Lauren Haney - Face Turned Backward

He threw them a warning glance, demanding they not go too far, and walked into the office. Settling down in his usual place near the painted head, he said, “I neglected to ask when last we spoke, but did you know Captain Roy?”

Nebamon nodded. “In days gone by. I now and again moored my ship near his when still he sailed above the Belly of Stones. We sometimes talked, but seldom for long. He kept to himself.”

“Did you ever see him with men reputed to be smugglers of contraband?”

“There was one…” Nebamon clasped his hands between his knees and stared at the coffin. “I several times saw them together in a house of pleasure in Kerma. A Kushite, he was.

A man with an unsavory reputation.”

“Did rumor link Roy with illicit cargo?”

“If so, I don’t remember.” Noting Bak’s raised eyebrow, he laughed. “Rumors fly thick and fast south of the Belly of Stones. Even more so than here. Most so farfetched as to be mythical.”

Bak’s smile turned ironic. “Have you heard any tales where the gods play no part?”

Nebamon gave the officer an uncertain look. “I heard one last night, but…Well, I fear it involves a headless man.”

Normally Bak had no time for wild and imaginative tales, but the trader was no fool. He would not have mentioned this story if he thought it of no merit. “I feel a need to be entertained.”

“My Kushite servant, a man who wishes to help himself by helping his master, passed on this tale he heard in the house of pleasure of a one-time spearman, Tati.” Nebamon glanced at Bak, making certain he understood the rumor’s provenance. “The place is small, he said, and it was filled with farmers besotted by beer. The story was told by one who had come to Buhen with goats to trade, an old man from upriver.

“He told a tale of a headless man meeting a ship in the dead of night at some secret spot south of Kor. He talked of objects passing back and forth, some leaving the vessel and others being taken on board.”

“A headless man.” Bak gave the trader a skeptical look.

176 / Lauren Haney

“A man with his head covered more likely, or his face blackened.”

“So I thought, but you know how superstitious these local farmers are.”

Bak pictured a vessel bringing contraband down the Belly of Stones. He had heard there were places below the worst of the rapids hidden from the eyes of those who manned the watchtowers. And he remembered Ramose talking about Captain Roy, saying he sometimes took longer than necessary to sail from one place to another. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, not bothering to hide his interest. “Only the one boat, or more?”

Nebamon smiled. “I asked my servant that same question, and he said every man there pressed the farmer with a like query. The old man could give no answer-or he wouldn’t.

Each time the headless man came, he swore, the nights were dark, with the stars on fire but no moon.”

Bak probed for detail, but could get nothing more. “Have you mentioned this tale to anyone else, Nebamon?”

“No, I wanted no one making light of me, thinking me gullible.” The trader laughed sheepishly. “Nor did I want a man, headless or not, coming to me in the dark of night, thinking to silence me through eternity.”

“A wise precaution.” Bak stood up and took a turn across the floor, his legs propelled by a surge of excitement. Could this be the breakthrough he had been searching for? “Speak no more of this tale to anyone, and caution your servant to remain mute. The fewer who know, the better for both of us. You’ll be safer, and I’ll be free to track down unhampered the headless man.”

Looking as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders, Nebamon rose to his feet. Bak escorted him to the door and watched him walk down the street, close to certain he was free of guilt. Or had he set a clever trap, designed to lure an unwary police officer to his death?

He turned around to a silent entry hall and five men staring at him, their expressions a blend of disappointment and perplexity. Nebamon had failed to react to the coffin. For a moment, he was as puzzled as his men, then he remembered bumping into the trader a few days earlier, Nebamon coming out of the guardhouse, Bak entering. The trader had surely seen the coffin then.

“An old tomb south of Kor, Intef’s wife told you, and now Nebamon mentions a secret spot south of Kor.” Imsiba eyed Bak, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps we should explore the river above Kor.”

“We’ll leave at daybreak tomorrow.” Bak looked out across the harbor, which was quieter than he had ever seen it, with river craft large and small snug against the quays, their crews chatting, fishing, dozing in patches of shade untouched by the midday sun. “Go talk to the fisherman Meru and tell him what we want: a boat small and sleek, one easily maneuvered among the many small islands and through shallow waters overgrown with reeds. And collect sufficient weapons. We’ll not go empty-handed and unprotected.”

Imsiba gave him a sharp look. “You think the tale a trap?”

“I think it best to take no chances.” Leaning against the terrace wall, Bak eyed three small, scantily clad girls squatting by the river’s edge, forming handfuls of mud into loaves of bread and cakes. “While you prepare for our journey, I must talk again with Ramose-and to the men who sailed with Captain Roy. Maybe now they’ll speak up.”

“They’re beginning to think they’ve been forgotten, so say the men who’re guarding them.” Normally the Medjay would have smiled at the sailors’ plight, but he remained glum.

Bak could easily guess the reason. “When you’ve finished your task, you must go to mistress Sitamon. She’s had time to think since last we spoke of her brother’s death. Maybe she’s remembered some small item important to us but not to her.”

Imsiba glanced at him, suspicious of his motive, but chose not to press the issue. Because it suited his purpose, most likely.

“Intef was planning to join my crew?” Captain Ramose gave Bak a surprised look. “He said nothing to me.”

“Never?” Bak asked.

“He made no secret of the fact that he’d like to see more of the river, to wander far and wide, but he had a family to care for, a farm.” Ramose shook his head. “No, it must’ve been talk, nothing but talk.”

So, Bak thought, Intef had not yet thought the time right to journey north with his small treasure. Had he expected to find more?

“I’ve been in these waters far longer than need demands, Lieutenant, and I’d like to set sail.” Ramose stood on the bow of his ship in his customary stance: legs spread wide and hands on hips. “I went out of my way to help, reporting the shipwreck and staying with it, making two journeys where one would serve. The least you can do is plead my case to Commandant Thuty.”

A flock of ducks flew low overhead, honking, searching for a patch of reeds in which to feed. A yellow cur wandered up the quay, following an invisible trail with its nose. A fish leaped out of the mirror-smooth river and fell back with a plop, waking a naked sailor, his back propped against a mooring post, his raised knees supporting a fishing pole.

The smell of burning onions wafted across the harbor from a brazier on another vessel.

“The commandant will soon come to a decision. I can do nothing to sway him.” Bak had grown weary of the promise, the denial, the pretense of a secret where none existed.

“Aren’t you looking forward to the party Thuty’s wife is planning for the vizier?”

Thrusting out his bulging, sweaty belly, Ramose snorted.

“Do I look the type to rub shoulders with the nobility?”

Bak laughed. “I spent my youth in the capital, where men of noble birth are thicker on the ground than weeds. Believe me, you’re no less of a man than they are.”