Lauren Haney: A Vile Justice

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.

"You summoned me, sir?" Bak asked.

"Lieutenant." Thuty raked Bak with his eyes, taking in his dirt- and sweat-stained kilt, bandaged hand, and assorted bruises and abrasions. If he was troubled by such an untidy appearance, he gave no sign. "Have you eaten?" he asked, motioning toward the food on the table.

"At daybreak in Neny's village." Bak eyed the fare. A bowl filled with the tiny bones of birds told him the other men had already consumed their morning meal. "Nothing so grand, believe me."

"Draw a stool close." Thuty was a short, broad man whose powerful muscles glistened with the oil he had rubbed onto his ruddy skin. His brows were heavy, his mouth firm, his jaw set. A fire burned behind. his dark eyes, reflecting the strength of purpose that had earned him his lofty position.

As Bak selected a pigeon from the bowl and tore a wing from the body, Thuty nodded toward the stranger. "This man you see before you is Lieutenant Amonhotep. He's come from Abu, sent by Djehuty, governor of our southernmost province in Kemet. He's Djehuty's aide, his right hand."

Savoring the bird, which was braised to perfection, Bak studied the officer. Amonhotep, a few years younger than Bak, who had reached twenty-five years, was of medium height and slender, with reddish curly hair and green eyes in a thin, serious face. His frame was slight, but well padded with muscle. His brow was lined with worry.

"I've heard much about you, Lieutenant." Amonhotep gave so brief a smile Bak almost missed it. "The vizier, who's an old friend of Djehuty, praised you highly when he passed through Abu last week."

Bak's eyes darted toward Thirty, seeking an explanation, and on to Nebwa. That the vizier, who had recently toured the fortresses of Wawat, had stopped at Abu on his return voyage to the capital was no surprise, but that a man in so grand a position would speak of a mere lieutenant in charge of the Medjay police at Buhen was astonishing.

"Didn't I tell you the great man would spout your praise?" Nebwa gave his friend a lopsided grin, far short of the generous smile that normally accompanied his teasing. "In no time at all, your fame as a man who stalks human predators will spread throughout the land of Kemet."

The troop captain, next after Thuty in the line of command, was a coarse-featured, untidy man, tall and muscular, thirty years of age. His belt was twisted, bunching his kilt up on one side. His broad, multicolored bead collar had worked its way around so the falcon-headed clasp lay on his left shoulder. His stingy smile, his failure to continue his needling, indicated a distinct lack of enthusiasm for whatever had brought Amonhotep from Abu.

Thuty remained mute, strangely hesitant to explain the officer's mission.

Bak, curious, suspicious, wary of the two officers' reluctance to speak up, dropped a thigh bone into the dish, licked the oil from his-fingers, and asked, "You summoned me for a purpose, sir?"

Thuty's eyes slewed toward the officer from Abu. "The tale is best told by one who knows firsthand what happened."

"How should I begin?" Amonhotep ran his fingers through his reddish curls. "Three members of Djehuty's household have met with an unfortunate death in a single month, one in the river near the governor's villa, the others within the compound in which the house stands. The first two seemed unlikely accidents, but we accepted them as such. Who wants to believe anything more abhorrent? The third was murder without question, a man found dead with a dagger in his breast. To Djehuty's way of thinking-and mine-that final death makes the first two suspect."

He stared at Bak as if expecting agreement. Bak let nothing show on his face. He had too few facts to reach any kind of conclusion.

"The last killing occurred one day before the vizier arrived," Amonhotep continued. "Djehuty, naturally upset by so recent a death, told the vizier of it and the other two. That worthy official was as disturbed by the tale as are all of us who reside in the villa." He paused, shook his head as if to rid himself of a bad dream. "The vizier thought of you, Lieutenant Bak. He told Djehuty how clever you are at laying hands on men who turn their backs on the lady Maat. He suggested we seek your help."

How clever I am? Bak thought. Suddenly he understood the young officer's mission, and his heart sank. The tale was intriguing, the puzzle it posed a challenge. But only if he journeyed to Abu could he hope to identify the slayer-and placate the lady Maat, the goddess of right and order.

"Djehuty is a proud man," Amonhotep said, "one accustomed to depending on his own resources. Yet how could he turn his back on the suggestion? Without help, we can do nothing. We've no one to point to, not a shred of proof that all three lives were taken at the hands of a slayer. So Djehuty agreed. He ordered his traveling ship provisioned for a voyage, and the day the vizier sailed north to the capital, I sailed south to Buhen. Now here I am after eight long days on the river, pleading my case to your garrison officers." He leaned toward Bak; his voice grew hoarse with emotion. "And to you. Will you, Lieutenant Bak, return with me to Abu?"

Bak stared at the officer, his thoughts racing. He liked nothing better than to follow the path of a slayer, searching out tracks often hidden by time and cunning, closing in on the one he chased, and snaring him. He had done so several times in Buhen, and he had gladly traveled south to the fortress of Iken to investigate the death of an officer. Unlike Iken, which fell within Thuty's command, Abu was a world away, the domain of another man, Djehuty, who had summoned him. Would he be free to move as he liked or would his hands be tied by authority? Would he get help from the garrison should he need it, or would he be forced to stand alone? Would those he spoke with be bound to answer his questions or would they laugh in his face and turn their backs to him?

More important by far: would he be free to return to Buhen after laying hands on the slayer? Would he, could he, lay hands on the one he sought?

He glanced at the commandant, but before he could sort out his questions, his doubts, Thuty stood up, walked to the door, and stared out at the courtyard. After a long silence, he swung around. "This, I feel, is a matter best discussed in private, Lieutenant Amonhotep. Leave us."