Lauren Haney: A Vile Justice

Bak stood with Imsiba, Suemnut, and Neny on the promontory. The sky was afire with color. The breeze had waned, allowing the soft evening sunlight to draw the chill from his bones and dry his kilt and loincloth. Swallows flitted through the air, catching on the wing insects invisible to the human eye. The smell of braised onions drifted in the air from a village nestled among the rocks farther downstream.

In the narrow channel where the wreck lay, a dozen men were cutting the bundled hides free and letting them fall into the water. Others were towing the bundles to the rope Bak had tied to the aftercastle, while a third team attached them to the line and pushed them across the current to the islet. Still more men were mounding the salvaged hides well out of reach of the water, where they would remain for the night. The work was frenzied, a race against the dark.

"You can't see from here…" Bak pointed toward the river. "… but the rocky outcrop where I found Dadu's body has edges sharper than a flint knife." He raised his hand, showing a cut he had not realized he had until he left the water. "It cut partway through the rope and the weight of the vessel did the rest, snapping it apart."

"So the wreck was an accident," Imsiba said, looking pointedly at Suemnut.

The captain sniffed. "That a sharp-edged rock might cut one rope, I can understand, but what of the other ropes that were supposed to hold my ship in place? Secured on every side, how could it slew around the way it did, striking the boulders?"

"We've knocked-the edges off that outcrop-and others like it-more than once," Neny said, his voice defensive. "The rope was under tension, stretched to the limit," Bak said. "When it snapped, the upper portion snaked back. It jerked free of the post, wrapped around Dadu's legs, and dragged him across the rocks into the river. It then became entangled in a crack in a boulder. He either struck his head and lost his senses or panicked. Either way, he drowned." "What of my ship?" Suemnut demanded.

Neny glared. "Do you care nothing for the man who died? A husband and a father many times over? A hard-working man of honor and integrity?"

Bak longed to grab them both by the neck and knock their heads together. He had hoped that by finding an innocent reason for the wreck he might put an end to their enmity. Unfortunately, they enjoyed their mutual dislike too much.

"The lower portion of the rope whipped back toward the ship. It wrapped around the boulders, flew across the deckknocking men, brazier, and duck cage into the water-and buried a good, long segment in the bundled hides, pulling the ship up short and jerking it against the rocks."

"Look!" Imsiba shouted, pointing at the wreck.

The ship, relieved of much of its load and with most of its ballast scattered on the riverbed, had floated free of the boulders. It began to swing across the channel.

"Cut it loose!" Neny yelled. His voice, deep and dark, carried through the still air, reaching the men lining the channel.

"No!" Suemnut wailed. "My ship! My life! No!"

The men slashing the ropes holding the few remaining hides on deck abandoned their task, dropped into the water, and swam at high speed alongside the vessel. Bollards were jerked free, relea4ng the stout lines holding the ship in the channel. Where the bollards could not be reached, the ropes, too valuable to lose, were axed as close to the hull as possible.

The ship floated downstream, ponderous with the weight of the water it had taken on. Bak feared it would swing farther around, blocking the channel and putting an end to travel down the Belly of Stones, at least for the remainder of the year. But Neny knew what he was doing. The vessel held its course-floundering, to be sure-until a final steep slope of bubbling water carried it into the cove. Becalmed, the stern dropped ever deeper and the prow reared skyward, raising high the intertwined lily design. The men on the promontory held their breath, waiting. The vessel tilted backward, expelling air, and slid beneath the water's surface.

"Sir!" The police scribe Hori raced along the stone quay, his eyes locked on Bak and Imsiba, whose skiff was closing on a mooring post. "The commandant wishes to see you, sir! Right away!"

Bak muttered an oath. "Can I not change into clean clothing?"

"I wouldn't, sir." The chubby youth caught the rope Imsiba threw, made a loop, and settled it around the post. "A sentry reported seeing your skiff from afar. The commandant's expecting you."

"You'd best go, my friend," Imsiba said, with a goodhumored smile. "I'll tend to the skiff and that morning meal we thought to share."

Bak rolled his eyes skyward and grimaced. "What Commandant Thuty wants, Commandant Thuty gets."

"He has another man with him, sir, a lieutenant from Abu." Hori's expression remained serious. "And Troop Captain Nebwa as well."

"An officer from the land of Kemet?" Bak frowned. "An inspector, do you think?"

"He looks to be a man with a weight on his shoulders. One seeking aid, not trouble."

With a farewell nod to Imsiba, Bak walked with the boy up the central of three quays, passing a traveling ship similar to that of Suemnut and a broad-beamed cargo ship riding high in the water, its shallow hull rolling on the gentle swells. A sailor bent over its rail to spit in the water. Another hunkered down beside a brazier, stirring the contents of a bowl nestled among the coals. The odor of onions and fish set Bak's stomach to growling.

Moored at the southern quay, he saw a long and slender traveling ship, built for speed and pleasure rather than to ply the waters laden with merchandise as so many ships did in Wawat. A red-and-white-checked deckhouse and fore- and aftercastles surrounded by delicate railings of papyrus-shaped posts belied a sturdy frame and construction. The prow carried the ram-headed image of the lord Khnum, the god favored by the residents of Abu. Bak was impressed. The officer now speaking with Commandant Thuty had arrived in style.

Ahead, the tall mudbrick walls of Buhen rose stark white in the early morning sun. Towers projecting from the face of the riverside wall rose to the crenelated battlements from two stone terraces lining the water's edge. A sentry stood at the base of the twin-towered gate they approached, passing the time with three small boys. A similar gate to the north was busier. A long line of men trudged down the quay, carrying heavy copper ingots from a warehouse inside the fortress to a ship bound for the land of Kemet. They sang a workman's song, out of tune and of scant musical merit, but if volume was any indication, the words were heart-felt. An elderly, wizened priest, his head shaved bald, sat at the base of the southernmost pylon gate. He sat there often, warming himself in the sun after performing the morning ablutions in the dark chill of the mansion of the local god, Horus of Buhen. Bak saluted the soldier, ruffled the hair of one of the boys, and waved to the priest.

He stepped into the dark passage through the gate, and a cool tingle crept up his spine. An omen, he thought, maybe the lord-Amon himself warning him to proceed with care. He laughed out loud, driving the thought away, and the chill.

The sentry in the entry hall of the commandant's residence pointed Bak toward a flight of stone stairs leading to the second floor. Bounding up the steps two at a time, he burst into the warm, sunny courtyard. The space was cluttered with toys, water jars, loom, grindstone, and a deep basin filled with natron. In the white, salty substance, Thuty's eldest son, a boy of ten years, was dessicating a dog that had been his constant companion until its death of old age. The odor of decay had waned, Bak was glad, to note, so the child would soon be able to wrap for eternity the creature he had loved.

He paused at the door of the commandant's private reception room, where three men sat waiting, no one speaking, as if all they had to say had already been said. The commandant sat in his armchair, a stemmed drinking bowl in his hand, beside a small table laden with bread, beer, cold roast pigeon, and dates. He spotted Bak and beckoned. Troop Captain Nebwa, seated on a low three-legged stool in his favored spot off to the side, glanced toward Bak and nodded. The third man, a stranger to Buhen, occupied a stool in front of the commandant. He, too, turned around to look.