“The new tracks got lost among the old,” the nomad said, nodding. “They wrapped the mule’s hooves, making them indistinct, and walked over the vague prints he left.”
The scheme was so simple Bak vowed to use it himself should the occasion arise. “Now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?”
“You swear you’ve come in search of Minnakht?”
“I do.”
Nefertem stared at Bak, letting the silence grow. “You’ll never find him if you remain with the caravan, traveling through the wadis from one well or spring to another, follow ing the path Minnakht took. We searched that route when first he vanished and came up empty-handed. We’ve since looked farther afield.”
“This land is so vast and rugged that he could be any where. If I was more familiar with this desert, I might know better where to look. But if you haven’t been able to find him…” Bak let the thought hang and took another sip of water. “Senna claims he last saw him on the far side of the
Eastern Sea at the port that services the turquoise and copper mines. I’d like to know if anyone other than the guide saw the men with whom he sailed away.”
“I’ve never believed Senna’s tale, but could it be true?”
“I’ve asked myself that same question. I’ve found no an swer.” Bak watched the old man cut into the meat. He hated the thought of begging, but he was so hungry he vowed to kiss Nefertem’s feet if need be. “I suspect Minnakht went missing somewhere near the Eastern Sea, whether on this side or the other, I don’t know.”
“If he’s on the near side, he’s no longer among the living, and that I’m not prepared to accept.”
The old man drew close a basket filled with thin, round loaves of bread and called to the others. They pressed for ward out of the darkness. Nefertem took a loaf from the bas ket, offered one to Bak, and handed the container to one of his men, who sent it on around the circle. The old man cut off a chunk of meat and placed it on the bread Nefertem held.
The nomad signaled him to give Bak the second piece. The other men held out their loaves and, laughing and joking, ap peared to be urging the old man to hurry. Bak wolfed down a few bites, then ate in a more seemly manner. He had never tasted food so good.
While they ate, Nefertem questioned him about his time in the army. When he learned he had been posted in Wawat, he showed a keen interest in life on the southern frontier and in the people who dwelt there. Not until they finished eating and cleansed their hands in the sand, did he return to their previous discussion. “You may go back to your Medjays and the caravan, Lieutenant. I wish you to continue your search for Minnakht across the sea. We’re a different people than those who dwell in that barren land. We know few men there and have no friends among them.”
Bak smothered a smile. The nomad was appealing for help without bending so far as to come straight out and ask.
“You must search with all due diligence,” Nefertem added.
“If you merely go through the motions and come up with nothing, you’ll never leave this desert alive.”
Relieved at being set free, yet resentful of the threat, Bak pointed out, “If Minnakht has been slain, his body buried in some secret place or dropped into the Eastern Sea, I doubt
I’ll ever find him. How can you in all good conscience say I haven’t tried when in fact I’ve done my best?”
“What you learn, you must tell me. I’ll be the judge of how well you’ve tried.” Nefertem untied a soft leather pouch from his belt, pulled open the bound neck, and shook out a rough chunk of quartz hanging from a leather thong. Flecks of gold gleamed within the stone. “When you’ve learned Minnakht’s fate, send this to me.”
Chapter 8
Bak was beginning to think he was imagining things. Maybe the sleeping potion had lingering effects that were addling his thoughts.
For the third time in less than an hour, since breaking camp at daybreak, he had glimpsed-or imagined-a move ment on the steep, rugged slope to the south. When he had studied the hillside in the gray light of early dawn, he had seen nothing. Later, as the sun rose, he could have sworn he saw a man darting through the long, deep shadows of early morning. When he had drawn attention to the spot, Imset, the lean young nomad whom Nefertem had sent with him to serve as his guide, had shaken his head. Either the boy had seen no sign of life or he simply did not understand what Bak was trying to tell him. Until they had set out the previous morning, he had had no knowledge of the tongue of Kemet.
“Rock.” Imset touched with his toe a lump of granite half buried in sand. The stone’s black facets gleamed like silver in the light of the rising sun.
“Yes,” Bak nodded. “Rock.”
The youth, whom he guessed was about twelve years of age, scooped up a handful of sand and held it out. “Sand.”
The boy, whom Nefertem had suggested he call Imset af ter one of the lord Horus’s children, was bright and eager to learn and was vastly pleased with himself each time he got a word right, but Bak wished the landscape varied more so he could expand his vocabulary. “Sand,” he agreed.
“Donkey.” Imset threw his arm around the neck of the dark gray beast plodding along between them. The creature was laden with water and food, the bare necessities required to get them to the next well and to take the boy to his mother’s camp somewhere deep in the mountains. It also carried the spears and shields Nefertem had provided, fearing they might come upon a prowling hyena or leopard.
“Bird!” The boy swung his arm, tracing the path of the small winged creature as it flew past.
“Look!” Bak said, and pointed up the wadi. He had quickly tired the previous day of repeating the names of the objects around them and had gone on to words describing actions.
Grinning, Imset placed his hand above his eyes and stared in an exaggerated manner in the direction his teacher pointed.
Bak tried to think of a way to vary the pattern established the day before, but had second thoughts. Perhaps he could use the youth’s enthusiasm to advantage. He pulled a wa terbag off the donkey. “Walk,” he said. While the youth strode along beside him, he unplugged the bag. “Trot.”
Imset leaped forward to jog a half-dozen paces ahead. He pivoted and, smiling broadly, trotted in place until his com panion caught up. Before Bak could issue the next order, Im set spun around, shouted, “Run!” and darted forward a dozen paces. He stopped as quickly as he had started and, turning for Bak’s approval, laughed with delight. At the same time,
Bak raised the waterbag to his lips, his eyes on the hillside to the south. If the boy’s loud laughter and actions did not draw out the man who was watching-if someone was in fact keeping an eye on them-nothing would.
He spotted a movement in the shadow of a protruding boulder, the head and shoulders of a man. “Look!” he said and pointed.
Imset’s eyes followed his. The laughter died in his throat and his expression grew puzzled. The man ducked behind the boulder, out of sight.
“You see?” Bak asked, pointing at his eyes and toward the spot where the man had vanished.
The boy nodded.
“Friend?”
The youth looked confused.
Bak knelt and drew with his finger two stick figures in the sand, men standing close together, their arms around each other’s shoulders. “Friends,” he said. A pace or so away, he drew two widely spaced figures, one face- forward, the other looking away. “Strangers.” In another place, he drew two men facing each other, each carrying a spear in a threatening stance. “Enemies.”
Not until Bak pantomimed the three actions, using the somewhat mistrustful youth as a second party, did his pupil begin to understand. Bak pointed toward the spot where they had glimpsed the figure. “Friend?”
Imset shook his head vehemently.
