yowled, no fowl squawked. The few men he saw hurried from one spot of shade to the next. He scowled at the dreary white and dull brown world in which he had been thrown. He longed to return to the broad green valley around Waset with its bright palaces and mansions of the gods, its cooling breezes, its worldly residents. A place of fewer problems and many more pleasures. Would the lord Amon never again look upon him with favor?
He turned back to the room and eyed the Medjay. “What luck have you and Hori had in your quest to prove our men blameless?”
Imsiba laid his long spear beside the wall, dropped to the floor in front of it, and rested his shoulders and head on the cool white mudbrick. “The task you set was not an easy one, my friend.”
Bak’s heart became a stone in his breast. “Tell me, Imsiba. I must know the worst.”
“We found witnesses, all men of Kemet, who say twenty men in our unit were nowhere near the commandant when his life was taken. We’ve not given up yet, but…” He gave a tired shrug. “From what we know so far, the remaining five were unseen.”
“Five.” Bak closed his eyes as if to blind himself to the truth. “I expected one or two, but so many?” His eyes popped open. “Eighteen were with us at Nofery’s house, as were you and Psuro. Why were the others not in their barracks, sleeping? For the love of Amon, it was the middle of the night!”
“Ruru was there, alone. He stayed lest anyone come to report an offense. Amonemopet went to a village across the river to meet a woman. The others walked the streets, waiting to hear how the raid went. At so late an hour, they saw few men, none they recognized.”
“Five men,” Bak repeated in a gloomy voice. “Nofery will exact a heavy toll, I fear. She’ll not only turn her heart from the bargain we made, but she’ll expect many favors in return.”
“When will you go to her?”
Bak’s mouth set into a thin, stubborn line. “Not until I must.” He crossed to the stairway and sat on the bottom step. “Where’s Hori?”
“He went to the sentries’ barracks to speak with the men on guard duty that night, but I believe the time he spends will be like dust thrown to the winds. When Mery and I asked what they saw, they mentioned only the brawlers and the Medjays who took them to the commandant’s residence. They could see no faces from so long a distance.”
Bak stared at nothing, thinking. “The three who claimed to walk the streets. Did they return to our barracks with or soon after the men who escorted the rabble?”
“They didn’t come back until almost dawn.”
Bak laid the baton on his lap, planted his elbows on his knees, and looked at Imsiba over clasped hands. “What does that suggest to you?”
Imsiba’s eyes narrowed. “Their reason for leaving the barracks had nothing to do with the raid.”
“Talk to them, Imsiba. Use a cudgel if you must. Do whatever you feel necessary to get the truth from them.” Bak’s expression hardened. “And pray that whatever they did that night, they were seen by other men far, far away from the commandant’s residence.”
Bak hurried outside the towered gate, where he was greeted by the laughter of five small boys playing leapfrog on the upper terrace. Shading his eyes to spare them the fierce sunlight, he studied the vessels moored at the quay, a half dozen fishing skiffs and three ships.
He eyed with loathing the largest and closest, the military transport which had docked the previous morning. The stern and prow were adorned with paintings of the lord Montu, the god of war. The large centrally located deckhouse was painted in a bright herringbone pattern of blue and green and red. The mast was bare, the rectangular sail spread across the deck while two men repaired a large, jagged tear. A sailor wearing a loincloth sat fishing at the stern, legs dangling over the side.
The other two ships were cargo vessels with heavy, rounded hulls; unadorned stern posts and stems; tall, sturdy, naked masts. One, tied across the quay from the transport, was being off-loaded and its cargo of grain carried into the fortress by an antlike line of bearers bent double beneath the heavy bags. Farther along the quay, a half-dozen gaily dressed men from the land of Kush, far to the south, stood with twenty or more long-horned pale brown cows beside a vessel on whose deck had been built the wooden stalls in which the animals would travel. From the fine appearance of men and beasts, Bak guessed a tribal chieftain was taking the cattle to Kemet as tribute for Maatkare Hatshepsut.
Bak spotted Kames, the scribe he was looking for, standing at the far end of the quay, talking with a burly man tanned the deep russet of a seaman. He gave the two of them a hostile look. He should be with his Medjays, helping with the search. Instead, thanks to Tetynefer’s blind resolve that he and Azzia soon travel to Ma’am, here he was, in search of information he would badly need should they not find the man they sought.
He hastened along the smooth stone surface of the quay, passing the line of bearers. Sweat trickled down the men’s near-naked bodies; their pungent odor filled his nostrils. The heavy scent of grain made him sneeze. Beyond, he wove a path through the cattle, the tribesmen, and several large malodorous mounds of manure that buzzed with flies. Hearing raised voices from the pair farther along the quay, he stopped a few paces short of them.
“I don’t care what you do,” the burly man shouted. “You can report me to the viceroy if you like, or to Maatkare Hatshepsut herself. But I’m the captain of that ship, and I’ll not leave this quay until the hull is recaulked.”
“You must!” Kames insisted. “The ore is expected in Abu by the end of next week.” He was a white-haired man, half a head taller than the captain and so thin his knee-length kilt threatened to slide off his frail hips. He was the chief scribe, responsible for ore shipments entering and leaving Buhen.
“The promise was yours, not mine,” the captain snarled.
“You said yourself the leak isn’t serious.”
“Listen to me, Kames, and listen good. The leak is small, yes, but if the wind blows like it sometimes does at this time of year, and if we’re blown onto the rocks with water in the hull and a heavy load of copper, we’ll lose everything: ship, cargo, and men. I won’t do it!”
He swung around and strode past Bak, muttering to himself. Kames, his mouth pursed in anger, marched stiffly after him.
Bak stepped into his path. “I must speak to you, Kames.”
The scribe eyed him with distaste. “You’re Bak. The policeman.”
“I came to Buhen with the Medjays, yes.”
“I’ve already told that sergeant of yours that all my clerks reported for duty this morning. What more do you want?”
Bak could see he had approached Kames at the worst possible time. “I need information about the gold that passes through this city.”
“What business is that of yours? You were sent here to maintain order within these walls. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Bak silently cursed the man-and himself. He must learn to find reasons before wading into waters forbidden to him. He formed an impatient frown and improvised. “Commandant Nakht asked me to test the ways we protect the gold shipments. His death does not excuse me from completing this or any other task he gave me.”
Kames hesitated, not entirely convinced, but finally nodded. “Come!” He turned on his heel and led Bak to the end of the quay, well out of hearing distance of the men from Kush.
The surface of the river was silvery gray, as smooth as a mirror and as reflective. The sun hung high in the sky, its white-hot image repeated on the water. Three fishing skiffs, their sails limp, drifted along the distant shore, a broad line of green separating tawny sandhills from water. Bak could barely see two tiny figures kneeling at the river’s edge, women washing clothing or drawing water.
Glancing toward the Kushites as if to reassure himself he would not be heard, Kames said, “The commandant was worried about the gold, he said as much. I assured him, as I do you, that he had no reason for concern.”
Bak kept his expression noncommittal, though the news that he was following Nakht’s path to the stolen gold was reassuring. “Can you say with certainty that not one grain has been lost during the past…” He paused, pretended to pick a number from the air. “The past two years?”
Kames stared down his long, bony nose. “Surely Nakht told you about the desert raiders.”
“He mentioned them, yes. He was busy, however, so he suggested I get the details from you.” Bak prayed
