Lauren Haney - Curse of Silence

“Roy’s not a good sergeant, I know. He’s indolent at best, incompetent I’m convinced. When I learn what I’m to do, I’ll know how to deal with him.”

The words were a promise and Bak took them as such.

“I can ask no more.”

Another trial Merymose must face was Horhotep, but

Bak said nothing of him. The young man had disarmed the more senior officer the previous evening, which had re quired both courage and conviction. With the help of the gods, he would build upon both assets, gaining the strength of character he would need to deal not only with the ser geant but with the lieutenant.

The braying of a donkey drew Bak’s eyes to the gateway.

A dark gray beast stood facing the passage, ears drawn back, legs stiff, teeth bared. Cursing vehemently, the drover slapped the creature’s flank with the flat of a hand. It re fused to budge. The sentry pointed to a spot above the passageway, where several wasps were buzzing around a nest. Muttering an oath, the drover grabbed the donkey’s bridle and pulled it past the insects.

Bak glanced toward the gate on the opposite side of the fortress. No sign of Nebwa, but if he somehow managed to keep his vow that they would accompany Amonked to the island, time was pressing. “In Buhen, did you spend your nights in the barracks, or in the house where Amon ked’s party was quartered?”

“The house.” Merymose gave a self-deprecating smile.

“Do you think Sergeant Roy wanted me near my own men?”

Bak was pleased the young man could laugh at himself, an invaluable trait given the obstacles he must face. “You know Prince Baket-Amon was slain in the dwelling, I as sume, and of the circumstances surrounding his death.”

Merymose’s face clouded over. “Amonked told us last night while we shared our evening meal.”

“Did you see him the morning he died?”

“No, sir.”

Bak realized he had gotten ahead of himself. “Would you have known him if you saw him?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” Merymose ducked, avoiding a wasp speeding toward the nest. “I often passed him in the cor ridors of the royal house while I checked to be sure the guards remained at their assigned stations. I also saw him in the audience hall and in other, lesser chambers, awaiting some lofty official.”

Bak well remembered his one visit to the royal house. A multitude of buildings, a maze of corridors, dozens of rooms, and too many men to count walking hither and yon, not a face among them one he recognized. “How could you be sure the man you saw was Baket-Amon?”

“Did I not tell you of my good fortune?” Merymose blinked, surprised by the lapse. “I was assigned to accom pany him on a hunting trip. To serve as his aide. Close on two years ago, it was. We went far to the north of Men nufer, seeking wild cattle in the marshes. It was a time I shall never forget.” The young officer glowed with enthu siasm.

“You liked him, I see.”

“Oh, yes, sir! He always made his wishes clear and he made no demands I couldn’t comply with. He was easy to please and generous in showing appreciation. I was sorry when our journey ended.”

A hunting expedition, Bak thought. He had never partic ipated in a hunt arranged by and for the nobility, but he had heard tales. Accidents oft times happened during the chase, when wild animals were fleeing in panic and the men who chased them grew so excited they lost control of their wits. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen during the hunt?”

“No, sir.” Merymose smiled. “We never did come upon any wild cattle, but one man speared a boar and another laid low a farmer’s cow, wounding it so gravely it had to be slain. We also slew small game, mostly hares.”

The death of a cow in the northern marshes could in no way have led to the murder of a prince on the southern frontier, almost a month’s journey away. “Did Baket-Amon often go hunting?”

“So I understand.”

“Did the men who accompanied him appear to like him?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” Merymose must have realized how en thused he sounded, for he blushed. “He was exceptionally skilled with the bow and the spear, but he often held back, allowing the other men to take as much game as he did.”

Envy could be a cruel master. “Was anyone slain or in jured during that trip?”

“One man sprained an ankle and we all fell into the mud at one time or another. Not a man among us came away unscratched and unbruised.”

Nothing there, Bak decided. “Were any young women taken along?”

“Yes, sir. A sufficient number for each of the noblemen.”

As if anticipating Bak’s next question, Merymose added,

“No one had cause for jealousy, sir. The women made sure no man ever lay alone.”

Bak studied the young officer, who made the expedition sound idyllic. Had the days and nights been as untroubled by contention as Merymose believed-or claimed to be lieve? “Did Amonked or any of the others who’ve come with him to Wawat participate in that hunting expedition?”

“No, sir.”

Bak had been reaching for the stars and he knew it. A hunting expedition might lead to murder, but not necessar ily. And if so, the first expedition he heard about was not likely to be the important one.

Bak stood with Nebwa on the riverbank, watching

Amonked’s party board the small boat that would carry them upstream to the island fortress. The inspector crossed the narrow plank with surprising agility for one who looked so much the scribe. Captain Minkheper crossed like the seasoned sailor he was, as did Sennefer. Horhotep hesitated on the bank, but Nebwa’s expectant grin sent him racing on board.

The boat was broad-beamed and flat, rather like a cargo ship but a fraction of the size. Used to ferry people and animals from one side of the river to the other or from island to island, it was strictly utilitarian, unpainted, una dorned. A heavy canvas spread across spindly poles pro vided shade. The vessel stunk of animals and their waste, and of fish and human sweat. The hull groaned, the fittings creaked, the patched sail flapped against the mast and yards.

“How did you convince Amonked to bring us along?”

Bak asked, keeping his voice low so only Nebwa would hear.

Nebwa’s eyes raked the half-dozen skiffs pulled up on the riverbank. “I meant to lie, to tell him the local men wouldn’t have him on their vessels unless we came. I had no need.”

Bak gave his friend a sharp look. “Reality was worse than the falsehood?”

“To a man, the fishermen wanted nothing to do with him.

A couple of farmers agreed to take him, but they’re so resentful of the inspection-so fearful the army will be torn from Wawat-and so angry about Baket-Amon’s death that

I feared an unfortunate accident.”

“With you and me on board?” Bak asked, surprised.

“One man asked if we could swim.”

Normally Bak would have laughed, but not now. “What of him?” He nodded toward the ferryman.

Nebwa scowled. “We’re paying four times the usual rate, and I vowed he’d be the first to drown if the boat sinks.”

“I’m totally out of my element in this barren and desolate land.” Captain Minkheper stood with Bak on a crag, look ing across the narrow channel between the island and the west bank, where the river nibbled at the edge of a blanket of golden sand blown off the western desert. “I’ve lived in

Kemet much of my life, sailing a river that’s broad and deep, looking at fields green and fertile, generous with their bounty. The sands are poised above the valley to either side, to be sure, but at a safe distance for much of the voyage.”

“If you’re being considered for the lofty position of ad miral, you must also have sailed the Great Green Sea.” Bak was referring to the huge expanse of water north of the land of Kemet.