and sputtered out. Ahead, Nenu slid down the bank to the river, sped along the shore to the first of the boulders, and ducked out of sight in its shadow. Kasaya slowed, wary of an opponent carrying bow and arrows, and pulled back from the edge of the bank to kneel behind a rock not nearly large enough to shelter his bulk. On the riverbank, the flow of men stopped well out of Nenu's range yet near enough to have a good view of the action. The excitement dwindled, sapped by inactivity and speculation. Someone yelled a wager, hoping to revive the fun with bets on the outcome of the chase. Soon the betting grew raucous, loud with fervor.
A speck of white caught Bak's eye, a kilt. Nenu, hunched over to make himself small, slipped farther along the water's edge and disappeared behind another boulder. Bak darted forward, giving' him no time to arm his bow, and took shelter behind the first boulder. Kasaya leaped to his feet to race along the riverbank to a stony outcrop above the archer. The trio following Bak held back, unwilling to face a rain of arrows, but the mob surged after the young Medjay, their voices gaining in volume and excitement, each man's frenzy feeding on that of his fellows. Bak's blood ran cold.
Nenu had no choice but to enter the river. Vowing to catch him before he disappeared as he had at the island of inscriptions, Bak rammed the torch into the sand. He disliked giving up the light, but could not manage it in the water. He patted his sheathed dagger, reassuring himself that he had not lost the weapon in the crowd, then waved to catch Kasaya's eye and signaled his intent.
Certain the Medjay understood that he must remain on shore, Bak slipped into the river. Keeping his head low, making as little noise as possible, he swam upstream toward Nenu's hidingplace. Each stroke he took seemed to tear his shoulder muscle further, making the swim a trial as well as a necessity. He offered a silent prayer to the lord Amon, pleading for a hasty end to the chase.
The distance shrank to fifteen paces, ten, five. Someone among the mob spotted him in the water, yelled to urge him on, and pointed so all could see-including Nenu. Others joined in, pointing, yelling, so intent on winning their bets that rational thought fled. Nenu fired off two arrows in rapid succession, both missing by at least an arm's length. The onlookers booed and jeered.
Bak sucked in air, ducked beneath the surface, and lunged toward his quarry. Touching bottom, he clutched his left arm close to relieve the pain and eased his head out of the water. Nenu, standing not five paces away in the shadow of the boulder, was looking straight at him. The guard let out a harsh laugh, flung his bow aside, tore the quiver from his shoulder, and leaped. Bak shoved himself backward, making for deeper water, and rolled sideways. Nenu struck the river's surface hard and flat. Water erupted, showering them both. Bak reached out, meaning to grab the other man, but again his shoulder failed him and he missed.
Nenu, taking advantage of a weakness he clearly did not understand, grabbed Bak by the neck and began to squeeze, at the same time forcing his head underwater. Feeling himself sink, Bak spread his legs wide, caught Nenu's legs between them, and pulled the guard down with him. Nenu held on. Their combined weight dropped them to the riverbottom; the current dragged them across the rocky bed and through the heavy silt. Bak's head began to throb, his lungs felt ready to burst. He tried to pry the guard's fingers from around his neck, but Nenu simply tightened his grip.
They struggled on, a silent desperate battle in the black depths of the river, with neither man able to gain an advantage. Bak weakened fast, his fingers grew numb, his thoughts fuzzy. He had to free himself. Soon. Or he would die.
Then he remembered his dagger. Or perhaps the lord Amon whispered in his ear.
He fumbled for the weapon, pulled it from its sheath, and pressed the point against Nenu's side. Though close to a state of utter desperation, he hesitated. If he took the guard's life, he would leave unanswered a multitude of questions.
He released Nenu's legs, and together they rose through the water, slowly, gradually, a journey that seemed never to end. They broke the surface. Gasping for air, the guard shoved Bak's head back underwater, never for an instant relieving the pressure on his neck. Bak sliced the top ofNenu's left wrist. Blood gushed. The guard tore the hand away, cursed, but continued to hold on with his right hand, his fingers digging deep and cruel. Bak shifted the blade to Nenu's neck and ran it across the flesh, no longer caring how deep the cut. Again blood gushed. Nenu's eyes widened. He jerked back, released Bak's neck to touch the wound, and stared at the stains that came away on his hand, stunned, horrified.
Bak sucked in air, tried to swallow. The sound of yelling, made hollow by ears clogged with water, seeped into his thoughts. The mob, forgotten in the struggle. Ignoring his aching shoulder, the queasy feeling, and a blackness around the edges of his sight, he lunged forward and grabbed Nenu by the upper arm. The guard offered no resistance, apparently convinced he had only moments to live. Bak knew better; the cut could not be much more than skin deep. Shifting the dagger from neck to breast, displaying not the slightest sign of weakness, Bak forced Nenu to swim toward the shore. The crowd on the riverbank roared approval.
Locked together and exhausted, they swam erratically, splashing water, bright gems of liquid color. Along with the moonlight, Bak realized, the waves around them were aglow with light beaming from several torches on the shore. He aimed for them and a large silhouette he hoped was Kasaya.
Not until they neared the shore and Bak's feet touched the bottom did he notice that the river had carried them a couple hundred paces downstream. The onlookers, who had followed, were standing along the bank, looking down upon them, while a dozen or so spearmen stood at the water's edge with Kasaya.
The big Medjay waded out to meet them, the look on his face one of intense relief. Bak, his knees so weak he could barely stand, shoved Nenu roughly through the shallow water. The guard stumbled. To save himself, he grabbed his captor's arm. Bak staggered, came close to falling. A soldier raced forward and plunged his spear deep into Nenu's breast. The guard crumpled to the earth. The crowd gasped.
'No!' Bak croaked.
He signaled Kasaya to snare the soldier and knelt beside Nenu. He spoke fast, aware the guard's life was draining away. 'Did you slay mistress Hatnofer and the others in the governor's household?' His throat hurt; his voice sounded raspy.
'No,' Nenu whispered.
'Did you leave those gifts in my quarters? The fish, the doll, the scorpions?'
Nenu, looking puzzled, tried to raise his hand. Bak lifted it for him and laid it on his chest. The guard inched it upward to clutch the spear. 'Scorpions?'
The confusion on his face verified Bak's guess: someone else had left the unwanted gifts. 'Did you strike me with a sling while I stood at the water gauge?'
Nenu licked his lips as if about to speak, but shook his head instead, the effort to talk too great for his failing strength.
'Why did you try to slay me?' The question was too broad, demanding too much of a man breathing his last. 'Who told you to slay me?'
'I won't…' Nenu frowned, trying to think or maybe just to form the words. 'Governor Djehuty. He said…' He coughed. Blood bubbled from his mouth. His head fell to the side and his body went limp. His ka, his eternal life force, had fled.
'Is it possible?' Psuro asked. 'Would the governor order slain the man who's trying to save his life?'
'Who knows? He becomes more irrational each day.' Bak tilted the bronze mirror to reflect the early morning sun and raised his chin to examine his neck. Dark bruises marked the flesh, fingerprints of the dead guard. 'He reeks of fear.'
Kasaya swallowed a mouthful of bread spread liberally with honey. 'I'd be afraid, too, if I knew I would die in only two days' time.'
The monkey, perched on the young Medjay's knee, licked honey from its sticky hands. The black dog lay against Psuro's thigh, sniffing a chunk of bread the monkey had thrown aside. A soft breeze drifted across the rooftop, carrying the mingled odors of the river, animal waste, and beer. In a nearby lane, a woman hummed a love song in a light, sweet voice.
'No, as witless as he is, I doubt he'd have me slain for trying to save him.' Bak laid the mirror on the rooftop, broke a chunk from a flat slab of fresh bread, and dunked it into the fish stew left from the previous evening. The cold stew was soft and bland, easily swallowed. 'More likely, he wants me gone before I learn the secret he refuses to tell.'
Psuro swirled his bread in the stew, stirring it up. 'What could be so important, so shameful he'd take another man's life rather than speak out?'
