Amonked gave his military adviser a sharp look, dis pleased, Bak suspected, by so curt a rejection of his thought.
Unaware, Horhotep looked toward the desert-facing gate, openly disdainful. “To be fully functional, the walls would have to be rebuilt from the ground up, as would the build ings. Since Kor is used for shelter, not defense, the gain wouldn’t be worth the cost.” He swung around, saw Bak and Nebwa, frowned. “What’re you two doing here? Did not Amonked make it clear he wants no interference from
Buhen?”
Nebwa’s countenance darkened, he looked about to spit out a barbed retort-at the very least.
Bak, no less angry at the affront, squeezed his friend’s shoulder, curbing him, and stepped forward. He spoke to
Amonked, paying no heed to the military adviser. “We’ve come on an urgent errand, sir.” He displayed the scroll
Thuty had prepared. “We must speak with you.”
The inspector could not miss the gravity on Bak’s face.
He swung around and raised the cloth that covered the pa vilion’s entryway. “Very well. You may come in.”
Bak gave Horhotep a pointed look. “I see no reason to trouble the lieutenant at the moment.”
If Amonked noticed the flush of anger on his adviser’s face, he chose to overlook it. “Go to our ship, Horhotep.
See that the vessel’s been cleared of our possessions and send it back to Buhen.”
Horhotep flung Bak a look of impotent fury, pivoted on his heel, and strode away. Bak could understand the advi ser’s anger; he would be equally upset if Thuty sent him on so menial an errand. He wasted no time on sympathy, thinking instead of the abrupt dismissal, which offered un expected reassurance. So far, it seemed, Amonked was holding his adviser at sufficient distance that the man’s in fluence might be contained within reasonable bounds. Or was the inspector simply retaliating for the earlier rejection of his thought?
The pavilion was a haven of comfort in the midst of frontier austerity. A gentle breeze ruffled the cloth at the entrance and filtered light seeped through the linen roof and walls. Embroidered linen hangings divided the space, al lowing for privacy at the back. Thick mats covered the floor, soft linen pallets and portable stools provided seating, and small tables and woven reed chests offered surfaces for game pieces, drinking bowls, and scrolls. A god’s shrine stood against one wall, draped with a cloth to give privacy to the deity inside-the lord Amon, Bak assumed. Furniture and hangings were far more abundant and elegant than any available to the officers of Buhen. Small wonder that Seshu was upset. How many donkeys would be required to trans port the pavilion and its accouterments?
“Prince Baket-Amon dead.” Amonked, dropping onto a stool, looked taken aback. “Slain in the house where we spent the night.”
“Yes, sir.” Nebwa sat down on another stool. Horhotep’s demeaning errand had cheered him considerably. “He en tered the building at daybreak, we believe, and was stabbed a short time after.”
“I’m appalled, as any man would be,” Amonked said,
“but I can’t help wondering why you’ve come to me.”
Bak, standing near the entryway, thought he heard a woman quietly sobbing beyond the hangings that divided the pavilion. The concubine, he guessed. “As you know, sir, my Medjays were watching the dwelling. They saw no one enter or leave.”
“If I’m not mistaken, young man, your Medjays left their posts to ward off an attack on the sailors who were carrying my furnishings to our ship.”
Bak hoped the warm feeling in his cheeks was not a telltale flush. “The house stood unwatched for only a few moments.”
“I appreciate the aid they gave my men-a brawl would’ve been most unseemly-and the uncommon speed at which they dealt with the difficulty.” Amonked’s voice sharpened. “But you can’t ignore the fact that not a man among them remained behind to keep watch on our quar ters.”
“Baket-Amon had to’ve entered the house at that time,”
Bak said, steering the discussion back to the murder, away from the inescapable fact that his men had erred.
“And the slayer with him.”
“No one other than a god could’ve gone inside with him-or followed him-and still have had the time to slay him, hide his body, and leave unseen.” Bak spoke with certainty, his demeanor set, allowing for no rebuttal.
“I see. You’re determined to lay blame on a member of my party.” Amonked laughed, a sound flat, hard, cynical.
Loud enough to stifle the sobbing behind the hanging.
“How convenient, Lieutenant. For you and for Comman dant Thuty.”
Bak bristled. “I mean to lay hands on the guilty man, and on no one else. If he’s one who came with you from the capital, so be it.”
“You can’t change the facts, sir,” Nebwa stated. “Baket Amon was slain in the house where you were staying, and the odds greatly favor a man inside as the slayer.”
“This inspection will be difficult enough, with every man’s hand set against me merely because I’m doing my duty. I’ll not let you add an accusation of murder, giving further excuse for failure to cooperate.”
Amonked was speaking primarily of the military, Bak suspected, giving little thought to the people of Wawat, who might choose to be equally obstructive.
He stepped forward and handed the inspector the scroll
Thuty had prepared. Tamping down his irritation, he said,
“As you’ll see when you read this document, Commandant
Thuty has no intention of interfering with your task. You may return to Buhen if you wish. If not, Troop Captain
Nebwa and I will travel upriver with you, taking no part in your inspection. The slayer of Prince Baket-Amon must be snared, and this is the place to search for him.”
“I’ll not return to Buhen.” Amonked eyed the scroll with distaste. “It’s you who should go back. You’re far more apt to find the killer among the prince’s friends and ac quaintances-men there at the scene of the crime-than here with us.”
“My sergeant, Imsiba, who remained behind, will leave no field unplowed. If the slayer’s in Buhen, he’ll find him.
In the meantime, we’ve come to search what I believe is the more fertile field.”
Amonked’s mouth tightened, locking inside further com ment. He ran a thumbnail under the seal, snapping it apart, and untied the string around the scroll. Unrolling the doc ument, he began to read. As his eyes traveled down the several columns, his scowl deepened.
“This is an intrusion I greatly resent.” He tossed the scroll onto a low table, where it rolled off the edge and fell to the ground. “I have the authority of our sovereign, Maat kare Hatshepsut, and I have her complete confidence. I can and I should send the pair of you back to Buhen.”
Bak could well imagine Thuty’s anger should they re turn. All who stood before him would suffer, especially the two officers who had failed to stand up to Amonked. His thoughts raced. How could they forestall banishment from the caravan?
He said, “When a man is slain outside of Buhen and I’m called upon to seek the one who took his life, I usually travel with two Medjays. Yet this time Troop Captain
Nebwa came and we brought with us a unit of archers.
Have you not asked yourself why?”
“To make a show of strength, I would assume.”
“For whose benefit?”
The inspector, too shrewd to walk into a verbal trap, stared hard at the officers, offering no answer.
Bak scooped Thuty’s letter off the ground and laid it on the table. “Baket-Amon was a prince much liked by the people who dwell along the Belly of Stones. Whether or not he was slain by a member of your party-and I’m con vinced he was-blame will be laid at your feet. Without a strong military presence from Buhen and an active inves
