughs. "I was a servant, in no way worthy of the great man's only child."
Bak nodded understanding. Djehuty claimed descent from a long line of provincial governors. Would he not wish his daughter to wed nobility? -
Ineni continued: "That storm you're interested in altered many lives, mine most of all. I was twenty years of age when the desert swallowed up my father. My mother was long dead, and I was alone in the world. Djehuty was a man with no sons, and Khawet his sole daughter. His estate was thriv, ing thanks to my good sense." He squeezed out his rag, came around the stallion's rump, and continued his task, sharing Bak's space. "One day he came to me-four months, it was, after the storm. He wanted to adopt me as his son, he told me, and in return, I must wed Khawet. He wanted his estate to remain whole, and I wanted the land. As for Khawet… Well, he'd made the decision and she had no say in the matter. And so it happened. The contract was drawn up and witnessed, and she came into my bed." He gave a strained little laugh. "All in all, the arrangement worked out as well as could be expected."
"I've noticed a certain distance between you and Khawet." Bak spoke with care, trying to be tactful when tact was impossible.
"Why should I deny what all the world knows?" Ineni's smile was fierce. "I've done everything in my power to earn her affection, but she clings to the memory of a past beloved, one who long ago entered the netherworld. Even that I might overcome, but her father holds her by his side in Abu, while I must spend much of my time on our estate in Nubt."
Bak recalled Amethu's comments about women who had no children. "How old is she? Twenty-four, twenty-five?" He raised a questioning eyebrow, received a nod. "I know that's well beyond the age when most women first bear a child, but it's surely not too late to give her one."
"I seldom touch her, and so it's always been," Ineni admitted in a gruff voice. "She… Well, when I go to her, she tolerates me, barely."
Bak eyed him thoughtfully. Through his life, he had known several men whose wives held them at a distance. They all had one thing in common. "You've a concubine?"
"Another secret known to all the world." Ineni tried to make his voice gruff, but pride forbade him to do so. He noticed Bak's hint of a smile and laughed. "Yes, I freely admit I share my bed in Nubt. She's the loveliest young woman in the province, the joy of my life. Last month, she gave me a son. My firstborn. A treasure to behold."
Later, Bak stood alone at the river's edge, watching the long line of horses and men plod through the shallow water to the west bank. He had to admit he was biased in Ineni's favor, preferring to believe that anyone who loved horses as he did would have to be driven hard against a wall to slay a man. On the other hand, the young farmer had more than enough reason to want Djehuty dead. Not only had his true father died in the storm, but all Djehuty's property would someday belong to him and Khawet.
Bak borrowed a skiff from Ineni and spent the remainder of the afternoon sailing back to Abu, the voyage made long and tedious by the fitful breeze. By the time he got his first glimpse of the ancient tombs that overlooked the island from the west bank, tiny spots of light glowed in a darkening sky, and the odor of burning fuel drifted through the air from a multitude of braziers.
As he neared the landingplace below the governor's villa, he had second thoughts about beaching the skiff among several drawn out of the water a few paces upstream, including the vessel Kasaya had left there. The patch of shoreline was too visible from above, as were the stairs he would have to climb. The archer might once again be lying in wait, prepared to slay him. Why take the risk? He sailed on until he found a dozen or more small boats pulled up on shore and a group of men hunkered down nearby, encircling a game of throwsticks.
Although he doubted the archer had the faintest idea where he was, he took no chances. He beached his skiff as close to the game as he could, hastily pulled the vessel out of the water, and darted into the nearest lane. Keeping to the shadows, moving fast and silently, he sped along the unfamiliar streets of Abu. The faint afterglow vanished from the sky, the stars brightened, and the narrow thoroughfares were blanketed in ever-deepening gloom. Voices sounded on the rooftops above, families sharing their evening meal. A lone goat wandered down a lane, bleating. Dogs howled in first one sector of the city and then another, urging each other to greater voice.
As he hurried along, he thought of the unwanted gifts that had been left each evening in his quarters, followed by the blatant attempt to slay him with bow and arrows. Why the threats? Why the more forthright attempt to take his life? He had learned a lot since coming to Abu, but felt himself no closer to the slayer than when he had arrived. He was a long way from the truth. Much too far away.
One thing he did know: if the archer and the slayer were one and the same, Ineni could not be the guilty man. He had been far from Abu all day, on the island with the horses.
Bak saw ahead the mouth of the lane leading to his quarters. He slowed his pace and approached with care, scanning rooftops and pitch-black doorways for any sign of the archer, thinking of the herd, wondering where Ineni would take them. Not far from Nubt, he suspected. Someplace where people knew and li
ked him., So great a number of horses would be impossible to hide. Ineni would need the helpand the silence-of men and women he could trust.
Finding nothing suspicious, Bak slipped into the narrow lane. The way ahead was cloaked in darkness, a black tunnel with a faint wedge of light at the far end. A figure appeared there, vaguely illuminated and hard to see, a patch of white. His heart leaped into his throat. He dodged sideways and flattened himself against the wall, making less of a target. The figure vanished, probably around the far corner. A neighbor, most likely, going about the business of living.
Laughing at himself but taking care nonetheless, he hurried on. As he neared the end of the lane, he realized the light came from his own quarters. Murmuring voices on the roof and the odors of stewed fish and onions. told him Psuro and Kasaya were there. They must have lit the lamp so neithei he nor they would be accosted by an uninvited guest hiding in the dark. He smiled, pleased by the reassuring glow, the though of warm food and friendly faces.
He walked up to the door, stopped in his tracks, sucked in his breath. A stool stood just inside the threshold, barring the way. A bright puddle adorned its upper surface. Fresh blood. He ducked aside, out of the light and the line of fire. Fearing he knew not what, he stood silent and still, every sense alert. He heard no movement inside, felt no human presence. He peered around the doorjamb. A small baked clay lamp cast a feeble light from the stairway, enough to see the room much as he and his Medjays had left it, cluttered with their possessions but empty of life.
Yet the blood made clear that something was wrong. Puzzled, curious, unsure what to expect and strangely reluctant to find out, he slipped past the stool and ducked off to the right, out of the lighted doorway. He scanned the room a second time, finding nothing altered and no one inside. He half swung around to look again at the stool. His eyes were drawn upward to the woven reed mat, tightly rolled and tied out of the way above the door. Hard against the mat, pinned upside-down with a short, sharp dagger, was a full-grown gray-brown rat, so fresh-killed a final drop of blood clung to its neck. The stool had been carefully aligned below to catch the creature's blood, to draw attention to its murder.
