Lauren Haney: Face Turned Backward

“No, sir.” Recognition from on high was a rare commodity on the frontier, and Bak could well understand the commandant’s joy.

“It’s a pity you found no elephant tusk. I’d like to know for a fact who was responsible for the one our envoy saw in Tyre. Was it Userhet? Or someone else? A man we’ve still to snare?”

Bak could only shrug. “I believe Userhet guilty, but as yet I’ve found no proof.”

“Need I remind you that as long as doubt remains, your men and Nebwa’s must continue to search all ships and caravans crossing the frontier?”

“You can rest assured, sir, that I’ll leave no field unplowed in my quest for the truth.”

Thuty must have heard the stiffness in his voice, for he studied the younger officer over pyramided fingers. “Believe it or not, Lieutenant, I don’t enjoy the task any more than you. Each time you detain a vessel, I get a multitude of complaints.”

Thanks to Nebwa, Bak had sailed into Buhen late the previous day, standing on the deck of Wensu’s ship. The troop captain had commandeered a carpenter to repair the vessel’s rudder and sailors to row it to out of the Belly of Stones and downriver to Buhen. Finding the harbor filled to capacity with the vizier’s flotilla, they had moored the ship against the shore a short distance upriver. There they had offloaded the bodies of Userhet and Wensu and turned the Kushite sailors over to a contingent of Medjays. Imsiba had rushed off to see Sitamon. Mery had gone home. Bak and Nebwa had reported to the commandant. Now here he was again, filling in details. Or at least trying to.

Thuty waved him onto a stool and ordered a passing servant, a pretty young woman who was sure to please the noble visitors, to bring them each a jar of beer. “You said the farmers came to your aid because Mery summoned them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thuty eyed him critically. “He’s but a child, unknown outside the walls of this city. Why did they hasten from their homes to help him?”

Bak shifted his weight on the stool, not sure how best to answer. The last thing he wanted was to remind Thuty of a subject that never failed to anger him. “Well, sir…”

“I’ll talk to the boy. He’s earned my praise and more. But first I would hear the tale from you.”

“You know how fast news spreads along the river.”

Thuty gave him a sour look. “Spare me the facts of life, Lieutenant.”

Bak felt the heat rush into his face. “The people living along that stretch of the river had no love for Wensu. He oft times demanded food and drink when they had barely enough to survive, and when the urge struck, he and his men took a wife or daughter as their own. As for the headless man…The people feared him, plain and simple.” Staring straight ahead, he went on doggedly, “On the other hand, they’d heard how lenient I was with Pahuro and the people of his village, and they’d heard of my kindness to the hunter Intef’s widow. I’d also made a promise to an old farmer in the area, Ahmose he’s called, but that I’ve yet to keep.”

Thuty wove his fingers together across his hard, flat stomach and eyed Bak from beneath lowered brows. “I’ll not withdraw what I’ve said before, Lieutenant. I’m responsible for this garrison; therefore, I’m the man who must sit in judgment on all who err along this sector of the river.”

Bak braced himself, expecting the worst.

“That’s not to say my officers can’t now and again use their own discretion.” Thuty paused, added in a dry voice,

“As you’ve done in the past, and will no doubt continue to do in days to come.”

Bowing his head, hiding a relieved smile, Bak murmured,

“I’ll not abuse the privilege, that I promise.”

“Humph!”

Bak was still trying to decide how best to interpret so en-igmatic a sound when the servant returned. She handed each man an unplugged jar of beer and a drinking bowl and hastily departed, as if expecting at any time a summons from on high.

Thuty filled his bowl, took a deep drink, and nodded his appreciation. “The vizier means to sit in my place in the audience hall tomorrow morning, listening to those who wish to make a supplication or air a complaint or ask for a judgment between one man and another.” Setting the jar on the small table by his elbow, he added in a voice as smooth as the finest linen, “I wish mistress Rennefer to go before him. Are you prepared to stand at her side and accuse her of attempted murder?”

Bak gaped. “Yes, sir, but…”

“As you know, Lieutenant, I’ve few duties as disagreeable as judging a woman like her. One who failed in her purpose, but clearly intended to upset the balance of right and order by taking her husband’s life.”

Bak, who could practically see the commandant brushing his hands together, wiping away an unpleasant smear, smothered a smile. “Thirteen days have passed since I brought her to Buhen. Will the vizier not question your wisdom in waiting so long to judge her?”

“He knows you’ve been busy, tracking that wretched Userhet.” Thuty peered at Bak over his drinking bowl. “You are nearly finished with him, aren’t you?”

“My Medjays are even now searching his house, and an army of scribes is comparing the contents of each warehouse to the written inventory. I early on documented mistress Rennefer’s tale, so the effort will in no way hamper our appearance before the vizier.”

“You’re a thorough man, Lieutenant.”

“Userhet left his skiff with the officers’ skiffs, hiding it among its kind. I feel sure we’ll find contraband in one of the warehouses, laid out for all the world to see.” And if the gods smile on us, he thought, we’ll find in some secret place an uncut elephant tusk.

“You’ve found nothing?” Nebwa asked, glancing at the row of mudbrick niches built along the wall. The reddish pottery jars lying inside were empty, the scrolls they normally contained carried off by the scribes who were checking the inventory.

“Not yet,” Bak admitted.

The two men stood in the small, square entry hall of a warehouse containing a wide variety of dissimilar objects, some used by the garrison troops in greater or lesser quantities-body oils and oils for cooking, rolls of linen, dried beans and chickpeas, hides, lengths of wood, beer jars both full and empty-while the rest were the more exotic objects paid as tolls by traders crossing the frontier. A multitude of odors intermingled in the still, hot air, hinting at perfumes and fragrant woods, onions and spices, dried fish, and the human body, with none standing above the others.

Nebwa walked to the rear door and stared down the long, narrow corridor, broken at intervals by open portals and lighted by flickering torches that ran the length of the building. “The swine surely shipped his share north each time Captain Roy sailed to Abu.”

“Not if he was taking more than his due.” Bak’s eye was drawn to a mouse, running along the base of the mudbrick wall, its nose twitching. “Besides, I’ve not given up hope that we’ll find an elephant tusk.”

Nebwa snorted. “From what I saw of Roy’s cargo, Userhet’s fingers stuck to much that came his way. But tusks?”

He hiked up his kilt, grunted. “Wensu, yes. I can see a wild and unruly man like him hiding tusks on the ships of unsuspecting captains like Mahu, but Userhet was a man of thought, one too smart to take so great a risk.”

“He approached Mahu, a man with an untarnished reputation, the night they played knucklebones at Nofery’s house of pleasure. How smart was that?”

Nebwa grunted, unswayed. “I know of many a foul deed I’d like to lay at Userhet’s feet. To wash the scrolls clean would ease my life no end, but we can’t lay blame on a whim.”