Lauren Haney - Face Turned Backward

“I suggest you cast your net wider. It’s true that those of us unfortunate enough to have played knucklebones with Mahu are each and every one involved in trade, but many others along the river have both the means and the wit to smuggle contraband.”

“You’ll find my scribe Hori in a room at the back of this building,” Bak said in a wry voice. “If you’ve names to offer, we’ll search the men out and apply the cudgel.”

Hapuseneb burst into laughter. Glancing around, he located a stool against the wall, drew it forward, and sat down.

The potters hurried out of the building, looking no happier than when they had arrived. The entry hall remained silent, the knucklebones stilled for a more entertaining game of chance.

“I’ve come fishing,” Hapuseneb admitted. “I’ve heard whispers of a visit from the vizier, and I’ve been invited to a party worthy of the great man himself. He is coming, isn’t he?”

“I, too, have heard tales-and the promise of a surprise inspection.” Bak gave the trader a bland smile. “As I think it unwise to dismiss rumors so important to our well-being, I’ve ordered my men to ready their clothing and equipment.”

“Inspection, my right buttock! It’s trade the vizier’s interested in, not the army. That’s why I’ve come to you.”

Hapuseneb stood up abruptly, glowered first at Imsiba and then Bak. “Thuty can’t possibly go on this way, holding traffic in Buhen and Kor. He must, for his own sake, release all caravans and ships. If he doesn’t, the vizier will strip him of his rank and throw him to the jackals.”

“He knows the risk he takes, and so do I.” Bak tried to look worried, to pretend he did not already know Thuty’s decision to allow trade to flow as before. “But you surely understand that when traffic begins to move, most of my suspects will set sail and my search for Mahu’s slayer will falter.”

Looming over him, Hapuseneb struck the coffin with the flat of his hand. “No!” He backed off and laughed-at himself, Bak could see. “Until the vizier leaves Buhen, not a man among us will sail away. Especially with Thuty’s wife giving a party, giving to one and all the chance to draw attention to themselves and petition him for position or power.” His eyes flickered toward Imsiba and back. “If I’m wrong, if any man sails who has more to gain by staying, I’ll go after him myself and drag him back.”

Surprised, Bak rose to his feet. Did so brazen an offer mean Hapuseneb held no guilt in his heart? Or was it meant to cloud the eyes, stifling rational thought? Imsiba looked equally startled-and just as confused.

Hapuseneb took a step toward the door, changed his mind, and swung back to the coffin. His eyes ran down the yellow stripe from collar to feet and he read aloud, “Amonemopet, web priest in front of the lord Khnum.” Looking up, he grinned.” A relative of yours, Lieutenant?”

Bak dared not look at the men in the entry hall, whose muffled laughter he could well imagine if not hear.

Hapuseneb raised a hand in farewell and strode out of the office. As he turned toward the street door, Nebamon entered. The older trader clapped the younger on the shoulder. “Hapuseneb! I see you’ve come ahead of me.”

“Did you go to the commandant, as promised?”

“He refused to see me, pleading the press of duties. I learned nothing of his intentions, nor did I have the opportunity to convince him we really must return to business as usual.”

Hapuseneb glanced toward Bak’s office, his eyes alive with good humor. “I, too, came up empty-handed. Bak’s as close-mouthed as a wooden doll. If Thuty means to let traffic flow, the lieutenant’s not about to whisper the news before the official announcement.”

Bak walked to the door, crossed his arms over his breast, and eyed the pair with a sardonic smile. That they had been talking for his benefit, he had no doubt. “Who else have you

asked to plead your case? Userhet was here before you. Will Ramose come next? Or Kay?”

“You’re singularly lacking in subtlety, Lieutenant,”

Hapuseneb said, laughing heartily.

Nebamon gave Bak a disapproving look. “You make light of our worries, Lieutenant, but if you were a man of business rather than a soldier, a policeman, you’d know that every travel day lost is a day that leads us closer to poverty.”

Bak could not resist casting a skeptical eye at Hapuseneb, one of the most successful traders in Wawat and Kush. The tall, slender man shrugged, denying responsibility for his colleague’s careless statement.

“Don’t get me wrong.” Nebamon, unaware, ran his fingers through his short white hair. “I’d rather be safe than be found one day with an arrow in my back. But so far I’ve seen no sign that bringing traffic to a standstill has contributed in any way to finding Mahu’s slayer. Frankly, I’d feel safer in Ma’am, or faroff Abu.”

Hapuseneb turned his head so only Bak could see and rolled his eyes skyward. “I must go. I’ve a ship tied up at Kor, a solid and worthy vessel but not of outstanding beauty.

With luck and the help of the gods, I can have it repainted before Thuty allows us to sail.”

He left the guardhouse and Imsiba followed, his expression glum. Bak hoped his friend would go see Sitamon. At best, he would learn she had not yet entrusted Userhet with her affairs. If she had, he would have to accept her decision and find a way to compete on his own terms.

The knucklebones rattled across the floor, the roll shorter than usual, the noise more muted. The men making a pretense at play while they waited for Nebamon to spot the coffin. Bak was sorely tempted to take his visitor elsewhere but, remembering how astute Nebamon was, how quick to see beyond the obvious, he preferred the privacy of his office.

“I can’t tell you what rests in Commandant Thuty’s heart,” he said, ushering the trader inside and waving him toward the stool. “I know he’s thinking on the problem, and 174 / Lauren Haney

I doubt he’ll wait long to air his decision. Before nightfall, I’d guess.”

“He must release our goods.” Nebamon’s tone was fervent, a prayer almost.

Resting a shoulder on the doorjamb, Bak gave him a long, speculative look. “Are you so much in need?”

“No.” Nebamon slumped onto the stool, flushed. “Well…”

He hesitated, waffled. “Not in need exactly, but I can’t tarry much longer.” He fussed with the bracelet on his wrist, his face aflame. “You see, I overextended myself in Kerma, trading every item I brought south from Kemet, allowing myself no cushion in case of trouble or delay. Now, with the trade goods I brought back to Wawat stored here in Buhen, awaiting shipment to Abu, and with fees to pay in addition to tolls…” Again he hesitated, finally said, “To be perfectly honest, Lieutenant, my profits dwindle daily.”

Bak could see how costly the admission had been to Nebamon’s pride. Beneath the patrician facade lay a man of meager means. Unless he was a superb actor, one hiding wealth behind a screen of poverty, he could not be smuggling goods in any but the smallest of quantities. Certainly nothing as valuable as an elephant tusk.

“What do you know of the ivory trade?”

“Not much.” Nebamon relaxed, patently relieved by the change of subject. “I seldom travel far enough south to pick up the best pieces.”

“You go to Kerma.”

“The city’s a backwater, a shadow of what it was before the armies of Akheperkare Tuthmose struck down its kings once and for all and regained the land for mighty Kemet.”

Bak heard a noise behind him, a low hiss. He glanced back. Five Medjays were now hunkered around the knucklebones, watching him with rapt attention. One signaled with a hand, urging him to move. They wanted him to sit down, he realized, to draw Nebamon’s attention to the coffin so they could get a reaction.