threatening to topple the shelter. Sennefer fell to his knees. The men on shore, though they must have been surprised-and delighted maintained their stony silence.
Bak glimpsed a look of exultation on the ferryman’s face. The impact had been deliberate, prompted by Hor hotep’s cruel threat.
“I fear you’ll have to wade ashore, Troop Captain,” the ferryman said. “We’re too far out to use the gangplank.”
Nebwa gave the man a fierce look, then noticed Horhotep lifting himself off the deck and searching for splinters.
Shaken by silent laughter, he handed over the token the ferryman would present to the garrison quartermaster for payment for services. “I trust next time you’ll be more care ful,” he said with mock severity.
The ferryman tried not to smile, failed. “Yes, sir!”
Bak was the first to drop off the vessel. He sank into the muck up to his ankles, and thick, black water swirled around his lower legs. He waded to dry ground and stopped midway along the line of men. Feeling a bit ridiculous with grime to the knees and his sandals oozing mud, he bade them a good afternoon, his expression uncritical but stern.
He called those he knew by name so they would have no doubt he could identify them later if trouble arose.
The line held firm; the men clung to their silence and their grim demeanor. He stood where he was, his stance as firm as theirs, letting his eyes travel from one man to the next, settling briefly on each in turn. He heard Nebwa be hind him and Amonked drop into the water with a loud splash. Three further splashes told him the remainder of the party had left the ferry.
He walked forward, displaying a confidence he did not entirely feel. The line of men parted, slowly, reluctantly, and allowed him through. Resisting the urge to look back, to make sure Nebwa and the others remained unmolested, he walked to the cut in the mudbank and climbed partway to the top. Only then did he turn around.
Nebwa stood knee-deep in the water with Amonked’s small party around him. He was speaking low but with vehemence-giving orders, Bak assumed. With a hasty smile, Amonked broke away from the group and strode after Bak. Walking relaxed and easy, his expression benign, he passed through the break in the line of men. Minkheper followed close behind, talking of the coolness of the eve ning. Sennefer passed through with the aplomb of a wealthy landowner accustomed to dealing with the poor. Horhotep, looking furious, marched out of the water with Nebwa so close he might have been guarding him. Maybe he was.
Never missing a step, Nebwa clapped the nearest farmer on the shoulder, asked another how his eldest son was, waved to a third and called him by name. Within moments he was walking up the cut in the wake of his charges.
Bak wove a path through piles of equipment and sup plies, listening to men’s voices and the sounds of animals settling down for the night. A faint odor of burning fuel hung in the air and the scent of onions and fish clung to empty bowls and the breaths of the men he passed. The feral dogs were nosing around in their endless quest for sustenance. Peace and contentment reigned, a peace he prayed would continue.
He thought of the falcon left atop the wall at Kor. Of how easily the man had entered the fortress, breaching its defenses, and climbed undetected to the battlements. Dur ing the light of day, no man could infiltrate the caravan, but the moon was waning, each night darker than the one before.
He walked past Amonked’s guards’ encampment. The men, divided into two units, were seated around makeshift hearths, basking in the warmth after consuming their eve ning meal. Their camp had long ago been set up-thanks to Sergeant Dedu. They spoke quietly to one another, con tent with a task well learned, no longer argumentative as before.
Earlier, Nebwa had taken aside Sergeant Roy, telling him in no uncertain terms what he expected of him: full and unquestioning cooperation. Dedu would provide the train ing Roy had been unwilling or unable to give, and Mery mose would take his rightful place at the head of the guards.
Roy had grumbled, but the threat of having him reassigned to Horhotep had shut him up fast enough.
Bak circled Amonked’s pavilion, which smelled faintly of oil lamps and Nefret’s perfume. The light inside made the fabric walls glow, and vague shadows darted back and forth. Beyond, he found the row of tents occupied by the remainder of the inspection party. The one he sought was the sole shelter not yet erected, that of Thaneny, who had had to aid Amonked in preparing his report on the island fortress. Pawah, who shared the flimsy structure, had been pressed into service to run errands and serve as the inspec tor’s personal servant. Now here they were, later than everyone else, preparing to raise their shelter.
“Do we have to sleep in a tent?” Pawah asked. “I’d much rather lie in the open-like the drovers do.”
“Not another word.” Thaneny bent at the waist to straighten the heavy linen. “Have you forgotten already how cold you were last night?”
“I’ll sleep with my head outside,” the youth said defi antly.
“Grab a pole,” Thaneny commanded.
Pawah made a face for Bak’s benefit, but obeyed. Tha neny proved to be surprisingly agile for one so crippled, and soon the center of the canvas was raised on waist-high poles, the sides pinned down with rocks. A simple but ideal shelter for two men-except in a high wind.
Thanks to the gods, the breeze had died and the night was clear, with pinpoints of light glittering strong and bright overhead. Such clarity meant the night would be cool. Bak shivered at the thought. He, like everyone outside of Amonked’s immediate party, had to sleep beneath the stars.
Thaneny slipped into a tunic to ward off the chill and sat on the ground in front of the tent. Bak dropped down beside him. Pawah picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle down the sloping side of the shelter.
“How did you manage the trek today?” Bak asked the scribe.
“He traveled in utmost comfort,” Pawah said, “like a great nobleman.”
The scribe cuffed the youth on the rear. “Go away, waif.”
Grinning, Pawah ducked out of his reach.
Thaneny smiled at Bak. “I must admit, the child is right.
Amonked gave me leave to use his carrying chair, saying he wished me to watch over mistress Nefret while he was away inspecting the island fortress. Throughout the morn 112
Lauren Haney ing I felt presumptuous, but by day’s end, I reveled in the luxury.”
Bak laughed. “You’ll rapidly become spoiled. Your mas ter has another inspection tomorrow.”
The scribe’s good humor faded. “Will the local men show themselves again, hoping to intimidate him as they tried to do today?”
“They don’t give up easily.”
Pawah plopped down on the sand facing Bak. “Sennefer said you were very brave today, sir.”
Bak rolled his eyes skyward. “A gross exaggeration.”
“Still…” The boy leaned toward him, eyes wide, will ing him to admit to a courage Bak felt unwarranted under the circumstances.
Mindful of the pavilion a few paces away and its flimsy linen walls, he took care how he answered. “The men who faced us today saw Nebwa and me with Amonked. They surely concluded that I, a man they know as fair and com passionate, have come to look into Prince Baket-Amon’s murder. They can also be sure Nebwa, a man highly re spected in Wawat for his rough honesty, his integrity, will see that no harm comes to the caravan or to any who dwell along the river. They had far more to gain by allowing us to pass than by attacking us.”
“Do you and the troop captain hold so much power?” the scribe asked.
“Not power. Trust.” Bak rubbed his arms, wishing he had thought to don a tunic before leaving the archers’ hearth. “To retain that trust, I must lay hands on Baket Amon’s slayer and Nebwa must see that no man suffers loss of life or property.”
“If you don’t?”
Bak shrugged, unable to answer.
“Has it never occurred to you that the prince might’ve been slain by someone wishing to take his place as leader of his people?” Thaneny asked.
The question was valid, but Bak suspected it was prompted more by hope than conviction that the slayer
