valley with no guards giving chase?”
“How long did you stay at the temple?”
“I’d barely had time to settle myself when I glimpsed a light in the old temple of Nebhepetre Montuhotep. The spirit had flitted from Djeser Djeseru to there in the time it takes to blink an eye. I started down the ramp, but it vanished again.
I ran to the southern retaining wall and waited awhile, but it didn’t reappear. Certain no man could ever catch it, I finally decided to return to the tomb and Imen.”
Bak suspected the so-called malign spirit had lured Kasaya into the chapel of the lord Re, and had slipped out of the temple when he was safely out of the way. He also suspected, because of the light’s speedy appearance in the older temple, that more than one man had been roaming the valley floor, each carrying a small oil lamp.
He glanced across the field of partially worked stones toward the burly guard. “As far as you know, did Imen remain at his post all the while you were searching the temple?”
“I can’t swear to every moment,” Kasaya admitted, “but each time I looked, there he was.”
Bak eyed the young Medjay. By rights he should chastise him for abandoning his post at the tomb, but how could he reproach a man who had shown such courage in spite of his strong superstition, his fear of the unknown?
“Go back to the tomb and stay there,” he said. “Let me know when Menna arrives with the priest from the mansion of the lord Amon.”
Could Imen have entered the tomb during Kasaya’s absence? Probably not. Visible from the temple and assuming the Medjay might return at any moment, the guard would have had neither the time nor the freedom to do so. Nonetheless, Bak wanted to know for a fact that the body was intact, to be sure the ancient jewelry was on that bony wrist when the tomb was sealed for eternity.
As Kasaya strode away, Bak walked to the southern retaining wall and looked beyond the workmen’s huts to the old temple of Nebhepetre Montuhotep. Had the Medjay been deliberately drawn into the new temple? If so, for what purpose? To allow the malign spirit freedom of movement in the ruined structure? No one could have predicted the young policeman would have the courage to leave Imen’s side and give chase, but if the objective was worthy enough, perhaps the risk could not be ignored. Or had the second light, that in the old temple, been meant to draw Kasaya from Djeser Djeseru? Had he interrupted someone intent on setting up another accident?
“There’s Kames, sir, the chief stonemason.” Hori, arriving at Bak’s side unnoticed, pointed toward a crew of workmen toiling at the northern end of the lower colonnade. “You said you wished to speak with him. The white- haired man looking on.”
Bak tore his thoughts from Kasaya’s adventure and tamped down a sudden, nearly overwhelming desire to explore the ruined temple. He must speak first with the living, saving until later his quest for lights and shadows.
“I found plenty to fault in Montu, but he knew what he had to do and he did it.” Kames scratched his head, making his short white hair stand on end. His body was tall and angular, very thin, a living skeleton covered in leather-like skin. “You can’t criticize a man for doing his duty, now can you?”
“You’re more forgiving than anyone else I’ve talked to,”
Bak said. “In fact, I’ve been told he shirked his duty.”
“He was critical, to be sure, and never quite satisfied with where we placed the stones. But he had every right to be.
The responsibility for the finished temple rested heavily on his shoulders.”
Kames’s eyes darted toward a man checking the four sides of a block of stone, making sure they were square to each other and the top surface. Evidently not quite satisfied with what he saw, he moved closer to watch. The stone was one of many that would be stacked to create the square columns of the lower colonnade. The sides of the stone, like that of its mates, were rough, not yet dressed to a smooth surface. The final smoothing would be done after they were installed, before reliefs were carved and painted. Other stonemasons were scattered nearby, forming blocks similar in shape and size. The tapping of mallets on chisels made Bak think of giant birds, pecking away at some equally colossal food source. Two rows of square columns would ultimately stand before the retaining wall that held back the fill beneath the upper colonnade. As Bak had noticed before, the roof over this portico would form an open terrace along the front of the temple.
For the first time, he was struck by the fact that no construction ramps marred the facade to either side of the central ramp. “You surely use a ramp to raise these blocks into position, and also the architraves and roof slabs that will sit on top. Why is none here?”
Several of the men glanced at each other and exchanged surreptitious grins. The chief stonemason’s expression turned stormy. Bak saw at once that he had poured natron into an open wound.
“The last time our sovereign visited this temple, we had to take down the ramp we had here and another at the southern colonnade.” Kames’s nostrils flared with anger. “Senenmut said she wished to see the facade unencumbered by ramps, and so it was. I thought it wise not to replace them for a while, to rough out many of the column parts so we can position them all at one time. Thus saving us extra effort should she soon come again.”
A prudent decision, Bak suspected. Much effort was required to build or tear down a ramp. Not as much as building a permanent mudbrick or stone structure, but the number of hours expended could be better used elsewhere. “Did Pashed not shoulder more than his burden of responsibility, while Montu sought the ear of Senenmut, taking much of the credit for building this temple?”
Kames shook his head in mild disgust. “Oh, I know.
Pashed complained all the time, saying this, that, and the other. Always critical of Montu, with never a word of praise.
But you have to understand: Montu was an artist while Pashed is a mere artisan. You can’t expect an artist to take an interest in the dreary day-to-day tasks of a project as big and important as this one.”
An unexpected puff of air lifted the dust from the steep slope to the north and flung it on the men below. Bak snapped his eyes and mouth shut as grit peppered his face and shoulders. Kames’s attitude was so different from that of the others to whom he had spoken that he could not help but wonder about the discrepancy. “Were you and Montu related in any way?”
A toothy grin let him know the stonemason understood exactly what he was getting at. “We weren’t even friendly.”
The smile, the flippant tone, promised a game of words Bak refused to be drawn into. A stream of curses drew his eyes to the northern retaining wall, where a crew of workmen were dragging a sledge laden with stone blocks up a construction ramp. Given time, Kames would explain himself, he felt sure. “You know Amonked has bade me look into the many accidents that have occurred since construction began on this temple.”
The stonemason’s smile was swept away by an inexplica-ble bitterness. “I wish you luck, Lieutenant.”
Bak eyed him closely. That he had struck a sensitive spot was apparent. “You and your men work with the stone, sometimes placing heavy blocks high above a man’s head.
Have you lost anyone to an accident?”
Kames glanced at the men scattered in front of what would one day be the colonnade, beckoned Bak to follow, and walked far enough away that none could hear. “A man died. Ahotep. A foreman.” He spat out the words, his voice hard, rough with emotion. “Seven months ago, it was. We’d just begun to raise the columns at the northern end of the portico, the end nearest the southern retaining wall.”
“How did it happen?”
“A part of the cliff broke away, sending stones plummet-ing down the slope and onto the temple.” Kames stared bale-86
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fully at the cliff and went on with obvious effort. “Ahotep had gone up the ramp along which we were raising the blocks. We’d reached no higher than the second course, so the ramp was low. He was checking the placement of stones, making sure they were seated properly. An enormous boulder came hurtling down from the face of the cliff, bringing others with it and tearing away lesser rocks and earth. The retaining wall collapsed and he was struck down. Buried.
We dug him out, but could do nothing for him. His back was broken. He lived an hour that seemed a day, unable to move, helpless.” The stonemason cleared his throat, but could not clear away the grief on his face. “His
