Lauren Haney - The Right Hand of Amon

The skiff was much like any other rivercraft, as far as Bak was concerned, except better cared for than most. Inyotef talked of the mast and fittings, the halyards, the sail like a man speaking of his love. The pilot caressed the prow, held the rudder with a tender grip, admired the curved lines of the hull with his eyes. Of greater importance to Bak, who cared more for living creatures than inanimate objects, Inyotef moved about the vessel with the agility of a monkey, his infirmity diminished by familiarity.

"I spend much of my free time here." Inyotef raised a reed awning over the open hull and motioned Bak to sit in the prow. "My wife could never accept the frontier life of Iken, so she went back to Kemet some months ago. I've no one now to go home to."

Bak squashed another tug of conscience. Through his fault, Inyotef's life had been torn asunder, but that was no excuse to turn his back on the task he had been given. "You were one of the last to see Puemre alive, I've been told."

The pilot pulled a torn sail from a basket near the stern. "As you surely know by now, I and the others who attended Woser's meeting parted outside the commander's residence." He draped the sail over his lap, covering his legs, and threaded a large bronze needle. "I went to the bathhouse, but at the door I decided to go home instead. As I walked along the street to the main gate, I fell in behind Puemrg4 I thought of catching up, but as he was no particular friend, it wasn't worth the effort of rushing after him."

Bak realized he was being handed two distinct paths to follow. He chose the most obvious. "How long were you behind him?"

"All the way to the lower city." Inyotef poked the needle through the heavy cloth and pulled the thread through.

"At the base of the escarpment, he turned north, taking a lane to his house. I went my own way, going first to the river for a walk before making my way home."

Bak was puzzled. "Huy lives inside the fortress, yet you and Senu don't, nor did Puemre. Why is that?"

"I can't speak for Puemre, but most women prefer the lower city, where the houses are in better condition and the market closer to hand." Inyotef smiled. "Woser would like us inside the garrison, but he'd have a general uprising if he insisted. The strongest man is only as strong as the women in his household."

"Does mistress Aset complain?" Bak grinned. "Or is she content to hold court in the commander's residence?" Inyotef laughed. "Her complaints never end. Woser long ago grew deaf to those he can do nothing about."

Bak's smile broadened, but soon he sobered. "Your fellow officers called Puemre a swine and a snake. I take it you agree."

Inyotef's laugh turned wry. "Either name will do. As I said before, he was no friend of mine."

Bak studied the pilot, looking for a sign of deceit. He saw nothing but a bland innocence overlying contempt for the dead man. The contempt he could accept; the bland innocence was suspect, especially since Inyotef had gone out of his way to make sure Bak understood he did not like Puemre. "Each had an unhappy tale to tell. Do you also have one, Inyotef?"

"Puemre was arrogant, self-centered, and unprincipled. What more can I say?"

"You can be more specific."

The pilot snorted. "Why would he bother with one such as I? I had nothing he wanted."

Bak decided to call his bluff-if he was bluffing. "I thank you, my friend, for the information." He stood up, preparing to disembark. The vessel bobbed on a swell, forcing him to grab the mast. "I've many men still to interview, but I'll talk with you later when I have more time."

Inyotef's eyes flickered. "Oh, 1 suppose you'll hear sooner or later." He sounded and looked truly resigned. Bak had to smother a smile. The pilot, like his fellow officers, had a sound reason for slaying Puemre, and he was not about to be cheated out of admitting it.

Inyotef lowered his eyes to the torn sail, hiding his expression in his task. "Puemre thought me unworthy, a man who'd given up, and he looked upon me with scorn." His voice took on an edge of anger. "He told all who would listen that I was old and unfit, that instead of guiding vessels through the Belly of Stones, I should be sent back to Kemet. He said perhaps I could run a ferry across one of the smaller channels of the river where it flows through the marshlands of the north."

"And you a former warship captain."

"It hurt." Inyotef's mouth tightened. "If he'd lived long enough, I might've…" His eyes met Bak's and he gave a humorless smile. "Who knows what a man can do when driven too far?"

"So you see," Bak said with. a scowl, "any of the four, or Commander Woser himself, could've slain Puemre. Each man had a reason and each the opportunity."

Pashenuro stood at the edge of the water, peering into its shallow depths, his light harpoon poised to strike the first good-sized fish to swim by. "Would the innocent officers protect the guilty?"

Bak grimaced, disgusted with the lot. "It looks like it, doesn't it?"

After leaving Inyotef, he had found the stocky Medjay waiting for him beneath the stand of acacias, the harpoon beside him and a reed basket for the fish he meant to catch for their evening meal. Kasaya had not yet shown up. They had left a message for him with two boys playing on the quay and had walked downstream, following the irregular row of tamarisks and acacias growing along the river's edge, searching for a low spot already underwater.

"What of the plot to slay King Amon-Psaro?" Pashenuro asked.

Bak eyed what looked like a long, brownish chunk of driftwood beached in the sun on the rocky island across the channel. Or was it a crocodile? "If such a plot exists-and I'm not yet convinced one does-and if they're in it together, they'd have to protect each other, whether guilty or innocent of Puemre's murder."

"Try as I might, I can think of no good reason for officers in the army of Kemet to slay a Kushite king." "Nor can I." Bak waded out knee-deep into the water. The thick rich mud bubbled up between his toes and the current tugged on his legs. "I'd bet a month's allotment of grain that Puemre was slain for a personal reason."

The Medjay thrust his harpoon, catching a perch midway along its body. The creature writhed in the water, stirring up the mud. Pashenuro jerked it off the long, narrow point and killed it with a quick blow.

Throwing his prize into the basket with two smaller fish, he said, "The men of the garrison think highly of Commander Woser. They'll listen to nothing bad about him. If his officers are equally devoted, they'd protect him, especially if they, too, hated Puemre."

"I've a feeling his daughter Aset tempted Puemre as she did me." Something cold touched Bak's leg. He jerked back, startled. A good-sized catfish darted away, perfect for the brazier if he'd had a harpoon. "I've no doubt she cared less for the man than for his nobility, but if in some way he threatened her well-being, Woser would've had good reason to slay him. As would the archer Nebseny. He harbors the jealousy of a spurned lover."

— There's a rumor going round the barracks…" Pashenuro's eyes darted across the channel toward the island. "The crocodile has had enough sun. He's on the move, heading for the water."

Bak followed his glance. The log had grown short, stubby legs and a long snout edged with teeth. He wasted no time wading back to the sandy shore. "A rumor, uh?" He grinned. "I knew your morning with the troops would be time well spent."

Pashenuro's smile vanished half-formed. He plunged into the water and thrust his weapon. His leading foot slid forward; he staggered and came close to falling. The fish flitted away unscathed. Muttering a curse, he waded back to dry land.

"They say mistress Aset is with child and the. father unknown."

Bak whistled softly, surprised yet not surprised. "She's too set on living a life of luxury and ease to have played with just any man. Who does the rumor call the most likely sire?"