A tall, tough-looking Medjay policeman strode toward the exit. He carried a thick bundle of spears on his shoulder and held a wooden cage containing two doves, which he treas ured above all things. At the sound of footsteps in the lane outside, he backed away from the portal.
Thuty walked into the courtyard, let his eyes slide over the
Medjay, who was too burdened to salute, and stopped in front of Bak. “Here you are, Lieutenant. We’ve been looking for you.” He was a short, broad man with well-defined muscles that rippled beneath his oiled skin. His mouth, normally hard-set, was more unyielding than usual.
Troop Captain Nebwa, second-in-command to the com mandant, crossed the threshold behind his superior officer, clapped the Medjay on his free shoulder, and nodded at Bak.
With the way ahead clear, the policeman carried spears and birds out into the lane.
Nebwa was a coarse-featured man who had no patience for the small things in life. As a result, his appearance suf fered. His broad-beaded collar hung askew and a strap on his sandal was pulling loose from the sole. His failure to smile was as telling as Thuty’s dour expression.
Bak studied the pair, puzzled. “I thought you’d be at the garrison, sir, bidding goodbye to the men you know.” And in troducing Nebwa to men in Waset who could aid his future progress in the army. The troop captain had grown to man hood on the southern frontier and had been posted there throughout his military life. He was a child where the politics of advancement were concerned, and Thuty had been giving him an intensive course not merely on surviving but on thriv ing in a difficult environment.
Thuty glanced around the rapidly emptying courtyard at men who, in his lofty presence, had lost the power of speech.
His eyes settled on the hearth and the pot nestled among glowing coals. A strong smell of lamb and onions wafted from the container. “Is that stew, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir. Would you like some?”
“Haven’t tasted a good Medjay stew since we left Buhen.”
While the commandant and Nebwa seated themselves on the ground and dipped chunks of bread into the thick meaty concoction, Bak broke the dried mud plugs from three jars of beer and sat down with them. Thuty was clearly troubled and
Nebwa none too happy. What could be bothering them?
Thuty had been looking forward to his exalted new position, and Nebwa, who had been promised a promotion, would cer tainly share in Thuty’s added importance and influence.
“We’ve spent the past hour with Commander Inebny at the garrison,” Thuty said, fishing around in the stew as if seeking one particular scrap of meat. He trapped a piece of lamb against the side of the pot and lifted it out on a piece of bread.
“He’s a long-time friend. A man sorely in need of help. His son Minnakht has vanished.” Taking a bite, he looked at
Nebwa, whose clear disapproval offered no help at all. He chewed longer than necessary, but finally swallowed and said, “You’re aware, Lieutenant, of how much I’ve counted on you sailing north to Mennufer with me. But of all the men
I know, you’d have the best chance of finding him.”
Bak noticed the commandant’s reluctance to state his ap peal in a plain and straightforward manner. No wonder. He was probably embarrassed. He had been adamant that Bak would not remain behind to satisfy Amonked’s wishes, now here he was, asking him to delay his departure.
“Exactly where did he vanish, sir? What were the circum stances?” Bak asked the questions reluctantly. If he failed to sail north with his Medjays, would he ever be able to rejoin them in Mennufer?
“Minnakht is an explorer.” Thuty washed away any em barrassment he might have felt with a long drink of beer. “He vanished somewhere between Kaine and the turquoise mines across the Eastern Sea.” Kaine was a village located on the bend of the river downstream from Waset. It was situated at the near end of a lesser-used trail that crossed the Eastern
Desert to the sea.
Bak stared, appalled. “I know nothing of the desert east of here, sir. How can I hope to find a man who may’ve become lost in that wild and barren land?”
“Inebny is expecting you within the hour.” Thuty dunked his bread into the stew, the matter settled as far as he was concerned. “He’ll tell you all you must know.”
“My son is a fine man. I’m proud of him, and with good reason.” Commander Inebny rose from his campstool to pace the length of the tent, not a great distance, but far enough to show his agitation.
“How long has he been missing?” Bak asked, trying not to reveal how unwilling he was to go out in search of Minnakht.
The mission needed a man with far more experience than he in the ways of the Eastern Desert.
“I last saw him four months ago.” Inebny dropped heavily onto the stool. He was a large man, tall and broad, and the lightly made seat creaked from the strain. “The day he left
Waset to sail north to Kaine. He was checking the supplies and equipment he meant to take into the desert, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.” He smiled at the memory.
“That was like him: checking and double checking. He left nothing to chance.”
Bak exchanged a silent thought with Nebwa, who stood beside him facing the commander: Minnakht had left some thing to chance or he would have returned to Kemet.
“Who reported him missing?” he asked.
“His nomad guide, Senna by name.”
“Minnakht has vast experience in the Eastern Desert, so
Commandant Thuty told us,” Bak said, thinking to draw out further information.
Inebny raised his head, listening to the blare of a trumpet signaling an order to the troops perfecting an exercise on the sandy plain on which the tent had been raised. Rather than listen to his friend’s tale a second time, Commandant Thuty had gone out to observe the soldiers’ performance. Inebny had watched his friend leave with a touch of resentment, and had been either too annoyed or too self-absorbed to offer seats and refreshment to Bak and Nebwa. A breeze ruffled the fab ric roof and walls, but with the doorway covered by a length of linen, not a breath of air could get inside. The tent was stifling.
Evidently satisfied the exercise was proceeding as it should, Inebny said, “He’s journeyed into the desert two or three times a year since his first expedition eight years ago.”
His breast swelled with pride. “When he made that initial journey, he was seventeen years of age. A young man of un common courage, with a remarkable quest for knowledge.”
“Has he always used the same guide?” Nebwa asked.
A slight frown creased Inebny’s brow. “Until a year ago, he used an older man, one he felt as close to as an uncle. That man died, of what ailment I’ve no idea. Senna has accompa nied him since.”
“Did Minnakht remain in Kaine for long?” In spite of grave doubts, or maybe because of them, Bak found himself caught up in the puzzle.
Inebny rose again to pace. “He stayed for two days. Long enough to purchase donkeys and a few items he preferred to get from the nomads who go there to trade.” The commander lifted the fabric covering the entryway and peered outside, where barked instructions and the sound of marching men could be heard. “The guide joined him there and accompa nied him across the desert to the Eastern Sea.”
Bak scowled. “Commandant Thuty said Minnakht van ished somewhere between Kaine and the turquoise mines on the far side of the sea. Did Senna not travel with him all the way?”
“He crossed the sea with him, yes, but he had no need to go beyond the port.” Inebny dropped once more onto his stool. The creaking sound was louder, alarming almost. “My son joined a military caravan delivering supplies from the port to the mines, and he returned with a caravan bringing turquoise and copper back to the coast. I’ve talked with the officer in charge of the port, Lieutenant Puemre.”
“Exactly who was the last man to see Minnakht?” Nebwa asked, unable to conceal his impatience with the slow progress of the questioning.
“Senna-so he says.”
Bak looked thoughtfully at the officer. “You doubt the guide’s honesty?”
Inebny shrugged. “How far can you trust these nomads?”
