“Have you brought the gold?” he asked.
“Here.” Paser held out his right hand, displaying a small, neat parcel wrapped in linen. “Where are the scrolls?”
Bak nudged the three cylinders with his toe, shifting them on the step so Paser could see them. “Unwrap the package.”
Paser folded back the corners of the fabric to display three thin bars of dully gleaming metal, exactly like the bar Nakht had left for Azzia to find. “Let me see the scrolls. I must be sure they’re what you say they are.”
“You don’t trust me, lieutenant?” Bak asked, forcing a smile to hide his own mistrust. Buying time.
“No more than you do me, policeman.”
Bak eyed the officer’s short white kilt, so smooth around the waist and hips he could conceal nothing in-side bigger than a battle scar. “Lay your package on the stairway, on the highest step you can reach. I must be sure you’ve brought the flesh of the lord Re, not a lesser metal.”
“I’ll not walk to a place where you can jump me. We meet on level ground or not at all.”
The demand was reasonable, but Bak hesitated. His instincts cried out, warning him to take care. Unfortunately, he could see no other way of making the exchange. “Stand away from the stairs. I’ve no more wish to be attacked than you do.”
Paser backed away as directed, but stayed close enough to the opening to leap into the stairwell if threatened. Bak scooped up the scrolls with his left hand, leaving his right hand free to draw his dagger. Paser’s failure to comment on the weapon added to his sense of unease.
They met near the trapdoor, two arms’ length apart, close enough to trade one object for another, far enough to duck away from a sudden attack. Bak laid two scrolls on the step beside him and held out the third, the record of precious objects which had passed through Buhen on their way north to the capital. Paser took the document and handed over one golden bar.
“Tell me…” Bak eyed the ingot, caressed it with his fingertips to convince Paser of his greed. “…Did you set out to blame my Medjays when you used a spear from the police arsenal to slay your ally Heby?”
Paser glanced up from the scroll he had begun to unroll, raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you went to such effort to track me down?”
“Nakht’s legacy to mistress Azzia prompted me to act.” Bak formed a wry smile. “I must admit the trouble the spear brought about goaded me to a greater effort.”
“I didn’t plan on laying the blame at your men’s feet.” A note of bitterness crept into Paser’s voice. “I thought, when I shoved him into the water, the current would carry him far away, not deposit him on a riverbank an easy walk from Buhen.”
“You must’ve known him well to enlist him in your dangerous game-and to trust him to handle so much gold without being tempted.”
“We played together as children, grew to manhood in the same village.” Paser’s voice softened. “No two men could’ve been closer.”
“Yet you took his life.”
“Not without regret, believe me.” Paser sounded truly remorseful. “Heby knew the wound in his shoulder would lead you to him, and he wanted his share so he could flee. However, he didn’t know this barren land as I do. He could never have survived the desert and he would’ve been snared within a day or two if he’d traveled by boat. What could I do but slay him?”
Bak was too aware of the careless way Paser had admitted to murder to think up an appropriate reply. It was obvious the officer had no intention of letting him live to repeat his words. When would he strike? With what? He remembered how evenly matched they had been when fighting in the goldsmith’s house. If they were to clash here, and he suspected they would, the weapon Paser used might well give him the advantage.
Keeping a wary eye on his adversary, Bak examined the ingot he held. The weight, the color, the softness of the metal told him it was indeed gold. A faint, satisfied smile touched his lips. If Paser had taken it from his cache, he had led the Medjays who had been following him to all he had stolen through the year.
“This document, by itself, is worth nothing.” Paser rolled the scroll into a thin cylinder and tossed it toward the stairwell opening.
Dropping the golden bar beside the container of grain, Bak picked up the second scroll, which listed the amounts of ore recovered at the mines, and held it up with a wry smile. “If it has no value, I doubt you’ll want this one.”
Paser offered an ingot without a word. While he studied the document, Bak inspected his prize. His thoughts, however, were on the scroll so carelessly thrown aside. Though the action had appeared casual, it was as ominous as Paser’s easy admission of guilt.
“What of the scribe Roy?” he asked. “Was he also a childhood friend?”
“He was Heby’s friend, not mine, but I knew him well enough.” Paser’s laugh overflowed with scorn. “His greed was immense, but his fear of the desert knew no bounds. I knew he’d not run from the mine with what belonged to me.”
Bak did not choose to remind him that the gold belonged to the royal house, not mortal men. “I feared you’d slay him while I was away in the desert, hunting for game. Were you not afraid I’d get to him before you could silence him forever?”
“I’d guessed by then how close you were to the truth, and I knew that to take his life alone would be futile. Later, after I decided how best to slay you, I needed him to lure you into the mine.”
Bak’s blood chilled at the matter-of-fact way he spoke. Laying the ingot on the step, he picked up the third and final scroll. It took all the patience he could muster to stand there, doing nothing to protect himself, while he waited to hand over the document.
Paser rolled up the second papyrus. As before, he flung the cylinder toward the stairwell, not bothering to watch where it fell. Bak eyed the scroll teetering on the edge of the opening and the other document lying on the roof a half pace away. He could think of but one reason for so cavalier an action. Paser was freeing his hands, preparing to make his move. Since he had not once turned around, he must have a weapon concealed at his spine, something small, probably a dagger.
Paser held out the third golden bar, his expression open, sincere, trustworthy.
Bak ignored the offering. He had more to learn. “When you took the commandant’s life, did you mean for mistress Azzia to shoulder the blame? Or was that, like the Medjay spear you used on Heby, a quirk of fate?”
“I’ve no love for the foreign woman,” Paser admitted, tearing his eyes from the scroll. “She’s always been too much the grand lady for my taste. But at the time, I thought only to slay him, to save myself from disgrace and death. Later, when I learned she was found with blood on her hands, I thought to cast doubt on her honor.”
For that alone you deserve a slow, cruel death, Bak thought. “Nakht expected you that night?”
Paser’s mouth twisted with contempt. “I was to bring all the gold we’d collected through the year and a written admission of guilt, then fall on my dagger. If I failed to obey, he vowed to take me before the viceroy and make my shame public before I suffered an official death.”
“So you gave him no chance, no opportunity to defend himself.”
“I offered to share with him. He refused. He was so smug, so convinced I’d bow to his demands, he even provided me with the weapon I used, the iron dagger. It lay on the table by his elbow. I snatched it up and thrust it into his breast.”
Bak started to hand over the scroll, pulled it back. “What of my Medjay, Ruru? Did you have to take his life? Could you not have stolen up behind him and knocked him senseless?”
“With what?” Paser snorted. “I carried nothing but a dagger.”
Bak had heard enough. Letting his long-dormant anger bubble to the surface, he threw the scroll as hard as he could. It struck Paser on the cheek, startling him, sending him back a pace. Drawing his dagger, Bak prepared to lunge. His opponent dropped the ingot and reached back, grabbing the weapon Bak expected. They stood three paces apart, knees bent to spring, daggers poised to strike. Paser, Bak noticed, had smeared a dark substance on the deadly blade so the glint of bronze would not be seen by a sentry on the wall above.
“You spawn of a snake!” Paser snarled. “You never meant me to leave this roof alive.”
Bak sidled to his left, away from the zigzag shadow cast by the steps, and held his dagger higher so it could be seen from atop the wall. “You brought the hidden weapon, Paser. Why if not to slay me?”
“I knew you’d not be satisfied with three ingots. What was I to do? Let you bleed me dry, leaving me with
