anyone else in this god forsaken land knows any more than I do. We seek turquoise and copper, not the more precious metal.”
Bak exchanged a quick glance with Psuro, who had never allowed the demands of the child to distract him from the adult conversation. “Minnakht was an explorer, an adven turer who wandered the Eastern Desert in search of precious stones and minerals. Did it not surprise you that he showed so great an interest in such mundane tasks as digging out the ore and smelting it?”
“I’ve met men like him before. Men who have a natural curiosity about the world around them. I took his questions for granted.”
“I’ve never met him, but from what I’ve been told, he was liked and admired by all who knew him. He evidently drew men to him, made each see what he wanted to see. Every man
I’ve questioned has given me a different description.” He eyed the overseer curiously. “How did you see him, Nenwaf?”
“Nenwaf’s description of Minnakht was very much like that of Teti. As far as I could tell, neither was colored by Min nakht’s charm or adventurous spirit,” Bak said, glancing up at the stars to be sure they were traveling north as they should be. He did not mistrust the nomad guide Huy had loaned them, but should anything happen to that guide, he thought it best that they know exactly where they were.
Psuro, trudging along at his side, said, “They’re both prac tical men, too knowledgeable to be swayed by what might be taken as flattery.”
“Unlike the men in User’s party.” Nebre, walking a few paces ahead with the guide, led their three donkeys.
Bak studied the wadi along which they were walking. The bright, clear moonlight made the sand glow and deepened the shadows on the stony hillsides. What had looked in the sunlight to be bright, multicolored mounds and plateaus were flat and dull in the lesser light. An army could be hidden along the slopes and remain undetected.
“I know we’re traveling to the oasis because you believe
Minnakht is there,” Nebre said, shifting the strap of the quiver hanging from his shoulder, “but why would he follow us across the sea?”
Psuro grunted agreement. “Why would he approach us, for that matter, then hide himself as if he doesn’t trust us?”
As before, Bak eyed the slopes to either side, assuring himself that they were too far away for a man to hear what he had to say. “When he failed to appear on the shore of the
Eastern Sea as he vowed he would, a thought struck me, one
I couldn’t shake. Since then, I’ve asked a multitude of ques tions and have gleaned innumerable answers, many of which have strengthened that thought. It’s time I told you of my conclusion and of what I plan. Go tell our guide to walk on ahead. What I have to say is for your ears alone.”
“Listen to the night birds, the squeak of bats,” Nebre said, studying the oasis they were approaching. “I’ll wager he’s not here.”
Bak stared at the long, irregular row of palm trees and tamarisks. What appeared to be a tangle of undergrowth lay partially concealed within the deep shadows beneath the trees. He had hoped to arrive before the moon dropped so low, but his revelations to Psuro and Nebre had taken time, and the hour they had spent refining his plan had been well worthwhile. Now, with the darkness so deep, he mistrusted the oasis and the shelter it offered. Anyone camped there would have heard their approach. Common sense urged him to proceed with caution.
He pointed to a broad sandy spot midway between the hills rising to either side and at least two hundred paces from the shadowy oasis. “Let’s camp there, where no man can come upon us out of the shadows.”
“I’ll stand watch,” Psuro said.
“Don’t watch from afar, but stay among us. To stand apart might be risking death-and we’ve already lost Rona.”
Nebre pointed toward a thick layer of ash lining a hollow dug in the ground, a jumble of footprints and the imprint of a woven reed sleeping mat, and traces of two hobbled donkeys.
“A man camped here for some time, sir.”
“His donkeys are ailing,” Psuro said, standing over a mound of fresh, loose manure buzzing with flies. “He’s not been gone for long. A few hours at most.”
Bak knelt beside the shallow stream that gave life to the palms and tamarisks, the tall rushes that grew along its banks, and the brush that grew among the trees. According to the guide, the water appeared from out of nowhere and vanished in an equally mysterious fashion. It had an odd smell and tasted brackish, but was not so salty that it discour aged the presence of wildlife. Birds, lizards, and insects abounded, and the prints of gazelle and other larger animals revealed occasional visits, probably to eat rather than to drink the disagreeable water.
Hoping to learn where Minnakht had gone, Psuro and the nomad guide walked upstream while Bak and Nebre fol lowed the slowly moving water in the opposite direction. As the guide had predicted, the stream trickled away, leaving be hind a few patches of damp sand and a row of tamarisks clinging to the bank of a dry channel cut through a wider bed of gravel over which long ago had flowed a substantial river.
Beyond the scrubby trees, Nebre found signs partially oblit erated by wind of the explorer’s arrival from the west, but no prints indicating that he had left.
“Did he bring so much water with him that he had no need to replenish his supply?” Bak asked.
“Could he have brought enough for himself and two don keys?” Nebre gave a disapproving grunt. “I’d wager not.”
Psuro and the guide met them at the abandoned campsite.
They had had better luck.
“He’s run away,” the sergeant said. “He took his donkeys and walked upstream. The lord Amon alone knows how far he’s gone.”
Bak’s smile was grim. “I suggest we go hunting.”
Leaving their donkeys in the care of the guide, Bak and his
Medjays walked up a wadi barren of water and life. The high walls to either side entrapped the sun’s heat and the carpet of gravel absorbed it, turning the wadi into an oven. Sweat poured from the men, and the water they drank failed to quench their thirst.
Armed with bows and arrows, they ranged the width of the wadi floor, looking for signs of a man’s passage. The gravel made footprints difficult to find, but swarming flies drew them to two disturbances of pebbles which, when dug into, covered piles of manure similar to the one they had found in the oasis. Bak wondered if Minnakht had allowed the donkeys to drink the brackish water. Whatever had caused their distress, he doubted they could go on for long without proper care.
Frequently, he called out, “Minnakht! We’ve parted from the caravan and are traveling alone. You can show yourself now.”
Sometimes he shouted, “Minnakht! Your donkeys are ail ing. If they should die, you’ll not survive a week alone.”
More than an hour after they set out, they rounded a bend and spotted ahead a man walking toward them. Two laden donkeys plodded along behind him, stumbling at times on the loose gravel. As he and the weary animals drew near, Bak and Nebre identified the man who had approached them in the Eastern Desert. Minnakht. His tunic and kilt were clean and bright, but he needed a shave, his hair was too long, and his face looked haggard. He carried a bow and arrows. A spear and shield and a harpoon were suspended from the load on one of the donkeys.
He walked slowly toward them, cautious, mistrustful. A dozen paces away, he offered a tentative smile.
Bak smiled in return. “You’ve been alone too long, Min nakht. You must learn anew that some men can be trusted.
My Medjays and I among them.”
With a sharp laugh, Minnakht dropped the rope leads of the donkeys and rushed forward. He greeted Bak like a long lost friend, clasping his shoulders and giving him a broad smile. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you, Lieutenant.
I feel as one with the Eastern Desert and don’t mind its soli tude, but here I’m like a bird with a broken wing,
