Lauren Haney - Path of Shadows

“You think it lonely now,” Puemre said, “you should visit us during the heat of the year when the mines are closed down.”

“I’m amazed that anyone remains.”

“This is a military base, and we must keep it manned throughout the year. Nomads come and go, and a surprising number of people dwell in the few oases scattered along the flanks of the mountains or in the wadis that cut through the highlands. And the fishermen come. Amonmose’s men and others who fish the Eastern Sea or the waters around the southern tip of this peninsula.”

“They all come to trade?” Bak asked, thinking of User and the objects he had brought across the Eastern Desert in the vain hope of trading with the nomads.

“Every ship brings items not easy to get in this empty land.

A goodwill gesture by our sovereign, well worth the effort.”

Bak pointed out User, seated on the deck between the mas sive oarlike rudders of the next ship in line, playing knuckle bones with Ani and Wensu. Several sailors toiled at the bow, singing a bawdy song while they scrubbed away the manure dropped by the caravan’s donkeys. He asked if the explorer’s trade goods would be welcome at the port. They would, so

Puemre said.

Amonmose had long since disembarked and was walking north along the shore to the place where his fishermen had begun to set up their camp. Psuro had gone with Nebenkemet to see to the donkeys’ well-being, while the other Medjays had boarded the third vessel to watch a final wrestling match in what had been an ongoing competition among the sailors.

The ship rose and fell on gentle swells, its hull and fittings creaking. At irregular intervals, schools of small fish sur 210

Lauren Haney faced, drawing seagulls in large numbers. The squawking birds plummeted out of the sky to gather on the water and feed. Amid the frenzy, a half-dozen terns swooped down to snatch fish on the fly. Several small boats lay on the shore above the waterline, and three feral dogs fought over the torn remains of a gull. Farther down the beach, a group of naked children were splashing in the shallows, their laughter ring ing through the clear air.

“Who dwells in those huts?”

“Men who’ve chosen to remain for one reason or another, usually because they’ve wed a nomad woman and are raising families. We’ve the usual number of camp followers, of course. Men who wager, hoping to lay hands on a few chunks of turquoise, women no better than they should be, men who jump ship and find themselves with no way to earn their daily bread. And so on.” Puemre glanced at Bak and smiled. “As you can imagine, when we’re not organizing the unloading and loading of ships, our primary task is to maintain law and order.”

Bak had seen many impoverished villages on the southern frontier. This was no better than the worst. “I have endless re spect for you and the soldiers who man this desolate outpost.”

“All things eventually come to an end, Lieutenant, whether good or bad.” Puemre, a short, squat man with a slight paunch and thinning grayish hair, turned his back on the port and, with Bak by his side, walked along the deck.

“I’m to be relieved at the end of this mining season. With luck and if the Lady of Turquoise chooses to smile upon me,

I’ll be posted to a garrison in Kemet.” The goddess of whom he spoke was a local version of the lady Hathor.

The two men ducked beneath the woven reed roof of the deckhouse, whose colorful mat walls had been rolled up to allow air to pass through. On a small boat tied to the side of the ship, the two soldiers who had rowed Puemre across the water argued in a good-natured way.

“According to Captain Kheruef, you’re not what you ap pear to be,” Puemre said, sitting on a mat and crossing his legs before him.

Bak, who had raided Kheruef’s beer supply, broke the plugs from two jars, handed one to his companion, and sat down on the mat. He revealed his identity as a policeman, ex plained his mission, and told of the caravan’s journey across the Eastern Desert and the men who had been slain along the way. He spoke of the watching man, who might well be the slayer, and of how he had managed to slip away untouched.

He failed to mention that Minnakht was alive and well. He had concluded that he would glean more information if the men he spoke with remained in ignorance, if he lumped the explorer’s probable death in among the others.

A snarl drew Bak’s glance toward the shore. A gull had dropped onto the sand and, wings flapping, was trying to chase the dogs away from a new prize, this a dead fish. He skipped over the long voyage north and across the Eastern

Sea to conclude his tale. “Now here we are, twelve days later, safe at our destination.”

Puemre took several sips of beer, evidently reviewing the account, and licked the foam from his lips. “I’m surprised

Amonmose came with you. Even more surprised that he’s or dered his men to abandon their camp. He must indeed be worried.”

“Many men have died within the past year.”

Puemre studied him with interest. “You’re determined to snare the slayer, I see.”

“He took the life of one of my Medjays.” Bak’s voice was hard, grim. “I mean to see justice done.”

The port officer shifted on the mat, uncomfortable with the promise of vengeance. “Why come across the sea? From what you’ve told me, he’s in the Eastern Desert, not here.”

“I can’t be certain, but logic tells me the many deaths are related to Minnakht’s disappearance.” Bak sipped from his beer jar, letting the slightly bitter brew wash over his tongue.

“Minnakht hasn’t been seen since he left this port. I hope to learn more of his last few days. I don’t even know why he ventured so far from the land he knew so well.”

Puemre toyed with his beer jar, thinking. “Too many men traveling with you have died, that I grant you, but why? Why concentrate on your caravan?”

“I know nothing of the man who was slain at the well north of Kaine, but, with the exception of my Medjay, all the others who’ve died were at one time or another involved in a quest for gold.” Bak drew close a basket containing dried dates and offered them to Puemre. “Minnakht made no secret of the fact that he hoped to find gold, and User has been seeking the riches of the desert for many years. Because we’ve been fol lowing Minnakht’s last route across the desert, the slayer may believe we can lead him to gold. Or he might fear we’ll stumble upon a vein he’s already found.”

“Do you suppose he’s followed you across the sea? Nei ther my men nor I have any experience with murder.”

Bak could find no answer. Silence hung between them, an invisible curtain of puzzlement and frustration.

“I suppose Minnakht has gone to the netherworld.” With an unhappy sigh, Puemre bit into a date. “I’m sorry. I liked him, as did most men who met him.”

“According to User, Minnakht had never before left the

Eastern Desert. Why did he abandon a lifelong pattern? Why did he stray so far from his usual haunts?”

“He wanted to see the mountain of turquoise. He was, af ter all, an explorer, one who year after year studied the land in search of the wealth it offered.”

Bak was not surprised by the answer, but he wondered if it was not too simplistic. “Tell me of his visit.”

“The hot months of the year were upon us, so we were closing the mines. Lieutenant Nebamon, our caravan officer, was readying men and donkeys for their final journey into the mountains to bring back the few remaining miners and sol diers and the fruits of their labors. I insisted Minnakht travel with them.” Puemre nibbled the pulp from the date and flung the seed overboard. “He remained here a couple of days, waiting. From what I heard, he spent much of the time in what passes in the outer village for a house of pleasure. He drank beer and talked about his adventures in the desert, fill ing the ears of all who would listen. Then he joined the cara van and set out for the mountain of turquoise.”