Lauren Haney - Face Turned Backward

Bak pictured the alcove where he had so short a time ago seen the soldiers sleeping off their night of revelry. Six players would fit in comfort, more would make a crowd. “You said Mahu talked to every man who came into this place of business. Did he speak at length with anyone?”

“No.” She gave him a long, thoughtful look. “He sat with his back against the side wall, where he could see all who came into the larger room. He called out to everyone, raising his voice to be heard. Only a few men came to the portal to watch the game. Spearmen and archers, three who smelt copper, a potter. Men he probably knew only by sight.”

Men not likely to have the opportunity to smuggle in quantity, Bak thought, or the imagination to carry off so daring a deed. “Did he ever leave the alcove?”

She stared at the lion, once more gnawing her sandal, but her thoughts were on the evening in question. “He stayed two hours. The other players moved around as it suited them, depending on their luck and the capacity of their bladders.

But not Mahu. He never left that spot.”

“Who did he talk with coming in and leaving?”

“Only me. He asked for Benbu both times, and both times she was busy with other men.”

Bak sat back on the bench, contented with what he had learned but puzzled as well. If Mahu had told Sitamon the exact truth, the person who had approached him about carrying illicit goods had to be someone in that alcove. Which 106 / Lauren Haney narrowed his field of suspects from all of Buhen to five.

However, each and every one had a comfortable occupation and a position demanding respect. He could not imagine any of them smuggling anything more valuable across the frontier than a jar of date wine. They had too much to lose.

Nofery’s eyes glittered. “You surely don’t believe…”

The lion swung its head around to look at the rear door.

Bak silenced the old woman with a warning glance. Amonaya came through the portal, carrying a basket of bread, two beer jars, and a deep bowl from which the heavy scent of roast goose wafted. He bowed his head, murmured, “I’ve brought a feast fit for a queen, mistress.”

Nofery’s breast swelled with pleasure.

Bak almost laughed aloud.

While they ate, Bak told Nofery of the elephant tusk found on Mahu’s ship and described the captain’s death. He had learned long ago that if she was to help him to the best of her ability, he had to be frank with her. And though he would never admit it to her nor she to him, they counted each other as friends.

Bringing his tale to an end, he asked, “Now, old woman, what can you tell me of Captain Roy?”

“Not much.” She tossed a leg bone at the lion, who pounced on it with a low growl. “He was a taciturn man, one whose life was as small as the deck of his ship and whose words suffered from a lack of substance.”

Bak eyed her over the remains of a plump breast. “Most men let slip a few words of value.”

She snorted. “He talked always of his vessel, speaking as if it were a wife, one forever demanding attention. He talked of loading and unloading an infinite number of dreary objects at equally dreary ports. A more boring man I’ve never known.”

“What of the members of his crew?”

“I thought them no more entertaining than Roy.” She threw a segment of wing at the cat. “Like their master, they talked of the unending tasks they must perform to keep the ship afloat. At times I thought them schooled by him.”

They probably were, Bak thought. “Did you ever hear rumors of Roy hauling illicit cargo?”

“He was a man who went his own way, keeping his own counsel.” She gave him a sharp look. “All who live so close within themselves are suspect, as you well know.”

Captain Roy was beginning to intrigue Bak. For a man who had sailed the waters of Wawat for a good many years, knowledge of him was meager. He was as much a shadow as the ship his crew had seen the night they loaded the illicit cargo. “We know of no previous venture into smuggling,” he admitted, “and the contraband he carried came as a complete surprise.”

Nofery stopped chewing, her interest in the goose flagging.

“You found many beautiful and exotic items, so they say.”

He threw the breastbone at the lion and picked up a wet cloth Amonaya had brought so they could wipe the grease from their hands. He had to smile. While Nofery taught the boy the practicalities of running a house of pleasure on the frontier, the child seemed intent on teaching her a few regal niceties.

He eyed the sun, climbing into a clean and bright morning sky, so blue it vied with lapis lazuli. Soon he must begin to stalk in earnest Mahu’s slayer and Intef’s, but an investment of time now could save many hours later. So he settled back to sate Nofery’s thirst for knowledge.

Finished with his tale, he asked, “Do you know anything of the hunter Intef?”

Nofery threw another segment of wing at the lion. As it leaped upward to catch the bones, the torn and chewed sandal lay fully exposed. Snarling an oath, she rushed from her seat, shoved the startled cat aside, and grabbed the ruined object. Holding it up, she shook it in front of the creature’s face. “My new pair of sandals! Spawn of Set! How could you do this?”

“Nofery!” Bak crossed the court in five long strides, caught her by the arm, and dragged her back to her stool.

108 / Lauren Haney

“Forget that accursed sandal, old woman, and tell me what you know of Intef.”

“You saw him chewing it, didn’t you? And you didn’t say a word.”

“Intef,” Bak said, towering over her, “a man hunted down in the desert like an animal and slain from behind with no warning.” He had no way of knowing if the picture he painted was true in every respect, but he suspected as much.

Expelling a long, unhappy sigh, Nofery dropped onto the bench and laid the sandal beside her. “He was a good man, one who toiled day and night with no complaint.”

“That much I’ve heard.”

“He didn’t often come to my place of business. He had a family-a wife and children always in need-and he was seldom able to spare so much as a hare for a bowl of beer or a game of chance.”

Bak swore. Intef had a wife. Another woman who had to be told she’d lost the man who sustained her. “Where did he live, old woman?”

“In the oasis across the river. He had a plot of land, he once told me. While he hunted, his wife tended the fields.”

Sitting on the stool Nofery had abandoned, Bak described the alabaster jar he had found and the jewelry inside, going into such detail that she forgot the food in her hand. “The bracelets are old, very old. From the way they were made and the design, I believe they were brought to Wawat long ago, probably by an official serving the great sovereign Kheperkare Senwosret or one of his successors.”

“When Buhen was new,” she added, “its walls as yet untouched by time.”

“Yes.” He took a sip of beer, savored it. “Did he ever mention finding an old tomb? Or have you heard tales of him or anyone else trying to sell ancient jewelry in the market?”

“If he found anything of value, he’d have kept it to himself.

As for the market: only the most witless of men would think Buhen the place to sell goods plundered from a tomb.

The return would be too small, and you’d be there before the bargain was struck.”

“Greed sometimes warps the judgment.”

She slipped her foot out of the undamaged sandal, stood up, and tossed it to the lion, who caught his new plaything before it hit the floor. “In the dozen years I’ve lived in Buhen, I’ve never known ancient jewelry to come to light. I thought all the old tombs long ago robbed of their valuables.” Taking his arm, aiming him toward the door, she bared her teeth in a sham smile. “Now take me to the market. I need a new pair of sandals, and you’re the man to get them for me. Then take me to wherever you’re keeping the bracelets. I wish to see them for myself.”