Lauren Haney - The Right Hand of Amon

"I'd not have thought it of him." Senu, hurrying along the lane beside Bak, shook his head as if to deny Inyotef's treachery. "We've never been close, but I've always believed I could trust him."

"My conscience prodded me each time I considered the possibility." Even now, after accepting the pilot's perfidy, Bak felt deceitful in voicing his mistrust. "He used that, I'm sure, to blind me to his wrongdoing."

In the distance, a trumpet blared. Three long blasts. It was the second signal they had heard since leaving Senu's house. They could see nothing from the lower city, but Bak pictured a herald standing high on the twin-towered southern gate of the fortress, his eyes on the distant caravan, invisible except for a huge yellowish cloud of billowing dust, making its slow way north along the desert track. "How much farther to his house?" Bak asked. "A few blocks, that's all."

Men, women, and children hurried along the street, not yet a stream but a steady trickle making for the path that would take them up the incline to the fortress. Eager and excited voices, laughter ringing out, an impatient mother yapping at her children. The crack of a whip, rapid hoofbeats, and the raucous braying of a train of donkeys made to hurry against their will. A gentle breeze stirred the air, easing the heat without raising the dust.

"From what I've heard, his anger can flare in an instant and only a quick retreat can save the one closest to him from the fury of his fists." Senu ducked away from a snapping donkey. "But for the life of me, I can't think why he'd want Amon-Psaro dead. As far as I know, they haven't met for years. I see no flame there."

"I think a long-dormant ember has come back to life." Bak stepped over a greenish pile of fresh manure, launching a cloud of flies. "Do you recall any special happening, anything unusual or suspect, when your paths crossed in days gone by?"

"We seldom met. I spent too much time traveling, guarding shipments of precious objects moving downriver or escorting envoys laden with gifts for tribal kings far upriver. He, too, spent most of his time on the water, but on warships rather than merchantmen. As far as I know, he never sailed much farther south than Semna."

"Strange," Bak said, frowning. "Huy told me AmonPsaro and Inyotef were great friends while both were young and living in Waset. One would think Inyotef would've asked to voyage south. Not everyone can claim friendship with a king."

"It seems to me there was something…" Senu paused, giving himself a moment to think, then ducked around a woman trying to console her sobbing baby and strode on. "Yes." He glanced at Bak, nodded "Yes, I remember a time… Oh, fifteen, maybe twenty years ago. Inyotef had been given his first command, a warship of moderate size. He brought it upriver through the Belly of Stones, lay over at Semna for repairs, and sailed on south with the intent of journeying deep into Kush. The mission was insignificant: a show of power, I think, and no doubt to collect tribute as well."

He paused again, listening to another blast of the trumpet. "I must hurry. My men will be wondering where I've gone."

He rushed around a corner, entering a narrow lane hugged on both sides by small houses buzzing with the voices of those who lived inside. A flock of ducks squawked in a derelict house, which reeked of bird droppings

"The envoy I was to escort was slow to reach Semna," Senu went on. "I was still waiting for him three days later when Inyotef sailed again into the harbor. His ship had been turned back. He gave no reason, but a rumor went around that he was not welcome in the land of Kush."

Bak's heart surged. "Do you suppose Amon-Psaro was behind the rebuff?"

"I often journeyed upriver, yet I never learned the truth."

"Did you travel often to Amon-Psaro's court?"

"Four or five times, no more." Senu stepped around two naked toddlers, wide-eyed with wonder at his magnificence. With an easy smile, he answered Bak's unspoken question. "Yes, Lieutenant, he took me to see his growing herd of horses-and he never failed to ask for Nefer's health."

Bak grinned, forgetting for an instant the gravity of his mission. "I'm still curious. How'd you manage to lay hands on the pair you gave him? Their value must've seemed enormous to a common soldier with no wealth or power."

"I raised my problem to diplomatic status," Senn laughed. "I spoke with the envoy, and when he traveled back to our capital, he in turn spoke to the vizier. That worthy politician agreed that a gift of two horses, mare and stallion, would remind Amon-Psaro of his friendship with our king, not just once, but each time a foal was born. Later, after the trade was consummated, after Nefer was mine and the animals Amon-Psaro's, I felt bound to tell him the horses were a product of my ingenuity rather than wealth. He thought my tale so amusing and my honesty so admirable that he offered me a lofty position in his court. I chose to remain in the army of Kemet."

Bak laughed heartily, as did Senu, until another blare of the trumpet reminded them of their mission. They hastened across an intersecting street, passed a block of well-kept interconnected houses, and veered into a dead-end lane bounded on one side by a serpentine wall built to hold back encroaching sand dunes. Kasaya stood before a door located near the far end of the lane. The Medjay's discouraged expression told them the house was unoccupied, and none of the neighbors knew of the pilot's whereabouts.

Senu muttered an oath.

Bak had not expected the gods to drop into his hands the solution to his problem, but his spirits dived nonetheless. "If he's gone for good, I doubt he left anything of value or interest, but I must search anyway."

"I'll leave you then. The men on the battlements will need further orders, and I must find Huy and Nebseny and warn them as well. The men they've placed on the rooftops along Amon-Psaro's route must be told."

"You must also warn Imsiba and my Medjays. I'll send Kasaya to the island to alert Pashenuro and Minnakht." "Consider it done." Senu strode a few paces up the lane, paused, turned around. "Amon-Psaro is haughty, imperious, cunning. But, he's a good man, Bak. Don't let Inyotef slay him."

Bak forced a smile. "A prayer to the lord Amon, an offering, might help."

Inyotef's hofe was much too grand for a man alone, five spacious rooms around an open court that would have better suited Senu's large family. It was neat and clean but had an air of abandonment. Two chambers were furnished, and those not well; the remainder were empty. A few stools, a couple of tables, several chests, a sleeping pallet. The basics of housekeeping a wife might bestow on the husband she was leaving, the remnants of a marriage.

Bak went from chest to chest, raising each lid and peering inside. He found a few sheets, a man's clothing, a few dishes and cooking paraphernalia. A small chest held eye paint, perfumes, and oils. A fine inlaid wooden chest contained jewelry, mostly of the beaded variety and of small value. He found no golden flies. A somewhat larger, unadorned wooden chest contained a few small weapons, including a hefty and powerful sling-the weapon used, Bak felt sure, during the initial attempt to warn him off.

Returning to the main room, he settled down to a long and tedious search, looking specifically for clues as to where Inyotef might have gone and the reason he wanted Amon-Psaro dead. Bak tried to lose himself in his task, moving systematically from one chest to another and on to the walls and floor, probing for a secret hiding place. The first room finished, he searched the next and then the next. The rich smell of braised lamb, wafted through the open doors, rousing pangs of hunger, announcing the approach of midday. He longed to quit, to leave this dreary house and walk the streets of the city, searching for the man rather than some minuscule clue he could overlook as easily as find.