The Right Hand of Amon lb-1

by Lauren Haney

  Bak had heard the tale before, but it had never held such significance. "Was his son Amon-Psaro, do you think?" Nebwa shrugged. "Maybe." He thought a few moments, nodded. "Probably."

  Bak leaped at the straw. "Except for Nebseny, all the officers who attended Woser's meeting the night Puemre died fought in that war: Woser, Huy, Senu, and Inyotef. If Amon-Psaro's father was their foe.. " He shook his head, rejecting his idea even before it was fully formed. "No. If that were the case, Amon-Psaro would be bent on revenge, not them."

  "The answer must lie elsewhere," Imsiba said.

  A sailor roared as if struck-by a scorpion, scrambled to his feet, and lurched out of the building. Laughing at his misfortune, the other gamblers spread a dozen small ivory carvings across the floor and began to haggle over who had won what. Bak, Nebwa, and Imsiba sat in silence, each working out a theory to present to the others.

  Bak expelled a long frustrated sigh. Every path they ventured down took them further from a solution. "Nebwa, you've served in Wawat for years and you know most of the officers along the Belly of Stones, or at least their reputations. Tell me what you can of Woser and his officers." Nebwa frowned. "I go back to my original question: If one slew Puemre, why would the others protect him?" "If I knew the answer to that…" Bak shook off his irritation, grinned. "Alright, I admit it. I'm desperate. Now will you humor me and answer my question?"

  Laughing at the admission, Nebwa waved to attract Sennufer's attention, pointed toward the stack of beer jars, and held up three fingers. "Woser's always outranked me, so my dealings with him have been limited. I know nothing of his personal life; I didn't even know he had a daughter until you mentioned her." He paused, waiting for Sennufer to hand around the jars and walk away., By reputation, he's an exceptional officer, one who should be promoted to commandant, but he's spent too much time on the frontier to attract the attention of those in the capital who make the decisions. I've heard he long ago was awarded a golden fly, but I don't know when or where he earned it."

  "Speaking of Commander Woser…" Imsiba nodded toward the door.

  Bak glanced around, muttered a virulent curse. The commander was standing on the threshold, his mouth tight and determined, his body stiff with suppressed tension. He stepped inside and the room went dead still, the sailors and soldiers startled by the arrival of so lofty an officer.

  What is he doing here, Bak wondered, in this lowly place where one would never expect him to set foot? "Tell me of Nebseny," he said to Nebwa.

  "Woser's coming this way."

  "If you exert enough pressure on the strongest of metals, it'll break."

  "Not always where you want it to."

  "Tell me of Nebseny," Bak repeated, sensing Woser coming up behind him.

  Nebwa wiped the skepticism from his face. "I've never met him and know nothing about him as a man." He toyed with his drinking bowl as if unaware of the silence in the room or the reason for it. "He's reputed to be a fine archery officer, cool under pressure, one not afraid to stand at the head of his men in the heat of battle."

  "Lieutenant Bak." Woser's words came out hard and fast, betraying his leashed anger. "Troop Captain Nebwa and Sergeant Imsiba. Are you merely drinking together, or am I interrupting a meeting?"

  Bak formed a genial smile. "We've little time for pleasure tonight, so we brought our business with us. Will you pull up a stool and join us, sir?"

  Nebwa glanced pointedly around the room and chuckled. "Police officers, you'll notice, concern themselves less with their surroundings than those of us accustomed to the more formal life of a garrison."

  Imsiba turned away, hiding a smile, and asked Sennufer to bring a stool. Woser eyed the place, its wiry proprietor, and the other patrons with a stony disdain. The sailors and soldiers sat tongue-tied and stiff beneath his cool gaze.

  "I've asked Nebwa to tell me what he knows of some of your officers," Bak said, deliberately prodding the commander.

  Woser dropped onto the proffered stool and leaned toward Bak. "My officers are worthy men." He spoke close to a whisper so his words would not carry, but his voice was hard and edged with anger. "You've no right to treat them as potential murderers, and you've no reason to consider them as such."

  "Commandant Thuty gave me the authority to do as I see fit." Bak's voice was equally firm. "Do you wish to sit here and listen to what Nebwa has to tell me? Or would you rather remain in ignorance until at last I lay hands on the man who slew Puemre?"

  Woser turned half-around and his eyes raked the other customers. "Get on with your business or get out."

  A sailor scooped up the throwsticks, made a call, and flung them across the floor. A soldier called out to Sennufer and held up a finger for a jar of beer. Other men gulped from their bowls. They spoke to one another, their voices too loud, nervous. Woser swung back around to glare at Bak.

  Nebwa gave his friend a quick look of comprehension, as if for the first time he fully understood the obstacles Bak faced. "I've known Troop Captain Huy for years, though not well. He's been assigned to duty in Wawat off and on for as long as I can remember. Our paths have crossed often, but we've never lived in the' same garrison at the same time. My father always spoke of him with respect, and I've always liked him and believed him an honorable man and officer. He knows the whole of Wawat better than anyone else I know. If war should come to this part of our empire, his knowledge could make the difference between victory and defeat."

  While Nebwa spoke, Bak watched Woser surreptitiously. The commander looked surprised and pleased at the words of praise. His jaw came unclenched, his fingers uncurled from tight fists, his shoulders relaxed.

  "Huy's a stiff-necked old boy," Nebwa added, "and as stubborn as they come. Once he forms a thought, it turns to stone. He'd fight to his death, so they say, for whatever he believes."

  "An admirable trait, I'd say." Woser gave a disgusted snort. "I fear for today's army and the well-being of the land of Kemet. You younger men have no sense of duty, no loyalty to ideals."

  Bak clamped his mouth shut, refusing to argue the point. The regiment of Amon was the best fighting force Kemet had ever known, and he suspected the other newly rebuilt regiments shared its excellence. Was Woser baiting him to sidetrack him? Or did he truly believe the past better than the present? He glanced at Nebwa. "What of Lieutenant Senu?"

  Nebwa's eyes shifted toward the commander, then dropped to his beer jar. "Like Huy, he's spent much of his life in Wawat, but he's also been assigned to duty farther upriver. I've never lived at the same garrison, and, until today out at the slipway, I doubt I ever met him."

  "He's an upright, decent man." Woser waved off Sennufer's offer of a brew. "A good, solid officer."

  "No doubt," Bak said under his breath.

  "I've heard of Lieutenant Senu," Imsiba broke in. "The tale may or may not be true but, considering the circumstances, it's worthy of telling." He spoke to Woser rather than Bak. "They say he once found a sergeant trading with a local chieftain, handing over weapons made in Kemet and getting in return young and untouched girls stolen from desert nomads. Senu killed both men and left them in the village for all the world to see."

  Woser's eyes met Imsiba's and held. "It's a tale, no more. Senu's record is clean."

  A minute smile flickered on the Medjay's face, and he bowed his head in acknowledgment. "As you say, Commander Woser."

  Bak could almost read his friend's thoughts: Senu deserved a golden fly, not censure. He was inclined to agree. With reluctance, he turned his thoughts to his final suspect, Inyotef. Why, he wondered, must I feel so guilty each time I think of him? The injury to his leg resulted from an honest accident, not from any fault of mine. "Can you tell me of the pilot Inyotef?" he asked Nebwa.

  Nebwa gave him a sharp look, as if wondering how he could bring himself to ask the question. "I've met him four times, each time the men in my company helped tow a vessel along the slipway. I can't claim to know him any better than I know Senu, but I've often heard him praised. He's c
onsidered the best pilot on the river between Abu and Semna."

  "He should be," Woser said irritably. "He's plied the waters of Wawat off and on for years. Long before he commanded a vessel, he served here as a seaman."

  "I've heard he first came on one of the ships carrying the army of Akheperenre Tuthmose," Nebwa went on.

  "He's gone home to Kemet many times, but has always. come south again, though rarely so far. This is his first assignment to a garrison on the Belly of Stones. He lived before in Abu."

  "Does he have any reason for shame?" Bak asked, closing his heart to a second surge of guilt.

  Nebwa gave him another quick glance. "They say when his feet touch dry land, his tongue grows sharp and he sometimes strikes out with his baton of office. His wife left a year or more ago, taking their children with her, and some believe he struck her once too often."

  Bak could not remember Inyotef losing his temper. Had he grown bitter after the accident? Bitter and vindictive? Bak prayed the cause lay elsewhere-or, better yet, that the tale was untrue.

  "She denied the charge," Woser said as if in answer to Bak's thoughts. "She told me she hated Iken and wanted to live again in a richer, gentler land. How could I fault her when my own daughter shared the wish to leave?"

  "You seem never to find fault in anyone, sir." Bak eyed the commander thoughtfully. "An unexpected trait in a man who's reached the lofty rank of commander."

  "I find fault with you, young man." Woser sat stiff and straight, his eyes level and unflinching. "You're so anxious to lay hands on a murderer here and now that you refuse to look farther afield at far more likely suspects."

  "An anonymous trader?" Bak's laugh held no humor. "Can't you see my intent? The sooner I eliminate the innocent, the faster I'll lay hands on the guilty."

  Woser eyed him for several moments, his face bleak and closed. Abruptly, as if he had come to a sudden decision, he stood up. "I can waste no more time on Puemre's murder. I've a most important task to assign, one well suited to you."

  Bak glanced at Nebwa and Imsiba. They looked as startled as he was, and as wary.

  "As you've surely noticed, Lieutenant Bak…" Woser's sarcasm was designed to sting. "… habitable space in Iken is limited. I've therefore decided to house King AmonPsaro and his entourage-more than a hundred people, you've no doubt heard-in the old fortress located on the island across the channel from this city. It's not much more than a shell, and it's cluttered with bricks fallen from the walls and trash left by traders and herdsmen who've camped there through the years. I've no other officer to spare, so you must assume the responsibility for making the structure habitable and secure. I'll give you as many men as you need."

  Bak was staggered by the assignment-and by the cleverness of Woser's move. The task could take much of his time, stealing the hours he would otherwise be spending on his investigation.

  "I realize I'm taking you away from your other duties, but for a few days at most." Woser almost smiled. "After the fortress is clean and safe, you'll have nothing further to do except look to Amon-Psaro's safety while he's on the island. Troop Captain Huy will ensure his well-being each time he comes within the walls of the city.".

  Bak yearned to refuse, but in all good conscience he could not. If Amon-Psaro's life rested in his hands, the only way he could feel confident in the security precautions was to set them up himself. "The lord Amon, I assume, will move to the island to be near the royal party?"

  Woser looked at him as if he were addled. "The god must live in the mansion of the lady Hathor. We can't flaunt a long-established custom to satisfy the needs of a Kushite king."

  "What of tTie prince?" Bak asked, his voice made grim by an answer he feared he already knew. "From what I've been told, he's too ill to be moved so great a distance day after day."

  "He'll live in the house we've loaned Kenamon. There he can receive constant attention from the physician and he'll be only a few paces from the mansion of the goddess, an easy journey even if he must be carried."

  Bak muttered a heartfelt curse. Each time Amon-Psaro wished to see his son, he would cross the channel by skiff and march through the lower city, up the gully to the plateau, and along the streets of the fortress. He would be vulnerable coming and going, twice a day if not more often. And Huy, the man in charge of security, might well be the one planning to slay him.

  "The swine," Nebwa spat.

  Imsiba shook his head in disgust. "Never would I have expected so shrewd a way of tying your hands from a man as hidebound as Woser."

  Bak, seated on a stool in the front room of his temporary quarters, scowled at the pair in the flickering light of three palm-sized oil lamps he had scattered around. He refused to dwell on Woser's perversity. "Nebwa, when will your task be finished in Buhen?"

  "Two days, three at most." Nebwa knelt to tidy Kasaya's sleeping mat. "I'll travel home tomorrow, the gold and tribute items will be transferred the following morning from the treasury to the ship, and it'll sail as soon as the loading is finished."

  "You must tell Commandant Thuty all you've heard today and ask if he'll let you come back to Iken."

  "That was my intent." Nebwa stripped down to his skin and sat on the pallet. "How many men should I bring? Will a half company be enough?"

  Bak's spirits began to lift. If Woser thought to hobble him, he would be sadly disappointed. "Of those who towed the barge along the slipway, leave, twenty behind. They, with Pashenuro at their head, will give me a good solid core of trustworthy men on the island. I doubt I'll need more."

  "And what of me?" Imsiba asked, gathering his spear and shield from the floor so he could return to the fortress for the night. "I must stay with the lord Amon, I know, but is there not some way I can help? Perhaps ask Kenamon to intercede with Woser?"

  "Say nothing to Kenamon. I don't want to worry him further unless I have to." Bak waited for Imsiba's reluctant nod, then, "At first light tomorrow, I'll examine the island. As soon as I see what must be done, I'll come to you and tell you what I've found. Kasaya and I will go on with our search for Puemre's slayer, so you must be prepared to advise Pashenuro should I not be available when he needs help."

  Imsiba's eyes glinted with mischief. "Woser won't be happy when he hears you've divided the task he gave you, laying it on the shoulders of other men."

  Bak grinned. To circumvent the commander's orders was a joy. "I doubt he'd have thought up this task if Nebwa hadn't struck fear in his heart, speaking so highly of my powers as a policeman that the gods themselves couldn't live up to the praise."

  Nebwa stretched out on the pallet, his wrists crossed beneath his head, untroubled by the charge. "I know, my tongue runs away with itself at times."

  "I must go," Imsiba said. "Our men will fear I've had too much beer and have lost my way." He bade them goodbye and left.

  Bak pinched the wicks of two lamps, leaving the third burning while he undressed. Each time a breeze tickled the flame, shadows danced around the near-dark room. "Tell me of your newborn son, Nebwa. How was he when you left?"

  "He's a perfect child. Handsome, smart…"

  Bak half listened, his thoughts far away, his hands and body going through the motions of undressing, laying his clothing across a stool, lying down on the sleeping platform. The night was too hot for a sheet, so he threw it aside. By the time he reached across to quench the third lamp, leaving the room in velvety darkness, Nebwa was snoring.

  Bak closed his eyes and let himself drift off. Something moved, something in his bed, some other creature perhaps. His eyes popped open. He lay still, saying nothing, feeling his heart thud in his breast. Except for Nebwa's soft snores, the room was silent. He must have been dreaming.

  He started to turn onto his side, felt another movement, the pressure of something round and cold and damp against his arm. Like a snake. A snake? He shot out of bed with a yell.

  "Wha…?" Nebwa mumbled. "What? What is it?" "Get outside! Quick!" Bak leaped toward the door, a vague rectangle slightly lighte
r than the room. With eyes accustomed to the dark and the sky bright with stars, the lane was like a long, straight, dry riverbed, empty and barren.

  "What happened?" Nebwa demanded, a pace or two behind.

  "I felt something in my bed," Bak said grimly. "A snake, I think."

  "You don't — suppose…" Nebwa let the sentence hang in the air between them, the unspeakable thought.

  "The house was empty when we moved in," Bak said, thinking aloud. "No, Nebwa. It's probably been inside all along, hiding from us." He clapped his friend on the shoulder. "I'll go get a light so we can see. We can't go back to bed with that thing crawling around, looking for a warm body to cuddle up against."

  He trotted down the lane, as naked as the day he was born. As far as he could tell, his yell had not awakened any of the neighbors sleeping inside the nearby houses or on the cooler rooftops. He stopped at the first intersection he came to. In the distance, he spotted a spearman assigned to night patrol, torch in hand. The watchman, a chubby young man barely old enough to shave, was not unduly surprised at the tale he told; snakes often invaded the old houses.

  They loped back to Bak's quarters side by side. The soldier held the torch just inside the door and they all peeked in. As far as they could see, the snake was not on the floor. Grabbing a spear leaning against the wall, Bak sucked in air as if it were courage and crept toward the sleeping platform. Nothing moved; the bed looked empty. He nudged the wrinkles with the spearpoint. The creature caught in the folds of the sheet came to life, writhing to free itself, hissing. The whole bed seemed to move and then the sheet and snake, tangled together, fell off the platform. Bak leaped backwards, his heart locked in his throat.

  A small flat head slid out of a fold of linen and a brownish body followed. The head rose off the floor, its upper body swelled to form a hood. It hissed at Bak and the men in the doorway. A cobra. One of the deadliest of all reptiles. Bak took the torch from the watchman and stepped closer to the snake. Holding the flame toward the creature, distracting it with fire, he muttered a quick prayer of forgiveness to the lady Wadjet, the goddess whom the cobra represented, and struck out with the spear. He drove the point through the hood, pinning the snake against the sleeping platform. The watchman killed the flailing creature with his spear.