laps. A boy of about twelve sat before them, dictating from a'scroll the maxims of a long-dead sage. A younger group of boys sat beneath a shallow portico, copying words from a list of household objects. A slick-haired black dog lay in a shady corner, nursing four spotted puppies.
'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
