at Kor, a solid and worthy vessel but not of outstanding beauty.
With luck and the help of the gods, I can have it repainted before Thuty allows us to sail.”
He left the guardhouse and Imsiba followed, his expression glum. Bak hoped his friend would go see Sitamon. At best, he would learn she had not yet entrusted Userhet with her affairs. If she had, he would have to accept her decision and find a way to compete on his own terms.
The knucklebones rattled across the floor, the roll shorter than usual, the noise more muted. The men making a pretense at play while they waited for Nebamon to spot the coffin. Bak was sorely tempted to take his visitor elsewhere but, remembering how astute Nebamon was, how quick to see beyond the obvious, he preferred the privacy of his office.
“I can’t tell you what rests in Commandant Thuty’s heart,” he said, ushering the trader inside and waving him toward the stool. “I know he’s thinking on the problem, and 174 / Lauren Haney
I doubt he’ll wait long to air his decision. Before nightfall, I’d guess.”
“He must release our goods.” Nebamon’s tone was fervent, a prayer almost.
Resting a shoulder on the doorjamb, Bak gave him a long, speculative look. “Are you so much in need?”
“No.” Nebamon slumped onto the stool, flushed. “Well…”
He hesitated, waffled. “Not in need exactly, but I can’t tarry much longer.” He fussed with the bracelet on his wrist, his face aflame. “You see, I overextended myself in Kerma, trading every item I brought south from Kemet, allowing myself no cushion in case of trouble or delay. Now, with the trade goods I brought back to Wawat stored here in Buhen, awaiting shipment to Abu, and with fees to pay in addition to tolls…” Again he hesitated, finally said, “To be perfectly honest, Lieutenant, my profits dwindle daily.”
Bak could see how costly the admission had been to Nebamon’s pride. Beneath the patrician facade lay a man of meager means. Unless he was a superb actor, one hiding wealth behind a screen of poverty, he could not be smuggling goods in any but the smallest of quantities. Certainly nothing as valuable as an elephant tusk.
“What do you know of the ivory trade?”
“Not much.” Nebamon relaxed, patently relieved by the change of subject. “I seldom travel far enough south to pick up the best pieces.”
“You go to Kerma.”
“The city’s a backwater, a shadow of what it was before the armies of Akheperkare Tuthmose struck down its kings once and for all and regained the land for mighty Kemet.”
Bak heard a noise behind him, a low hiss. He glanced back. Five Medjays were now hunkered around the knucklebones, watching him with rapt attention. One signaled with a hand, urging him to move. They wanted him to sit down, he realized, to draw Nebamon’s attention to the coffin so they could get a reaction.
He threw them a warning glance, demanding they not go too far, and walked into the office. Settling down in his usual place near the painted head, he said, “I neglected to ask when last we spoke, but did you know Captain Roy?”
Nebamon nodded. “In days gone by. I now and again moored my ship near his when still he sailed above the Belly of Stones. We sometimes talked, but seldom for long. He kept to himself.”
“Did you ever see him with men reputed to be smugglers of contraband?”
“There was one…” Nebamon clasped his hands between his knees and stared at the coffin. “I several times saw them together in a house of pleasure in Kerma. A Kushite, he was.
A man with an unsavory reputation.”
“Did rumor link Roy with illicit cargo?”
“If so, I don’t remember.” Noting Bak’s raised eyebrow, he laughed. “Rumors fly thick and fast south of the Belly of Stones. Even more so than here. Most so farfetched as to be mythical.”
Bak’s smile turned ironic. “Have you heard any tales where the gods play no part?”
Nebamon gave the officer an uncertain look. “I heard one last night, but…Well, I fear it involves a headless man.”
Normally Bak had no time for wild and imaginative tales, but the trader was no fool. He would not have mentioned this story if he thought it of no merit. “I feel a need to be entertained.”
“My Kushite servant, a man who wishes to help himself by helping his master, passed on this tale he heard in the house of pleasure of a one-time spearman, Tati.” Nebamon glanced at Bak, making certain he understood the rumor’s provenance. “The place is small, he said, and it was filled with farmers besotted by beer. The story was told by one who had come to Buhen with goats to trade, an old man from upriver.
“He told a tale of a headless man meeting a ship in the dead of night at some secret spot south of Kor. He talked of objects passing back and forth, some leaving the vessel and others being taken on board.”
“A headless man.” Bak gave the trader a skeptical look.
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“A man with his head covered more likely, or his face blackened.”
“So I thought, but you know how superstitious these local farmers are.”
Bak pictured a vessel bringing contraband down the Belly of Stones. He had heard there were places below the worst of the rapids hidden from the eyes of those who manned the watchtowers. And he remembered Ramose talking about Captain Roy, saying he sometimes took longer than necessary to sail from one place to another. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, not bothering to hide his interest. “Only the one boat, or more?”
Nebamon smiled. “I asked my servant that same question, and he said every man there pressed the farmer with a like query. The old man could give no answer-or he wouldn’t.
Each time the headless man came, he swore, the nights were dark, with the stars on fire but no moon.”
Bak probed for detail, but could get nothing more. “Have you mentioned this tale to anyone else, Nebamon?”
“No, I wanted no one making light of me, thinking me gullible.” The trader laughed sheepishly. “Nor did I want a man, headless or not, coming to me in the dark of night, thinking to silence me through eternity.”
“A wise precaution.” Bak stood up and took a turn across the floor, his legs propelled by a surge of excitement. Could this be the breakthrough he had been searching for? “Speak no more of this tale to anyone, and caution your servant to remain mute. The fewer who know, the better for both of us. You’ll be safer, and I’ll be free to track down unhampered the headless man.”
Looking as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders, Nebamon rose to his feet. Bak escorted him to the door and watched him walk down the street, close to certain he was free of guilt. Or had he set a clever trap, designed to lure an unwary police officer to his death?
He turned around to a silent entry hall and five men staring at him, their expressions a blend of disappointment and perplexity. Nebamon had failed to react to the coffin. For a moment, he was as puzzled as his men, then he remembered bumping into the trader a few days earlier, Nebamon coming out of the guardhouse, Bak entering. The trader had surely seen the coffin then.
“An old tomb south of Kor, Intef’s wife told you, and now Nebamon mentions a secret spot south of Kor.” Imsiba eyed Bak, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps we should explore the river above Kor.”
“We’ll leave at daybreak tomorrow.” Bak looked out across the harbor, which was quieter than he had ever seen it, with river craft large and small snug against the quays, their crews chatting, fishing, dozing in patches of shade untouched by the midday sun. “Go talk to the fisherman Meru and tell him what we want: a boat small and sleek, one easily maneuvered among the many small islands and through shallow waters overgrown with reeds. And collect sufficient weapons. We’ll not go empty-handed and unprotected.”
Imsiba gave him a sharp look. “You think the tale a trap?”
“I think it best to take no chances.” Leaning against the terrace wall, Bak eyed three small, scantily clad girls squatting by the river’s edge, forming handfuls of mud into loaves of bread and cakes. “While you prepare for our journey, I must talk again with Ramose-and to the men who sailed with Captain Roy. Maybe now they’ll speak up.”
“They’re beginning to think they’ve been forgotten, so say the men who’re guarding them.” Normally the Medjay would have smiled at the sailors’ plight, but he remained glum.
Bak could easily guess the reason. “When you’ve finished your task, you must go to mistress Sitamon. She’s had time to think since last we spoke of her brother’s death. Maybe she’s remembered some small item important to us but not to her.”
Imsiba glanced at him, suspicious of his motive, but chose not to press the issue. Because it suited his
