Lauren Haney - Cruel Deceit

Zuwapi, a seaman like Antef, plan so successful a scheme within the sacred precinct? The more questions he asked, the more convinced Bak became that someone else altogether had led this gang of thieves. “Who planned the robberies,

Nehi?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not Meryamon?”

“No,” Nehi whimpered.

Bak feigned impatience. “Do you actually know Zuwapi, or did you merely deliver the items to his storehouse?”

“He met me there each time. He had to break the seal and unlatch the door. And only he could reseal the door after we placed the objects inside.”

“What of Captain Antef?”

“I learned of him by chance.” Nehi swallowed a sob. “I saw Zuwapi’s trade goods being loaded onto a ship. A blind man would’ve guessed its captain was a party to the thefts.”

“Did you ever approach him?”

“I dared not,” Nehi said with a shudder. “Zuwapi would’ve been furious. As would Meryamon.”

“If you didn’t slay Maruwa or Woserhet or Meryamon…”

“I’ve slain no one! I swear to the lord Amon!”

“If you didn’t take those three men’s lives, who did?”

“Zuwapi. He’d slay his own mother to gain advantage.”

“We need more wood, sir.” Kasaya, kneeling before the furnace, was attempting to stir the fire into life. The best he could do was create a few fiery sparks that died the instant they flared.

“We could tear down the lean-to,” Sergeant Mose said. He was shorter than Kasaya, but equally broad. His nose had been flattened by a blow sometime in the past, making him appear hard and cruel.

Karoya scowled his disapproval. “These buildings are the property of the royal house, Sergeant. We’re accountable for their well-being.”

“We can always use the cudgel, sir, or a stout stick.”

Bak’s eyes darted around the compound, searching for an other way to intimidate the prisoners, and came to rest on the pit, a rough circle dug knee-deep into the ground, and the dried black clay at the bottom. A quick glance at the sun told him they had sufficient time. “Bring some men to break up that clay, and pour water into the pit to soften it. The threat of burning primed them to talk; with luck and the help of the gods, a fear of being smothered by mud will further their in clination to speak freely.”

“More questions?” Antef glowered at Bak and Karoya.

“I’ve already told you all I can. I hauled Zuwapi’s trade goods, yes, and during the last few months I’ve wondered if they might be stolen, but I had absolutely no involvement in his foul scheme.”

Bak’s laugh was short, sharp. “You may not have been in volved up to your neck, but you were certainly immersed to your knees.”

The captain raised his chin high and stood as tall and straight as he could. He spoke in a haughty manner. “I must return to my ship, Lieutenant, and my crew must accompany me. I’ve valuable cargo on board and I fear for its safety.”

Choosing not to remind him that Karoya’s men had been guarding the cargo for a week, Bak asked, “Do you see that pit, Captain?”

One of Bak’s Medjays knelt at the rim, pouring water over what had been rock-hard dirt, broken into clods that had been pounded to dust. A harbor patrolman waded around in mud well above his ankles, mixing in the water.

Two men knelt at the edge, offering unwanted advice. A dozen or so others stood around, joking, teasing their less fortunate companion.

Antef stared, puzzled.

“We’ve run out of fuel for the kiln,” Bak explained, “but we thought you might like a mud bath-beginning with your head.”

The captain sucked in his breath and took a quick step back. “You can’t do that to me. I’m a respectable man. I’ll complain to the harbormaster.”

“I suggest you answer our questions, sir,” Karoya said. As before, his demeanor was far kinder than Bak’s. “Each hour that passes makes you look more guilty in our eyes, and so the harbormaster will believe.”

Bak motioned Mose to usher Antef to the pit. The sergeant was not as tall as Kasaya, but his uncompromising demeanor was more intimidating. The captain struggled to break free, but Mose’s strength prevailed. The men around the pit moved out of their way, and soon they stood at the edge. Antef looked downward, his expression one of distaste and dread.

“What do you know of the other men involved in the thefts?” Bak asked.

“I did business with Zuwapi, no one else.”

“You didn’t know the priest Meryamon or his friend

Nehi?”

“As far as I know, I never met either man.”

Karoya queried Bak with a glance. The more senior of the two nodded, and the younger officer hurried across the yard to disappear around the corner of the house, behind which lay the servants’ quarters.

At a command from Mose, the man in the pit scrambled out.

“Do you know the man who planned the thefts?” Bak asked. “The one who pulled the strings that made the other men dance?”

“Zuwapi did.”

Bak raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Did he tell you that?”

“Not in so many words, no. He was a prosperous mer chant, well placed in Hattusa, so I just assumed…” The words tailed off, doubt crept into Antef’s voice. “He did at times take a day or two to answer my questions. Too long, I thought, but…” He gave Bak a sharp look. “He was no more than a tool, as I was?”

“I don’t know,” Bak admitted, but deep down inside the suspicion hardened that someone other than the men he had snared had planned the robberies and issued the orders.

Karoya, holding Nehi by the arm, came around the corner of the dwelling. Bak watched Antef closely. The captain looked toward the redhead but gave no sign of recognition.

A patrolman appeared and took the prisoner back around the house. As Karoya approached across the yard, he shook his head, verifying Bak’s impression that Nehi had failed to rec ognize the seaman.

“Let’s speak again of Maruwa,” Bak said to the captain.

“How many times must I tell you? I know nothing of his death!”

“How certain are you that he didn’t notice the stolen ob jects mixed in with the rest of Zuwapi’s cargo?”

Antef spoke as if Bak were trying his patience. “He was as transparent as rainwater, Lieutenant, and as trusting. If he’d grown suspicious, the first thing he’d have done is come to me and tell me.”

“He wouldn’t have thought you guilty?”

“Why would he? The goods belonged to Zuwapi, not me.”

“If he’s telling the truth-and I believe he is,” Bak said,

“he’d have had no reason to slay Maruwa.”

Karoya, seated on the lower, furnace portion of a dormant kiln, looked ruefully toward the stable, where Antef had been taken. “I hate to think him innocent of all but smuggling.”

Bak took a careful drink from his beer jar, trying not to stir up the sediment. “Zuwapi also claims Maruwa noticed nothing.”

“If the man was as blind to the smuggling as they say, why was he slain?”

“I’ve slain no one!” Zuwapi stood in the pit, his feet and ankles buried in mud. Mose’s big hand gripped his neck, ready to shove him onto his knees.

Bak was not sure how seriously the Hittite took the threat, but he was fully prepared to prove to him how frightening immersion would be. “One of your partners in crime says you did.”

“Who? Antef?” The Hittite spat on the ground to show his contempt, whether for Bak or the captain was unclear. “He’s a liar. A liar and a sneak.” His expression grew sly. “I say you look at him. I’d not be surprised if he took their lives.”

“He’s told us he dealt solely with you, Zuwapi, and he had no knowledge of the men who stole the objects.”