Lauren Haney: The Right Hand of Amon

"Look at this man, Meru." Bak pointed to the blotches and tears on the waxen skin. "Read these marks on his body and tell me of his travels upriver."

The old man leaned over his spread knees, scratched a buttock, and studied the injuries. "Came through the Belly of Stones, as I see you've guessed."

"Surely not all the way," Bak objected. "Semna, the southernmost fortress, is several days' march from here. I've heard many crocodiles inhabit the waters between here and there."

"Crocodiles. Boulders to block his path. Trees and brush to snag him. Quiet pools and backwaters he could float into with no way out." Meru shook his head. "Couldn't have been in the water long. A day and a night at most." "Where did he come from, do you think?"

"Never gone far into the Belly of Stones, you understand, but from what I've heard from men who have…" The old man pursed his lips and drew his brows together, making a great pretense of reaching a conclusion. "Suppose he could've come from as far away as Iken. Water may be high enough now to carry him that far." His skeptical tone negated the words even as he spoke them. "Don't know. The river up there spits out what it swallows as often as not. And what it holds in its mouth, it gives as an offering to the lord Sobek." The crocodile god.

Bak stood up, satisfied Meru had told him all he could. The fortress-city of Iken, he had heard, was as large as Buhen, a trading center where men from all walks of life came together. A good place for a man pretending to be more than he was, or for one who took as his own what belonged to another.

"Do you have anything more to say for yourselves?" Commandant Thuty demanded.

"No, sir," Bak and Nebwa said together.

Thuty rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and scowled at them over pyramided fingers. He was a short man, and broad, with powerful muscles accented by the light and shadow playing on his body from a torch mounted in a wall bracket next to a closed door. His brows were heavy, his chill firm, and the hard set of his mouth had been known to make strong men quake in their sandals.

"You're men who should set an example for those who look to you for guidance. A good example." Thuty looked pointedly at Nebwa: "Neither excessive drunkenness…" His eyes swiveled toward Bak, standing beside his friend. "… nor foolhardy behavior that leads to the destruction of another's property will lead them along a path of right and order."

"No, sir," his victims chorused.

The commandant frowned at each man in turn, letting the time stretch. To prevent himself from fidgeting, Bak concentrated on the items in the sparsely furnished, but cluttered reception room. Around the commandant's chair stood a half dozen three-legged stools and two low tables. A spear, bow and quiver, and shield lay against- one wall; baskets overflowing with papyrus scrolls surrounded the chair; and toys, a few of them broken, were strewn across the floor. Each time Bak entered the room, he was dismayed by its disreputable appearance-and saddened by memories of the previous commandant's widow, who had made the room a haven of quiet elegance for her husband while still he lived.

At last Thuty spoke. "I see no need to say more. You're men of mature years, old enough to recognize the error of your ways. Now sit down and tell me of the man you found."

Relieved at getting off so lightly, Bak drew a stool close to a second door, which stood ajar to allow a breath of tepid air now and again to drift down a dark stairwell from the roof. Nebwa shoved the door fully open and rested a shoulder on the jamb. Bak described the way he had found the body and how it looked.

"A man of quality or a scoundrel." Thuty expelled a long, unhappy sigh, stood up, and crossed the littered floor to open the main door. Children's laughter and merry squeals sounded in the courtyard outside. A welcome breeze carrying the odors of onions and fish wafted through the room and up the stairwell. "We must assume the former, I fear."

Nebwa sneaked a wink at Bak. "We mustn't risk neglecting a man whose father may have powers far greater than our own."

"You're an admirable officer, Troop Captain," Thuty said in a wry voice, "but I fear for your future if you don't soon learn respect for the political necessities."

"I've ordered the mortuary priest to- do nothing for now," Bak said, cutting off any incautious reply Nebwa might make. "With luck, I'll learn the slain man's name before his condition is such that he must be buried."

"With luck," Nebwa said, "a courier will arrive in the night, bringing news from another fortress of a missing man."

Thuty strode to his chair and adjusted the thick pillow on the seat. As he sat down, a child's laughter turned to shrieks. The commandant's voice took on a sharp edge. "If I don't soon receive a message, his garrison commander will have much to account for."

"He was probably slain no more than a day ago." Bak had to raise his voice to be heard over the wailing child. "No competent officer would report him gone before making a thorough search."

"He may've been sent on a mission outside his garrison," Nebwa pointed out. "If so, he might not be missed for several days."

Bak shook his head. "Neither a desert tribesman nor a villager would leave a bronze chisel in his throat. Even if damaged beyond repair, they find ways to reuse the metal."

"Are you implying his life was taken by a man of Kemet inside the secure walls of a fortress?" Thuty leaned back in his chair, wove his fingers together atop his head, and eyed Bak with a slight smile. "You've not yet learned his name, Lieutenant. Don't you think it too soon to reach so unpleasant a conclusion?"

Bak gritted his teeth to keep himself silent. The guess was premature, he had to admit, but he could think of no other theory that made more sense. "I'll go to the scribal office building at first light tomorrow. If he came south from Kemet on board a ship, he'll have registered his purpose there on his way upstream. The scribes will surely remember him. His face and body were as well formed as those of a god."

"And if he failed to make his presence known?" Nebwa asked.

The wailing increased in pitch, betraying a temper tantrum. Thuty's mouth tightened. "We must assume he slipped around Buhen on one of the desert tracks."

Nebwa grimaced. The failure of the garrison patrols to prevent nomadic tribesmen from bypassing Buhen without paying the necessary tolls was a sore point with the commandant, one he brought up at every opportunity.

Bak, irritated as much by the child as by the verbal arrows, rose from his stool, crossed the room, and firmly closed the door, stifling the yowling to a whimper. "If so, he's the scoundrel I took him for when first I saw the belt clasp, and we must worry more about what he's been doing upstream than whether or not he's a man of importance."

Thuty eyed the door, or maybe Bak, with what might have been a smile of approval. "Report to me, Lieutenant, as soon as you learn his name. If he was the soldier he appears to be, I must send a courier south to his commanding officer." He added, with obvious regret, "If he was of noble birth, and his slayer remains unknown, I fear you must travel upriver to look into the matter."

"Me, sir?" Bak was surprised. Other than one journey to a distant gold mine, his duties had never taken him more than a couple hours' walk from Buhen.

Nebwa frowned. "That man's death isn't Bak's responsibility! It falls on the shoulders of his garrison commander."

Thuty laced his fingers across his stomach. "Late yesterday I received a message from the capital giving me additional authority over the garrisons along the Belly of Stones." His eyes shifted to Bak. "As this includes maintaining order, I've decided to entrust you with the resolution of all major offenses against the lady Maat that occur within my chain of command. Not four hours ago I sent word to that effect to the garrison commanders and the viceroy."