“Do you suppose he’s followed you across the sea? Nei ther my men nor I have any experience with murder.”
Bak could find no answer. Silence hung between them, an invisible curtain of puzzlement and frustration.
“I suppose Minnakht has gone to the netherworld.” With an unhappy sigh, Puemre bit into a date. “I’m sorry. I liked him, as did most men who met him.”
“According to User, Minnakht had never before left the
Eastern Desert. Why did he abandon a lifelong pattern? Why did he stray so far from his usual haunts?”
“He wanted to see the mountain of turquoise. He was, af ter all, an explorer, one who year after year studied the land in search of the wealth it offered.”
Bak was not surprised by the answer, but he wondered if it was not too simplistic. “Tell me of his visit.”
“The hot months of the year were upon us, so we were closing the mines. Lieutenant Nebamon, our caravan officer, was readying men and donkeys for their final journey into the mountains to bring back the few remaining miners and sol diers and the fruits of their labors. I insisted Minnakht travel with them.” Puemre nibbled the pulp from the date and flung the seed overboard. “He remained here a couple of days, waiting. From what I heard, he spent much of the time in what passes in the outer village for a house of pleasure. He drank beer and talked about his adventures in the desert, fill ing the ears of all who would listen. Then he joined the cara van and set out for the mountain of turquoise.”
“According to his guide Senna, he left this port soon after returning from the mines.”
“He meant to leave the following day, but he altered his plans.” Puemre took a healthy drink of beer and nodded his appreciation. It was probably the best brew he had drunk in a long time. “He’d talked with the overseer of the copper mines west of the mountain of turquoise, and he wished also to see the mines a considerable distance to the south. He asked for a guide to take him, but I refused to supply one.
Those mines, quite a long journey from here, were also being shut down. I insisted he wait until the overseer came in with another caravan. Which proved to be a delay of only three days.”
“If he was seeking gold, why would he want to visit cop per and turquoise mines?”
“The more a man knows, the more able he is, I suppose.”
Puemre shrugged, uncertain of the answer. “He asked end less questions about anything and everything. That’s why he was so well liked. People enjoy talking about themselves and what they do day after day.”
A gull dropped onto the forecastle rail, drawing Bak’s glance. “Did you know Senna?”
“I knew Minnakht brought a nomad guide.” Puemre flung a date pit at the gull. The bird merely tilted its head, showing its disdain. “I heard, while he was away at the mines, that
Senna tried to befriend a few local nomads, but he was an outsider and was treated as such. By the time I learned he was ill, Minnakht had returned. I thought all was well, so paid no further heed. I was surprised to hear a few days later that Minnakht had left without him. By the time I sent a man to see if he still ailed, he’d gone.”
Bak sipped from his beer jar, taking care not to stir up the sediment, thinking over what he had learned. Nothing much new, certainly nothing of significance. “I’ve vowed to follow in Minnakht’s footsteps. Will you clear away any difficulties
I might face while I’m on this side of the Eastern Sea?”
“A caravan will leave before nightfall tomorrow to deliver men and supplies to the mountain of turquoise. The officer in charge is Lieutenant Nebamon, with whom Minnakht trav eled a few months ago. He’ll welcome your company.”
Bak flashed a smile of thanks. “How many of the men who are presently working the mines are the same as those with whom Minnakht spoke?”
“The officers and overseers, most of the miners, and about half the soldiers are the same. The prisoners who toil on the goddess’s mansion, adding the new chambers our sovereign wishes built, differ from year to year.”
Bak set aside his empty beer jar and stood up to stretch his back. “All the men in User’s party will wish to come, and I want my Medjays with me. Is that too much to ask?”
“If you’ve a reason for taking so many men, it can be arranged.”
“I have no idea who the guilty man is,” Bak admitted, “and
I’ve thought at times that we have a snake among us.” He gave Puemre a humorless smile. “If I keep them all together and within arm’s reach, I hope to prevent another death.”
The following afternoon, the caravan left the port. The walking was easy for men and donkeys as they crossed the vast flat plain between the sea and the hills. Its sandy floor was strewn with chunks of gray and red granite, pink feldspar, and black basalt that had many centuries ago been swept down from the mountains. Ani ran from one rock to another, delighted with the display. He picked up innumer able colorful shards but, mindful of the difficulty of trans port, left most where he found them.
Along with the soldiers serving as guards and tending the donkeys and Bak’s small party, the caravan included thirty prisoners, men who would toil on the mansion of the Lady of
Turquoise. Bak did not envy them their punishment. The lord
Re had dropped behind the western horizon, offering a mag nificent showing of color, but the day was slow to cool. A prel ude to the many more long, hot days the men must endure.
Leaving the plain behind, they entered higher ground, fol lowing a series of dry watercourses carpeted with golden sand and hugged on either side by hills and escarpments, some yel lowish, some a glittering gray, and others shades of brown, all losing their color as night fell to blend together in shades of gray. A surprising number of acacias dotted the wadi floors, as did silla bushes and a kind of shrub the donkeys refused to eat.
Subsidiary wadis went off in all directions, a confusing maze of dry valleys cutting through the barren rock.
“You’ve no idea what you’re looking for?” Lieutenant
Nebamon drew Bak aside, allowing his sergeant to lead the caravan around a shoulder of rock by way of a narrow trail covered with a thick layer of soft sand. A steep bank fell away to the right, dropping fifty or so paces to the wadi floor.
Sand displaced by the animals spilled over the rim and slid down the slope with a gentle whisper.
They eased past several donkeys to stand beside a large boulder poised on the edge of the trail. A small grayish bird flitted out from above, startled from its sleep. The heavily laden donkeys passed one by one, their hooves mired in the deep sand. Several brayed their irritation at such strenuous effort.
“Did Minnakht ever explain why he wished to see the mines?”
“Not specifically.” Nebamon pushed back his lank black hair. He was of medium height and stick-thin. He looked to be about Bak’s age but his face was lined and leatherlike, vic tim of the harsh sunlight. “He questioned me about the way the men locate the copper ore and the turquoise and how they extract and process what they find.” He smiled at the mem ory. “I’m afraid I disappointed him. I’ve no interest in watch ing men burrow in the ground or toil over blazing furnaces, so I seldom go beyond the miners’ camps.”
Puemre had said this was Nebamon’s third year as caravan officer. Bak could not imagine spending so long a time in what had to be an exceedingly boring outpost without seek ing distraction. As far as he could see, no diversion existed except the mines. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“I once climbed the mountain of turquoise. I saw a few holes in the ground and men hacking away at the rock. I thought the lumps of stone they found small reward for the effort of transporting men, food, and supplies over inordi nately long distances and of grubbing the rock from the earth.”
“Men and supplies most often come from Mennufer along a trail some distance to the north, I understand. That has to be shorter than the southern route from Waset.”
“The journey is shorter, both by land and sea, the voyage made faster by northerly breezes. Still, the effort is substan tial for so modest a gain.”
“Our sovereign takes immense delight in the jewelry made from those chunks of stone,” Bak pointed out.
Nebamon leaped out to steady a donkey that had stepped on an unstable rock at the edge of the trail. “I assume Puemre told you she’s adding chambers onto the mansion of our
Lady of Turquoise.” He shook his head in disapproval.
“She’s never been here, of course, nor will she ever set foot in this wretched land, but I suppose she believes that enlarging the structure will increase her stature.” With a cynical laugh, he added, “While I was up there, I
