Lauren Haney - The Right Hand of Amon

He adjusted the sail, filling it with air, and settled down beside the rudder to think. The skiff had been tied to the post when the next-to-last supply boat was being unloaded. He remembered seeing it there. No one would have cut the rope then. The landing had been like an anthill, with dozens of men on deck and on the path to the fortress gate. The last supply boat of the day had been anchored upstream, waiting for a mooring closer to the path. The rope must have been cut as the first boat was sailing away and the second moved into its place. Both crews had been busy then, preoccupied with their tasks and less apt to notice.

As for who had cut the rope, only one of his suspects had been on the island: Senu.

No, Bak thought, too obvious. Senu was too intelligent a man to point a finger at himself. Or had he deliberately made himself look guilty, hoping Bak would suspect everyone but him?

As Bak adjusted the sail and shifted the rudder, aiming the skiff toward the calm waters between the two quays, the lord Re bade his final good-bye to the world of the living and sank into the netherworld for the twelve hours of night. Red and orange streaks rose upward, lighting the sky, darkening the long shadow of the escarpment that cloaked the lower city. The burst of light brightened the vessels moored in the harbor, turning the cedar hull of a sleek traveling ship a rich red-brown and bringing to life the gaily painted forecastles and cabins of three cargo vessels.

In the reflected light, which gave the water's surface a golden glow, Bak spotted a dark figure swimming near the end of the quay. An arm emerged and waved. He waved back, though he had no idea of the swimmer's identity. Spotting an opening between Inyotef's skiff and a fishing boat, he went about the business of docking his own small vessel.

By the time the skiff was secure for the night, the sun had set and the sky was turning gray, revealing a pale crescent moon amid dim specks of light. He prayed Kasaya had thought to bring food to their quarters from Kenamon's kitchen. The youthful Medjay had no talent for cooking; even a simple stew was beyond his ability. After the strenuous and stressful day, Bak had no desire to cook for himself or to search out something to eat, yet he yearned for a large and sumptuous meal.

Inyotef's head popped up from the water between the skiffs. "You've had a long day, Bak. Didn't I see you at dawn, sailing out of the harbor with Huy?"

Bak grinned. "So you're the one who waved a greeting from the watery depths, making me think the lord Hapi had sprouted arms."

Inyotef laughed. "You were sailing as if born to these waters, a joy to watch."

"Coming from you, that's a real compliment." Bak knelt and offered his hand. "Are you ready to come out? I've beer at my quarters and, with luck, there'll be food as well."

"And questions, I assume?" Inyotef swam close to the quay and raised his hand for the proffered help. "Woser tells me I'm high on your list of suspects."

Bak grabbed the hand and heaved. Inyotef was heavier than he looked, his muscles dense and compact. As he scrambled to his feet, Bak wondered if he could have swum to the island and cut the skiff free of its mooring. The distance was not impossibly far, with the long island breaking the journey into two laps, and a strong swimmer who knew the river well could use the currents to his advantage. No! Guilt flooded Bak's heart. The idea was absurd! Inyotef had a weak leg. "I suspect everyone." He smiled, turning it into a joke. "But some people more than others." Inyotef studied him in the fading light, and finally gave an odd little laugh. "I've done nothing I'm ashamed of. Ask anything you like."

"I feel better now." With a contented smile, Bak set his empty bowl on the rooftop and picked up a fresh jar of beer. Breaking the dried-mud plug, throwing the pieces aside, he filled his drinking bowl and tasted the brew with caution. Since the beer sold at Iken was as likely to be made by men who came from far to the south as by those from the north, the quality varied drastically from one jar to the next.

"A feast fit for Maatkare Hatshepsut herself." Inyotef gnawed a healthy bite from the end of a thick leg bone. "I've not often tasted a chunk of beef this tender."

"We have the lord Amon to thank, no doubt. The steer was probably an offering divided among the priests and my Medjays after the god's evening meal."

Kasaya had been nowhere in evidence when they reached the house, but they had found three stools stacked one on top of another, supporting a basket laden with food and drink. The precaution had been wise. They had surprised a mouse, darting in and around the stubby legs of the lower stool, searching for a way to reach the basket.

They had carried the food up to the roof and watched the night fall, while they ate. The stars were glittering specks in a sky as dense and black as obsidian. The air was cooled by the northerly breeze, chilling the sweat on Bak's breast and ruffling the hairs on his arms. A jackal howling, in the distance raised a chorus of barking, yowling dogs. Now and then, he could hear the skittering of tiny claws, rats waiting in the shadows for a scrap of food. The sweet scent of some fragrant wood, perhaps cinnamon, souvenir of a past offering to the god, wafted from the basket, competing with the fading smells of the city: animal dung, burnt cooking oil, food, and sweat.

"I understand you once battled in Kush, winning the gold of valor," Bak said, easing his way into his questions. "That was long ago," Inyotef smiled. "In the carefree days of my youth when the living was all-important and life itself taken for granted as eternal."

Bak remembered Huy saying something similar, or had the speaker been Senu? "Most men shout their successes far and wide," he said, forming a smile as genial as the pilot's, "yet I was surprised to learn of the award. You didn't say a word through those many long hours of talk while we sailed north to Mennufer."

"Nor did I speak of a second golden fly I earned during a voyage to the land of the Keftiu." Inyotef's smile cooled, and his voice took on a sharp edge. "I'm no braggart, my young friend."

Feeling his face grow warm, Bak busied himself with selecting a thick slab of meat and wrapping it in bread. "You faced Amon-Psaro's father on the field of battle?"

"I've always served the royal house from the deck of a ship." The chill left the pilot's voice and a wry smile touched his lips. "You've not pried into my-past as much as I thought. If you had, you'd know me as well as I know myself. My successes, my failures. My wealth, my habits, how often I defecate and where."

Bak recalled from the past how adept the pilot was at putting a man in his place, how quickly he could grab the offensive and control the conversation. His mouth tightened; he would not be manipulated. "I must earn my bread, Inyotef, an amp;so must you. When I report back to Buhen, Commandant Thuty will listen avidly to each word I say, each reason I give if I never learn the truth."

The implied threat hung in the air between them, unseen but potent.

Inyotef broke the silence with a quick, hard laugh. "Your exile in Wawat has made you hard and intractable, Bak, like this and and empty land. But I suspect you're a better man for it, a better officer."

Bak smiled at what he chose to take as a compliment. "You sailed on a warship plying the waters above Semna twenty-seven years ago?"

"A cargo ship. I was an ordinary seaman then. The vessel was heavy with weapons and food bound for our army in the land of Kush." Inyotef stopped, gnawed on his bone, forcing Bak to probe where probing should not have been necessary.

Bak did not bother to hide his impatience with the ploy. "How did you win the gold of valor?"

Inyotef's expression was lost in the dark, but his tone was suspiciously like that of a man enjoying a small victory. "Our vessel went aground on a sandbar. A troop of Kushite soldiers, seeing us trapped and unable to free ourselves and greedy for our cargo, came racing out of the sandy wastes, firing flaming arrows. Our sail burned like a torch and we lost our mast. We had few men to spare to hold off the enemy; it was all we could do to smother the many small fires blazing from prow to stern. I and three others who could swim slipped into the river and dug away the sand, working beneath the water until our vessel broke free."