limited knowledge of this city.”
“And later?”
“It was chaos, sir, complete chaos.” Psuro shook his head in wonder. “They were milling around all over the place.
Going into and out of the house, following the sailors down the street to see if any precious belonging had been dam aged in the fight, or to retrieve something they’d already packed and couldn’t live without until they boarded their ship, or to pack something they’d forgotten to stow in a chest or basket.”
Bak eyed the Medjay critically. “You did what you thought best, Psuro, and I’ll not fault you for that. You clearly had no choice but to go to the sailors’ aid. However, you should’ve left at least one man at his post to watch over the house.”
Psuro, as transparent as a pool of clear water, failed to hide his shame. “I know I erred, sir. I’ll never let it happen again.”
“After Baket-Amon is taken away, you may go back to the barracks and get some sleep, you and the others who were posted here through the night. First, tell them what’s happened and pledge their silence. It’s not up to us to add fuel to the rumors which will all too soon spread throughout
Buhen and beyond.”
“Yes, sir.” Psuro swung around, openly relieved his or deal was over, and hurried from the room.
Bak stood over the body, looking at the remains of a man who had two days before called him a friend. He of fered a silent prayer to the lady Maat that Commandant
Thuty would allow him to pursue the slayer and snare him-no matter who or how lofty the killer proved to be.
“I don’t care what Amonked says, Lieutenant.” Thuty paced the length of the courtyard outside his private recep tion room, swung around, stalked back in the opposite di rection. Struck at an angle by the midmorning sun, the open court lay half in shadow, half in brightness, emphasizing the play of his powerful muscles. “He and his party must either return to Buhen, or you must travel upriver with them. The prince was slain in the house they occupied, and someone inside that house took his life.”
Bak, seated on the floor beside a loom on which was stretched a length of white linen, was delighted with
Thuty’s decision that he investigate the murder, although he did not know what else the commandant could in all good conscience do.
“He’ll not come back to Buhen.” Nebwa rearranged a twig nestled in the corner of his mouth. “That’d be too much like an admission that someone he holds close is guilty of wrongdoing.” The troop captain occupied a low stool in the sunny space between two potted acacias.
The court, like the rest of Thuty’s private quarters, was cluttered with toys and reminders of household tasks. A couple of spindles and the loom, a bowl filled with peas that needed shelling, a tunic with a partly mended tear, strips of beef drying on a line stretched overhead. Four black puppies played around a large bowl of water on which floated a half-dozen blue lilies. Their sweet scent vied with the aromas of baking bread and roasting lamb, setting Bak’s stomach to growling.
“Nor will he wish to delay a task ordered by our sov ereign,” Thuty grumbled. “A small matter of murder won’t halt his wretched inspection.”
“He’ll claim-with good reason-that my men allowed their attention to stray.” Bak raised a knee and wrapped his arm around his leg. “I’ll wager he’ll say someone resentful of the inspection entered the dwelling and slew the first man he came upon. A resident of Buhen or someone pass ing through.”
Nebwa snorted. “Baket-Amon? A man known and liked throughout Wawat?”
Thuty jerked a stool away from the wall, swept three leather balls onto the floor, and sat down. “I don’t care what the swine claims. I’m giving you unlimited authority to investigate, and I’ll send a courier to Ma’am with a letter to the viceroy, seeking support I’m sure he’ll give.”
“If Amonked’s as determined to do our sovereign’s bid ding as we think he is,” Nebwa said, “he’ll send a letter of his own to the royal house.”
Thuty shifted his stool to escape the sun’s glare. “A cour ier sailing a fast skiff, traveling night and day, can usually reach Ma’am in two days. The voyage to the capital is more than four times longer, with a lot more distance in which to run into difficulties. By the time fresh orders can be issued by Maatkare Hatshepsut, you…” Baring his teeth in a nasty grin, he pointed at Bak. “… will have laid hands on the slayer.”
Thuty was actually enjoying himself, Bak could see, now that he had an excuse to grab the offensive. “Sixteen or more days coming and going.” He scratched the neck of a fuzzy black puppy that had strayed from its siblings. Un willing to make too rash a commitment, he said, “That might be enough time-if Amonked and his party will an swer my questions with a frank and open tongue. If not…
Well, each day that goes by lessens the chance of success.”
“You’ve never yet failed. You won’t this time.” Thuty delivered the statement like a proclamation, a feat accom plished rather than a difficult task still to be performed.
Nebwa winked at Bak. This was not the first time the commandant had issued such an edict, and as always, such certainty of success troubled him. One day he might fall short of so high an expectation. What would Thuty do then?
“I’ll take Imsiba along,” he said. “He won’t be happy, parting from his wife and her son, but he has the wit to ask the right questions and to see through misleading answers.”
“No. I don’t think so.” Thuty spoke slowly, his brows drawn together in thought, then his expression cleared and he stated, “No, Lieutenant, you cannot take Imsiba with you.”
“But, sir!” Frightened by the sudden sharpness in Bak’s voice, the puppy scurried away.
“He’s the best man for the task,” Nebwa said.
“No.” Thuty’s gaze settled on the husky officer, and a wicked gleam entered his eye. “You, Troop Captain, are the best for the task. You’ve the rank and authority to over ride any man in that caravan except Amonked himself.”
Bak groaned deep down inside himself. He loved Nebwa like a brother, but feared his quick temper and rash tongue.
“Sir!” Nebwa stared at the commandant, appalled. He disliked leaving his wife and child as much as Imsiba did.
“I’ve fresh troops to train, desert patrols to inspect, repairs to the outer wall to supervise, new construction to…”
“The matter has been decided.” Thuty glared at Nebwa, forcing him to abandon the protest, and at Bak to ensure he got no additional complaint. “You’ll depart for Kor im mediately. I wish you to join Amonked’s party before nightfall, and to set out with the caravan at first light to morrow when it begins the long trek south.” He bounded to his feet and headed toward the stairs leading to the first floor. “While you make ready, I’ll dictate a letter to Amon ked, painting a vivid picture of your talents as an investi gator, Bak, and of you, Nebwa, as a man of long experience
with raiding tribesmen. He’s taking too many valuable ob jects not to make himself a target, and I’ll point that out.”
Thuty’s intentions were well meant, Bak knew, but he wanted more than a few fine words on a scroll. Plunging down the stairs at the commandant’s heels, he said, “I’d like to take along a unit of archers or spearmen. They’ll give us added authority and, should we need personal pro tection for any reason, we’ll have them.”
“An excellent idea.” Thuty stopped abruptly at the bot tom of the stairs, swung around, queried Nebwa with a glance. The troop captain knew more of the day-to-day workings of the garrison than the commandant himself, and knew which men could be removed from duty, causing the least disruption.
Nebwa pulled up short to avoid bumping into the pair below. “I’ve twenty archers awaiting reassignment. They can be ready within the hour.”
The trio hastened on down the hall, Thuty to fetch a scribe and dictate his letters, his subordinates to prepare to join a caravan and a party of travelers who would, at best, resent their presence. Bak prayed the commandant’s deci sion to send Nebwa would not prove a mistake. He con soled himself with the thought that Imsiba could conduct a parallel investigation in Buhen, thereby satisfying Amon ked that all was being done that should be-and responding to a tiny nagging fear within himself that he might be wrong in assuming the slayer was
