Lauren Haney - Place of Darkness

You’d both have to prove yourselves once again-not to me, but to the many men in lofty positions who’ve nothing better to do than sit on their plump backsides and criticize their betters.”

“Yes, sir,” they said as one.

Nebwa joined in the chorus, as aware as Bak and Imsiba that he also would have to impress the bureaucrats who dwelt and toiled in the northern capital.

Thuty’s glance dropped to the bowl at Bak’s feet. “Now what have you brought, Lieutenant?”

“I can just about understand a man, one whose family is starving, breaking into a tomb in a time of need.” Thuty dropped heavily onto his chair, rubbed his eyes. “But today?

No. We live in a time of prosperity, where every man has a task and none face want.”

Bak let the bracelet fall from the tip of his dagger and sink back into its viscous gold bath. “Greed is seldom related to need, sir.”

Ignoring the banality, Thuty motioned him to sit. As soon as Bak had told his tale, Imsiba and Nebwa had hurried away, both to talk to their wives about the prospect of leaving Buhen for a new and different life in the faraway city of Mennufer. Bak was grateful he had no one close to tell, no one to whom he must break such startling news. Except Hori. And the Medjays. Men he must speak with right away, before they heard from some other source.

“Other than getting the truth from Nenwaf and seeing that he’s punished, the theft isn’t our problem,” Thuty said. “We must send these objects to Waset, where men closer to the burial places can seek out the vile criminal who’s robbing the dead.”

“After we learn all Nenwaf knows-if anything-I’ll prepare a report and send it north by courier.” Another thought struck. “Your wife could take it, sir, along with the jewelry.

Does she not have family in Waset? Will she not pack your household goods and go on ahead of you, stopping there to see them on her way to Mennufer?”

“She will, but. .”

“To lessen the chance of discovery, a man must dispose of a few objects at a time over a long period. I doubt a speedy delivery is necessary.”

Thuty hesitated a moment, reached a decision. “You must take them, Lieutenant.” He glanced quickly at Bak and, with a smile that may or may not have been sheepish, amended the order. “If you decide to move with me to Mennufer, you’ll want to stop in Waset to visit your father. You could leave Buhen right away and deliver the jewelry. That would give you a month or two with your parent before I reach the capital. You could sail from there to Mennufer with me.”

Bak smiled at the so-called error. He knew Thuty well, knew he was already assuming the men he wished to take with him would ultimately decide to go. “If I choose to remain in Buhen, I’ll send my report by courier. To whom shall it go, sir? The mayor of western Waset?” He was referring to the small city across the river from the capital, an urban area whose residents supported the growing number of cemeteries, memorial temples, and small mansions of the gods that overlooked the vast cultivable plain along the river.

Smiling at the not-so-subtle reminder that he might not get his way, the commandant rose from his chair and strode across the room to open the door leading to a long stairwell that rose from ground level to the battlements. Cooler air escaped from the dark, enclosed passage. “We don’t know the mayor. We do know Amonked. We know we can trust him to do what has to be done. The report should go to him and so should the jewelry.”

Bak nodded agreement. The decision was a good one.

Amonked was cousin to their sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut. They had come to know him several months earlier when he had journeyed south up the river, inspecting the fortresses that guarded the southern frontier. He had made many difficult-to-keep promises and had successfully followed through on them all.

“So I’ll be free of you at last.” Nofery leaned back in her chair, one of the few in Buhen and an object she valued highly, and smiled. “The lord Amon never ceases to bestow abundance on those who praise him.”

In the wavering light of the torch mounted beside the courtyard door, Bak studied the obese old woman, searching for any sign of regret. He could find none. He knew how adept she was at hiding her feelings, but he was hurt nonetheless. “I spoke with Hori and my Medjays for over an hour. Buhen is our home, its people our family, but in the end we had no choice. How could we refuse such an unlikely offer, where all of us will remain together?”

“Even the three who’ve taken local women as wives?”

Her attention was focused on the open doorway leading to the large room at the front of the building, where her customers reveled. Her voice was cool, indifferent. Trouble-some to one who thought of her as a friend.

“I’ve given them leave to stay, should they desire.”

Nofery’s eyes slid toward Nebwa. “Well? What have you decided?” She stared hard at him, offering no more warmth or regret than she had given Bak.

He queried Bak with a glance, the questions plain on his face: Could the woman care so little about them? Could she have been feigning friendship throughout the years they had known her? “Faced with a choice of imminent promotion to commander in an important garrison like Mennufer or spending several years in a like position in a backwater like Semna, what would you do?”

“What of your wife? Will she not object?”

Nebwa laughed ruefully. “She wants to go. Can you believe it? A woman who’s never been farther away from Buhen than a day’s walk, and she wants to see the world.”

Voices rose in the next room, men wagering. Knucklebones clattered across the floor, followed by a triumphant laugh and the exaggerated moans of loss. A scantily clad young woman came through the door, leading a soldier who offered a halfhearted salute to the two officers and the pro-prietress of the house of pleasure. A low growl drew the man’s eyes to a half-grown lion lying on a mat in the corner, sending him rushing through a rear door. Flashing a dazzling smile at Nebwa and Bak, the girl followed.

“What of Imsiba and Sitamon?” Nofery demanded. “Will they, at least, remain behind to keep an old woman company?”

Bak noted a faint tremor in her lips. She was upset about their leaving. He spread his hands wide, shrugged. “We’ve heard no word.”

“Could we not go, too?” A sleek youth of a dozen or so years stepped out of the shadows of an adjoining room. His dark, oiled skin glowed in the uncertain light. He knelt beside the lion and rubbed its head, making it purr. “Hori has told me of the wonders of Kemet, and I’d like to see them for myself.”

Nofery scowled at the boy who, along with the lion, had been given to her by a Kushite king. “How would we live, Amonaya? My place of business is here.”

“After Hori leaves, I’ll have no one to teach me to read and write.”

“How many times have you told me you hate those les-sons he gives you? How many times have you vanished when you know he’s coming?”

He stared down at the lion, his face sullen. “It’s a game we play, that’s all.”

“A game. Ha!”

Bak leaned forward and patted a plump knee hidden beneath the long white sheath Nofery wore. “There are many houses of pleasure in Kemet, old woman. You could trade this one off to a man of Buhen and get another in Mennufer.”

“Start over again? A woman old and alone, as I am?”

Blinking hard, she turned her face away.

Bak had an idea she was crying. He sorrowed for her, but was at the same time pleased that her indifference had been a sham. “You’d not be alone. You’d have me and my men, Nebwa and his wife, and if the gods smile upon us, Imsiba and Sitamon as well.” He glanced at Nebwa, a silent plea for help, but the troop captain, who could never cope with tears, looked more at a loss than Bak as to how to convince her.