“Repairs are made when and where necessary.” Woser’s voice was taut, betraying the effort he made to give a civil answer. Swinging away, he led them down a lane between two warehouses. “Come, we’ve a skiff awaiting us at the harbor. If you’re to rejoin your caravan before nightfall, we must hurry on to the island fortress.”
“How can you say the market isn’t worthy of protec tion?” Bak demanded of Horhotep.
Amonked gave his adviser a curious look. “Yes, Lieu tenant, explain yourself. I, too, am puzzled.”
Horhotep flung a self-important smile Bak’s way. “From what I’ve seen, products exchange hands here with no toll ever being paid. If the same objects were carried across the frontier by respectable merchants, each ship or caravan would hand over a substantial amount, giving our sovereign her rightful share of the merchandise.”
“Tolls are collected at the outer gate,” Woser said. “True, our demands are modest. Their purpose is not to increase the wealth of the royal house but to remind all who enter of the debt of gratitude they owe our sovereign for allowing them to trade here.”
“Why settle for a pittance when we could have far more?”
“Increasing the toll would reduce the number of people who bring goods here to trade,” Bak said, “allowing no gain to our sovereign and a loss to this city and this land. They would move their business elsewhere, probably to an island south of Semna. What they’d lose in safety, they’d gain in profit, for they’d pay no tolls at all.”
“Must I give you a history lesson, Lieutenant?” Nebwa, the son of a soldier, had grown to manhood in the fortress
Lauren Haney of Kubban several days’ sail north of Buhen and knew the reasons behind many decisions obscured by the passage of time. “Iken has been a market city for many generations, from the time of Khakaure Senwosret. When our sover eign’s father, Akheperkare Thutmose, marched up the river with his army and conquered the lands far to the south, he ordered that this market remain open. Not only does it lure products seldom offered to traders, but it brings people to gether in a way not possible for the more formal trading expeditions.”
“To survive and thrive, the market must be kept safe,”
Bak added, thinking of Amonked’s mission. “The reno vated wall discourages raiders, the army holds them at arm’s length.”
“I must admit this city intrigues me.” Amonked stepped over a skinny black dog sprawled across the lane. “Far more than Buhen or any other place I’ve seen so far, it emphasizes the importance of trade to this region.”
Woser’s fast pace and the heavily populated lanes for bade further discussion, allowing Horhotep time to marshal his rebuttal. As they walked out on the northernmost of two long, stone quays, he sidled up to Amonked. “I see no tactical reason for the army to continue its occupation of this garrison. The local people, as sullen as they are, pose no real threat, and I’m convinced the raiding tribesmen we’ve heard so much about are mere figments of the imag ination.”
“I can take no more of that pompous ass,” Nebwa mut tered. “I’ll meet you here when you return from the island.”
He swung around and stalked off, giving Bak no time to plead that he remain.
Amonked watched him go. After bending so far as to request that Nebwa and Bak accompany the inspection party, he had to be displeased by the troop captain’s abdi cation, but as usual his face gave no hint of his feelings.
“You call that structure a fortress. I call it four walls with no purpose.” Horhotep climbed out of the skiff and stood on the quay, looking eastward toward the island from which they had come, impossible to see beyond a closer rocky prominence. “No man of good sense would station soldiers there.”
“If I’m not mistaken,” Amonked said, clambering out of the vessel, “it proved itself quite useful when King Amon Psaro came to Iken some months ago.” He glanced at Bak, who waited in the prow while Woser climbed out. “Did you not prevent at that time what could have been a most serious incident, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir.”
As Nebwa had said, Thuty had sung their praises. But in such detail? Or had Amonked, before he left the capital, read all the reports sent to Waset by the viceroy? A bur densome task. Necessary if a man wished to make a wise decision. A decision that would affect the well-being of thousands of men and women. Would a man be that con scientious if his sole intent was to carry out his sovereign’s wishes?
“The rapids here are fearsome.” Minkheper leaped onto the quay with practiced ease. “Is this the upper limit of those we looked upon yesterday from the watch station?”
“As far as I know.” Scrambling out of the skiff, Bak looked toward Woser for an answer, but the commander had hurried on up the quay to meet Nebwa, leaning against the mooring post closest to shore. “I’ve had no chance to travel farther south.”
“Even with the floodwaters at their highest, I’d not enjoy taking a ship through those rocks.”
After Sennefer climbed out of the boat, the three of them strode up the quay behind the inspector and his adviser. A stiff breeze had come up and the warmth of the early af ternoon sun was filtered through a dusty haze blowing off the desert from the northwest. A faint smell of braised lamb roused Bak’s hunger.
“How has the fortress held up?” Nebwa asked, his good humor restored. “Is it overgrown already with tamarisk and weeds?”
“It’d take some clearing,” Bak admitted, “but Woser could still shelter a king there if need be.”
Nebwa lowered his voice and nodded toward Horhotep.
“What did the visiting swine have to say about it?”
“He…” A movement deep in the shadow of the ware house closest to the quay caught Bak’s eye. He spotted a bow and glimpsed an arrow taking flight. “Look out!”
The missile sped past Amonked, missing him by an arm’s length. Bak raced toward the hidden archer with
Nebwa at his side. A stream of arrows flew past, their course nowhere near, their target uncertain. Too many ar rows for one man to fire, Bak thought, the wild shots of inexperienced men-or men firing in haste or desperation.
Three men armed with bows burst from the shadow and raced like frightened hares into the nearest lane. Bak and
Nebwa sped after them. They turned to the right into an intersecting street and to the left at the next lane. Another turn carried them deeper into the lower city, closer to the escarpment. People leaped out of their way, dogs barked, a small child wailed when an archer kicked its ball far down a lane. Bak feared the trio would split up, but in their panic they ran on together. He feared they would lose themselves in the maze-like lanes, as his assailant had done the pre vious night, but that, too, proved an unnecessary worry. A final turn carried them into a lane that went nowhere.
Bak and Nebwa found them standing at the base of the escarpment, caught in a trap of their own making. Panting for breath, frightened, shamed by so gross a failure, they dropped their bows and quivers to the ground and held their hands at shoulder level, signaling defeat.
“All right,” Nebwa said, “who are you and what, in the name of the lord Amon, did you think you were doing?”
They looked at each other, each man pleading silently with the others to speak up. To think of a tale, Bak suspected, that would make them look as innocent as newborn calves.
“I’m Lieutenant Bak, head of the Medjay police in Bu hen.” He stared at them, his expression stern. “I must know your names and how you earn your bread.”
Each rattled off a name and an occupation. One was an armorer, another butchered meat for the garrison, the third made the heavy leather sandals worn by the troops. Men not of the army, but men whose livelihoods depended upon the army’s continued occupation of the fortress. Bak glanced at Nebwa, who nodded his understanding of the reason behind their foolishness.
Hearing a noise in the lane behind them, Bak glanced back. He could hardly believe his eyes. Amonked and Sen nefer stood in an intersecting lane, too deep in its mouth to be seen by the three bowmen. The inspector’s face was flushed and he was gasping for breath, while Sennefer showed slight strain as a result of the chase.
“Who were you trying to slay?” Nebwa, unaware of the men behind him, looked as severe as Bak had, but his voice carried a suspicious note of humor. “From your lack of skill, the wild manner in which your arrows flew, it was
