Amonked’s friend, so he’ll do or say nothing that will in fluence the outcome.”
“Lieutenant Horhotep is the man who troubles me,” Bak said, casting a line he hoped would catch a weapon he could use against the officer. “I doubt he’s competent, yet he holds the fate of hundreds upon hundreds of people in his hands. I suspect he’d sell his soul for promotion and the chance to catch our sovereign’s eye.”
Minkheper flashed a smile. “I know nothing of his talents as a man of arms, but he wears his ambition as men of valor wear the gold of honor, in plain sight and with pride.
I believe Lieutenant Merymose to be a much better man, but unfortunately he’s at Horhotep’s mercy.”
They reached the southern end of the island and Min kheper returned to the task he had traveled south to per 104
Lauren Haney form. Bak answered his questions about the river as best he could and showed him all he asked to see and more. It was the least he could do. He had learned almost nothing from the captain, but he appreciated the fact that the man had spoken with an open and forthright tongue. Or had he?
The ferry, its sail aloft and swollen, sped south before a stiff breeze. The late afternoon sun was washed out, weak, allowing the air to cool, making Bak and the others shiver.
To the west, the faint yellow cloud that marked the cara van’s location had moved past the tall, conical hill that served as a watch station south of Kor. Seshu was keeping animals and men moving at a good speed, taking advantage of the first day out when they had not yet grown weary and foot-sore.
“Three fortresses so close together you can shout from one to another.” Lieutenant Horhotep stood with Amonked under the canvas roof, taking advantage of what little shel ter it gave from the breeze. “The reason is beyond my com prehension.”
“The journey by boat was swift,” Amonked said. “I imagine the trek on foot would take over an hour.”
“Buhen I can understand. It’s large, reasonably strong, and in a halfway acceptable condition. As for Kor,” Hor hotep scoffed, “the men who toil there are lucky to be alive.
If its walls weren’t so thick, they’d long ago have fallen, crushing those inside. And the fortress we viewed to day…”
“The swine.” Nebwa, standing a half-dozen paces for ward, spat over the rail. “I’d like to throw him overboard and let the crocodiles make a meal of him.” He had the good sense to speak softly.
Bak pointed aft, toward the man at the tiller. “You’re not the only one.” The ferryman who, like everyone else on board had heard every word, was glaring at the adviser, his expression stormy.
Sennefer, he noticed, was also watching the ferryman.
His demeanor was serious, lacking the usual touch of irony.
Captain Minkheper eyed the adviser with poorly concealed disgust.
“Why? Pray tell me why they feel the need to build a new fortress?” Horhotep ranted. “Why go to so much effort and expense? Tearing down the old ruins, rebuilding on an island that can’t be reached without a boat? It’ll be hard to man, more difficult to equip, and close to impossible to supply.”
“The man hasn’t the wits of a lump of dirt,” Nebwa growled. “Doesn’t he know that nearly half the fortresses along the Belly of Stones are located on islands?”
Bak, like his friend, had heard enough. Stepping under the shelter, certain he was wasting his breath, he asked,
“Has it not occurred to you, Lieutenant, that the new for tress occupies a strategic position on the river? Surrounded by water and at the downstream end of the rapids, it’ll be virtually indestructible.”
“Buhen is bigger and stronger. Would it not serve the same purpose?”
“Buhen offers a second line of defense. Have you never heard of a fall-back position?”
“In areas of serious trouble, yes. But here?” The adviser laughed sarcastically and turned his back, a rude dismissal.
Anger swept through Bak. He hated being treated as of no significance by a man he considered unworthy. Swal lowing words he knew he would regret, clenching his hands so tight they ached, he strode forward, passed Nebwa and the others without a word, and stood at the prow, thinking the breeze would cool him down. If he knew for a fact that the falcon delivered to Kor had been a message from
Hor-pen-Deshret, he would have a weapon of sorts to counter Horhotep’s scorn. He had no proof, however, only a feeling even Nebwa ridiculed.
The ferryman turned the vessel toward a small oasis at the end of a dry wadi. Vegetable plots and clusters of date palms spoke of fertile ground and a habitation nearby, prob 106
Lauren Haney ably farther up the wadi on land less precious than the tiny floodplain. A stand of acacias clung to a high mudbank at the southern end of the oasis, and two small skiffs lay on the shore in their shade. A good place to off-load passen gers, an easy walk to the desert trail and the caravan.
A movement among the palms caught Bak’s eye, a clus ter of men standing in their shade, watching the approach ing vessel. He counted fourteen. Men, he guessed, who had left farms or hamlets up and down the river to register their aversion to the inspector and his mission.
As the ferry neared the shore, the men walked out from among the palms and strode along the sunny southern edge of the tiny oasis, skirting the fields, heading toward the water. Each carried a hoe or sickle or staff or mallet or some other farm tool. All of which could serve as weapons.
Chapter Eight
Nebwa came up beside Bak, looking grim. “So it’s begun.”
The men on shore strode down a narrow cut in the mud bank a few paces downstream from the skiffs and formed a ragged line near the river’s edge. Every eye was locked on the approaching ferry. Bak recognized about half, men who farmed small plots of land along the river or on the islands above Kor. They sometimes came to Buhen to the market or to air complaints.
Sennefer hurried to the prow. “Men who till the fields in the province of Sheresy, where my country estate lies, seem never to have the leisure to gather together for no good reason. Am I to assume the same is true here?”
“Should we expect trouble?” Minkheper asked, joining them.
Nebwa looked to Bak for an answer. Though reared in
Wawat and wed to a local woman, he spent most of his time in the garrison and considered himself out of touch.
Untrue, but so he believed.
Bak shrugged. “I can make no promises, but I doubt they’ll harm us. I suspect they’ve come to create unease in our hearts.”
“To threaten,” Amonked said, coming up behind them.
The ferryman dropped the sail, slowing the vessel, and set a course for the beached skiffs. The waiting men stood grim-faced and unmoving, silent, watchful. Unnerving.
Amonked rested his hands on the rail and scowled to ward the men across the water. “Will these people continue this… this silent confrontation throughout our journey to
Semna?”
“I’d not count on them remaining silent,” Nebwa said.
“This is abominable! Demeaning to our sovereign!” Hor hotep, standing behind Amonked, slapped his leg with his baton of office. “A good beating here and now would put a stop to this outrage once and for all.”
Nebwa swung around, eyes smoldering. “You’ll lay your baton on no man or woman in Wawat, Lieutenant. You hear me?”
“You’ve no right…!”
The ferry swung suddenly toward the waiting men and swept into the shallows, throwing muddy water to either side and splattering the men on deck. Without warning, the prow dug into the soft bottom. The vessel stopped as if it had struck a solid wall. Bak stumbled against the rail and at the same time grabbed Nebwa’s arm to keep him from falling. Amonked held on tight. Horhotep, who dared not grab the inspector, was thrown off his feet and skidded across the deck. Minkheper, flung backward, grabbed an upright supporting the canvas roof,
