the wall hangings, he suspected. If Hor-pen-Deshret did not already know of them he soon would. And the way rumors spread along the river, their content growing faster than aphids on a flower… The very thought was abhorrent.
“I advise you to sail to the new fortress, sir.” Nebwa was on his best behavior, congenial to a fault. He had refused to dwell on whatever significance the falcon might have had, preferring instead to deal with the more practical con cerns. “It’s not far from Kor, but it’ll be a lot faster than walking up the trail with the caravan. You’d have to use a boat anyway to cross from the west bank to the island on which it’s being built, so you may as well go all the way in comfort.”
Thus far, Amonked had given no sign that he had heard about the previous night’s confrontation with Horhotep, but neither Nebwa nor Bak had any doubt that the adviser had told him of the incident and, in the telling, had made him self look good at their expense.
“Captain Minkheper’s task would certainly benefit,” Bak said. “To get a true picture of the Belly of Stones, he must not only speak with men who sail these waters, but he must spend time on the river.”
“I’d planned to remain with the caravan all the way to
Semna, letting men and animals rest each time I go off to inspect a fortress.” Amonked glanced toward Horhotep, frowned. If he wanted help in making his decision, he was out of luck. His adviser was too far away, walking along the fortress wall, spear in hand, poking and prodding the mudbricks, apparently checking their integrity.
“Oh, all right. Perhaps I should travel by skiff.” Amon ked gave Nebwa a cautionary look. “This time, at any rate.”
They stood close to the spot where the pavilion had stood. The structure had been dismantled, its various pieces and furnishings parceled out among a small herd of don keys. Nefret and her maid Mesutu, Pawah, Theneny, and
Sennefer stood near the gate among the carrying chairs, awaiting Amonked. The scribe had Amonked’s dog on a leash so it could not run loose with the strays. One chair was shaded by a canopy the porters had erected to protect
Nefrets’s delicate complexion.
The falcon was still fresh in Bak’s thoughts, as was the tall column of yellowish dust. “I suggest you keep the car avan moving, sir, stopping only at night.”
“I’ve come to Wawat to inspect the fortresses, young man, not break speed records traveling between Buhen and
Semna.”
“Speed?” Nebwa laughed, forgetting restraint. “With a caravan as large as this?”
Amonked flung an annoyed look his way.
Bak saw Horhotep hurrying toward them. They had to settle the matter before that swine could interfere. “Troop
Captain Nebwa is right, sir. Speed isn’t the issue. For any caravan, large or small, forward movement is preferable to no movement. Each time you must inspect a fortress, let the caravan go on without you. Its size will hold it to a modest pace, preventing it from getting so far ahead that you can’t readily catch up.”
Nebwa, though he must have seen the adviser approach ing, kept his voice level, his manner composed and unhur ried. “The river in this area is relatively free of rapids, so you can sail on upstream after you’ve finished. The caravan might have to catch up with you, not the other way around.”
“Will you obtain a skiff, Troop Captain, while I gather together those men who’ll go with me?” Amonked seemed not to notice Horhotep, coming to a halt beside him, look ing suspicious of what might have occurred while his back was turned.
Nebwa exchanged a quick, satisfied look with Bak, let his eyes skip over Horhotep, and gave the inspector his most hearty smile. “I’d be glad to, sir.”
“Go on about your business,” Nebwa told Bak. “I’ll sum mon you when we’re ready to sail.”
“Amonked has no intention of taking us with him,
Nebwa.”
“He’ll take us.”
Nebwa glanced toward the inspector, who stood among the carrying chairs, facing Nefret. Mesutu and the three men who had been with her earlier had drifted away, al lowing privacy. The concubine was clutching the inspec tor’s arm, the look on her face intense, pleading. Amonked shook off her hand, signaled Thaneny and Pawah to go to her, and walked away.
“Just don’t dawdle when I send for you,” Nebwa added.
Bak was amazed at the confidence his friend could some times muster against all odds. “We vowed we’d not inter fere in his inspection, and so did Commandant Thuty. Are we to break our pledge?”
“We’ll break no oaths if he chooses to invite us along.”
Laughing, Nebwa swung around and strode toward the twin-towered gate that opened onto the quay.
Bak was unsure what he planned, but if the mischievous look he had glimpsed told a true tale, Amonked’s insistence on privacy during his inspections was about to be reversed.
Bak found Lieutenant Merymose standing with his ser geant, Seshu, and the drover of a dozen donkeys awaiting their burdens. All were watching the guards Amonked had brought from the capital, who were scurrying around, pack ing their belongings. Seshu’s mouth was clamped tight, his irritation plain. Merymose, face flushed, looked mortified.
Their sergeant, Roy, stood, hands on hips, glaring at the men for whom he was responsible. The drover watched the guards closely, checking their effort. Bak realized as he came close that the men were not packing for the first time.
They were repacking. No wonder Seshu and the drover were annoyed.
“If these are an example of the men who guard our sov ereign, I fear for her well-being.” Seshu did not bother to lower his voice. “Look at them. Dolts, each and every one.”
“You should’ve seen what they intended my donkeys to carry.” The drover snorted his disgust. “Loads unbalanced.
So loosely tied they’d fall apart. If I hadn’t taken a close look, they’d be dropping equipment and supplies all along the trail. Half the animals would drop, too, from loads too weighty for their slight backs.”
“They’ll learn.” Seshu eyed the guards with contempt.
“Even if I have to take them out into the desert one by one and lay a whip to their backsides.”
The guards sneaked furtive glances his way, checking to see if the threat was sincere. They evidently decided it was, for the pace of their packing grew frantic. Sergeant Roy threw Seshu and the drover a vicious look. Merymose’s color deepened.
Bak could understand men trained for duty as royal guards being innocent of the ways of living outdoors, but these men should have been taught within a night or two of leaving Waset. Merymose and Roy should be called to account for negligence.
“I’ve come to borrow Lieutenant Merymose,” he said, trying not to smile at the guards’ alarm. “Are you finished with him?”
“Take him!” Seshu glared at the young officer. “He’s no good to me.”
Merymose threw Bak a look of immense relief and hur ried along beside him to the western gate. By the time they stopped well out of hearing distance of the sentry and the men and donkeys filing through, the younger officer looked about to burst.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he blurted.
Bak stared at him, caught off-guard.
“I can’t seem to do anything right, sir.” The words tum bled out in a rush. “I thought myself a good officer. But now…” He looked crushed by failure. “Sergeant Roy treats me like a child, and he stands between me and the men. Even if he’d let me do my duty, I wouldn’t know what to do.”
Bak appreciated the honesty. Not many young officers would be so frank, even when desperate to speak out. “Is this the first posting you’ve shared with Roy?”
“Yes, sir. He was in charge of training the men for guard duty. The unit was to be disbanded and they were
