Lauren Haney - Path of Shadows

“So here I am, a prisoner of another sort.” Nebenkemet laughed softly. “A man more besotted with the desert, the quiet and the solitude, than with any woman I’ll ever meet.”

Bak smiled. He believed the tale, that Nebenkemet had been punished as a thief. Would he slay a man-and another and another? He had lived a hard life, to be sure, but from what Bak had seen through the long journey across the desert, he was as steady as a man could be, easygoing, unen cumbered by pride, a man who took pleasure in the simple things. Greed and the quest for gold were not a part of him.

“You remained behind for a purpose, Lieutenant?”

Nenwaf, seated on a mudbrick bench in the shade of the palm grove, glanced at the five children straggling up the wadi. The two largest, both girls, carried a basket between them, sharing its weight. They had followed the caravan to collect the dung dropped by the donkeys. The manure they had picked up, along with the waste the animals had left at the camp, would be formed into flat, round cakes and laid out to dry for use as fuel.

“Do you recall the explorer Minnakht?” Bak sat on a fallen palm trunk facing the overseer, while Psuro rested a shoulder against a tree.

“How could I forget?” Nenwaf offered Bak a handful of dates. “He seemed a fine man and was a joy to speak with.”

“Did he say why he came?”

“To see the mining and smelting.” The overseer smiled at the memory. “He wished to know all there was to know about following the veins of ore while at the same time keeping the tunnels safe, and he was most interested in the furnaces and in the way we take the metal from the stone. Other than

Nebenkemet, I’ve known few men to ask so many apt ques tions.” He laid the dates in a pile on the bench beside him.

“He wanted also to visit the larger mining area to the south. I assured him that the furnaces they use are outdated, as is their way of smelting the ore.”

“All the mines aren’t operated in a similar manner?” Bak asked, surprised.

“The southern wadis have been mined for many genera tions, far longer than here. The quantity of copper-rich stone is dwindling. Soon it’ll no longer be practical to send men and supplies to dig it from the earth. As a result, no attempt is made to modernize the process.” Nibbling the flesh from the seed of a date, Nenwaf eyed Bak curiously. “He seemed de termined to go there, so I suppose he went anyway.”

Bak was well satisfied with the information he was glean ing and Nenwaf lived a singularly uninteresting life. To sat isfy the man’s curiosity was small reward. “Because it was so late in the season, Lieutenant Puemre wouldn’t supply a guide. He urged him to wait at the port until the final caravan came in from the south. Minnakht did wait, and Puemre be lieves he spoke with the overseer.”

“I trust he learned enough to make the wait worthwhile.”

Bak gave him a sharp look. “You don’t believe he did?”

A small naked boy climbed onto Nenwaf’s lap, while an other child laid her head on his thigh. A boy of four or so years ran to Psuro and chattered in a mixture of tongues picked up from the miners and those who smelted the ore.

The two older girls had carried the basket to the hut, where their mother sat on the ground, grinding grain for bread.

“He wished also to learn about the mining and processing of gold.” Nenwaf adjusted his legs beneath the child’s bony bottom. “I could tell him nothing except that I suspect the ef fort is much the same as here. I doubt anyone else in this god forsaken land knows any more than I do. We seek turquoise and copper, not the more precious metal.”

Bak exchanged a quick glance with Psuro, who had never allowed the demands of the child to distract him from the adult conversation. “Minnakht was an explorer, an adven turer who wandered the Eastern Desert in search of precious stones and minerals. Did it not surprise you that he showed so great an interest in such mundane tasks as digging out the ore and smelting it?”

“I’ve met men like him before. Men who have a natural curiosity about the world around them. I took his questions for granted.”

“I’ve never met him, but from what I’ve been told, he was liked and admired by all who knew him. He evidently drew men to him, made each see what he wanted to see. Every man

I’ve questioned has given me a different description.” He eyed the overseer curiously. “How did you see him, Nenwaf?”

“Nenwaf’s description of Minnakht was very much like that of Teti. As far as I could tell, neither was colored by Min nakht’s charm or adventurous spirit,” Bak said, glancing up at the stars to be sure they were traveling north as they should be. He did not mistrust the nomad guide Huy had loaned them, but should anything happen to that guide, he thought it best that they know exactly where they were.

Psuro, trudging along at his side, said, “They’re both prac tical men, too knowledgeable to be swayed by what might be taken as flattery.”

“Unlike the men in User’s party.” Nebre, walking a few paces ahead with the guide, led their three donkeys.

Bak studied the wadi along which they were walking. The bright, clear moonlight made the sand glow and deepened the shadows on the stony hillsides. What had looked in the sunlight to be bright, multicolored mounds and plateaus were flat and dull in the lesser light. An army could be hidden along the slopes and remain undetected.

“I know we’re traveling to the oasis because you believe

Minnakht is there,” Nebre said, shifting the strap of the quiver hanging from his shoulder, “but why would he follow us across the sea?”

Psuro grunted agreement. “Why would he approach us, for that matter, then hide himself as if he doesn’t trust us?”

As before, Bak eyed the slopes to either side, assuring himself that they were too far away for a man to hear what he had to say. “When he failed to appear on the shore of the

Eastern Sea as he vowed he would, a thought struck me, one

I couldn’t shake. Since then, I’ve asked a multitude of ques tions and have gleaned innumerable answers, many of which have strengthened that thought. It’s time I told you of my conclusion and of what I plan. Go tell our guide to walk on ahead. What I have to say is for your ears alone.”

“Listen to the night birds, the squeak of bats,” Nebre said, studying the oasis they were approaching. “I’ll wager he’s not here.”

Bak stared at the long, irregular row of palm trees and tamarisks. What appeared to be a tangle of undergrowth lay partially concealed within the deep shadows beneath the trees. He had hoped to arrive before the moon dropped so low, but his revelations to Psuro and Nebre had taken time, and the hour they had spent refining his plan had been well worthwhile. Now, with the darkness so deep, he mistrusted the oasis and the shelter it offered. Anyone camped there would have heard their approach. Common sense urged him to proceed with caution.

He pointed to a broad sandy spot midway between the hills rising to either side and at least two hundred paces from the shadowy oasis. “Let’s camp there, where no man can come upon us out of the shadows.”

“I’ll stand watch,” Psuro said.

“Don’t watch from afar, but stay among us. To stand apart might be risking death-and we’ve already lost Rona.”

Nebre pointed toward a thick layer of ash lining a hollow dug in the ground, a jumble of footprints and the imprint of a woven reed sleeping mat, and traces of two hobbled donkeys.

“A man camped here for some time, sir.”

“His donkeys are ailing,” Psuro said, standing over a mound of fresh, loose manure buzzing with flies. “He’s not been gone for long. A few hours at most.”