given: The viceroy told me of the vizier’s coming in strictest confidence.
Now I’m passing my secret to you and within the hour I’ll send a courier south to the commanders of the garrisons along the Belly of Stones.” He aimed the scroll at Nebwa, his second-in-command. “You must whisper the word to your fellow officers. Tell them to ready themselves and their troops. As the vizier has never been a military man, I suspect a neat formation of men with spotless kilts and well-polished spears will please him far more than a demonstration of the arts of war. Above all, we want to make a good impression.”
Without waiting for Nebwa’s nod, the commandant pointed the scroll at Bak. “I doubt I need remind you, Lieutenant, of what you must do before the vizier arrives.”
“No, sir.” Bak cringed inside. How many days do I have? he thought. Only four? “I must bring Rennefer before you, charged with trying to slay her husband. I must snare the man or men who slew Mahu and Intef and wounded Imsiba, making safe the desert trails and the streets of this city. I, with Nebwa beside me, must learn the name of the man whose ship supplied Captain Roy with contraband. We must also discover how elephant tusks are smuggled downriver undetected.”
“Summed up like that,” Nebwa murmured, “I fear for our future. Do you think Amon-Psaro would have us?” Amon-Psaro was a powerful tribal king who lived far to the south in the land of Kush.
“If you’ve something to offer, Troop Captain, I’d like to hear it,” Thuty snapped.
“No, sir.”
Thuty glared, but failed to press the issue. “I’ve allowed no movement of ships or caravans for…How many days, Lieutenant? Four? Five? And so far, you’ve come up with nothing. This can’t continue, especially with the vizier taking so keen an interest in trade. I plan to release every ship and caravan we’ve been holding at Buhen and Kor as soon as I hear he’s a day’s journey to the north. We must have business as usual while he’s here, not draw attention to a few minor incidents.”
Bak gave a silent curse. A few minor incidents indeed!
“That might not be a bad idea,” Nebwa said thoughtfully.
“We can’t lay hands on smugglers without giving them the opportunity to move illicit cargo, and they can’t haul cargo with no traffic moving up or down the river.”
Bak nodded, in full agreement, and yet, “I asked that traffic be stopped so the man who slew Mahu would have no chance to slip away. That’s as true now as it was before.”
Nebwa gave Thuty a wide-eyed, innocent smile. “What do you suggest, sir? That we concentrate on the flow of illicit goods across the frontier or work to lay hands on a killer?”
He seemed never to get his fill of baiting his superior officer.
“We must find a way to do both.” Bak stood up and walked to the door, giving himself time to think. The courtyard was quiet, with the sole creatures stirring a gray cat and her brood, four tiny bundles of fur tumbling over her belly and legs. “Traffic must move before the vizier comes. With that, I agree. We want no caravan masters or ships’ captains standing before him, airing their grievances. But we must also keep my five suspects in Buhen.” He swung around to look at Thuty. “Can we not tell them of his arrival, sir, and offer them a prize to stay?”
A smile spread across Nebwa’s face. “Good idea! What can we give them?”
Thuty clasped his hands above his head and leaned back in his chair, tilting it up on its rear legs. He stared at nothing, mulling over the suggestion. “A party, I think.” He thought some more, nodded, smiled. “Yes. My wife is a fine hostess and longs to entertain in the style she once knew in Kemet.
A party should please the vizier, satisfy her for months to come, and lure every man of substance along the Belly of Stones, including your five suspects, Lieutenant.”
“I don’t know about Captain Ramose,” Imsiba laughed,
“but Hapuseneb and Nebamon would never miss so grand a party, nor would Userhet. Nor, I suspect, would Lieutenant Roy, though I’m not so well acquainted with him.”
Wriggling back against the wall, Bak pulled his feet up onto the white coffin, wrapped his arms around his knees, and eyed the man seated on the mudbrick bench. Several sharply honed spears and daggers told him how much rest the Medjay had allowed himself. “Nebwa urged the release of all traffic today, but the commandant insisted on waiting.”
“Of what use can we make of one or two more days?”
Imsiba asked, unimpressed.
Bak’s voice turned wry. “He’s hoping the gods will smile on us, handing out miracles without number.”
Imsiba muttered a few words in his own tongue, an oath most likely. “We don’t even know which path to follow, which direction to turn.”
A sullen mumble, the stench of rancid beer and vomit, drew Bak’s eyes to the door. A heavily built Medjay held a thin youth by the scruff of the neck, marching him through the entry hall to a door leading to the cells. The men on duty looked up from their game to jeer at a boy they housed often.
“I agree, but someone fears us nonetheless,” Bak said. “I have a feeling our questions about Mahu led to yesterday’s attack. Or maybe our examination of the tombs. Or both, if Intef and Mahu were slain by the same man.”
Imsiba frowned. “Other than similar murder weapons, we’ve found no connection between the two.”
“No obvious connection.”
The Medjay leaned forward, his interest quickening.
“You’ve seen a link I’ve missed?”
Hori walked into the entry hall from the street, so over-burdened that sweat poured from his brow. In one hand, he carried a basket piled high with bread and beer jars and in the other a deep bowl of fish and onion stew, if the odor wafting from its mouth told true. Dangling from one shoulder were two quivers with a few arrows in each. A pair of bows hung from the other shoulder, chafing his ankle with each step.
The Medjays on duty looked up from their game. Their faces lit up at the sight of the food and they called out a greeting. One man scrambled to his feet to meet Hori midway across the room and relieve him of basket and bowl. Carrying the containers back to his partner, he placed the food between them and they scooted close to eat. The smell of fresh bread and the odor of the stew banished the lingering smell of beer.
Bak dropped off the coffin and hurried out to take the weapons.
“I’ve just come from the armory, sir.” Freed of his load, the scribe bent to rub his ankle. “I know the task took too long, but I went a second time, taking also the bow and quiver dropped by the man who waylaid you and Imsiba.”
“Well done, Hori.” Bak ushered the youth into the office, leaned the weapons in a corner, and went back to his seat on the coffin. “Now tell us what you learned.”
“The arrows are all alike, sir, standard issue with no marks to distinguish one from another. Nor are the bows and quivers any different than those in the garrison arsenal, those handed out to our archers.”
Bak was disappointed but not surprised. “Can a man lay hands on bow, quiver, and arrows with the ease I fear?”
“No, sir.” Hori blew away a drop of sweat hanging from the tip of his nose. “The scribe responsible for archery equipment is a diligent man. He treats a lost or broken arrow as an offense to the gods. When I told him how you came upon these weapons, where you found them, his face reddened and he sputtered like a drowning man. Not until he regained his breath was he able to search his records for lost items.”
Hori paused, adding drama to his tale. Bak sneaked a glance at Imsiba, who rolled his eyes skyward.
“Bows disappear, sometimes broken or lost in the desert, 164 / Lauren Haney but it’s not easy to lose a quiver,” the boy said. “According to the most recent inventory, taken only last month, none has gone missing for a year or more.”
“Then where did these two come from?”
Hori shrugged. “From another garrison, he suspects, or an arsenal in faraway Kemet.”
Bak released a long, disgusted breath. “With each of our suspects involved in one way or another with trade, each could’ve laid hands on those weapons.”
A heavy silence descended upon the room, broken at length by Imsiba. “You were about to tell me, my friend, why you think Intef and Mahu were slain by the same hand.”
Hori’s eyes widened. “Is it possible, sir?”
Bak pointed to a stool. As the youth settled down, he said,
“We know someone approached Mahu, asking him to smugle contraband, and Intef told his wife he’d found
