“Lieutenant Bak! You’ve come at last!”
Bak paused, startled, then realized the inevitable had happened. “Someone warned you of my mission, I see.”
“Nebamon, yes. And Userhet. They said…”
Racing hooves pounded the earth, distracting the trader.
The man in the paddock threw his rope and the noose settled around the gray donkey’s neck. Trembling, tossing its head, blowing, it stood stiff-legged, refusing to budge. An older man ran up and the two together threw the creature onto its side and snugged a rope around its flailing limbs. The youth withdrew a branding iron from the glowing coals and raced to the fettered animal. A sizzle, the stench of burning hair and flesh, a terrified bray. The ropes were jerked free. The donkey struggled to its feet and shot into the herd, losing itself among its fellows.
Hapuseneb watched the man with the rope trudge back to the herd in search of another victim. “I dislike seeing my ships and caravans lay idle-it’s not good business-but this enforced rest does have one advantage: I’ve plenty of time to have the animals branded and doctored and to have repairs made to my sailing vessels.”
He operated three ships above Semna and two cargo vessels that plied the waters between Buhen and Abu. His caravans came and went much of the time, carrying trade goods around the Belly of Stones, bridging the troubled waters between Semna and Buhen. A man of wealth, one who toiled night and day to amass ever more.
A man easy to take as a friend, Bak thought, but one who would no doubt make a fearsome enemy. “Two nights ago, I stayed in Kor, and there I saw others taking a like advantage.”
Hapuseneb tore his attention from the paddock, frowned.
“You’re responsible for the delay, I’ve been told.”
“Two men have been slain,” Bak pointed out, “one caught with an elephant tusk on his ship. And you’ve surely heard of the contraband we found on Captain Roy’s vessel.”
Hapuseneb barked a laugh. “If that ship carried half what the rumors claim, it would’ve sunk from the weight of its cargo.”
Bak sensed beneath the sarcasm the irritation of a man with a grain of sand under his kilt. “You sound bitter, Hapuseneb. That’s not like you.”
“I don’t like smugglers.” The trader’s mouth tightened. “I have to pay tolls, oft times more in one year than the entire worth of goods some men ship to Kemet throughout that same year. Much of my merchandise is hard won, with men losing their lives carrying it through lands wild and dangerous and down a river that’s equally treacherous. If I must pay passage through this land of Wawat, giving up to our sovereign far more than I think fair, I expect everyone else to do the same.”
Bak eyed the trader with interest. He was reputed to be a careful man with his wealth, and so he sounded. How far would he go to acquire more? “Has anyone ever approached you, asking you to transport illicit cargo?”
“Those who toil for me are often approached.” Hapuse-136 / Lauren Haney neb’s eyes darted toward Bak and he laughed. “Don’t worry. I punish all who bow to temptation, the number of lashes in direct proportion to the value of the smuggled items.”
Bak whistled. “A strong reaction.”
“A strong deterrent.”
Bak did not trust the use of the cudgel to get the truth from men being questioned. Would the whip be equally unreliable in eliminating temptation? “Did you know Roy?”
“Not well. He kept to himself usually, and his friends weren’t mine.” Hapuseneb pulled a square of cloth from his belt and wiped the dust from his face and neck. “Other than his crew and now and again another ship’s master, I seldom saw him with other men.”
Bak pressed up against the wall, getting out of the way of a dozen long-horned cattle driven by a dark- skinned boy of eight or so years. “Did you ever see Roy with Intef, the hunter?”
“The man found slain in the desert?” Hapuseneb shrugged.
“I don’t know. I’d not have recognized him without game-laden donkeys trotting along behind him.”
“I know you were acquainted with Mahu,” Bak said in a wry voice.
“We weren’t the best of friends, but I’ve known him for years, yes.” Tucking the cloth into his belt, Hapuseneb gave Bak a long, speculative look. “You claim, Nebamon told me-or was it Userhet? — that someone approached Mahu, asking him to smuggle contraband, the night we played knucklebones at Nofery’s place of business.”
“So I’ve been told.” Bak kept his voice level, unrufflea, though the knowledge that his suspects were comparing notes set his teeth on edge.
“He also said you suspect one of us, one of the five who played that night. I’m convinced you err. Neither place nor people nor circumstances support the charge.”
Bak chose not to debate the issue. “Do you remember any talk of smuggling that night? Any secretive behavior?”
Hapuseneb turned to face the paddock, where a black donkey had spread its legs wide and bared its teeth, defying every attempt to throw it. “Since I spoke with Userhet-or maybe Nebamon-I’ve had plenty of time to think on that evening. I recall nothing of note, I assure you.” He gave Bak a sharp glance. “Perhaps because nothing happened. What kind of man would approach another in a crowded place of business like Nofery’s? Why appproach a man as honest as Mahu? The frontier is overrun by men far more willing than he to defy our sovereign’s demands.”
“Why hide an elephant tusk aboard Mahu’s ship at a time when all vessels in Buhen and Kor are being searched?”
Hapuseneb threw back his head and laughed. “I see you’re ahead of me, Lieutenant.”
Am I? Bak wondered. “Mahu’s life was taken while he was in my care. I’ll not rest until I lay hands on the man who slew him.”
The words had come unbidden, and once uttered could not be taken back. Bak was torn between satisfaction and regret. With his suspects comparing notes, the threat, empty as it was, would soon reach the ears of the slayer. If he believed Bak proficient as a tracker of men, he might feel himself forced to act. A dangerous prospect since he knew the name of his adversary, while Bak knew nothing of the man he sought.
“I’ve always thought Hapuseneb likable-and clever.” The midday sun beat down on the quay, heating the stones beneath Bak’s sandaled feet. A light breeze dried the thin film of sweat on his brow. “He certainly proved me right. I felt the whole time we talked that he’d already guessed my next question, had the answer ready, and was thinking of the one beyond.”
Imsiba’s eyes traveled the length of a line of men carrying bundled hides down the gangplank from Ramose’s ship and along the quay to the fortress. “With so many vessels plying the waters both above and below the Belly of Stones, he’d have more opportunity than most to smuggle contraband.”
“Would a man with a fleet of his own place a tusk on another man’s ship, where he’d have no control over its fate?”
“It would make no sense,” Imsiba agreed.
Bak eyed Ramose’s ship, noting its simple, sturdy lines; the rich, dark wood of its hull; the well-tended fittings and stays; the bright new paint of the forecastle and the faded deckhouse not yet repainted. His gaze settled on the prow, where fresh, pale wood scarred the darker, weathered wood between the waterline and the rail. Other than a few of the outermost lines and curves, little remained of the faded symbols that had announced the name of the vessel-as if the name itself had been targeted for destruction.
“Is that patch fresh? I don’t remember seeing it.”
“You must always have stood on the wrong side of the ship.” Imsiba stared at the scar, thinking back. “I noticed it several days ago, before Ramose first sailed from Buhen, bound for Abu.”
The burly Medjay Psuro followed the last of the men bearing the hides. “That’s about it, sir. Nothing left now but the ingots belowdecks. They’ll take much of the afternoon, and tomorrow we’ll reload Captain Ramose’s original cargo.”
“No need to push the men too hard,” Bak said. “The ship isn’t going anywhere.”
“Patience is running thin among the fishermen, sir.” Psuro gave his superiors a crooked grin. “I boarded a boat this morning and feared for a while I’d be thrown overboard.”
“I’m not surprised,” Imsiba said. “To be searched day in and day out would try the most patient of
