Lauren Haney - The Right Hand of Amon

A valid reason to hate a man, Bak thought, but is it reason enough to kill? "What happened the night of Woser's meeting? The night Puemre disappeared?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary." Huy almost smiled. "Other than our reason for the meeting, of course. It's not often the lord Amon honors us with his presence."

"When did you meet and for how long?"

"We entered the commander's residence soon after dusk, the five of us together. I remember seeing a servant lighting the torches in the courtyard. We discussed for over an hour the duties we had to perform during the god's visit and the journey to Semna. After we came to an agreement as to who would do what, we left."

"Does Woser customarily call meetings so late?" "Only when he feels the need, as in this case."

Bak could not remember a time when Commandant Thuty had called a meeting after dark. "Did you disagree on any matter of importance?"

Huy's laugh held not a speck of humor. "Puemre never agreed to anything, significant or otherwise, that didn't show him in a praiseworthy light, especially when men of importance were involved."

"As in this case."

Huy gave him a scornful glance. "If you think to lay Puemre's death at our feet simply because we saw him last, your fame as a clever policeman will be as fleeting as the morning mist over the river."

"I'm searching for answers, not pointing a finger." Bak gave him a long, speculative look. "Who do you believe took his life?"

"We've a city filled with people who come to do business and leave when they've finished, many whose feet he trod on while serving as inspecting officer." Huy nodded toward the buildings below the escarpment. "He probably came upon one of them in a dark lane, a man who hated him. Or he might simply have been slain by chance, his life taken by a stranger who was frightened away before he could steal whatever jewelry Puemre wore that night."

A plausible theory, Bak thought, except for the fury that drove the murder weapon. "When did you last set eyes on him?"

"We left together, the five of us. We separated outside the commander's residence, each man going his own way. I saw Puemre walk down the street-alone-heading toward the main gate. I trod a different path, one that took me to my quarters and a much-needed evening meal. I've no wife, but my concubine and servants will vouch for me."

Later, as Bak threaded his way along a busy street, heading toward his meeting with the watch officer, he mulled over his interview with Huy. Could the officer have taken Puemre's life? He had certainly hated him enough, and with good reason. He had an alibi of sorts, but the members of his household would be sure to say he went straight home, whether or not he had. His theory about Puemre's death had come close to echoing Woser's, but otherwise he had been, with a bit of prompting, reasonably forthright. A good man trying hard to paint a true picture. Maybe.

Lieutenant Senu so closely resembled a monkey that Bak had to smother a smile. In his late forties, he was short and thick, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and short bowed legs. Cropped orange-red hair standing on end framed coarse, heavy-boowed features. His skin, too light to accept a tan, was mottled and peeling, a perpetual state, Bak imagined.

"I don't know what Troop Captain Huy told you," Senu said. "He has a tendency to forgive and forget. But Puemre was a swine. Plain and simple."

The watch officer, professing too many pressing tasks to take time out to answer questions, had suggested Bak come along while he inspected the sentries on the battlements. So Bak found himself once again on the wall, not the old crumbling spur wall, but the new girdle wall that ran north from the fortress, following the escarpment for many paces, then turning toward the river to form an outer enclosure around the city as well as the garrison. The freshly plastered walls were stark white, the walkways smooth, the towers and crenels sharp-edged, as yet unsullied by blowing sand.

Though the heat had climbed through the early hours of morning, the breeze had stiffened, easing the fire of the sun but filling the air with tiny needles of sand. Bak, tasting the grit, feeling it beneath his kilt and in his eyes and nose and ears, thanked the lord Amon he did not have to patrol these walls throughout the day, as did the sentries.

"Huy mentioned problems," he admitted, keeping his voice noncommittal, hoping to invite confidences. "Problems!" Senu laughed, his voice harsh and cynical. "To walk alongside Puemre was to become a victim." "What of the mute boy who lived with him? Did he misuse him?"

"Little Ramose?" Senu shook his head. "No, he was good to the child. Treated him like a son. Of course, that was different."

Bak eyed the officer with interest. "In what way?" They approached a sentry, a tall, sturdy young man wearing a thigh-length kilt similar to that of the officers. A dagger and sling hung from his belt and he carried a long spear and a pale brown cowhide shield. Stopping the man, Senu ordered him to stand at rigid attention, examined his appearance and the readiness of his gear, and sent him on his way.

Striding on toward the next sentry, roughly two hundred paces away, Senu explained without prompting, "Puemre got along well with ordinary mortals. Men and women of lesser rank who posed no threat and offered no obstacle. Besides, Ramose worshiped him. The boy would've given his life for him, and any man or woman who saw them together could see it."

Bak offered a silent prayer to the lord Amon that such was not the case, that the child still lived. "I've been told Puemre's men thought him a fine officer."

"Oh, they liked him alright. With good reason. He was brave and clever on the field of battle, a natural warrior if ever I saw one." Senu scanned the desert to the west, with its rolling dunes shrouded in a dirty yellow haze. His gaze lingered on a denser column of dust that marked the approach of a caravan. "Except for one time when first he came to Wawat, he never lost a man or a skirmish. The troops like that; it makes them feel safe-and proud."

"And the spoils of war are greater," Bak said in a wry voice.

"None came back empty-handed," Senu admitted, pausing to scratch his ankle with the tip of his baton of office. "Don't get me wrong. They had to abide by the rules. Puemre wasn't willing to risk his precious reputation so his men could fill their barracks with booty. They turned in everything of value, as they were supposed to."

From the size of the dust column, Bak guessed the approaching caravan was small, like Seneb's had been. "I've been told he was a hard and unforgiving inspecting officer."

Senu let out a short, bark-like laugh. "He gave many a trader a lesson in honesty. Few got by him without paying the proper tolls." Barely pausing for breath, he added in an off-hand manner, "If you ask me, that's where you should look for the one who slew him."

Too offhand, Bak thought, as if schooled by Woser. "Have you ever heard of a trader named Seneb?"

Senn's face took on a disdainful sneer. "A man rotten to the marrow of his bones. One who trades in flesh and blood, in the misfortunes of others, two-legged and fourlegged alike."

Bak waved off a fly buzzing around his head. "I've been told Puemre made his life a misery when last he was here." "A few months ago." The sneer gave way to a cynical smile. "I despised Puemre, but in that one thing I applauded him. Seneb would be here yet, starving most likely, if Woser hadn't crumbled to his pleas for a new pass so he could journey on upriver."

"He hasn't stopped at Iken on his way north to Kemet?" Bak asked, double-checking the trader's movements. As watch officer~Senu would be the first to know who passed through the gates of the city.

"Not yet, but soon he will." Senu's eyes suddenly darted toward him, his voice grew defensive. "Why question me about that swine? Has he been found in the river, too? I swear I've never touched him."