Lauren Haney: Place of Darkness

But Montu had been slain. Perhaps there had been a falling out of thieves and the fishermen had taken his life.

The architect would have been the leader, the one who thought and planned for the gang. Maybe he had demanded too large a portion of the spoils, thinking himself indispensi-ble. Maybe the others had disagreed. After many months of working with him, they would know exactly what to do and how to go about it, with or without him.

Lieutenant Menna was not in his office. He had gone to the garrison, a young scribe said, to arrange for a replacement for Imen. While there, Bak felt sure he would hear of the search for Pairi and Humay. If he was the vile criminal, the news might well set him to flight. Or would it? Flight would be an admission of guilt. If he thought the fishermen free and clear-or dead-would he turn his back on his life in Waset unnecessarily? Would he want to look guilty before he was certain he had been identified as the malign spirit?

Bak was torn. He wanted to go to the garrison, to question Menna right away, to satisfy himself of the officer’s guilt or innocence. But dare he? The fishermen might not be dead.

No matter who their leader, the deceased Montu or the living Menna, they could be hiding somewhere near Djeser Djeseru, planning a spectacular accident with Senenmut as a witness or, far worse, a victim. He might still have time to stop it-if it was not already too late. The barque of the lord Re had climbed halfway up the morning sky, and the inspection should be well on its way. Worse, to Bak’s way of thinking, was the certainty that Amonked, escorting Senenmut around Djeser Djeseru, was as much at risk as Maatkare Hatshepsut’s favorite.

He must hurry to Djeser Djeseru. But before he crossed the river, he must share what he knew with Maiherperi. Only the most foolhardy of men would keep to himself knowledge so important. Of equal importance was the need to discover the identity of the man he had been calling the malign spirit, and the fastest way was to draw Menna to Djeser Djeseru. How could he do so? With garrison troops searching for the fishermen, the officer was bound to be wary-if indeed he was the malign spirit-but hopefully not so suspicious he could not be soothed.

What would put at ease a guilty man as well as one who was innocent? After a few moment’s thought, Bak borrowed brush and ink from the young scribe and wrote a brief note: I think I know who’s been causing the accidents at Djeser Djeseru. If you join me there at mid-afternoon, Senenmut’s inspection should be completed and we can snare him then.

He handed the note to the scribe. “I wish you to take this message to Lieutenant Menna. I must go to the hall of records, so deliver his response to me there. Report to me also if you fail to find him.”

If nothing else, the note’s enigmatic nature should pique Menna’s curiosity.

“They’ve not yet crossed the river,” Maiherperi said.

“Senenmut decided to use the morning hours to inspect the repairs being made at the mansion of the lord Amon here in Waset.”

“I thank the gods!”

The guard at the door, alerted by the exclamation whose words he had evidently not heard, took a quick step forward, poised to act. The commander signaled that all was well, sending him back to his post. “Your optimism is unfounded, Lieutenant. When he’s finished here, he plans to move on to Djeser Djeseru.”

Bak slumped onto a stool unbidden. “It’s not too late to stop him.”

Maiherperi made a sour face. “Amonked tried to convince him he must not inspect Djeser Djeseru today-or until the malign spirit is snared. He refused to listen, saying no one would dare injure him. When I seconded Amonked’s plea, he suggested we’ve something to hide, a wall that collapsed from shoddy construction perhaps or. .” He paused, smiled with little humor. “The list is endless, it seems.”

Bak muttered a curse. “You must somehow stop him, sir.”

The commander raised his hands, palms forward. “No man can stop Senenmut when he sets his heart on an action.

After all, he’s Overseer of Overseers of All the Works of the King.” A wry note crept into his voice. “He takes the task seriously.”

“If he witnesses a terrible accident, if he’s hurt or killed by chance or by design. .” Bak could go no further. The thought was too appalling.

“He’s blind to the risk. To his way of thinking, spirits malign or benevolent act at random, with no purpose. When we pointed out that this spirit is a man, he remained unmoved, thinking himself safe because no ordinary individual would dare touch a man so close to our sovereign.”

Bak stood up. “I fear not only for Senenmut, sir, but for Amonked as well.”

Maiherperi stepped down from the dais and laid a sympathetic hand on the younger officer’s shoulder. “No more than I, Lieutenant. No more than I.”

“Here it is, sir, the new plan we drew.” Hori, looking as proud as a father showing off his firstborn son, handed the new-made scroll to Bak. “If this was an early temple built by Nebhepetre Montuhotep, I’m not surprised he changed it. It wouldn’t have been half as imposing as the temple he completed.”

Kaemwaset hovered close, as pleased with the drawing as Hori. “The plan makes no mention of the setting in which the temple was built. If it was built. It’s smaller than the ruined building and could easily have been leveled and the new structure built over it.”

Bak knelt beside the pair and unrolled the scroll. The drawing, while a long way from being a work of art, was exactly what he wanted. He prayed it would also be what he needed. “Excellent. Let’s hope I can use this to good advantage.”

Even with the blank spaces filled in, the plan in no way resembled the temple he and his men had explored cubit by cubit. The entrance to the king’s tomb was some distance in front of the raised platform rather than at the back, as at present. The platform on the old plan, shorter in width and length and not as high, was surmounted by a small memorial temple rather than the solid structure and enclosed main court surrounded by a colonnade that lay in ruins on the existing platform. The colonnade court, columned hall, and sanctuary of the present structure were not shown at all. Six small chapels or shrines lined the rear edge of the smaller platform.

“Have you found anything else of interest?” he asked, rolling up the plan.

Kaemwaset pointed to a stained scroll lying on top of those in the basket. “One of the old documents we found makes mention of the sepulcher of a royal spouse named Neferu. It’s somewhere east of the new temple, at the base of the slope beneath the northern cliff.”

“In the path of the northern retaining wall at Djeser Djeseru?”

“Possibly. The exact location isn’t clear.” The priest offered Bak a rolled scroll made of fresh white papyrus. “The document was very fragile, so I copied it, filling in the missing or unclear symbols in red ink, as Hori filled in the plan.”

“Good.” Bak stood up, granted each a quick smile of thanks. “I can take it and the plan with me and study them on the ferry while I cross the river.”

The pair glanced at each other, visibly disappointed, no doubt feeling he was not giving their considerable effort the attention it deserved.

“Lieutenant Bak.” The young scribe he had talked with at Menna’s office approached across the courtyard. “I’ve delivered your message, sir, and the officer said he’d meet you as you asked him to.”

“How did he receive the message?”

“He was puzzled, sir, very puzzled.”

Bak nodded, not at all surprised. Whether Menna would have second thoughts and not appear as promised was an open question. Even at the best of times he was not dependable. With Senenmut’s inspection delayed, giving him more time, perhaps he should. . “Where is he now? Still at the garrison?”