Lauren Haney - Face Turned Backward

Ramose grinned, flattered yet unmoved. “I’ll wave to the vizier as I pass his flotilla somewhere between here and Ma’am. And while you’re rubbing shoulders with the great ones, sipping thin wine and nibbling stale cakes, I’ll be lounging on deck with my men, drinking the best beer brewed in Wawat.”

The captain was not joking, Bak realized. He would leave Buhen the instant Thuty gave the word unless something could be done to stop him. “You’d let one half-naked desert tribesman frighten you so badly that you’d miss the grandest party ever given in this land of Wawat?”

Ramose’s good humor vanished; he turned hostile. “What did I tell you before? My ship was not attacked. We ran aground.”

Bak scowled at him, disgusted. He could understand the local people’s reluctance to trust authority, but a respectable seaman from the land of Kemet should show more confidence. “How can I hope to protect you and yours if you won’t help me lay hands on the man who threatened you?”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Captain Ramose! Two men have been slain so large quantities of trade goods can be smuggled downriver. If you run away, saving yourself, others will die, of that I’ve no doubt.”

“No!” Shaking his head like an angry bull, Ramose backed away. He bumped into the forecastle with a thud, cursed, glared hard at his inquisitor. Words erupted as if torn from his throat. “All right!” He stepped forward, away from the forecastle, seething. “The bow was axed the night after I refused to haul contraband. No warning could’ve been more clear. So I kept my mouth shut, fearing I’d lose not just my ship, but my life and the lives of my crew.” His expression hardened, his voice pulsed with fury. “Now I’ve put us all at risk. Are you content?”

“I’ll send men aboard to guard you. You’ll be safe as long as you stay in Buhen.”

Ramose snorted. “As safe as Mahu was?”

Bak cringed inside, but let no hint reach the surface. “Tell me of the man who threatened you.”

“I know nothing for a fact, not even his name. He’s a 180 / Lauren Haney shadow among men.” Ramose, speaking grudgingly, collapsed on a bundle of cowhides. Dust rose in a cloud around him, making Bak sneeze. “He came north from Kush, of that I’ve no doubt, and from his wild and unruly appearance, I suspect he was spawned in the desert. Now he’s abandoned the sandy wastes for a life on the river-and it suits him well.”

Bak recalled Nebwa mentioning a boatman from the south, a man he wouldn’t trust with his rattiest pair of sandals, the man he saw whispering in Mahu’s ear at Kor. “He has his own boat?”

“A traveling ship, small and sleek, the kind of vessel a nobleman’s son might sail from one estate to another in the land of Kemet. How a man of the desert, a wild Kushite tribesman, came to have so gracious a ship is a puzzle oft discussed among boatmen and never resolved.”

Bak tried to picture such a man, but could not. “Why have I never seen this man?”

“He’s a shadow, I tell you. Some say he comes downriver from far to the south and when the water is high, he rides the rapids from Semna to Kor more for excitement than for gain. Others say he most often sails the smoother waters of the Belly of Stones, carrying cargo from one village to another, from one garrison to the next. When the river drops so low no ships are safe, he finds a hidden harbor among the islands and vanishes from sight.”

Bak had trouble tamping down his excitement. The pieces of his puzzle were falling into place at last. Where before he had nothing but a theory that a ship brought the contraband down the Belly of Stones, now he had a man with a ship. A shadow with no definition, no name, but a man he could track down and snare. “He’s never sailed into Buhen?”

“If he had, you’d remember. His ship’s a thing of beauty.”

Ramose came close to a smile, and at the same time his voice hardened. “…not a toy to play with in the rapids.”

“Then why do you fear him here and now?”

“His vessel was not moored at Kor the night my ship was axed. He sneaked in another way, either by small boat or on foot, and not a man on the quay saw him.” Ramose glared at Bak, challenging him. “Can you protect me and mine from a shadow?”

Bak hurried down the gangplank and along the quay, his thoughts on Ramose and the Kushite. The captain’s fear was real-and warranted, he felt sure. Too many questions remained unanswered to come to any firm conclusion, but deep within himself, he felt Ramose innocent of Mahu’s death and Intef’s. The Kushite must have approached the burly captain as soon as he learned of Captain Roy’s decision to return to Kemet, thinking to replace Roy’s ship with another before a gap could occur in the transport of contraband.

After Ramose refused, another man-one of Bak’s four remaining suspects-had gone to Mahu. But where the Kushite was a shadow who could threaten and vanish, the other was well known, a man with too much to lose to allow Mahu to live.

Finding no fault with his logic, satisfied with his conclusion, Bak drew his thoughts back to the world around him.

Ahead he saw Tjanuny, the man Ramose had sent to Buhen with word of the shipwreck, sauntering up the quay with several of his mates. Sight of the lean, sinewy figure nudged his memory, bringing back words spoken in jest. An offhand reference to a headless man.

Bak’s stride lengthened. “Tjanuny!” he called.

The sailor swung around, recognized the officer, and stopped dead still, his body tense, his expression both fearful and puzzled. His mates sidled away, wanting no part of whatever dire fate might befall him.

“Rest easy, Tjanuny,” Bak said, smiling. “I want nothing from you but information.”

Suspicion lurked in the sailor’s eyes. “I toil aboard Captain Ramose’s ship from dawn to dusk. What can I know that would be of value to you?”

Laying a hand on the man’s shoulder, Bak urged him around and on up the quay. “The day we returned from the shipwreck, we stopped at the place where Captain Roy loaded the contraband. Do you remember?”

“A vast open plain,” Tjanuny said, nodding. “His crew thought the sands inhabited by shadows of the dead.”

“While they were telling that tale, you made a joke.”

“Who? Me?” Tjanuny slowed to a snail’s pace and scratched his head. “I remember Roy’s men telling of a boat that passed by in the dark, but if I told a joke, it escapes me.”

Bak preferred not to put words in the sailor’s mouth, but…“You made light of their fear, speaking of a man missing a portion of his body.”

Tjanuny snapped his fingers, grinned. “Sure! The headless man.”

“That’s the one,” Bak said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Now where did you first hear of him, and how?”

“The Belly of Stones.” Tjanuny relaxed, the residue of mistrust seeping away, and walked on toward the fortress gate. “I came from a land far to the south, as you know. I worked my way downriver aboard first one ship and then another until I reached Semna. The river was high, the Belly of Stones navigable-I was told. But I’m a cautious man. I watched two ships lowered down some rapids. They made it all right, the men on board safe if not always dry, but the sight wasn’t as reassuring as it should’ve been. I gave the matter serious thought, and wanted no part of so hazardous a voyage. So I walked from Semna to Kor, meeting many people along the way. I often heard whispers of a headless man.”

Tjanuny gave Bak a sheepish smile. “At first I thought him not a man, merely a myth. A tale the farmers tell to scare themselves at night. And to this day, I’m not sure. I never saw him for myself.”