by Lauren Haney
"Not so loud!" Simut's hiss traveled across the courtyard, drawing the eyes of all his students. "Now look what you've done."
"Boys are born to be curious," Bak said, forcing himself to exercise patience. "If you don't want them disturbed, come away with me. There's an unoccupied room not a dozen paces from here."
Simut gave him a horrified look. "Do you have any idea what would happen if I left these children alone? They'd run amok, that's what they'd do."
Remembering his own youth, Bak had to agree. Boys forced to study day after day, copying dry texts from times gone by, had far too much energy to sit still and quiet when left unattended. "I'll be brief then."
"Do so."
The scribe's attitude grated, bringing forth a question Bak normally would have approached slowly, the one that had set Amethu on the defensive. "Do you know of any reason anyone would want Djehuty dead?"
Simut gave him a sharp look. "Why ask that question of me?"
"How long have you served as a scribe in Abu?" The question was rhetorical, meant to point out Simut's long tenure in the governor's villa.
The scribe chose to take the query at face value. "I learned my profession in this very -courtyard. That's why you see me here now. I feel no end of fulfillment in teaching other boys as I once was taught. When their regular tutor ails, or has another task he must do, I freely give of my time." He paused, nodded his satisfaction-with himself, Bak assumed. "I've toiled in this building ever since. I began as a lowly apprentice writing letters for farmers, as the boys you see before you wiW most likely do, and my life has been filled to the brim from that time until now. I can climb no higher."
"Far more lofty positions are available to scribes in the capital," Bak pointed out.
Simut raised his head high so he could look down his nose at one so lacking in understanding. "Abu is my home, the home of my wife and my children and their children. The home of my father and his father before him."
The scribe, Bak noted, had begun to speak with greater ease. Talk of himself suited him. "With so many years in the governor's villa, you must've heard complaints about Djehuty, some serious enough to be called transgressions."
Simut sat quite still, then sniffed. "If you're interested in gossip, young man, I suggest you visit a few of the local houses of pleasure."
"I want the truth, not the ramblings of men besotted by beer." Bak adopted his most serious demeanor. "Need I remind you that I'm here at the vizier's request?"
"I was told he suggested Djehuty send for you." The scribe raised his voice in triumph. "That's quite a different matter."
"When a man as lofty as the vizier..." Realizing he, too, was speaking too loud, Bak glanced toward the students. All were staring, including the boy supposed to be dictating. Bak grabbed the scribe's arm and towed him through the nearest door into a short hallway. "Simut! In nine days' time the slayer will strike again, his next victim Djehuty. Do you want the governor's death forever on your conscience?"
"I've every confidence you'll soon learn what you need to know, Lieutenant, but you won't hear it from me." Simut shook his arm free and stalked back to the courtyard.
Bak passed through the unimpressive mudbrick pylon gate of the mansion of the lord Khnum and walked along a rough path that carried him toward the river. At the end, he came upon thirty or so nearly naked men, reeking of sweat, toiling on a small, dilapidated shrine that overlooked the water. Half the crew struggled with slabs of stone, laying new pavement over the old. Others were erecting sturdy stone columns in place of rotting wooden supports, while the remainder repaired crumbling walls. Good-natured banter, a man whistling a lively tune, the rhythmic beat of a mallet on stone could not silence a multitude of sparrows in the trees.
Bak walked to the edge of the steep, rocky slope. Below, several small boats skimmed the water, their sails spread
wide like the wings of birds free to fly where they wished. He longed to be down there with them, to feel the breeze stirring his hair and to hear water whispering against the hull. Shaking off temptation, he forced his thoughts back to the puzzle he had traveled so far to solve.
Djehuty had committed an offense-that much Simut had implied-and sooner or later someone would reveal its secret. What the secret was, Bak could not begin to guess, but its grievous nature was apparent. Few men would look into the face of death rather than admit a wrongdoing.
Bak had left the scribe to his students, determined to learn what Djehuty had done. Only then could he establish whether or not that particular offense could have led to five deaths, with a sixth looming. If so, he could go on from there. If not, he must search for another reason for murder. He had to smile. It sounded so easy. However, experience had taught him that a course of action that on the surface appeared smooth and direct more often than not was filled with obstacles.
After a hasty midday meal, he had hurried to the garrison, a jumble of barracks buildings and houses located near the southern edge of Abu. The old, much-repaired, and oftaltered structures blended into the city. Unlike Buhen, no high, fortified wall surrounded them. Evidently the river had been thought, in days long past, to offer sufficient protection from the enemy.
Troop Captain Antef, the sergeant on duty had told him, had gone to the granite quarries. When he would return, no one could say.
Bak had hastened back through the narrow, crowded streets to the mansion of the lord Khnum, thinking the chief priest might-like Amethu and Simut-be a long-time resident in Abu, but unlike them a man bound to speak the truth, leaving no secrets buried in silence. He had again been faced with disappointment. The priest who had greeted him was young, new to the mansion and the town. His elderly predecessor had, not six months before, departed his worldly life and gone off to the Field of Reeds. The younger man could offer nothing of value.
A skiff speeding northward caught Bak's attention. The sail was down and two men were rowing, adding thrust to the current's downstream pull. Troop Captain Antef was one of the pair. Just the man Bak wished to see-and he appeared to be heading for the landingplace.
Bak had no idea how long Antef had dwelt in Abu, but few professional soldiers remained in one place for long. The queen's nephew and stepson Menkheperre Thutmose, who shared the throne but not the power, had begun to rebuild an army long neglected by the royal house. Ranking officers of proven incompetence were being removed and men could no longer inherit positions of authority from their fathers. Newly reorganized regiments were led by men who moved from place to place, proving themselves proficient and versatile.
He also assumed that, although required to report to Djehuty, Antef's real master resided elsewhere, probably in the capital. With little or nothing to lose, he might well divulge Djehuty's secret-if he knew it.
Bak trotted along the path above the river, praying the officer could-and would-help. Several women who had gathered at the well to gossip eyed him with curiosity, as did a pair of lovers lying deep in the shadows of a willow tree. He reached the stairway at the landingplace as Antef's skiff bumped stone. The troop captain leaped ashore and shoved the boat back into the current. His companion rowed on downstream.
Spotting Bak at the top of the stairs, Antef raced upward. "Lieutenant!" He clapped Bak hard on the-'back. "Have you come to greet me in friendship? Or to shackle my wrists and carry me off to the desert mines?"
Slipping out of arm's reach, Bak forced a smile. "Have you committed an offense deserving of so drastic a punishment?"
The troop captain's good humor evaporated, his eyes flashed anger. "I've kept my men so long at the granite quar-
ries they no longer know how to soldier. If they'd ever have to stand on the field of battle, they'd not last a half hour. That's not an offense; it's an outrage."
They passed through the gate, nodded to the guard standing before the gatehouse, his spear raised in salute, and strode up the path toward the governor's villa. Antef walked fast, his anger driving him forward.
"You deserve no punishment for
that," Bak said. "Unless I'm mistaken, mining the stone is Djehuty's responsibility." "As is the well-being of the garrison." Antef expelled a cynical snort. "The granite travels north on a barge, bound for the capital, while our troops stay here. Which is the most likely, Lieutenant, to gain the attention of those who walk the corridors of power?"
Bak well understood the problem. Their sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut, cared for nothing but the smooth flow of products traveling downriver to the royal house. Like Antef's soldiers, the men who manned the fortresses on the frontier, making sure trade objects continued to move north, were of no importance. Only when the flow was disrupted did they attract attention-and angry messages from the capital.
"You don't like Djehuty," he said.
"He has no more common sense than the granite we ship north." Antef shoved open the door of the governor's villa and strode into the anteroom, a light and bright chamber with two lotus-shaped columns supporting a high ceiling. "Unfortunately, for this enforced labor at the quarry I can blame no one but myself. If I'd had sufficient wit when first I came to Abu..." He paused, gave a low, bitter laugh. "Amonhotep can usually talk him around, but not in this case. I pushed too hard, spoke when I should've remained silent. The swine'll diver forgive. More important, he won't forget. And my men are made to suffer."
Could this be Djehuty's offense, Bak wondered, the reason so many people had been slain? Surely not. Ordering the army to continuous service at the quarries was a decision the governor could justify, for the stone would be shipped to the most important building projects in Kemet, the mansions of the gods, in most cases. Bak sympathized with Antef and his troops, as would any soldier, but he could offer no way out. "Five people have died and the next, I feel sure, will be Djehuty. Do you know of any tie that might've bound the victims together? Anything Djehuty might've done to warrant their deaths as well as his own?"
Antef hesitated a long time and finally said, "You'd best ask Amonhotep."
Bak gave him a long, thoughtful look. His answer was more forthright than those of Amethu and Simut but came down to the same thing: he had an idea what might have brought about the murders, but he would not be the first to step forward with the information. "If he won't tell me what I need to know, Troop Captain, I'll come back to you. And I'll expect the truth."
"I've been told you and your Medjays have moved into a house outside the walls of this villa." Antef's tone turned derisive. "Do you feel safer there, Lieutenant?"
"A suggestion has been made that I summon a unit of Medjays from the capital to patrol this compound. What do you think, sir?" Bak kept his voice level, pleasant, as if unaware of the lack of trust the proposal implied.
Antef's expression hardened. "If it's men you need, come to me. I've more than enough. Good, trustworthy men who long to be soldiers, not beasts of burden in the quarry. I can have them armed and on duty within the hour. A man in every room and every hallway, if need be."
Bak was tempted to accept the offer, at least in part, but before he could begin to negotiate terms, Ineni's voice whipped across the room.
"I won't have my home overrun by soldiers!" The young nobleman, who had been standing unseen in a doorway at the back of the anteroom, listening, strode toward the two officers. "We've plenty of guards, men who've been in our service for years. I'd trust them with my life."
As Hatnofer must have relied on them, Bak thought, and the other four who were slain. He resolved to speak with Amonhotep, under whose command they served, to make
sure the guards stayed alert, their vigilance never faltering. "They're nothing but farm boys," Antef sneered, "trained to use a plow, not a spear."
Ineni's mouth tightened. "Set ten of our men against ten of yours, and we'll see who's most apt to win a battle." "Why put our men to the test? Why don't you face me man-to-man? Weapon of your choice."
"Silence!" Bak stepped between the two. "Haven't you seen enough death over the past few weeks?"
"The man's a fool," Antef muttered. Ineni glared.
Bak had sensed animosity between the two when first he had met them. He could not begin to guess its source, but he had a feeling their mutual dislike was long-standing. "I suggest you each go your separate way, staying well clear of the other. How can I lay hands on a slayer if I'm forever distracted by you?"
"I have to report to Djehuty," Antef grumbled, swinging away and hastening to the portal through which Ineni had come. Khawet shoved the door fully open. He took a quick step back, barely saving his nose.
"Oh, Troop Captain Antef, I'm so sorry." She reached out to touch his arm, then quickly withdrew her hand. "Are you alright?"
"Of course." His voice was gruff; a flush spread across his face. A blind man could have seen the admiration he held for her. He seemed not to know what more to say, so he gave her a quick nod. "I must go."
After he disappeared, she glanced across the room. Her gaze settled on Bak and Ineni, and she hurried between the columns to stand before her husband. "Father's been looking for you." Her* voice had turned chilly, the warmth it had held for Antef lost. "He's seeking an explanation as to why you haven't brought another young steer to Abu for slaughter."
"I told him..." Ineni glanced at Bak, grimaced. "My father knows nothing of farming."
Khawet gave her husband a too-sweet smile. "You know something of plowing and planting, I grant you, but my father has ten times ten more worldly experience and knowledge."
Flushed with anger, Ineni pivoted on his heel and stalked to the rear door, aping Antef in every way though he probably had no idea he did so. Khawet watched him go, her expression almost wistful. Did she in fact love him? Bak wondered, or was she merely wishing she had someone else, the troop captain, maybe?
The smile she turned on Bak was soft, gentle, friendly rather than flirtatious. "Yesterday I was too upset to thank you properly for coming, Lieutenant, but today ... Well, I can't tell you how relieved I am that you're here. My father has told me of the pattern you saw in the slayings. That you, a stranger to Abu, should notice what no one else could see gives me a confidence I thought never to feel. I'm certain you'll lay hands on the slayer before he can. . ." She hesitated, added, ". . . before he can go on with whatever he plans."
Bak liked her smile, her pleasant manner, but cautioned himself to be wary. Whether she had noticed her husband in the room initially he had no idea, but she had certainly shown Antef more warmth and consideration. If her behavior had been intentional, if she made a habit of using one man to anger the other, no wonder the pair could not get along.
Bak remained in the anteroom, waiting for Djehuty to finish with the daily reports of the men on his staff and to hear the last of the petitioners. If he was to pry the truth from the governor, he could not do it with an audience hall full of onlookers.
To speed the passage of time, he reviewed the day thus far, ending with the confrontation between Antef and Ineni, two strong men who disliked each other enough to fight yet were very much alike. Both greatly resented Djehuty for disrupting the tasks to which they had devoted their lives. He had been thinking of them, as with all who stood close to
the governor, as potential victims, men who might have died if Hatnofer had not been selected by the slayer. Should he be thinking of them instead as men who might harbor so great a hatred in their hearts they would slay Djehuty?
Chapter Five
Djehuty sat on the dais, hands resting on the arms of his chair, posture erect. He looked down at the man on his knees before him. "Speak up, Ipy. What favor do you want this time?"
The petitioner, a man of medium height with broad shoulders and muscular arms, shiny with sweat smudged by smoke or ashes, scuttled forward half a pace. He reeked of sweat, filling the audience hall with his sour odor.
"Oh, please, most kind sir, if you deem it right and proper to give me a favorable judgment, I'll honor you more than I honor our sovereign, that I swear to the lord Khnum."
"I'm sure you will," Djehuty murmured, more to Lieut
enant Amonhotep, standing beside his chair, than to the craftsman.
Bak stood near the massive double doors through which supplicants entered the audience hall, amused yet sympathetic. Men like Ipy abounded along the Belly of Stones, and from long experience he knew that dealing with them required infinite patience as well as a firm hand.
Few people remained in the hall. Most of those who had come seeking judgment or wise counsel -had gone. The scribes who were no longer needed had returned to Simut's lair to document the day's proceedings. Antef had made a perfunctory report and left some time ago, as had several other members of the governor's staff. The guard standing nearby in front of the doors, impatient to be on his way, constantly patted his bare leg, as if keeping time to a tune he alone could hear.
Ipy inched forward. "I'll go each day to the shrine of the hearing ear behind the mansion of the lord Khnum, sir, and I'll pray on bended knee for your well-being for ever and ever. I'll make offerings of food and drink, of flowers and incense. Then I'll go to the other shrines of Abu, each and everyone, seeking for you and yours all the good things of life. Health, wealth, happiness. .."
"We know, Ipy." Amonhotep glanced toward Bak but made no sign of greeting. "You've vowed to pray for the governor each time you've approached this dais. You've no need to repeat the promise.',"
Scooting forward again, Ipy bowed his head. "I sometimes backslide, sir, forgetting to pray as I've said I would." His head shot up, his voice rang with sincerity. "But this time, I'll not break my word. I'll throw down my tools and leave my workshop, letting my customers wait for the pots I've promised. I'll let my wife wear rags and my little children suffer hunger. All so I can spend half of each day on my knees. So I can..."
Djehuty's eyes darted around the room, as if seeking relief. He noticed Bak, grimaced, looked back at the petitioner, and his voice turned testy. "What is it you want, man?"
