and arrow-each and every soldier was trained to use the weapon-but could he slay with the skill of the one who slew Mahu? Or Intef?
Which raised several crucial questions: Were the two deaths related, or were they isolated incidents? Because the weapons were similar and because Intef had hidden a piece of ivory with the ancient jewelry, he leaned toward the former, but for the life of him, he could see no more substantial connection between the two dead men.
As for the jewelry, had Intef stumbled upon an ancient tomb and taken what he found there? Or were the bracelets-like the elephant tusk found on Mahu’s ship-meant to be smuggled north?
Bak had no answers but prayed that soon they would come.
Bak found Userhet in the entry hall of a grain warehouse across a side street from the building where Mahu’s slayer had vanished. The long, narrow room, illuminated by the open door and high windows along one side, was as bare of adornment as the storage rooms behind it. Bright shafts of light caught the dust and bits of chaff floating in the air.
The heavy smell of grain caught in his throat, made his eyes itch and his nose tickle. Two scribes sat cross- legged on the floor, inured by time to the dense atmosphere.
The overseer of warehouses was arguing with the stocky, hard-eyed quartermaster over the distribution of rations to the garrison troops. The latter individual, Bak gathered, had accused Userhet of closing his eyes to the fact that a couple 114 / Lauren Haney of his scribes sometimes pilfered small amounts of grain before turning the sacks over to the bakery.
Userhet was livid. “Here’s Lieutenant Bak now,” he snapped. “If you wish to turn a wisp of air into a sandstorm, talk to him. We’ll soon see whether the commandant thinks a handful of grain worth his time.”
“I’ll talk to Troop Captain Nebwa. He takes soldiering seriously, and he won’t stand still for any shortages to the men under his command.” The officer turned on his heel and stalked out the door.
“You do that!” Userhet muttered to himself. His eyes darted toward Bak. “How can I help you, Lieutenant?”
Bak would ordinarily have offered to intercede, but the chill in the overseer’s voice nettled. “Have I caught you at a busy time?”
Userhet barked out a laugh. “Other than handing out the month’s rations and collecting a few baskets of produce from local farmers, we’ve nothing to do. If Thuty doesn’t soon allow traffic to cross the frontier, we may as well pack our belongings and go home to Kemet.”
“I doubt the ban will last long.”
Userhet gave him a scathing look. “You’re responsible, I’ve heard, you and that accursed elephant tusk you found on Mahu’s ship.”
“You were a neighbor to Mahu and a friend.” Bak kept his voice level, matter of fact, giving no hint of the irritation he felt. “Did he ever confide in you?”
“Did he ever confess to smuggling, you mean? No, he did not.” Userhet walked to the leftmost of a series of niches built into the wall, read the labels scrawled on the shoulders of several sealed wide-mouthed jars, and pulled one out. “Nor did he admit to any other small or large offense. Probably because he committed none. He was a kind and decent man, an honest man.”
“The night before he sailed to Kor,” Bak went on doggedly,
“he went to Nofery’s house of pleasure, where he played knucklebones with you and others.” As with Kay, he watched the overseer closely. “Sometime during the game, a man approached him, hoping to convince him to carry contraband on his ship.”
Userhet raised an eyebrow. “Someone?”
“I have no name,” Bak admitted. “I thought perhaps you noticed a man whispering in his ear, or Mahu’s indignant response, or some other odd occurrence.”
“I wish I could help you, Lieutenant.” Userhet looked and sounded truly regretful. Picking up a stone, he gave the seal a single hard tap. Chunks of dried mud fell from the jar’s mouth. “Ordinarily I miss little that happens around me, but when I play games of chance, rain could fall in this rainless land and I doubt I’d notice.”
Bak eyed the man before him. He looked more a soldier than a clerk, with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles.
His golden torso and limbs reflected time spent outdoors.
“Have you ever before known of an uncut tusk being smuggled downriver?”
Userhet pulled a scroll out of the jar, read the contents noted on the side, shoved it back into the container. “Two years ago, before you came to Buhen, an inspector found on a caravan a tusk broken into pieces for ease of carrying.” He pulled out another scroll, read the label, shoved it back.
“Whole tusks are too difficult to transport, too easily discovered-as you saw for yourself.” He withdrew another scroll, glanced at the notation. “Do you think Mahu was slain by the man who spoke to him of smuggling?”
“How well did you know Captain Roy?” Bak asked, ignoring the overseer’s question.
Userhet replaced the scroll a bit too hard, crushing its edges. “Now there’s a man who surprised me, not because I thought him a pillar of honesty-I could see he was no better than most-but because he risked ship, crew, and cargo in a storm. He always gave an impression of indifference, but in truth he was a careful man.”
“A careful man doesn’t haul contraband.”
Userhet took out another scroll, scanned the label, slipped his finger beneath the seal and broke it. “I’ve seen the objects Ramose brought back from the wreck. For the life of 116 / Lauren Haney me, I can’t imagine where Roy picked up so much illicit cargo.” He unrolled a section of scroll and looked at Bak across the top edge. “How did it escape the notice of our inspectors at Kor and Buhen? How did he hope to smuggle it past the inspectors at Abu? You need documents for that.
Approvals.”
His manner appeared offhand, but a deep curiosity peeked from beneath the surface. Bak smiled within himself. The overseer, it seemed, had at least one human frailty. “Did you know the hunter Intef?”
“My scribes deal with the local people.” Userhet looked up from the scroll, frowned. “You aren’t suggesting his death is in any way related to Mahu’s, are you?”
“I know too little about the man to suggest anything.”
Later, outside the warehouse, he sorted through his thoughts. Userhet looked to be a man of infinite strength and ability, but how talented was he with a bow? His task as overseer of warehouses restricted his movements to Buhen and Kor, but gave him the opportunity to meet many men, some of whom traveled unhampered far to the south where one could lay hands on a variety of exotic objects, including elephant tusks.
Bak swerved into the street that ran alongside the guardhouse. The first thing he must do, he decided, was speak with Hori. The scribe, with his frank and open countenance, would be the ideal person to go from one man to another, trying to learn how well the five who had played knucklebones with Mahu could shoot the bow and arrow.
Chapter Eight
Thinking over what he had learned-or, to be more precise, what he had not learned-from Kay and Userhet, Bak swerved toward the door of the old guardhouse. As he plunged across the threshold, he failed to see in the dark in-terior another man coming his way: Nebamon, who had also played knucklebones with Mahu. Bak’s foot came down hard on the trader’s instep, while Nebamon’s down-turned head thudded into Bak’s nose.
Bak sprang backward and snarled an oath. Identifying the startled trader, he tempered the words with the best smile he could manage through the pain. “Nebamon! Just the man I wanted to see!”
Grabbing the doorjamb, the white-haired trader lifted a sandaled foot and rubbed his injured toes. “I’ve heard your enthusiasm for the task at hand often knows no bounds, Lieutenant, but did you have to disable me to reach your goal?”
“You gave as good as you got,” Bak said, blinking back tears. “Whatever you came for, I doubt it worth a broken nose.”
