Lauren Haney - Flesh of the God

Paser’s eyes flitted to the treasury door. Bak thought he was going to refuse, but indecision turned to calculation and he said, “I must take these cones inside. Then we can talk.”

With a curt nod, Bak slipped past the drover and lead donkey, and strode up the street, stopping well out of earshot of the men tending the animals and their cargo. His eyes were drawn to the commandant’s residence, and his heart as well, but he had teased Paser and had to follow through without delay.

Leaning a shoulder against a wall, which was hot to the touch, he glanced at the western sky. The lord Re peered over the battlements, his long arms angling into the street as if to touch for one last time the golden bits of his divine flesh that the donkeys carried. The animals swished their tails and flung their heads around to nip at swarming flies.

The trickle of people hurrying to the quay had ceased. A few soldiers and scribes had begun to gather on the rooftops to watch the caravan’s triumphant passage along this, the main thoroughfare. Three soldiers were chatting before the doorway of the commandant’s residence. He saw no one on the roof, no sign of Azzia or her servants.

Paser emerged from the treasury and hurried to Bak’s side. “Kames agreed to wait, but not for long. If you’ve something to say, say it.”

“I’ll come straight to the point.” Glancing at the men on the nearby roofs, Bak lowered his voice and spoke with care so no eavesdropper would understand his meaning. “Before Nakht was slain, he left Mistress Azzia a legacy. In her confusion and grief, she gave it to me. It included three objects which, through much diligent effort, led me to a man of courage and guile.”

Other than a slight flicker of the eyelids, Paser’s face remained impassive.

“One object is of value for itself alone,” Bak said. “The others, two scrolls, are not in themselves precious, but could be of worth to a man who wishes to lead a long life free of worry and fear.”

“You were fortunate indeed to receive so generous a gift.” Paser’s tone was smooth, his dark eyes wary.

“In the beginning, I was content with my prize. Not for long, however. A diligent study of those scrolls suggested a path that, when once I set foot on it, proved to be long and arduous.” Bak’s voice turned flinty. “Five men died, one of my Medjays among them, and three attempts were made on my life.” He nodded as if to himself. “At last I came upon a legacy of my own, two images containing, not merely spells to protect men from illness and physical harm, but a modest wealth that I must share with those who helped me find it.”

“You sound like a man sorely used.”

Bak bared his teeth in a humorless smile. “Given the proper incentive, I could forgive and forget.”

Paser gave him a shrewd look. “What of the many men whose help you enlisted? Are their memories as faulty as yours?”

He’s nibbling at the bait! Bak thought. “They believe the scribe Roy-and no other man or woman-knew of the objects they now share,” he lied. “I alone know the full significance of Nakht’s legacy, and I mean to keep it that way.”

“I see.”

Something about the way he spoke sent a chill up Bak’s spine. “I’ll be atop the outer wall tonight, on the tower overlooking the center quay. I’ll have the scrolls with me. If you’d like to meet me there, I’m certain we can agree on a mutually advantageous exchange.”

“So public and well-guarded a place?” Paser laughed. “I think not. If we’re to meet at all…” He appeared to puzzle over his answer. “Somewhere along the river where no man will see us together. Upstream would be best, where the rocks reach into the water.”

Where the goldsmith Heby was slain, Bak guessed. “So private and empty a place? Do you think I care so little for life?” He shook his head. “No! We’ll meet…” He knew full well where he wanted to face Paser, but he frowned as if searching for an idea. “There,” he pointed, “on the roof of the commandant’s residence. When the moon reaches its highest point and the sentries can look down upon us.”

Paser studied the building, suspicious. “How can I be sure you’ll not have men hidden close by?”

“Darkness will have fallen long before we meet and most of the garrison will be fast asleep. You’ll have plenty of time to inspect the surrounding streets and buildings should you feel the need.” Paser eyed him thoughtfully, letting the silence grow.

“One thing you should know,” Bak said. “I’ve posted my Medjays at all the gates leading out of Buhen. I’ve instructed them to intercept everyone-officer, soldier, or civilian; man or woman-and examine each bundle and basket they carry, no matter how small or large. They’re looking for weapons or any of the other garrison supplies so often taken outside these walls and traded to nearby villagers. If there’s anything of value to be found, they’ll find it.”

“You’ve left me no option, it seems.” Paser pivoted on his heel and walked toward the line of donkeys.

Bak had caught no more than a glimpse of the officer’s face and the fierce defiance of a creature at bay, willing to fight to the death rather than let its captor snare it. I’ve hooked a crocodile, he thought, not a great fish that’s helpless out of the water. He had expected no less, but the thought of confronting Paser in the dead of night sent another chill up his spine, this one radiating across his bandaged shoulders and around his rib cage.

Bak hurried along the street to the commandant’s residence. Keeping himself alive was just one of his problems. He also had to convince Paser to go to his cache of gold and bring a portion back, and he had to wring a confession from his lips.

“Officer Bak!” Hori shouted from the rooftop.

He looked upward, as did the soldiers standing before the door. The scribe knelt at the edge of the roof, his youthful face aglow with excitement. Standing beside him were the three servants of the household: Lupaki, the old woman, the girl. And Azzia.

Bak’s worries and fears melted away in the warmth of her smile. “You’re here!”

“I owe much to mistress Iry.” Azzia’s voice was as soft and gentle as he remembered it. “She persuaded her husband to let me stay.”

Bak glanced at the soldiers, who had begun to edge out into the street so they could see the roof and its occupants. He waved them back to the doorway, but was too happy at finding Azzia alive and well to notice their failure to obey.

“She convinced Tetynefer of your innocence?” he asked.

Hori’s smile stretched all the way across his face. “She threatened him with divorce!”

A smile fluttered across Azzia’s face, vanished. “If the breeze is fair, the viceroy will sail into Buhen before nightfall tomorrow. I’m to stand before him the moment he sees fit, probably the following day.”

“He’s bringing the new commandant,” Hori explained.

Bak thanked the lord Amon for his good fortune. If the steward’s wife had not intervened, if a storm had blown the caravan apart on the desert, if another group of tribesmen had attacked, he would not have arrived in time to save her.

Azzia knelt beside Hori. Her long reddish braid snaked over her shoulder and fell between her breasts. “We’ve heard many rumors since word came that you were waiting to be ferried across the river. We heard of the accident at the mine and the fierce battle you fought. So I know you’ve had much to think about since you left Buhen, but did you now and again give thought to the man who took my husband’s life?”

“I believe I know his name.”

Before she could question him further, Bak shot a warning glance at the listening men. Her nod told him she understood he could not speak freely.