posted no Medjays in the offices surrounding the hall.
Imsiba squatted next to him, examining the long, bronze blade he had pulled from Ruru’s breast. A pool of fresh blood painted the floor beneath the body a bright, glittery red. Kasaya stood in the shadows by the door, his back to them, his head bowed between hunched shoulders. He had found the body. As the first of a dozen Medjays hidden along the path Ruru should have taken, he had been the first to suspect something was wrong. He had heard Ruru’s signal, waited, realized too much time had gone by, and hurried to the residence.
Imsiba, who looked as defeated as Bak felt, pointed to the symbol close to the handle. “The mark of the garrison arsenal. Every spearman and archer in Buhen carries a weapon like this.”
“The scroll and package are gone, Imsiba. No ordinary soldier did this.” Bak stood up abruptly, made a fist, and slammed it against the pillar. “We must not let him outwit us again. He must pay for this death.”
Imsiba hauled himself to his feet and stared at Ruru with a dismal face. He transferred his gaze to Bak, and worry overshadowed unhappiness. “When he sees the scroll is blank and finds a bar of lead rather than gold, he’ll fear you greatly, I think-and hate you. If we don’t snare him soon, my friend, he may well snare you instead.”
Chapter Twelve
“Why did you not summon me to the river?” Nofery complained. “Why come here where all the world can see?”
She swung the rush broom, driving a roiling cloud of dust across the hard-packed earthen floor. The flesh hanging from her upper arms swayed, her sagging breasts rolled from side to side beneath her sweat-damp white shift.
Bak, standing at the open door of her house of pleasure, filled his voice with honey. “You said my swimming place was too far away, too long and hot a walk. Can I never please you, old woman?”
“Some can; some can’t.” Her tight-lipped scowl told him he fell in the latter group.
He had no time to spar, so caught the broom handle in midswing, forcing her to be still, and added a woebegone smile. “I thought to find a friend when I passed through your door, not one so heartless she’d sweep me out with the dust.”
“I welcome no man into my house whose presence could lead to the end of my business.”
She sounded gruff, too gruff. His smile broadened and soon a twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her enjoyment of the banter. She jerked the broom from his hand and propped it across the doorway, barring entry. Pulling a stool out of a corner so he could sit, she placed it well off to the side where he would not be seen from the lane.
Ignoring the seat, he walked deeper into the room, which looked bleak and shabby in the dim early morning light. The stench of beer and sweat lingered; dust hung in the air. The large beer jars stacked against the scarred walls, the stools and tables shoved together in the corner, the chipped and stained drinking bowls, gave the place a look of abandonment. At the rear door, he brushed the curtain aside and peered into the back room. Three naked young women, two light-skinned, the other dark, lay curled together on a lumpy sleeping mat. One snored so softly the sound was like a whisper. Their satiny flesh glowed with youth; their faces in repose looked childlike, innocent. The delight their comely bodies promised threatened to rob him of his purpose.
“So it’s pleasure you came for,” Nofery said, sidling up to him with a knowing smirk.
Her words snapped him back to reality. He let the curtain fall, put a finger to his lips to soften her voice, and drew her away from the door. “Not today, old woman.” He cleared his throat, cleared away a last image of those three inviting bodies. “The steward Tetynefer has summoned me. I must know the latest rumors before I cross his threshold.”
She tilted her head and gave him a crafty smile. “You’re to leave at midday for Ma’am, I hear, with the commandant’s widow, mistress Azzia.”
“I’ve no time to haggle,” he said impatiently. “I must convince the steward we can’t go now. I must stay in Buhen until the threat to my Medjays is resolved.” And until the man who took Ruru’s life is within my grasp, he thought. “What have you heard?”
She gave an elaborate shrug. “Why should I speak, when by saying nothing, I could be free of you?”
He wanted to shake her. Instead he let out a sigh as exaggerated as her shrug. “I’ve grown fond of you, old woman. To take you before the viceroy for inciting a riot will pain me deeply. But if I must, I must.” He glanced around the room, his lips drooping as if he were looking at a favorite haunt for the last time. “You’ll like mistress Azzia. She’ll be a pleasant companion on the long voyage we face.”
Nofery had the temerity to laugh. A forced laugh to be sure, but a laugh nonetheless. “Many men in Buhen believe death walks in your shadow. Though I think they err, I must admit I’d not like to be on a ship for days on end with you as my companion.”
Bak did not think her words funny. “Tell me what you’ve heard. Make haste, for Tetynefer is not a man of patience.”
The old woman sobered. Her face, her voice reflected a worry unlike her in its depth. “The rumors are multiplying ten times ten that your Medjays took the lives of Commandant Nakht and that sullen goldsmith Heby. There’s much wild talk, with one man’s anger building on that of another. They say your Medjay Ruru was slain as an act of vengeance for the commandant’s death, and other acts of violence are sure to follow.”
Bak shifted from one foot to another, moving into the sunlight that flooded the forecourt of the mansion of the lord Horus of Buhen and back to the shadow of a fluted column. Muted voices and, when the breeze was right, the faint musty odor of the river drifted over the high walls enclosing the god’s mansion. He shifted his weight, frowned at the small stone building and the bright painted reliefs of Maatkare Hatshepsut marching with the god across its facade. Tetynefer was inside, assisting the priest with the morning ritual in the dimly lit, probably cool sanctuary. If Bak had known the steward was serving as a web priest through the month he would have found a more worthwhile task than lingering in the hot, stifling courtyard.
At first, the time had seemed like a gift from the lord Horus himself, for it had given Bak a chance to rehearse his plea. However, as the minutes dragged and doubts assailed him, his argument seemed shallow, unconvincing. What could he say? The rumors about the Medjay police were multiplying; further trouble was inevitable. All of which Tetynefer must already know.
Too fretful to stay motionless for long, Bak left the shade to pace the open court, his path parallel to the colonnade running along the precinct wall. He searched his memory, trying to recall any appropriate words of wisdom Maiherperi might have uttered. He could think of none. Even worse, as if to emphasize the fact that he stood alone with no one to share his burdens, he could barely remember the timbre of the commander’s voice, and his dark, well-formed features had faded to a blur.
The squeak of a door and murmuring voices tore his thoughts from the morass in which they had sunk. Tetynefer and an aging priest, a slight man with a shaven head, emerged from the god’s dwelling. The faint aroma of incense drifted across the court, tickling Bak’s nostrils. The steward bade good-bye with a promise of returning for the evening ritual and strolled toward the outer portal, enveloped in an aura of piety. The priest slipped back inside the stone building.
Bak cut diagonally across the court to catch Tetynefer, who offered an indifferent nod and walked on. Bak muttered an oath, certain the steward had forgotten his summons.
“You wished to see me, sir?” he asked.
Tetynefer stopped, managed somehow to look surprised and blank at the same time. His eyes narrowed and he pursed his mouth. “I summoned you at first light, Officer Bak, and I expected you then. Do you never come when bidden?”
Bak tried to look contrite.
“To waylay me here, to rob me of my moment of peace…” Tetynefer sniffed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by your lack of good judgment. You’d not have been sent to Buhen if you behaved judiciously.”
“Another man has been slain, this time one of my own, and rumors about my Medjays are fouling the air.” Bak’s voice was stiff, bordering on insolent. “I thought, before you sent word to the viceroy about Ruru’s death, you’d want to know the direction of the wind and how strong it is, for no man wants to be blown away in a
