Lauren Haney - Curse of Silence

“Prince Baket-Amon dead.” Amonked, dropping onto a stool, looked taken aback. “Slain in the house where we spent the night.”

“Yes, sir.” Nebwa sat down on another stool. Horhotep’s demeaning errand had cheered him considerably. “He en tered the building at daybreak, we believe, and was stabbed a short time after.”

“I’m appalled, as any man would be,” Amonked said,

“but I can’t help wondering why you’ve come to me.”

Bak, standing near the entryway, thought he heard a woman quietly sobbing beyond the hangings that divided the pavilion. The concubine, he guessed. “As you know, sir, my Medjays were watching the dwelling. They saw no one enter or leave.”

“If I’m not mistaken, young man, your Medjays left their posts to ward off an attack on the sailors who were carrying my furnishings to our ship.”

Bak hoped the warm feeling in his cheeks was not a telltale flush. “The house stood unwatched for only a few moments.”

“I appreciate the aid they gave my men-a brawl would’ve been most unseemly-and the uncommon speed at which they dealt with the difficulty.” Amonked’s voice sharpened. “But you can’t ignore the fact that not a man among them remained behind to keep watch on our quar ters.”

“Baket-Amon had to’ve entered the house at that time,”

Bak said, steering the discussion back to the murder, away from the inescapable fact that his men had erred.

“And the slayer with him.”

“No one other than a god could’ve gone inside with him-or followed him-and still have had the time to slay him, hide his body, and leave unseen.” Bak spoke with certainty, his demeanor set, allowing for no rebuttal.

“I see. You’re determined to lay blame on a member of my party.” Amonked laughed, a sound flat, hard, cynical.

Loud enough to stifle the sobbing behind the hanging.

“How convenient, Lieutenant. For you and for Comman dant Thuty.”

Bak bristled. “I mean to lay hands on the guilty man, and on no one else. If he’s one who came with you from the capital, so be it.”

“You can’t change the facts, sir,” Nebwa stated. “Baket Amon was slain in the house where you were staying, and the odds greatly favor a man inside as the slayer.”

“This inspection will be difficult enough, with every man’s hand set against me merely because I’m doing my duty. I’ll not let you add an accusation of murder, giving further excuse for failure to cooperate.”

Amonked was speaking primarily of the military, Bak suspected, giving little thought to the people of Wawat, who might choose to be equally obstructive.

He stepped forward and handed the inspector the scroll

Thuty had prepared. Tamping down his irritation, he said,

“As you’ll see when you read this document, Commandant

Thuty has no intention of interfering with your task. You may return to Buhen if you wish. If not, Troop Captain

Nebwa and I will travel upriver with you, taking no part in your inspection. The slayer of Prince Baket-Amon must be snared, and this is the place to search for him.”

“I’ll not return to Buhen.” Amonked eyed the scroll with distaste. “It’s you who should go back. You’re far more apt to find the killer among the prince’s friends and ac quaintances-men there at the scene of the crime-than here with us.”

“My sergeant, Imsiba, who remained behind, will leave no field unplowed. If the slayer’s in Buhen, he’ll find him.

In the meantime, we’ve come to search what I believe is the more fertile field.”

Amonked’s mouth tightened, locking inside further com ment. He ran a thumbnail under the seal, snapping it apart, and untied the string around the scroll. Unrolling the doc ument, he began to read. As his eyes traveled down the several columns, his scowl deepened.

“This is an intrusion I greatly resent.” He tossed the scroll onto a low table, where it rolled off the edge and fell to the ground. “I have the authority of our sovereign, Maat kare Hatshepsut, and I have her complete confidence. I can and I should send the pair of you back to Buhen.”

Bak could well imagine Thuty’s anger should they re turn. All who stood before him would suffer, especially the two officers who had failed to stand up to Amonked. His thoughts raced. How could they forestall banishment from the caravan?

He said, “When a man is slain outside of Buhen and I’m called upon to seek the one who took his life, I usually travel with two Medjays. Yet this time Troop Captain

Nebwa came and we brought with us a unit of archers.

Have you not asked yourself why?”

“To make a show of strength, I would assume.”

“For whose benefit?”

The inspector, too shrewd to walk into a verbal trap, stared hard at the officers, offering no answer.

Bak scooped Thuty’s letter off the ground and laid it on the table. “Baket-Amon was a prince much liked by the people who dwell along the Belly of Stones. Whether or not he was slain by a member of your party-and I’m con vinced he was-blame will be laid at your feet. Without a strong military presence from Buhen and an active inves tigation into the prince’s death, the inspection party might well be attacked and vanish forever.” He was exaggerating.

At least, he thought so. Nebwa must have agreed, for he looked straight ahead, carefully avoiding Bak’s glance.

Amonked, looking thoughtful, picked up Thuty’s letter and read through it a second time. Unconvinced, or only partially so, he said, “All right, you may stay. Both of you.

But I must warn you: the least interference in my inspection and you’ll return to Buhen.”

Bak breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief. “A decision you’ll not regret, sir. If the local people believe you’re sup porting our investigation, you’ll be far more apt to win their confidence.”

Nebwa stood up. “Now that that’s settled, I must go speak to Seshu. He’ll need to know of Baket-Amon’s death and of the twenty-two additional men who’ll be traveling south with the caravan.”

“I’ll be frank with you, sir,” Bak said, watching Nebwa hurry toward the animal enclosure.

Amonked knelt outside the pavilion entryway to scratch his dog’s head. “More forthright than before? I find that hard to believe.” His voice was as dry as dust.

Was the man teasing? Bak wondered. Could he possibly have a sense of humor? “Two days ago, I pleaded with

Baket-Amon to go see you, to explain how important the presence of the army is to the land of Wawat. He refused.

Then I saw him yesterday and asked him a second time.

Again, he refused. I believed that to be his final word, but when I found him lifeless in the dwelling you occupied, I couldn’t help but think he reversed his decision.”

“And you feel responsible for his death.” Amonked stood erect; a humorless smile flitted across his face. “I can assure you, you’ve no need. He didn’t come to see me.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I never left the house until we departed for the harbor.

I spent much of the time in the room next to the one where he was slain. Mistress Nefret, my concubine, was unhappy, begging to return to Waset. Anyone who entered the build ing would’ve heard her-and probably me.” Amonked grimaced his distaste. “Between her tantrum and a confu sion among the sailors as to the order in which to take the furnishings and to which ship they should be delivered, I found it impossible to remain calm and soft-spoken.”

Though Amonked seemed always to keep himself under tight control, the explanation made sense. The inspection party was not cared for as well as one would expect, with a minimum of servants and inefficiency and ineptitude on the part of sailors and guards. The latter, in fact, had not yet managed to set up camp and the lord Re was rapidly approaching the western horizon. Even now, Bak could hear them squabbling as to the best way to ward off snakes: incantation as opposed to laying a rope on the ground around each man’s sleeping mat in the belief that the rep tiles would not cross the low barrier.