Lauren Haney: Face Turned Backward

“He’d probably have come up with some wild tale of finding the objects strewn along the river’s edge, though how he’d account for anything as heavy as the ingots is anybody’s guess.” Thuty looked up from the manifest. “And the animals.

Caged the way they are, they’d make a lie of any claim that the ship sank while the creatures were on deck.”

Bak heard the soft patter of sandals on stone, someone crossing the audience hall, approaching the doorway behind him. Someone, he hoped, who would seek an interview with Thuty, giving him a chance to slip away and return to the harbor. “They were well tended when we found them, but I imagine the cages would sooner or later have been shoved into the river and the animals drowned so their skins could be safely taken. The villagers couldn’t release them, nor do they have the wealth to feed them for long.”

Thuty looked back at the manifest and ran his finger down the listed items. “I see no mention of an elephant tusk.”

“No, sir.” A rivulet of sweat crept down Bak’s breastbone, tickling him. “When I saw the shelter and all those precious objects, I prayed to the lord Amon a tusk would be among them. He failed to respond.” The tale was true, but the plea had been made mainly so his life and Nebwa’s could return to normal, with no more wretched inspections. If they 62 / Lauren Haney had discovered that Roy had been smugling ivory, their job would have been done.

Thuty glanced past Bak and raised his hand, signaling whoever stood at the door to wait outside until he was free.

He rerolled the scroll, planted his elbows on the arms of his chair, and stared hard at the younger officer over pyramided fingers. Bak stiffened.

“You’ve many admirable qualities, Lieutenant, but now and again you demonstrate a lack of good judgment surprising in a man as competent as you-as you did this morning.”

“Sir…”

“Pahuro and the people of his village took as their own many precious objects which by rights belong to the royal house. Without your intervention, they’d not have given them up, yet you rewarded them with a portion of their plunder.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thuty’s expression hardened. “I’m responsible for meting out justice along this sector of the river. You are not. Is that clear, Lieutenant?”

Bak felt the blood rush to his face. “Yes, sir.” He had expected official disapproval. Never once had he thought he might be treading on the commandant’s authority.

Still smarting from Thuty’s chastisement, Bak hurried to the harbor to set in motion the inspection of Mahu’s ship.

He found the captain near the stern, sitting on an overturned woven reed basket. He was chatting with Lieutenant Kay, a short, broad-shouldered man of thirty or so years who stood on the quay, resting a hip on a mooring post. Kay was new to Buhen, an infantry officer transferred a month or so earlier from the more southerly fortress of Semna.

Bak raised his baton of office in greeting and led his men on board. While they spread out across the deck, he walked to the bow and climbed into the forecastle. From there, he could see much of the ship-and he had the privacy he needed to cool his heated temper.

He resented Thuty’s accusation that he had overstepped his bounds. Well, maybe he had, but in a small way and with no ill intent. One thing he knew as a certainty: he could not go back and undo what he had done. In fact, he was not sure he would if he could. What were the few insignificant objects he had given the villagers compared to the riches of the royal house? As for Thuty…

Tamping down his irritation, a waste of time at best, he studied the ship on which he stood. The deckhouse was a light-framed structure sheathed in brownish reed mats which could be installed or removed as needed, its shape and size altered to suit the cargo. About half the space in front of the shelter had been roofed with mats and fenced to hold a small but valuable herd of short-horned cows, magnificent reddish beasts offered as tribute by a southern chieftain to the royal house of Kemet. Not long after the ship had docked, they had been led away to a paddock inside the fortress and there they would remain until the vessel was ready to sail.

The foremost portion of the deck, piled high with hay and bags of grain to feed the animals, lay open to the elements.

The area behind the deckhouse was similarly equipped to transport a herd of long-haired white goats, which had also been driven ashore and confined in a paddock. Nearly as valuable as the cattle, they too were being sent north as tribute. The deck had been swept clean. The tangy smell of fresh hay overlaid a lingering odor of animal waste.

Between the sheaves of hay and the grain, the deck held an infinite number of hiding places. As would the deckhouse and the vast area belowdecks. But by the wildest stretch of his imagination Bak could not conceive of Mahu carrying contraband. The animals alone, some of the finest he had ever seen, attested to the captain’s integrity. No important chieftain would entrust so valuable a herd to a man of questionable honesty. Yet Nebwa’s instincts, sometimes dramatically wrong, were more often than not right.

Bak’s eyes darted aft to Captain Mahu’s husky figure. How well had he known Captain Roy? He had no idea how many ships plied the waters between Abu and Buhen, but 64 / Lauren Haney surely not so many that the drowned man would have been a stranger. Dropping off the forecastle, he hurried the length of the deck to the stern, where he apologized for detaining the vessel for so long.

Mahu waved off the apology. “The delay was no fault of yours, Lieutenant. If I’m to lay blame, I’ll look to the viceroy.

Or to the gods who allowed the storm to wreck Roy’s vessel.

If indeed that’s what happened.”

“Rumors have multiplied ten times ten since word of the shipwreck was brought to Buhen,” Lieutenant Kay said. “Not many carry the ring of truth.”

Mahu snorted. “We’ve even heard tales of mutiny.”

Kay aimed his baton at the northern quay and Ramose’s ship. “Now we can see for ourselves Roy’s crew, with no sign of their master. Was he slain by an angry river, as some say, or by those ruffians?”

“His men swear he was washed overboard,” Bak said, watching a soldier remove one wall of Mahu’s deckhouse.

“I’m inclined to believe them. Without him to lead the way, they let the storm run them aground, and now they seem lost.”

“No great surprise.” If Mahu was troubled by the search, he gave no sign. “Roy brought most of them with him when he came south from Kemet. They’ve done his bidding for years.”

“How well did you know him?”

“As well as any man could.” Mahu watched the thickset, pockmarked Medjay Psuro lift the afterdeck hatch and, with two other men, each carrying a small torch, climb down into the hold. “He was a quiet man, one who kept his own counsel, and as steady as a rock. He knew the river better than most, and he was a fine sailor. He maneuvered his ship as easily as most men would handle a fishing boat a quarter the size.”

Bak glanced toward Ramose’s ship, where a line of men was carrying the animals down the gangplank and along the northern quay to the fortress gate. The cages hung from long poles, allowing the bearers to remain at a safe distance from vicious claws and teeth. “Have you ever known him to carry illicit cargo?”

“I know what’s being said: his deck was stacked high with contraband.” Mahu eyed the men searching the foredeck, prodding and poking sheaves of hay and bags of grain. “As far as I knew, he was no different than most: honest but not to a fault, and willing to take a small risk, but too steady to make a habit of it.”