by Lauren Haney
“He knows the risk he takes, and so do I.” Bak tried to look worried, to pretend he did not already know Thuty’s decision to allow trade to flow as before. “But you surely understand that when traffic begins to move, most of my suspects will set sail and my search for Mahu’s slayer will falter.”
Looming over him, Hapuseneb struck the coffin with the flat of his hand. “No!” He backed off and laughed-at himself, Bak could see. “Until the vizier leaves Buhen, not a man among us will sail away. Especially with Thuty’s wife giving a party, giving to one and all the chance to draw attention to themselves and petition him for position or power.” His eyes flickered toward Imsiba and back. “If I’m wrong, if any man sails who has more to gain by staying, I’ll go after him myself and drag him back.”
Surprised, Bak rose to his feet. Did so brazen an offer mean Hapuseneb held no guilt in his heart? Or was it meant to cloud the eyes, stifling rational thought? Imsiba looked equally startled-and just as confused.
Hapuseneb took a step toward the door, changed his mind, and swung back to the coffin. His eyes ran down the yellow stripe from collar to feet and he read aloud, “Amonemopet, web priest in front of the lord Khnum.” Looking up, he grinned.” A relative of yours, Lieutenant?”
Bak dared not look at the men in the entry hall, whose muffled laughter he could well imagine if not hear.
Hapuseneb raised a hand in farewell and strode out of the office. As he turned toward the street door, Nebamon entered. The older trader clapped the younger on the shoulder. “Hapuseneb! I see you’ve come ahead of me.”
“Did you go to the commandant, as promised?”
“He refused to see me, pleading the press of duties. I learned nothing of his intentions, nor did I have the opportunity to convince him we really must return to business as usual.”
Hapuseneb glanced toward Bak’s office, his eyes alive with good humor. “I, too, came up empty-handed. Bak’s as close-mouthed as a wooden doll. If Thuty means to let traffic flow, the lieutenant’s not about to whisper the news before the official announcement.”
Bak walked to the door, crossed his arms over his breast, and eyed the pair with a sardonic smile. That they had been talking for his benefit, he had no doubt. “Who else have you
asked to plead your case? Userhet was here before you. Will Ramose come next? Or Kay?”
“You’re singularly lacking in subtlety, Lieutenant,”
Hapuseneb said, laughing heartily.
Nebamon gave Bak a disapproving look. “You make light of our worries, Lieutenant, but if you were a man of business rather than a soldier, a policeman, you’d know that every travel day lost is a day that leads us closer to poverty.”
Bak could not resist casting a skeptical eye at Hapuseneb, one of the most successful traders in Wawat and Kush. The tall, slender man shrugged, denying responsibility for his colleague’s careless statement.
“Don’t get me wrong.” Nebamon, unaware, ran his fingers through his short white hair. “I’d rather be safe than be found one day with an arrow in my back. But so far I’ve seen no sign that bringing traffic to a standstill has contributed in any way to finding Mahu’s slayer. Frankly, I’d feel safer in Ma’am, or faroff Abu.”
Hapuseneb turned his head so only Bak could see and rolled his eyes skyward. “I must go. I’ve a ship tied up at Kor, a solid and worthy vessel but not of outstanding beauty.
With luck and the help of the gods, I can have it repainted before Thuty allows us to sail.”
He left the guardhouse and Imsiba followed, his expression glum. Bak hoped his friend would go see Sitamon. At best, he would learn she had not yet entrusted Userhet with her affairs. If she had, he would have to accept her decision and find a way to compete on his own terms.
The knucklebones rattled across the floor, the roll shorter than usual, the noise more muted. The men making a pretense at play while they waited for Nebamon to spot the coffin. Bak was sorely tempted to take his visitor elsewhere but, remembering how astute Nebamon was, how quick to see beyond the obvious, he preferred the privacy of his office.
“I can’t tell you what rests in Commandant Thuty’s heart,” he said, ushering the trader inside and waving him toward the stool. “I know he’s thinking on the problem, and 174 / Lauren Haney
I doubt he’ll wait long to air his decision. Before nightfall, I’d guess.”
“He must release our goods.” Nebamon’s tone was fervent, a prayer almost.
Resting a shoulder on the doorjamb, Bak gave him a long, speculative look. “Are you so much in need?”
“No.” Nebamon slumped onto the stool, flushed. “Well…”
He hesitated, waffled. “Not in need exactly, but I can’t tarry much longer.” He fussed with the bracelet on his wrist, his face aflame. “You see, I overextended myself in Kerma, trading every item I brought south from Kemet, allowing myself no cushion in case of trouble or delay. Now, with the trade goods I brought back to Wawat stored here in Buhen, awaiting shipment to Abu, and with fees to pay in addition to tolls…” Again he hesitated, finally said, “To be perfectly honest, Lieutenant, my profits dwindle daily.”
Bak could see how costly the admission had been to Nebamon’s pride. Beneath the patrician facade lay a man of meager means. Unless he was a superb actor, one hiding wealth behind a screen of poverty, he could not be smuggling goods in any but the smallest of quantities. Certainly nothing as valuable as an elephant tusk.
“What do you know of the ivory trade?”
“Not much.” Nebamon relaxed, patently relieved by the change of subject. “I seldom travel far enough south to pick up the best pieces.”
“You go to Kerma.”
“The city’s a backwater, a shadow of what it was before the armies of Akheperkare Tuthmose struck down its kings once and for all and regained the land for mighty Kemet.”
Bak heard a noise behind him, a low hiss. He glanced back. Five Medjays were now hunkered around the knucklebones, watching him with rapt attention. One signaled with a hand, urging him to move. They wanted him to sit down, he realized, to draw Nebamon’s attention to the coffin so they could get a reaction.
He threw them a warning glance, demanding they not go too far, and walked into the office. Settling down in his usual place near the painted head, he said, “I neglected to ask when last we spoke, but did you know Captain Roy?”
Nebamon nodded. “In days gone by. I now and again moored my ship near his when still he sailed above the Belly of Stones. We sometimes talked, but seldom for long. He kept to himself.”
“Did you ever see him with men reputed to be smugglers of contraband?”
“There was one…” Nebamon clasped his hands between his knees and stared at the coffin. “I several times saw them together in a house of pleasure in Kerma. A Kushite, he was.
A man with an unsavory reputation.”
“Did rumor link Roy with illicit cargo?”
“If so, I don’t remember.” Noting Bak’s raised eyebrow, he laughed. “Rumors fly thick and fast south of the Belly of Stones. Even more so than here. Most so farfetched as to be mythical.”
Bak’s smile turned ironic. “Have you heard any tales where the gods play no part?”
Nebamon gave the officer an uncertain look. “I heard one last night, but…Well, I fear it involves a headless man.”
Normally Bak had no time for wild and imaginative tales, but the trader was no fool. He would not have mentioned this story if he thought it of no merit. “I feel a need to be entertained.”
“My Kushite servant, a man who wishes to help himself by helping his master, passed on this tale he heard in the house of pleasure of a one-time spearman, Tati.” Nebamon glanced at Bak, making certain he understood the rumor’s provenance. “The place is small, he said, and it was filled with farmers besotted by beer. The story was told by one who had come to Buhen with goats to trade, an old man from upriver.
“He told a tale of a headless man meeting a ship in the dead of nig
ht at some secret spot south of Kor. He talked of objects passing back and forth, some leaving the vessel and others being taken on board.”
“A headless man.” Bak gave the trader a skeptical look.
176 / Lauren Haney
“A man with his head covered more likely, or his face blackened.”
“So I thought, but you know how superstitious these local farmers are.”
Bak pictured a vessel bringing contraband down the Belly of Stones. He had heard there were places below the worst of the rapids hidden from the eyes of those who manned the watchtowers. And he remembered Ramose talking about Captain Roy, saying he sometimes took longer than necessary to sail from one place to another. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, not bothering to hide his interest. “Only the one boat, or more?”
Nebamon smiled. “I asked my servant that same question, and he said every man there pressed the farmer with a like query. The old man could give no answer-or he wouldn’t.
Each time the headless man came, he swore, the nights were dark, with the stars on fire but no moon.”
Bak probed for detail, but could get nothing more. “Have you mentioned this tale to anyone else, Nebamon?”
“No, I wanted no one making light of me, thinking me gullible.” The trader laughed sheepishly. “Nor did I want a man, headless or not, coming to me in the dark of night, thinking to silence me through eternity.”
“A wise precaution.” Bak stood up and took a turn across the floor, his legs propelled by a surge of excitement. Could this be the breakthrough he had been searching for? “Speak no more of this tale to anyone, and caution your servant to remain mute. The fewer who know, the better for both of us. You’ll be safer, and I’ll be free to track down unhampered the headless man.”
Looking as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders, Nebamon rose to his feet. Bak escorted him to the door and watched him walk down the street, close to certain he was free of guilt. Or had he set a clever trap, designed to lure an unwary police officer to his death?
He turned around to a silent entry hall and five men staring at him, their expressions a blend of disappointment and perplexity. Nebamon had failed to react to the coffin. For a moment, he was as puzzled as his men, then he remembered bumping into the trader a few days earlier, Nebamon coming out of the guardhouse, Bak entering. The trader had surely seen the coffin then.
“An old tomb south of Kor, Intef’s wife told you, and now Nebamon mentions a secret spot south of Kor.” Imsiba eyed Bak, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps we should explore the river above Kor.”
“We’ll leave at daybreak tomorrow.” Bak looked out across the harbor, which was quieter than he had ever seen it, with river craft large and small snug against the quays, their crews chatting, fishing, dozing in patches of shade untouched by the midday sun. “Go talk to the fisherman Meru and tell him what we want: a boat small and sleek, one easily maneuvered among the many small islands and through shallow waters overgrown with reeds. And collect sufficient weapons. We’ll not go empty-handed and unprotected.”
Imsiba gave him a sharp look. “You think the tale a trap?”
“I think it best to take no chances.” Leaning against the terrace wall, Bak eyed three small, scantily clad girls squatting by the river’s edge, forming handfuls of mud into loaves of bread and cakes. “While you prepare for our journey, I must talk again with Ramose-and to the men who sailed with Captain Roy. Maybe now they’ll speak up.”
“They’re beginning to think they’ve been forgotten, so say the men who’re guarding them.” Normally the Medjay would have smiled at the sailors’ plight, but he remained glum.
Bak could easily guess the reason. “When you’ve finished your task, you must go to mistress Sitamon. She’s had time to think since last we spoke of her brother’s death. Maybe she’s remembered some small item important to us but not to her.”
Imsiba glanced at him, suspicious of his motive, but chose not to press the issue. Because it suited his purpose, most likely.
“Intef was planning to join my crew?” Captain Ramose gave Bak a surprised look. “He said nothing to me.”
“Never?” Bak asked.
“He made no secret of the fact that he’d like to see more of the river, to wander far and wide, but he had a family to care for, a farm.” Ramose shook his head. “No, it must’ve been talk, nothing but talk.”
So, Bak thought, Intef had not yet thought the time right to journey north with his small treasure. Had he expected to find more?
“I’ve been in these waters far longer than need demands, Lieutenant, and I’d like to set sail.” Ramose stood on the bow of his ship in his customary stance: legs spread wide and hands on hips. “I went out of my way to help, reporting the shipwreck and staying with it, making two journeys where one would serve. The least you can do is plead my case to Commandant Thuty.”
A flock of ducks flew low overhead, honking, searching for a patch of reeds in which to feed. A yellow cur wandered up the quay, following an invisible trail with its nose. A fish leaped out of the mirror-smooth river and fell back with a plop, waking a naked sailor, his back propped against a mooring post, his raised knees supporting a fishing pole.
The smell of burning onions wafted across the harbor from a brazier on another vessel.
“The commandant will soon come to a decision. I can do nothing to sway him.” Bak had grown weary of the promise, the denial, the pretense of a secret where none existed.
“Aren’t you looking forward to the party Thuty’s wife is planning for the vizier?”
Thrusting out his bulging, sweaty belly, Ramose snorted.
“Do I look the type to rub shoulders with the nobility?”
Bak laughed. “I spent my youth in the capital, where men of noble birth are thicker on the ground than weeds. Believe me, you’re no less of a man than they are.”
Ramose grinned, flattered yet unmoved. “I’ll wave to the vizier as I pass his flotilla somewhere between here and Ma’am. And while you’re rubbing shoulders with the great ones, sipping thin wine and nibbling stale cakes, I’ll be lounging on deck with my men, drinking the best beer brewed in Wawat.”
The captain was not joking, Bak realized. He would leave Buhen the instant Thuty gave the word unless something could be done to stop him. “You’d let one half-naked desert tribesman frighten you so badly that you’d miss the grandest party ever given in this land of Wawat?”
Ramose’s good humor vanished; he turned hostile. “What did I tell you before? My ship was not attacked. We ran aground.”
Bak scowled at him, disgusted. He could understand the local people’s reluctance to trust authority, but a respectable seaman from the land of Kemet should show more confidence. “How can I hope to protect you and yours if you won’t help me lay hands on the man who threatened you?”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Captain Ramose! Two men have been slain so large quantities of trade goods can be smuggled downriver. If you run away, saving yourself, others will die, of that I’ve no doubt.”
“No!” Shaking his head like an angry bull, Ramose backed away. He bumped into the forecastle with a thud, cursed, glared hard at his inquisitor. Words erupted as if torn from his throat. “All right!” He stepped forward, away from the forecastle, seething. “The bow was axed the night after I refused to haul contraband. No warning could’ve been more clear. So I kept my mouth shut, fearing I’d lose not just my ship, but my life and the lives of my crew.” His expression hardened, his voice pulsed with fury. “Now I’ve put us all at risk. Are you content?”
“I’ll send men aboard to guard you. You’ll be safe as long as you stay in Buhen.”
Ramose snorted. “As safe as Mahu was?”
Bak cringed inside, but let no hint reach the surface. “Tell me of the man who threatened you.”
“I know nothing for a fact, not even his name. He’s a 180 / Lauren Haney shadow among men.” Ramose, speaking grudgi
ngly, collapsed on a bundle of cowhides. Dust rose in a cloud around him, making Bak sneeze. “He came north from Kush, of that I’ve no doubt, and from his wild and unruly appearance, I suspect he was spawned in the desert. Now he’s abandoned the sandy wastes for a life on the river-and it suits him well.”
Bak recalled Nebwa mentioning a boatman from the south, a man he wouldn’t trust with his rattiest pair of sandals, the man he saw whispering in Mahu’s ear at Kor. “He has his own boat?”
“A traveling ship, small and sleek, the kind of vessel a nobleman’s son might sail from one estate to another in the land of Kemet. How a man of the desert, a wild Kushite tribesman, came to have so gracious a ship is a puzzle oft discussed among boatmen and never resolved.”
Bak tried to picture such a man, but could not. “Why have I never seen this man?”
“He’s a shadow, I tell you. Some say he comes downriver from far to the south and when the water is high, he rides the rapids from Semna to Kor more for excitement than for gain. Others say he most often sails the smoother waters of the Belly of Stones, carrying cargo from one village to another, from one garrison to the next. When the river drops so low no ships are safe, he finds a hidden harbor among the islands and vanishes from sight.”
Bak had trouble tamping down his excitement. The pieces of his puzzle were falling into place at last. Where before he had nothing but a theory that a ship brought the contraband down the Belly of Stones, now he had a man with a ship. A shadow with no definition, no name, but a man he could track down and snare. “He’s never sailed into Buhen?”
“If he had, you’d remember. His ship’s a thing of beauty.”
Ramose came close to a smile, and at the same time his voice hardened. “…not a toy to play with in the rapids.”
“Then why do you fear him here and now?”
“His vessel was not moored at Kor the night my ship was axed. He sneaked in another way, either by small boat or on foot, and not a man on the quay saw him.” Ramose glared at Bak, challenging him. “Can you protect me and mine from a shadow?”
