beach showed signs of occupation by animals-donkeys and goats, Bak guessed.

He strode to an unpainted wooden boat lying on its side well above the waterline. It and three similar vessels had been overturned and left in a row to dry in the hot sun. He squatted to feel the sand beneath the small craft.

“They’ve not been gone for long,” he said, standing up and brushing damp sand from his hands.

Bak’s Medjays and the other men, long deprived of baths, eyed the sea with eager anticipation. Wensu abandoned his fellows and ran into the water, which splashed around his legs.

“Not so fast!” User growled, wading in to grab his arm and usher him back to the shore. “The donkeys must come before your pleasure.”

Wensu had the grace to blush.

Bak stood at the water’s edge, where the tiny swells washed over his feet. The beach was a long, empty stretch of pale sand curled around a bay whose waters were a deep blue green. The sand was soft, stirred up all around the huts and boats by the nomads, and in one place he noticed a gridlike pattern where a net had been stretched out to dry. For as far as the eye could see to north and south, not a tree or bush inter rupted the shoreline. Seabirds were everywhere: soaring overhead, diving for fish, standing on the beach to dry their wings.

“I don’t see any of my boats,” Amonmose said, striding up beside him and staring out to sea.

“How best can we raise a signal?” Bak refused to think that help might be slow to come.

“Let me show you.”

The merchant walked slowly along the line of boats, studying the wooden masts resting on the ground. He stopped at the tallest and called to Nebenkemet, who was poking around in a basket tied to the back of a donkey. The carpenter pulled a roll of whitish fabric from the container.

He shook it out, revealing a long-sleeved tunic that was none too clean, and hastened to Amonmose’s side.

Bak helped the merchant tip the boat, raising the mast off the sand so Nebenkemet could tie the tunic to the upper end of the long, straight pole. Curiosity drew the other members of the caravan, who stood close by, watching. The merchant demanded rocks. While the men scattered, he, Bak, and Nebenkemet scooped out a shallow hole and set the vessel upright, its flat bottom resting in the cavity. The men returned with enough stone to anchor the hull in its sandy berth. The northerly breeze caught the fabric, making it blossom out and flap in the sun.

Smiling his satisfaction, Bak asked the men standing around, “Who wants fresh fish for our evening meal?”

They all raised their voices in eager anticipation.

Bak held out what looked like a bundle of loose, knotted cords he had found tucked into the prow of the upright boat.

“Have you ever fished with nets, Psuro?”

“I can learn, sir.”

“I have,” Wensu said, surprising them all. “My father has an estate a short way inland from the Great Green Sea. As a youth, I sneaked away with the men who fished its waters.”

A half-hour later, two boats were sailing out to sea. From the foremost, with Wensu in command, Kaha was paying out the net between his craft and that of Psuro and Nebre.

“I hope they don’t get lost out there,” User said, scowling at the vessels.

Bak flung off his filthy tunic, kilt, and loincloth and waded into the water. Nebenkemet was settling the donkeys in the shade of the elongated hut, while Minmose was excavating a shallow pit for a fire. Ani and Amonmose had finished their tasks and were enjoying their first real bath in days. “Wensu vowed they’d never lose sight of the shore.”

“He’s better than he was at the beginning. At least now he tries.” User stripped bare, as Bak had, and waded into the wa ter beside him. “But he’s just about the most useless man I’ve ever met.”

Bak smiled. “Psuro will see that they return safely.”

The explorer followed him into deep water. “You usually know what you’re doing, Lieutenant. I hope you do this time.”

About three hours before nightfall, after a long swim and a rest, Nebenkemet and Minmose led a half-dozen donkeys up onto the coastal plain in search of fuel and forage for the ani mals. The sun was hovering over the western horizon when

Bak spotted the men and the laden animals returning to the sea.

He walked out to meet them. As the trio trudged into camp, they saw three fishing boats sailing toward the bay, the northerly breeze driving them along at a fast pace. The two smaller vessels had to be those Psuro and Wensu had taken out.

The third was considerably larger, a seaworthy fishing boat.

“That’s one of mine, Lieutenant!” Amonmose was practi cally dancing with excitement. “Wensu and Psuro must’ve hailed it.”

Joy-and relief-flooded Bak’s heart. He could not be lieve how glad he was to see that boat, how much he looked forward to leaving this wretched desert.

“I suppose I could take one or two of you with me.” The master of the fishing boat, a short, muscular man of thirty or so years, eyed the men standing around him, burned by the sun, their clothing stained, their hair unkempt.

Amonmose ignored what was patently an insincere offer.

“If you sail at daybreak tomorrow, how long will it take you to find one of our sovereign’s cargo ships?”

“Ten or fifteen days if we sail north and have to go all the way to the port across the sea. Four or five if we sail to the southern trail, where they may even now be loading supplies brought across the desert from Kemet. A lesser time if we’re fortunate enough to intercept a vessel along the way.”

“I suggest you sail south-and I pray you meet a north bound ship. We can’t remain here for long.” Amonmose pointed toward the animals standing in their shelter. “We need a vessel with enough deck space for all those donkeys. I’ll not condone abandoning a single animal, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Minnakht’s not coming, is he, sir?” Psuro kept his voice low so no one else would hear.

“He said today or tomorrow. We’ll see.”

They stood near one of the huts, while the other men sat on the sand, encircling the shallow pit in which a fire glowed.

The fishermen sat among them, enjoying the company of men who had, little more than two weeks earlier, trod the streets and lanes of Waset, a city they had not visited for months. The odor of cooked fish came and went as a chill breeze fanned the air around the cooking pot. The nomads’ vessels lay beached nearby, while the larger fishing boat was anchored offshore.

“If he doesn’t show up?” Psuro murmured.

“We should have time to go back to the place where we met him. With luck and the favor of the gods, we can trace his path from there.”

“You’re not thinking we should stay in this wretched desert!”

Bak laughed at the horrified look on the sergeant’s face.

“If he meets us here as he vowed he would, or if we can find him, we’ll take him back to Kemet without delay. Otherwise, we’ll leave him to his own resources and go on to the mines across the sea.”

“The mountain of turquoise?” The sergeant gave Bak a puzzled look. “Why? Surely not to satisfy Nefertem. We’ve seen Minnakht. We know he lives and can tell him so.”

“Our brief meeting yesterday left many questions unan swered, and many new questions have come to me since we spoke. If Minnakht fails to join us, fresh questions will arise.

Questions related to him as a man and to his integrity. A jour ney to the mines might well answer those questions and at the same time help us snare the man who slew Rona.”

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