by Lauren Haney
Eastern Sea. Senna told me that once we reached this gorge, all we had to do was follow the wadi to its outflow.”
“We need these men to set me straight should I err.”
Bak wanted to shake him. “I doubt they know this part of the desert any better than you do.”
User’s expression grew more stubborn. “They agreed to care for our donkeys throughout our journey. I insist they do so.”
“Here’s Kaha.” Bak stepped aside and urged User to come away with him. “We must let them talk.”
The Medjay spoke with the drovers for some time. He stumbled and fumbled and searched often for words but per sisted in a sensible, calm voice no matter how angry and in sistent the nomads became. At last he turned away and shook his head. “They refuse to stay with us, sir. They fear they’ll be slain in the night as Dedu was, and as Rona and Senna were.”
“Tell them I doubt their lives are at risk,” Bak said, “but since I can’t guarantee their safety, I’ll do nothing to prevent their leaving. They can collect half what User owes them in
Kaine, but not until this caravan returns to Kemet.”
Kaha explained. With obvious relief, the drovers picked up their scant possessions and hurried away. They climbed the gravel bank to the south, veered around the dead men and the unfinished graves, and hurried on across the ridge as if they intended to retrace the caravan’s path. Bak hoped they had kin in the area who would see they reached Kaine safely.
“What are we to do without them, Lieutenant?” User shifted his angry gaze from the drovers to Bak. “Travel south along the sea until we reach the southern route in the faint hope that we’ll find men there to replace them?”
“We can’t turn back now!” Ani stared at the explorer, ap palled. “We’re too close to the mountain of turquoise.”
“I plan to cross the Eastern Sea with Lieutenant Bak,”
Amonmose told the jeweler. “He’s convinced me that my men will be safer fishing out of the port that serves the mines than remaining here with a slayer on the loose. I must see that they get official permission. Nebenkemet will travel with us.
Why don’t you come, too?”
“Should you wish to travel with us,” Nebenkemet said to
User, “I can take charge of the animals.” He glanced at Ani and Wensu. “I’ll need help gathering food for them and with the loading and unloading, but that shouldn’t be too great a burden.”
“I’ll be glad to help,” Ani said, flinging a defiant look
User’s way.
“I’ve come too far to turn back,” Wensu agreed, “but you must show me what I’m to do.”
User scowled at the men around him, but made no com ment. Whether he would continue on across the Eastern Sea, remain in the Eastern Desert, or return to Kemet, Bak could not tell.
Bidding a grim farewell to the stone-covered graves in which Rona and Senna lay buried, the caravan set out an hour before dusk for the Eastern Sea. Bak led them down the wadi, stopping each time the way grew confusing to consult with User, whose sense of this desert was much better devel oped than his. Pacified by the show of trust, the explorer’s anger abated.
Though the water jars were filled to their brims and the donkeys were fully loaded, they behaved well for their inex perienced drovers. The trek through ever lower elevations in the cool of night was swift and easy. They left behind the high reddish mountains and surrounding peaks and passed through an equally barren but less rugged land of gray gran ite. Ahead lay the coastal plain, a broad expanse of sand and rocks that dropped toward the Eastern Sea. Far down the wadi, where the stars vanished on the horizon, Bak imagined he could see the sea. User swore he could hear the sound of water splashing the rocky shore and smell its salty-fishy odor.
The sky was brightening and the stars fading into its pale yellow expanse when they reached the fringe of the high lands. The wadi broadened out. On either side rose chains of hills that looked small and insignificant, mere mounds of rock when compared to the heights they had left. Acacias and silla grew in the shallow watercourses that spread out across the plain. By User’s estimate, they were less than two hours’ walk from the sea.
Bak had dropped back to speak with Psuro when he spot ted Kaha coming around the southernmost of a cluster of hills off to the left. The Medjay raced toward them, bow in his hand, quiver slung from his shoulder. A man in a hurry with news to impart. Nebre, who had gone with him to scout ahead, was nowhere in sight. They should have remained to gether. Spitting out an oath, fearing another man had been hurt or worse, Bak and Psuro dashed out to meet him.
“Sir!” Kaha stopped to stand before them, his breath com ing in quick gasps. “We found a man. Nebre said to tell you…” He bent over, hands on knees, trying to breathe more evenly. “He’s the man you saw two days ago in the mountains. Not the one you followed, but the second man.
He wishes to speak with you.”
“Nebre’s all right?” Bak demanded.
Kaha nodded. “He’s holding the man at arrow point, un willing to trust him.”
“Where are they?” Psuro asked.
“Around that hill,” Kaha pointed. “The man wishes to speak with you and you alone, sir, with none other than us to see him.”
Bak knew Nebre would take no unnecessary chances, but one man alone might not be able to face the unexpected.
Fearing for the Medjay, he ordered Psuro to stay with the car avan and strode rapidly down the wadi, with Kaha by his side. “This isn’t a trap, is it?”
“We saw no one else throughout the night, but Nebre told him that if any stranger came near, he would shoot him in the stomach so he would die a painful and lingering death.”
“The man asked specifically for me?”
“Yes, sir. He said your name. Lieutenant Bak.”
Bak’s steps faltered. “He knows who I am?” Eyes nar rowed, and not from the brightness of the sky, he stared thoughtfully toward the hill around which Kaha had come.
“Did he offer a name of his own by chance?”
“No, sir.” Kaha slung his bow over his shoulder. “There’s something else, sir. He’s a man of Kemet, not a nomad.”
“Lieutenant Bak.” The man stood at the base of the gray ish rocky hill, looking out across the sand toward the ap proaching men. Nebre had placed himself ten paces to the right of his prisoner, too far away to be leaped upon in a sur prise attack.
Bak stopped the same distance away. “How do you know my name?”
The man was taller than he but not as broad across the shoulders, and was about the same age. He was slender of build, with muscles that looked solid and well honed. His dark hair was cropped short, his skin darkened by the sun to a golden brown. Like everyone who walked the paths of this wretched desert, he was none too clean, but his tunic and kilt retained some semblance of white and his sandals ap peared to be fairly new. His back was to the bright splash of orange reaching into the eastern sky, making his features difficult to see.
“Senna told me. You’re a soldier, he said, sent by your commandant into this desert to search for Minnakht.”
Bak’s suspicions sharpened. He thanked the lord Amon that he had never entirely trusted the guide and had not revealed that he was a policeman. Could he trust this man? Had he rather than the nomad they had followed pushed the boulder over the cliff above their resting place? “You knew Senna?”
“Your Medjay told me he’s been slain. He was a good man, dependable to a fault and exceedingly loyal. I shall miss him.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Long enough to trust him. Unlike you, so he told me.”
Bak took a couple steps forward and off to the side, hoping to turn the man more toward the rising sun, making his face easier to read. “You’ve talked to him since we left Kaine.”
The man bowed his head in amused acknowledgment.
“Three times we met in the night. He said your Medjays are like cats, awake at the slightest sound. He had trouble sli
pping away unseen, so we met less often than we wished.”
Neither Medjay gave any indication that he had heard what Bak suspected was meant as a compliment. “Did you expect to see him last night?”
“He knew where I normally camp outside the gorge. I thought he’d come if he could.”
Sidling closer, Bak maneuvered him around more toward the lighted sky. “Someone has been watching our caravan.
You or another man?”
“I’ve watched you now and then. The nomads are also keeping an eye on you.”
“How have you avoided the men I sent out as scouts?”
The man’s eyes slid toward Kaha and he laughed. “Over the years I’ve explored every wadi and hill and mountain, every pinnacle and ledge. Each time I saw them, I simply dropped down behind a boulder or slipped into a niche be tween rocks or lay in a patch of deep shade.”
“What of the nomads? Do they know of you?”
“They’re more difficult to evade, but I’ve managed to stay far enough away to make any men who saw me believe I’m just another nomad, unworthy of a closer look.”
The man was so self-confident he might be called arro gant. Bak supposed he had every right to be if he could elude men who had dwelt in this desert through a lifetime. “Who are you and why did you wish to see me?”
“You’ve not yet guessed, Lieutenant?” Smiling, he bowed low as if to make an offering of himself. “I’m Minnakht. The man you’ve been seeking.”
“If you’re who you claim to be, why have you not shown yourself?” Bak, whose surprise had immediately given way to skepticism, sat on a large rock that had tumbled down the hillside to half-bury itself in the sand.
Minnakht, taking care not to approach too close lest Nebre or Kaha send an arrow his way, chose a rock at the base of the hill. “I fear for my life.”
“Who wishes you dead?”
“If I knew his name, I’d not be hiding from the world.”
Bak noted the dubious looks the Medjays were giving their prisoner and he almost smiled. Having lost one of their own to a knife in the back, the man who called himself Min nakht was in far more danger from them than from some mysterious man he claimed he could not name.
“Explain yourself,” he said.
“As Senna surely told you, I went off to the mountain of turquoise, thinking to see the mines. Because I traveled with a military caravan, I left him behind. Upon my return to the port, I found him ill. We agreed to meet later at my usual camp near the pools where you spent last night, and I sailed away with two men who claimed to be fishermen.
They brought me across the Eastern Sea and left me on the shore. There two men awaited me, nomads they were, men
I didn’t know. They beat me senseless, trying all the while to make me tell them where I’d found gold. I could tell them nothing. I’d located no gold. In the end, they left me for dead.”
While he spoke, Bak studied him, trying to find a resem blance between him and Commander Inebny. Other than their height and a vague similarity in facial features, the two were as unlike as a pomegranate and a pea. “I’ve been told this coastline is barren, with no water anywhere.”
“Few men would’ve survived, I know, but you must re member that this land is no mystery to me.”
Bak thought of the men he had questioned about Minnakht and the contradictory answers he had received. He could not recall any man mentioning this utter lack of modesty, unless the tales the explorer had told in the houses of pleasure had been so filled with excitement that those whom he had ques tioned had been too enthralled to notice.
“I’ve no memory of that time.” Minnakht, if he was indeed
Inebny’s son, went on with his tale. “I somehow made my way to a place where water seeps through the sand. The nomads seldom go there; the water is too slow to come to sustain animals. The men who beat me had scattered my pos sessions, but the will to live is strong, and I had the good sense to wrap myself in my sheet to save myself from the burning sun. At the seepage, I spread the sheet over some bushes, forming a tent, and there I lay for…” He spread his hands wide and shrugged. “How long, I know not. All I re member is digging for water and drinking.”
An improbable tale, Bak thought, but not impossible.
“As soon as I could, I bathed my wounds and moved on, traveling through the night to the closest well. I didn’t want my assailants to come back and find me alive.”
“If they left you for dead at a place other than the seepage, how would they have known where to find you?”
“I doubt I was thinking clearly.” Minnakht smiled at the two Medjays as if he felt a need to convince them. Their un smiling faces could not have been encouraging. “I made my way to the place where Senna was to meet me and there I waited, licking my wounds, so to speak. He came and he took me to a well high in the mountains, where we camped.
As I knew not who had set upon me, whether friend or foe, I had him pretend to search for me, thinking my enemies would reveal themselves. They never did. I’ve been running and hiding ever since.”
“Your father is eager to know your fate. Why did you not send a message with Senna when he went to Kemet to report you missing?”
“My father loves me too well. If he knew I lived, he’d pro claim the news as a farmer sows grain during the season of planting. All the world would know and he’d unwittingly commit me to death.” Minnakht rubbed a thin scar on his right arm. “I’ve another reason for caution: not quite a year ago, a man closer to me than a brother, Ahmose by name, vanished in this desert. I suspect he was slain, as were Senna and the others who’ve died since your caravan set out.”
Ahmose, Bak guessed, was the missing man Amonmose had heard of in Kaine. “You didn’t recognize the men who beat you, yet you knew not if they were friend or foe. That makes no sense.”
“They referred often to someone they called ‘he’ or ‘him.’
‘He’ would be angry if I didn’t reveal where the gold was.
They feared to tell ‘him’ of my stubborn refusal to talk. ‘He’ had no love for me and wouldn’t mind seeing me dead.”
The argument failed to convince Bak that Minnakht had good reason to turn his back on all men, especially his father.
Perhaps he had been too much alone and had begun to see danger where no peril existed. “Do you have any idea who that man might be?”
“I’ve thought long and hard through many lonely days. I believe him to be User.”
Bak eyed him thoughtfully. He had begun to like User his quiet competence, his acceptance of his own strengths and limitations-and he preferred not to think of him as a slayer of men. “Explain your reasoning.”
“Through the years, he’s made no secret that he hopes to find gold or precious stones. Now his wife is ill and he has a need in addition to an obsession. He’s one of the few men who knows this desert almost as well as I, and I’d wager he’d need no guide should he plan a deed he’d want no other man to witness.”
“I think you err.”
“Senna suspected that you believe someone in the caravan murdered the man found dead north of Kaine. Who else but
User? Who but he could’ve kept in constant contact with the nomad you call the watching man, the man Senna believed took the lives of all who’ve died since you left that first well.”
Minnakht seemed exceedingly sure of himself, but Bak had heard no proofs, nothing but a few generalities. Also,
User’s skepticism about the possibility of finding gold seemed very real.
He glanced at the two Medjays. Both men had relaxed to an extent, but neither had laid his weapons aside. Both ap peared to be absorbed by Minnakht’s tale, and both exhibited a healthy mistrust.
“Why did you choose to make yourself known to me?”
“You’ve been wasting your time searching for me.” Min nakht flashed a smile. “I thought to set you on a right and true path.”
Bak eyed this man, essentially a stranger. He thought him arrogant, but h
e might merely be overcompensating for his fear of an unknown enemy. His tale was well rehearsed, but would it not be after so long alone in the desert? For a man who had been described as close to the nomads, why had he not gone to them for help?
“Did you follow me when I was abducted by the nomads?”
“Senna told me later that you’d been taken. I’d gone on ahead of the caravan, so I knew nothing of your absence un til I saw you with the child.” Minnakht eyed Bak narrowly.
“What did they say of me?”
“I was threatened with death if I didn’t help find you. Does that not tell you in what great esteem they hold you?”
Minnakht’s brow wrinkled in thought. “They might wish your help so they can slay me. Or are they, like User, looking for gold?”
Bak decided to assume the question rhetorical. “I’d planned to cross the sea and go to the mountain of turquoise, but with your father so eager to see you, we must return to
Kemet without delay. I suggest we travel south along the coast and go back by way of the southern route. At this time of year, with caravans coming and going, transporting sup plies for the mines and carrying ore to the land of Kemet, we should be able to travel in complete safety.”
“Will User remain with you?”
“I believe he will.”
“If I were to travel with you, I’d be placing my life in his hands.”
“Maybe,” Bak said doubtfully.
“I can see that you’re unsure of me, and I don’t blame you.
We’ve barely met.” Minnakht gave him an understanding smile. “You need more time to reconcile yourself to the fact that I still live. I suggest you go on to the mountain of turquoise, and I’ll meet you upon your return.”
“You wish me to drag out your father’s agony? No. We’ll travel to Kemet immediately.”
Minnakht stared at him, unhappy with what amounted to a ultimatum. “I’ve two donkeys hobbled north of here, far from food or water. I must go get them. I’ll follow you to the sea, and meet you there before day’s end.”
“Kaha and Nebre will accompany you.”
“You trust me so little?” Minnakht’s laugh carried a hint of bitterness. “Trust goes two ways, Lieutenant. If you send them with me, I’ll slip away and you may never see me again.”
