Lauren Haney - The Right Hand of Amon

"Admirable," Bak said, picturing the scene, imagining the desperation of men trapped on a burning ship. "You earned the golden fly and more."

"A path was cleared for me, and I soon became an officer." Inyotef's voice again turned wry. "You didn't draw me to your quarters to speak of my youthful adventures. What do you really wish to know."

"I see an irony here, a situation that interests me greatly." Bak took a bite of bread and meat, chewed, and swallowed, washing it down with beer, making the pilot's ploy his own. "Not only you, but Huy and Senu and Woser fought bravely against the Kushite army. Now the four of you are together, officers assigned to this fortress of Iken.

And Amon-Psaro, a great tribal king in, present-day Kush, will soon arrive with the future king. The son and grandson of the man you faced in battle."

"Irony?" Inyotef snorted. "It's the reality of empire, Bak, where a shared interest in trade wipes out years of mistrust and mutual enmity.".

Bak had no intention of allowing himself to enter a debate on that well-worn subject. "Huy told me he was one of the men who escorted the hostage child Amon-Psaro to Kemet after our victory in Kush."

"He was, and so was I."

"You sailed downriver with them?" Bak gaped. Inyotef laughed softly. "Funny, I'd forgotten that journey. But I'm not surprised Huy remembered; it was a far from happy experience for him."

Bak's eyes darted toward the pilot. "He told me he enjoyed the journey, befriending Amon-Psaro, playing games with him, fishing and hunting."

"Like most mortal men, he prefers to remember the good rather than the bad." Inyotef examined the bone, searching for a fragment of meat he might have missed. "He's a poor sailor, terrified of rapids and rough waters."

"So he told me."

"Then you can imagine his reaction when our ship rode the floodwaters downriver through the Belly of Stones. I've never seen a man so frightened."

"I, too, would be afraid," Bak admitted. "It's hard to believe the water could rise so high it would cover those crags and boulders enough to cushion the hull of a great warship."

"In many daces, it won't. But there are paths of greater depth through the rapids. When the flood is at its highest and with the ship controlled by men with ropes standing on the taller islands, it's.. " Inyotef laughed. "It's an exciting journey, but reasonably safe. Amon-Psaro thought the voyage as much of an adventure as I did, but Huy…" He let his voice tail off, shook his head. "Last year I saw Huy standing alone, facing four armed men. Smugglers, they were. Desperate and vicious killers. He never showed a moment's fear. But his feet were planted firmly on the sand. Put him on a boat, let the craft rock on the swells, and he turns pale with terror."

Bak swallowed the last bite of bread and meat. Brushing the crumbs from his lap, he asked, "What was Amon-Psaro like?"

Inyotef shrugged. "In many ways, he was no different than any other boy of ten or so years. Curious about everything, easily impressed, innocent, fun loving. Yet he was a prince to the core of his being, a regal creature who knew himself to stand above mere mortals."

Bak sipped from his bowl, recalling Huy's words. "He was my brother," the group captain had said. Could an ordinary soldier, a guard, be like a brother to a royal child? One who walked with the gods? "Did Senu and Woser return to Kemet at the same time?"

"Other ships traveled north with ours, forming a convoy. I didn't know them then, so I don't know if they were on board."

Bak eyed the pilot, wishing he could see his face better. "I have one more question, Inyotef, perhaps the most important I've asked this evening. As an old friend, I beg you to be frank in your answer."

Inyotef laid the bone on the leaves in the basket with the care and precision of a man sorely tried. "Have I lied to you thus far?"

"I mean no offense," Bak said, raising his hands as a sign of appeasement. "My words were careless, I know. But your fellow officers have been far from open with me." Inyotef chuckled. "You're a policeman."

The gibe stung, especially from a man Bak considered a friend. "It's been clear from the outset that Commander Woser and the other officers, specifically Huy, Senu, and Nebseny, don't want me to identify Puemre's slayer. In fact, they've gone to great lengths to stand in my way. why?

The chuckle grew to a full-fledged laugh. "You're imagining obstacles where none exist, Bak. They're as eager to satisfy the lady Maat as you are."

My good friend, Bak thought, disgusted, a man whose indignation knows no bounds when 1 even hint he might not tell the truth. He wondered how many of Inyotef's other answers had been equally deceptive.

Bak lay stretched out on his sleeping pallet, staring at the stars. Soon after Inyotef's departure, he had gathered his bedding from the sleeping platform, shaken it out thoroughly in search of any deadly creature that might have been hidden among the sheets, and carried it up to the roof. He wondered why Kasaya had not yet returned from the commander's residence, thought of all the work Pashenuro and the men had done at the island fortress and all they had yet to do, worried that his search for Puemre's slayer and therefore an assassin seemed to be going nowhere.

He was close to sleep, yet awake enough to hear the sounds and smell the scents of night. The soft patter of reed sandals in the street and the odor of burning oil identified the spearman assigned to patrol that sector of the lower city through the hours of darkness. The terrified squeak of a mouse and a throaty growl announced a cat's capture of a late-night snack. Snarling dogs spoke of a fight over a bone or a bitch or a small animal caught by one and desired by all. A crying child and the stench of excrement told of a baby suffering from an illness of the stomach. A woman giggling on the next rooftop and the soft murmurs of a male voice preceded a rustling of bedding, heavy breathing, and moans of ecstasy. Familiar, comfortable sounds. Bak's eyelids grew heavy and he slept.

"Lieutenant Bak. Are you asleep, sir?"

Bak opened his eyes, shook himself awake, sat up. "Kasaya! What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. But I thought you'd want to know." The burly Medjay hunkered down beside him and spoke in a murmur so his voice would not carry to the occupied rooftops close by. "I've found a woman in the commander's residence who'll speak with you, a servant called Meret."

"She wants to talk now?" Bak asked, his voice dubious. Kasaya shook his head. "At sunrise tomorrow. At a place not far from the river where the women gather to do their washing."

"Isn't she afraid her master will hear of the meeting from the other women?"

"Most feed their families before washing their linen, but she has more sheets and clothing than all the others combined so she must start early. The place she mentioned is sheltered by a row of trees. It's easy to see all who approach and impossible to be seen from the lower city or the fortress."

"Why has she offered to help? Is she seeking vengeance for some real or imagined slight on Woser's part or on the part of Aset?"

"No, sir." Kasaya stared at his knees, fidgeted with his hands. "She's… Well, she's a widow, sir, and lonely." Bak reined in the urge to grin. "And you're going back to her bed tonight."

"Yes, sir."

Clapping him on the shoulder, Bak sent him on his way. As the Medjay's soft footsteps faded away in the street below, he lay back down. He regretted the need to use the woman in so shallow a way, but he had no choice. All he could do was pray she would provide the breakthrough he so desperately needed.

Amon-Psaro would march through the gates of the fortress before nightfall the next day, yet the identity of the man who wished to slay him was as elusive as it had been from the beginning. Many signs pointed to a conspiracy among the officers, yet he rejected the theory. The idea that four senior officers, all stationed at a single garrison, hated