by Lauren Haney
Bak aired the thought that had kept him awake far into the night. "A secret too dreadful to reveal, whether the death of Min or some other vile deed, would surely be an abomination to the gods." He took a bite and let the stew slide down his throat, cooling, soothing. "Would he not, then, do all in his power to remain alive, giving himself time to seek absolution so he could enter the netherworld and the hall of judgment with a free conscience? Would he not wish his heart to reveal no trace of deceit or treachery when it's weighed against the feather of truth?"
Psuro and Kasaya stared, both men silenced by the reminder that the stakes reached beyond Djehuty's worldly life. If he had ordered Nenu to slay Bak, the one man who might be able to save his life, the risk he took was awesome, an invitation to spend eternity unjustified, unable to enter the Field of Reeds.
"There must be something else," Bak said. "Some other reason for his mad behavior. Something I've overlooked." "My fathei is very ill, Lieutenant." Khawet stood in the hallway outside Djehuty's private reception room, a reddish pottery bowl in her hand. The contents smelled of vomit. "I can't let you see him."
"I must speak with him." Bak's voice broke, the vehemence straining his bruised throat. Irritated, he tried again. "If he wishes me to save his life ... If you wish me to save him, you'll let me see him."
"I can't." Her voice was tense; the flesh stretched tight across her face. "Don't you understand? He's too ill to see anyone."
He was reluctant to add further pressure, but if he was to save Djehuty, he had no choice. "My father, a physician, believes speech can free a man from worry."
"If you have a message, one that will drain my father's heart of fear and anxiety, I'll relay it to him." Her voice turned chilly. "If you've nothing but endless questions, I can't help you. I won't add weight to his burden."
Bak glanced pointedly into the empty reception room, which was as clean and neat as if the governor had never set foot inside. "Where's Lieutenant Amonhotep? Did not Djehuty order him to remain by his side at all times?"
"I needed more herbs. As soon as my father slept, I asked Amonhotep to go to the market for me. He wanted instead to send a servant, but I insisted he go. He was sorely in need of a respite." Her mouth tightened. "You'll not gain admittance through him, Lieutenant. Even he, as exhausted as he is, wouldn't be so foolish as to let you disturb a man so ill."
Bak bit back a sharp reply. At times she was as impossible as Djehuty, as stubborn. "You've surely heard that Nenu, one of the guards here in this household, tried to slay me last night, and he, in turn, was slain."
"I've heard the tale, yes." She gave him a sharp look. "What does that have to do with my father?"
"Nenu told me as he lay dying that Djehuty ordered him to take my life.'
She flung up her head, startled. "He wouldn't do such a thing. The guard lied."
"Perhaps." Though his voice was difficult to control, he hit exactly the right note: noncommittal with doubt seeping in.
"Why would he?" she demanded, defensive. "If your theory is correct, if you're his only chance of survival, as Amonhotep believes, it would make no sense."
"Now you know why I must speak with him."
She hesitated, glanced down at the bowl, scowled. "I'm giving him a herbal broth that should relieve his stomach. When he's able to see you, I'll summon you."
Bak strode away, cursing the day the vizier had suggested he come to Abu. Why were people always so unwilling to do what was best for them?
"He's worked himself into such a state he can keep no food in his stomach. I didn't want to leave him, but how could I refuse mistress Khawet? Her days are already too long and filled to the brim. So I went to the market for her." Amonhotep held out a basket from which several bundles of dried herbs protruded. Beneath lay linen-wrapped packets containing crushed herbs and potions. "Actually, I didn't mind. I needed a reprieve, as she, said."
Bak had intercepted the aide at the back gate opening onto the narrow lane behind the governor's compound. "She told me he was sick, very sick."
"He is, but the illness is of his own making, I'm sure." "If that's the case, her broth is unlikely to settle his stomach enough for me to speak to him."
"I'll see that you do." The aide's voice was firm, the words a promise.
"Do you have any idea why he'd order Nenu to slay me?" "It makes no sense." Amonhotep stared down the lane at a young woman heavy with child, dragging a naked boy of three or four years along behind her. The child was dirty, his face tear-stained, his arm stretched as high as it would go. "I was surprised when he told me to remove the guard from his post at Nebmose's villa so he could use him to run errands. Until then, I didn't know he knew the man."
"Nenu admired Senmut, the sergeant who was slain. And Senmut was close to Djehuty."
Amonhotep nodded, understanding the tie. "What of the soldier who slew Nenu?"
"We took him to the garrison." A whine drew Bak's attention to the woman and child, who rounded the corner at the end of the block and walked out of sight. "He thought Nenu was attacking me, trying to escape. An honest mistake, but to use his weapon without thought. .." Bak shook his head in disgust. "Antef will deal with him."
"I expect soon to see him in fhe audience hall." Amonhotep gave a cynical snort. "If Djehuty can ever tear himself out of bed. Or if he survives the next two days."
He'll survive, Bak thought grimly, if 1 have to sit beside his bed and guard him myself. "When can I talk to him?" "After midday." The aide gave Bak a humorless smile. "I think it best not to warn him that you'll be coming, but I'll need time to pacify mistress Khawet."
Chapter Sixteen
Bak sat on the bench at the back of Nebmose's villa, elbows on knees, and buried his face in his hands. His throat was sore and scratchy. A dull pain throbbed in his shoulder. He was tired, discouraged, at a loss as to where to turn next. Nenu alive might have revealed a path to the truth. Nenu dead raised a new set of difficulties.
He could not imagine why Djehuty had ordered the guard to slay him. Could he have misunderstood the dying man's meaning? No. Only a long stretch of the imagination could interpret the words in any other way. The governor wanted him dead. If the past was any indication of the future, he might never reveal the reason. So far, Bak had had no luck in prying the truth from him. How could he believe another interview would be more productive?
He would try again, and again and again if need be, but in the meantime he had to look elsewhere.
Raising his head, he stretched out his legs and leaned back against the wall, letting inactivity heal his battered body and the breeze soothe his troubled soul. He thought of all he had learned about the five deaths: Nakht, Montu, Senmut, Dedi, and Hatnofer. Each had been slain in the light of day and, with the probable exception of Dedi, slain by a horse frenzied by an unknown method, each had been killed at close range while facing, the slayer. Which meant he was someone known and trusted by all. Djehuty? No, his fear was real, attesting better to his innocence than witnesses swearing he was elsewhere at every slaying. Who else then? All who held lofty positions in the villa would have been trusted. If Nenu was to be believed, and Bak did believe him, he had had nothing to do with the murders. He had known he was dying, and with his heart so soon to be weighed against the feather of truth, he dared not lie. Amonhotep, Simut, and Antef had each been far away during the time of at least one slaying, but the whereabouts of the others remained unknown. He had been lax in that respect, allowing himself to be distracted when he should have followed through to the end. This he vowed to do.
The tie that had bound the victims together had been the fateful storm five years earlier. Other than Amonhotep, who had wandered the burning sands alone, all the survivors had behaved in a despicable fashion. Bak thought a moment, revised the notion. The survivors who had sheltered in the cave with User had behaved abominably. Djehuty and Min had not been among them. They had been elsewhere, no one knowing where or what they had done to survive. This, Bak felt certain, was the key
to the governor's secret.
Sergeant Min was gone, probably slain, his lips sealed forever. He may have confided in his friend Senmut or, more likely, in mistress Hatnofer, his lover. They, too, were dead. Djehuty alone could offer enlightenment, and he refused to speak.
Is that all I've learned in close on a week? Bak asked himself. Am I no nearer to the slayer today than I was yesterday or the day before or the day before that? How can I hope to save Djehuty in less than two days if 1 can uncover no new answers?
A thought reared its ugly head, one so unworthy he squashed it like ft insect: the southernmost province of Kemet would be a better place to live if its present governor were dead.
Frustrated, he stood up and strode to the stable. An orange cat lay stretched across the doorway in the sun, washing its face. He stepped over the creature and walked inside. The structure was as devoid of life as when last he had seen it, with a few bits of straw and the faint scent of manure to remind him of its proper function. He envied Nebmosewhoever he had been-and he well understood Ineni's resentment at not being allowed to keep horses here. Djehuty's decision to bar animals from the stable and reserve the house for illustrious guests seemed odd. Why had he not given the property to his married son and daughter?
Bak left the stable and, driven by curiosity more than purpose, entered the house. Passing the rooms used for storage, he walked through the high-ceilinged, bright-painted hall and down the corridor to the master's suite, his footsteps loud in the silence. He glanced around the private reception room with its elegant furnishings, decorative wall hangings, and senet game ready for play. He peered into the two small bedchambers, noting the neatly folded sleeping pallets, and ambled around the larger bedchamber that led to the bath where Hatnofer had been slain. Here, the bed was made and toilet articles laid out. A bowl of dried flowers sat on a wooden chest. Not a speck of dust marred any surface. If not for the silence, he might have thought these rooms inhabited. By rights, Khawet and Ineni should have occupied them, filling them with laughter and children, instead of a series of noted guests who passed through in haste.
He strode to the doorway, intending to leave, but his steps faltered at the threshold. Troubled, not sure why, he turned around to study the room. It looked much as it had when first he had seen it, a guest chamber ready for occupancy. But he, the intended guest, had spurned the room, and no other visitor was expected. Why were the linens still in place when normally they would be stowed away, protected from dust, insects, intruding birds, and small animals?-Khawet must have forgotten. She had proven herself a superb mistress of a demanding household. She surely could be forgiven this one lapse.
A new thought came to him, a fresh possibility. One he swept aside as nonsense. Another idea loomed larger, more promising. Vowing to return to the first notion if need be, he left the bedchamber and wandered throughout the house, seeing the building as the hollow shell it was, getting a sense of the comfortable home it once had been.
What had prompted Djehuty to take the life from this dwelling? Had he loved Nebmose like a brother, or had he hated him? Who, in fact, was Nebmose? Other than that he was a descendent of an old and noble family, Bak knew nothing of him. Nothing except the fact that he had left behind a desirable residence on a valuable piece of property and farmland on the north end of the island that was probably of even greater value than this dwelling.
Bak peered inside woven reed chests, pulled drawers out of wooden chests, looked through the few objects kept in a storeroom in the master's suite, mostly bedding and toilet articles. He found no documents anywhere, nothing that revealed in any way the former owner. A rapid search through the rest of the house proved equally fruitless. If any of the deceased nobleman's possessions remained, he could not distinguish them from those of the governor's household.
Unbarring the front door, he walked out onto the porch. Midway along the path to the gate, the family shrine stood among well-tended trees and flower beds offering a riot of color. Like the house, the building and surrounding garden looked a product of constant care and loving attention.
He plunged down the stairs, hurried along the path to the shrine, and climbed the four steps to the columned entryway. Inside stood the ancestor bust, sitting atop the limestone plinth. Like most such images, the inscription down the front contained no name. Before the bust, blue lilies floated in a low, wide-mouthed bronze bowl, their scent delicate, evasive in the light breeze.
Someone-Amonhotep, Bak thought-had told him that Nebmose had died leaving no living relatives and Djehuty had taken the villa in the name of their sovereign Maatkare Hatshepsut. If no one remained, who was tending this shrine with such devotion? A distant relative, one who should have inherited the property upon Nebmose's death? A forgotten concubine or lover? Or merely a faithful servant?
If a relative had surfaced, he would have had every right
to resent Djehuty's grasping the property as his own. The land and the dwelling, located in crowded Abu, would have been a legacy well worth slaying for, as would the farmland north of the city. Amethu would know. As steward of Djehuty's household, he was responsible for all transactions conducted by the governor. As a long-time resident of Abu, he would have been acquainted with Nebmose and his family.
A sudden thought dampened Bak's enthusiasm for the theory. A long-forgotten relative of Nebmose might slay Djehuty to regain his property, but would he slay five innocent people? Also, what were the odds that those five people would all be bound together by a deadly sandstorm?
He muttered an oath. Nothing ever seemed to fit in a nice, neat package. As he had told Psuro and Kasaya that very morning, something was missing, a crucial fact he had yet to discover.
He eyed the bust, wishing it could speak. It stared back, enigmatic. He had to smile. Whatever secrets it held, it fully intended to keep them to itself.
Bak tracked Amethu down at the mansion of the lord Khnum. He found the steward in the outer, colonnade court, kneeling before the blocky stone image of a nobleman seated with his knees beneath his chin, a scroll spread across them, displaying through eternity his ability to read and write. A long-dead official of Abu, Bak assumed, one of many whose statues occupied the court, left in the expectation that the deceased would forever be remembered and honored. Food, drink, and other good things offered to the lord Khnurn were reoffered to these lesser images before the priests took possession for their own use.
Fairly certain the prayer would be brief, Bak backed away, allowing privacy, and left the temple to wait in the shade of the willow trees outside the pylon gate.
Amethu must have seen him in the court, for he soon bustled out, looking to his right and left. "Ah, there you are." Reaching the leafy shelter, he eyed the officer's bandaged upper body and arm, his bruised neck. "I must say, Lieutenant, you don't look at all well."
Bak gave him a wry smile. "So I've been told." "The one you fought is dead, I hear." "Unfortunate but true."
Amethu gestured toward a mudbrick bench under the drooping branches. "Do you mind if we talk out here? I can't bear to return so soon to the governor's villa. We've done with the inventory-I thank the lord Khnum-but the atmosphere inside those walls is so oppressive it's hard to breathe."
"The privacy suits me, and the quiet."
The steward brushed leaves off the bench, hiked up his ankle-length kilt, and plopped down. "Ahhhh. Good, clean air, with no stench of fear."
Bak sat down beside him. "I've much compassion for Lieutenant Amonhotep and mistress Khawet, but those in the household banned from the governor's private rooms appear to be functioning in a reasonably normal manner."
"You've made it clear you believe Djehuty's the target of this madman, and it's obvious he agrees. The guards are jumpy-as they should be. The servants, while spending an excess of time whispering among themselves and peering over their shoulders, are carrying on quite well, all things considered. They'd feel better with you and your men in the house, but they know of Khawet's ban."
; Bak's voice turned flinty. "Ban or not, we'll be there on the crucial tenth day. I'll not let Djehuty die to satisfy the whim of a dictatorial woman."
Amethu chuckled. "Best you don't call her a tyrant to her face. She prides herself on her kind and considerate manner."
"Don't get me wrong. She has every right to be shorttempered. But at times she seems as irrational as her fatherand as stubborn."
"I've never known her to be this difficult." The steward brushed a fly off his bald head. "I've urged her to allow a servant to care for Djehuty while he's ill. She refuses, insisting that no one else can satisfy him. And I've selected a capable and responsible woman who could easily step into Hatnofer's sandals, performing the duties of housekeeper. Again Khawet has refused."
Bak gave him a sympathetic smile. "Perhaps when I lay hands on the slayer, your load will be lighter and so will hers."
"I pray you're right." Amethu gave him a sharp look. "Are you closing on him?"
"Sometimes I feel I'm so close I can almost smell him. At other times, I doubt I'll ever lay hands on him."
"In other words, you haven't the slightest idea who he is."
Nettled by so bald an assessment, Bak glared at the river flowing along the base of the terrace. Three small boats raced upstream, their sails swollen with the morning breeze. Across the channel, near where Nenu had died, four women knelt at the water's edge, washing linen and spreading the objects over the bushes to dry.
"Four of the five deaths occurred before I came to Abu," he said, waving off a yellow butterfly. "Can you remember where you were at the time those lives were taken?"
The steward's head snapped around. "I resent the insinuation, Lieutenant!"
Bak formed the most amiable smile he could manage. "I've more or less admitted I'm desperate. Will you not humor me?"
"Humph!" Amethu searched his face. Evidently convinced Bak fully intended to get what he sought, he offered a tight smile. "Oh, all right! I was in the governor's villa, where I spend all my days. I've no special memory of what I was doing or who I was with except..." He hesitated, cleared a throat that did not need clearing. "Well, except for the time Lieutenant Dedi was slain. But let me assure you: I've taken no lives."
