here for one man to carry, so you must help him take them to our quarters in Swenet.'
'Yes, sir.' Nenu visibly relaxed. 'Is that all, sir?'
Bak smiled, further easing his suspicions. 'When you finish, you're free to go.'
'Shall I reheat the stew?' Psuro asked. 'I can borrow a brazier from Prahared's wife and set it on the roof outside our quarters, where the fire will be shielded from the breeze.'
'I doubt I'll be long, but…' Bak smothered a smile. The Medjay was as artful as the most accomplished performer in an enactment of the sacred drama of the lord Osiris's victory over his rival Set. 'Perhaps you'd better. Cold fish stew is an abomination.'
'If Nenu is the archer,' Psuro said, 'he should come soon.'
'Before nightfall,' Bak said, nodding agreement. 'He'll want sufficient light to see his target and at the same time enough darkness to hide his identity and allow him to steal away unseen.'
Looking down from the rooftop outside their quarters, he studied the dark and empty doorways in the block of buildings across the lane. The narrow thoroughfare lay deep in shadow as the sun dropped beyond the western horizon. The black dog, which had crossed the river in the skiff with Psuro and Nenu, lay on the threshold of an empty dwelling, looking upward, patiently awaiting a handout. Kasaya was on a roof near the northern end of the lane, hidden from view. Loud and raucous voices issued from an open expanse of sand to the south, where a half dozen or so of Pahared's sailors and a growing crowd of onlookers were betting on a wrestling match soon to begin.
Bak's eyes leveled on the still-lit rooftops across the lane, where several families sat, enjoying the gentle northerly breeze while they consumed their evening meal. With no other buildings close by, the archer would have to strike from there. Bak had thought of sending the people away, but their absence would have proclaimed a trap. With luck, they were not so close they would be endangered
'I don't like this,' Psuro grumbled. 'We need more men.'
'We have plenty. It's their quality I'm worried about, not their numbers.'
When Bak had asked for help, Pahared had volunteered crewmen from his ship. They were the best brawlers along the river, the trader had bragged, but did they have the patience to await the signal to act and, once set in motion, would they do as they were told? Or, preoccupied by the match, caught up in the excitement of the noisy crowd, would they respond at all?
Psuro nested the bowl of stew on the unfired charcoal in the brazier, perfecting a picture of two men readying their evening meal. 'We should've waited until tomorrow, after you'd had a chance to talk to Troop Captain Antef. He'd've been glad to lend all the men we need. Good, trustworthy men.'
'Must I remind you, Psuro, that our time is running out? I doubt the archer-Nenu, I'm convinced-had anything to do with the five deaths in the governor's household. If we can eliminate him and whatever vile acts he's committed, we're that much closer to the truth. If he used the bow at the orders of another, which 'I think he did, our path should grow shorter still.'
A man yelled a wager, his voice raised above the general clamor. Another bested him and a third went higher yet. Excited laughter rippled through the crowd at stakes higher than expected.
'Who would have him slay you? One who wants the governor dead?'
Bak gave the Medjay a wry smile. 'You speak of almost everyone in the province. I hope to shorten our list of suspects, not lengthen it.'
A spot of light darted across his chest and the outer wall of their quarters, grabbing his attention. Bak looked toward Kasaya's hidingplace. The Medjay, crouched behind a rooftop parapet, repeated the signal, catching the sun on a bright square of polished bronze. Bak scratched his head, letting him know he had seen. Another signal, a series of short, bright flashes, and Kasaya ducked out of sight.
'Nenu's at the quay and he's armed.' Bak walked away from the wall and knelt beside the brazier, facing the lane at an angle. If he made too easy a target, he would rouse Nenu's suspicions. Or be slain. He would never forget the first ambush he had set up soon after his arrival in Buhen. Thanks to his lack of foresight, one of his Medjays had lost his life. 'So now we wait,' Psuro said.
'Not for long, I suspect.'
They pretended to converse, pretended an offhand interest in the loud exchanges of the bettors, grinned at each other when the voices heated up with excitement. The time dragged. The sun vanished below the horizon, leaving a sky bright in its afterglow. The lord Re, clinging to the world of the living, was reluctant to submit to twelve hours in the netherworld. The glow faded rapidly, leaving behind a darkening sky speckled with stars. Torches were lit at the southern end of the lane, illuminating the sandy arena and the men awaiting the bout. Bats shot through the air, hunting insects drawn to the light. The shrill call of a nightbird-Kasaya's signal-rose above the rumble of the expectant crowd. 'Nenu's come,' Bak said.
In the lane below, the dog began to bark. It broke off abruptly in a sharp cry of pain. Muttering a curse, Psuro reached for his spear. Bak slipped his hand through the grip of a shield lying close on the rooftop, and offered a silent prayer to the lord Amon that Nenu's first arrow would fly far from its mark. The guard's skill was modest, he knew, but bad luck could kill as quickly as a well-aimed missile. 'There!' he hissed.
The dark silhouette of a man raced across the roof of the empty house across the lane. He knelt several paces behind the parapet and raised a bow with an arrow already seated. Details of space and body were hidden in the gloom, but the archer was definitely Nenu.
Chapter Fifteen
An arrow sped toward Bak, its bronze tip and white feathers ghost images in the dwindling light. He ducked low and swung his shield up. The sudden movement wrenched the torn muscle in his shoulder, catching him short, slowing him. The shield's heavy wooden frame deflected the missile, saving him from a mortal wound, but the point sliced through the bandage wrapped tightly around his upper torso and tore across his ribcage under his left arm. A hasty glance showed blood beading up along the edge of the slit linen.
Shouts burst out in the open area south of the building block. Whistles. Applause. The wrestlers entering the arena, the match about to begin.
Kasaya burst from his hidingplace and raced across the rooftops, zigzagging around families, leaping over braziers and pets and pottery stacked for cleaning. Raised voices followed in his wake. Adults and children craned their necks, anxious to see what provoked such haste. Nenu, seating another arrow, must have heard the alarm in their voices, the curiosity. He swung around, spotted the large dark figure racing toward him like a creature risen from the netherworld, spearpoint glinting eerily in the failing light. He raised his bow toward the new target, released the missile. A cry rang out and a woman crumpled into her husband's arms. A man yelled, angry voices rose in the air: the family and friends of the injured woman. Nenu froze, evidently realizing what he had done.
Spitting out a curse, Bak grabbed his spear from the rooftop, ran to the parapet, and flung it hard at the archer on the opposite roof. The weapon flew past, missing its target by a hair's breadth. Nenu pivoted, startled by the near miss. He fumbled with an arrow, obviously panicked by the heated voices and Kasaya pounding toward him. Finally seating the missile, he took a wild shot at Bak and dashed for the southern end of the block. There an outside stairway led down to the street and the open space where the wrestlers would compete. Where Pahared's sailors waited.
'Psuro, now!' Bak yelled.
The Medjay was already on the move. Lifting a long board from the shadows, he darted to the edge of the roof, planted a foot on the parapet and leaned forward, and dropped the plank over the span, bridging the lane.
Not sure he could be heard over the shouting spectators, Bak whistled the long, loud signal meant to alert Pahared's sailors. Still carrying his own shield, ignoring the drag of its weight on his sore shoulder, he scooped up Psuro's spear and shield, shoved them at him, and leaped onto the board to race across. As he knelt to retrieve the spear he had thrown, he noticed again his torn and blood-smeared bandage. The cut merely stung, indicating a surface wound, with no harm to the rib. He offered a silent prayer of thanks to the lord Amon.
Psuro leaped off the bridge and Kasaya dashed past. Bak glanced at the woman lying amid a circle of family and neighbors. Confident she would be cared for-if still she lived-he raced with Psuro after Kasaya and the fleeing
