spare a half hour or so to tell us of the auditor’s mission?”
Bak had to smile at Hori’s disgruntled expression. “I sus pect Ptahmes took upon himself the task of rewarding
Woserhet without a word from Hapuseneb. Which tells me that, though he might not know what Woserhet was doing, he had no doubt of the auditor’s importance to the chief priest and the lord Amon.”
The young scribe laid the last fragment of charred scroll on top of all the others, carried them into the shade beneath the pavilion, placed them on top of the rolled scrolls in the basket, and weighted them down with a rock. “What a waste of time this task was! I didn’t find a thing that would lead us to Woserhet’s slayer.”
“I doubt your search was all in vain.” Bak told him of the auditor’s visit to Tjeny and his request to see Pentu’s files.
“Evidently Woserhet wasn’t interested in any of the gover nor’s records except those that list the items he sent as offer ings to the lord Amon. Which leads me to believe he was tracking objects from their point of origin to the god’s store houses and maybe on until they were consumed or shipped elsewhere or reverted back to the priests or the people for or dinary use.”
“We can’t very well follow in his footsteps.” With a clat ter, Kasaya dropped a handful of baked clay shards and chips onto a pile of similar fragments for which he had no use. “We’ve no authority to inspect all the governors’ rec ords, and even if we had, we’d have to travel the length of the river from the Great Green Sea to Abu. To visit so many provinces would take several months.”
Bak knelt to examine Kasaya’s handiwork. The Medjay had glued together only the shoulders of the broken storage jars, where the contents of each had been written. The odd shaped remnants were lined up like soldiers two abreast at the edge of the shadow cast by the pavilion. “Have you learned anything at all from these vessels?”
The Medjay, who could not read, looked to Hori to an swer.
“We went to the room where Woserhet was slain. From the empty spaces on the shelves, we concluded that fourteen jars had been removed.” Hori plopped down before the re constructions. “Kasaya has pieced twenty-one back together and he’s found enough shards with symbols on them for at least two more.”
“Twenty-three all told.” The young Medjay eyed the jars with more satisfaction than the potters who created them must have felt.
“Leaving nine jars that came from storehouses containing grain, hides, and metal ingots,” Bak said.
“No, sir.” Kasaya sat down beside the scribe. “When we separated out the jars listing bulk items, we came up with two extra jars, two too many for the available space in the room where Woserhet was found.”
“These two.” Hori pointed to two vessels’ shoulders, both painstakingly reconstructed using a multitude of small frag ments. Riddled with holes, left empty when the pieces could not be found, they both were lopsided and bulged in places.
“The labels are hard to read because so many symbols are missing, but we both think they came from somewhere else, another storehouse that contained valuables probably.”
Bak knelt beside him, gingerly lifted one of the two re constructions, and compared it to several others. “What gave you that idea?”
“These two were much more badly damaged. I think someone removed the documents and threw them on the fire.” Hori pointed toward the charred scrolls in the basket.
“When the jars were empty, he flung them down, breaking them, and stomped on the fragments.”
“I found a lot of crushed pieces on the floor close to where
Woserhet fell,” Kasaya said. “The slayer was determined to destroy those pots.”
Bak stared at the label, but could make nothing of the few legible symbols. “Have you gone yet to the main storehouse archives, Hori?”
“Yes, sir.” The scribe took the piece and set it with the others. “Woserhet audited the records there about four months ago, and he came back several times during the past month. The chief archivist knew him fairly well, and he’s convinced the auditor would’ve drawn his attention to any thing he found amiss.”
“Did Woserhet concentrate his effort in any special part of the archives?”
“If so, the archivist took no notice.”
“Perhaps another scribe paid more heed.” Bak rose to his feet. “You must go back and ask. Then you must look through all the records anyone remembers Woserhet exam ining. When you finish with that, you must look at past rec ords for the storage block in which his body was found, going back five years or so. You must also ask if any storage jars are missing.”
“A huge effort, sir, too big for a man alone.”
Bak smiled at the scribe’s lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll find someone to help. In the meantime, I’ve another task you may find more to your liking. This at the customs records center.”
Kasaya, useless for any task requiring the ability to read, looked glum. “Is there nothing I can do, sir?”
“You must find Woserhet’s servant Tati. We could use his help, and we need the files that have disappeared with him.”
“I don’t understand, sir.” Hori veered around the gang plank of a large, graceful traveling ship moored against the bank of the river. Two sailors sat on board, paying more at tention to the comings and goings in the market than to the ropes they were mending. “Why are we going to the cus toms office?”
“I saw objects on Captain Antef’s cargo ship that looked very much like those used in the sacred rituals. I think some one is stealing from the storehouses of the lord Amon and the Hittite merchant Zuwapi is shipping the objects to Hatti, and probably to other lands to the north of Kemet as well.”
Hori shook his head, unable to understand. “Who would dare steal from the lord Amon? Or any lesser deity, for that matter?”
“With luck and if the gods choose to smile upon us, an ex amination of the shipping records may point to the thief.”
“What specifically am I to look for?”
Bak veered around a mooring post sunk deep into the riverbank. The line snugged around the post squeaked each time a swell lifted the small cargo ship, whose deck was mounded high with rough chunks of golden sandstone. A lone sailor sat on the rocks, his head bowed over his fishing pole, snoring.
“Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious, but basi cally ask yourself these questions: Does Zuwapi always ship his trade goods on Antef’s vessel? Did Maruwa ever make his return journey to Hatti on Antef’s ship when it was laden with
Zuwapi’s cargo? Focus also on Zuwapi’s export items and look for objects of value. I suspect the destination shown on the manifests is always Ugarit, but if any other port is listed, take note, paying heed to exactly what was delivered where.”
Hori nodded, understanding. “If Zuwapi is transporting stolen goods out of Kemet, Maruwa may have noticed.”
“A strong possibility. And if he did, he would’ve reported the fact.” Bak ducked around a man seated on the moist earth with a small, chirping monkey. The man was examin ing a handful of bright beads and amulets thrown to him as a reward for the animal’s performance. Or stolen by the mon key from a market stall.
“Do you think Zuwapi slew Maruwa?”
“I’ve been told he dwells in Mennufer when he comes to the land of Kemet. If we should discover he’s here in Waset, we must take a long, hard look at him.” Bak caught Hori’s arm and eased him around a half dozen sailors, hurrying off their ship in search of fun and games. “I’ve no trouble think ing he’d slay Maruwa, but why would he take the lives of
Meryamon and Woserhet?”
“I’ll wager Meryamon was the thief, a man who could point a finger at him.”
“Woserhet was slain first. With the auditor dead, Zuwapi would’ve had no need to slay Meryamon. The man who may’ve been providing him with stolen goods. Goods sold in cities to the north at a substantial profit.”
Hori gave Bak a sheepish smile. “Put that way, my theory seems a bit thin.”
Lauren Haney
After leaving Hori at the customs records center, Bak pur chased from a market stall a chunk of boiled fish wrapped in leaves. Eating as he walked, he strode along the waterfront toward Antef’s ship, thinking to check the
