A guard posted in the entryway of the commander's residence directed him through the columned audience hall to a rectangular chamber in which a half dozen scribes toiled. There he introduced himself to the chief scribe, who sat on the floor facing the others. The lesser scribes studied him furtively, any stranger a welcome distraction.
'I understand Troop Captain Antef has gone to the quarry,' Bak said.
'That's right, sir. He left soon after daybreak. There was an accident. A heavy section of stone fell on a man's leg.' The chief scribe, a slight man of medium height with a small birthmark on his neck, scowled in a vain effort to conceal his distress. 'If the tale the messenger told was accurate, the limb is crushed and he'll lose it.'
And probably his life, Bak thought with a shudder. Such injuries were almost impossible for a physician to treat. Only the gods. could intervene. 'I'll speak with Antef later, then. In the meantime, i'd like to look at several documents you're sure to have filed away among your records.'
The scribe shook off his distraction over the injured soldier and frowned. 'I'm sorry, sir, but without the troop captain's approval, you can see nothing.'
Bak handed him the scroll prepared by Thuty. The clerk read the document and read it again a second time. With an almost imperceptible sigh of resignation, he rolled it up and gave it back. 'What do you wish, sir?'
'First, the daybook containing entries about a sandstorm that occurred five years. ago, the storm from which most of the men in this garrison failed to return. I'd also like to see the official report of the catastrophe. And I wish to look at the daybooks for the past two months.' Those would include the entries made on the days the deaths occurred in the governor's household and any related items of interest.
The scribe allowed himself a brief, curious glance. 'If you'll wait in the audience hall, sir, I'll bring them right away.'
Bak followed his suggestion, seating himself on a wooden bench built against one wall of the hall. Scribes came and went, sergeants reported to junior officers, the chief armorer came in to complain about the poor quality of spears received from the capital. Most glanced Bak's way and dismissed him, thinking him just another officer passing through Abu.
In a surprisingly short time, the chief scribe presented him with a basket containing several scrolls and hastened back to his flock. Bak thumbed through the documents until he found the official report of the tempest, labeled year five of the reign of Maatkare Hatshepsut, harvest season. Djehuty, as garrison commander, had prepared the scroll more than a week after the storm, after the last of the survivors had returned to Abu. It went into considerable detail, a bland, sometimes officious accounting, giving away nothing that would discredit Djehuty or his troops. No surprises there.
He took up the appropriate daybook and scanned its entries. References to the storm were short acid succinct. The loss of over one hundred men and more than sixty donkeys was dealt with in a cursory, almost offhand manner that angered him in its easy dismissal of their lives.
Setting aside the documents related to the storm, he pulled the remaining scrolls out of the basket and sorted them by date. They proved to be disappointing, to say the least. Since none of the victims were assigned to the garrison and none of the murders had occurred there, the incidents were not referred to in any way.
Bak climbed a gradual slope, a rolling stretch of golden sand softened by the passage of many feet and warmed by the morning sun. Ahead, a hump of reddish stone protruded from the barren landscape, breaking the horizon to the left and right for at least two hundred paces. Men reduced to stick-like figures by distance and heat waves toiled on the face of the outcrop, one of several granite quarries located in the desert south of Swenet. A smaller assemblage, stripped down to loincloths, clustered on the sand at the base of the rock face, surrounding a large object impossible to see with so many men shielding it from view. Two stood slightly apart-Troop Captain Antef, Bak assumed, and a scribe.
As he drew near, plodding ankle-deep through the sand, another man, a sergeant most likely, emerged from among the workmen-troops from the garrison pressed to do duty at the quarry. Striding toward Antef, the man spotted Bak and pointed. The troop captain swung around, placed his hands on his hips, and shook his head. Bak could not see his features, but disgust was apparent in his stance.
He was surprised Antef would show disregard for a fellow officer in front of his men. He felt sure the aversion was not directed at him but at the task he must perform, the questions he must ask. Nonetheless, he resented being the recipient of such a display. Feigning indifference, he narrowed the gap between them. The men on the outcrop paid no heed to his approach; those close by sneaked glances his way; curious.
'Troop Captain Antef,' he said. 'May I have a word?' 'Lieutenant Bak,' Antef said, aping the police officer's tone. 'A word, — yes. I've no time for a lengthy discourse.' Bak looked pointedly at the men on the outcrop, all going about their business under the expert direction of a half dozen chief quarrymen, and the men standing nearby, idling around what looked like a greater than lifesize, unfinished statue of the lord Osiris or, more likely, Maatkare Hatshepsut as one with Osiris. Details of face and figure had not yet been carved and it lacked the final polish, both of which would be done when it reached its final destination in faroff Waset.
Antef's mouth twitched, as if he realized how pompous he had sounded, but he maintained his cool and serious demeanor. 'Djehuty has promised this accursed statue will sail today. I'm here to see that it does.'
'One of your men suffered an accident, I was told. I assume it wasn't as serious as I was led to believe.'
Antef glowered at the' statue. 'This wretched image rolled onto him. Thanks to the lord Khnum, the sand beneath him was soft and he suffered only a blow to his pride and a bruise big enough to earn him softer duty in Abu for a few days.'
Relieved the man was unhurt, Bak said, 'My questions may distract you now and again, but they'll not keep you from your duty.'
Again Antef's mouth hinted at a smile. Bak had a feeling he would enjoy this man's company under different circumstances.
'Ask what you like.' Antef's eyes darted toward two men hurrying up the slope, carrying wooden shovels on their shoulders. 'If I find you in the way, you'll leave, like it or not.'
'As the man responsible for this garrison, would it not be to your advantage to see the scales of justice balanced as soon as possible?'
Without a word, Antef strode away. He slipped through the line of men encircling the statue and walked around the rough-cut head to meet the pair who had brought the shovels. Bak followed at a distance, staying outside the ring of men. A sledge, two low runners connected by sturdy crosspieces, lay on the far side of the statue. The fresh-worked granite had taken on the pinkish-red hue especially desired by the royal house of Kemet. Clear crystals embedded among the colored granite glittered in the sunlight.
'You know what you must do. You've done it often enough.' Antef looked around the circle. 'Move that thing out of the way…' He pointed at the sledge. '… and dig a long, shallow trench alongside the statue. Bury the sledge up to the crosspieces, and we'll drag the image onto it.' He strode through the circle and drew Bak away, where they could speak without being heard. 'Yes, Lieutenant, I am responsible for this garrison. 1, not you, should've been entrusted with finding the slayer.'
'I've no doubt you're a worthy officer,' Bak said, trying to balance tact and honesty, 'but you've had no experience looking into the hearts of men who turn away from the lady Maat, taking what they will, including other men's lives.'
Antef eyed him with scorn. 'I've served in the army since I was a youth of fifteen years. I've spent my nights in the barracks and my days on the, practice field. If ever we should march off to war, I'd dwell in a tent on the field of battle. I know men, Lieutenant.'
'Ordinary, god-fearing men have little in common with the vile criminals I've tracked and snared.'
Antef's mouth tightened. 'Men are men, I tell you.' Bak could see that no amount of persuasion would convince him otherwise. 'Did you give any thought to the ten-day intervals between deaths?' he demanded. 'Or the progressively higher rank of those who were slain?' 'No,' Antef growled. 'Too many of the deaths appeared accidental to add up details.'
'Did it ever occur to you that two of those who died were survivors of the sandstorm that decimated the garrison five years ago, and two others were the sons of survivors?'
'I knew Montu and Senmut lived through the storm.' Antef's expression grew thoughtful. 'And Nakht's father… Well, yes, I knew he did, too.' His eyes darted toward Bak. 'Dedi's father as well?'
'He was a 13eutenant here in Abu.' Bak went on to relate what he had learned from Simut's records.
'Troop Captain Antef!' the sergeant called.
