by Lauren Haney
“We’ve spent the past hour with Commander Inebny at the garrison,” Thuty said, fishing around in the stew as if seeking one particular scrap of meat. He trapped a piece of lamb against the side of the pot and lifted it out on a piece of bread.
“He’s a long-time friend. A man sorely in need of help. His son Minnakht has vanished.” Taking a bite, he looked at
Nebwa, whose clear disapproval offered no help at all. He chewed longer than necessary, but finally swallowed and said, “You’re aware, Lieutenant, of how much I’ve counted on you sailing north to Mennufer with me. But of all the men
I know, you’d have the best chance of finding him.”
Bak noticed the commandant’s reluctance to state his ap peal in a plain and straightforward manner. No wonder. He was probably embarrassed. He had been adamant that Bak would not remain behind to satisfy Amonked’s wishes, now here he was, asking him to delay his departure.
“Exactly where did he vanish, sir? What were the circum stances?” Bak asked the questions reluctantly. If he failed to sail north with his Medjays, would he ever be able to rejoin them in Mennufer?
“Minnakht is an explorer.” Thuty washed away any em barrassment he might have felt with a long drink of beer. “He vanished somewhere between Kaine and the turquoise mines across the Eastern Sea.” Kaine was a village located on the bend of the river downstream from Waset. It was situated at the near end of a lesser-used trail that crossed the Eastern
Desert to the sea.
Bak stared, appalled. “I know nothing of the desert east of here, sir. How can I hope to find a man who may’ve become lost in that wild and barren land?”
“Inebny is expecting you within the hour.” Thuty dunked his bread into the stew, the matter settled as far as he was concerned. “He’ll tell you all you must know.”
“My son is a fine man. I’m proud of him, and with good reason.” Commander Inebny rose from his campstool to pace the length of the tent, not a great distance, but far enough to show his agitation.
“How long has he been missing?” Bak asked, trying not to reveal how unwilling he was to go out in search of Minnakht.
The mission needed a man with far more experience than he in the ways of the Eastern Desert.
“I last saw him four months ago.” Inebny dropped heavily onto the stool. He was a large man, tall and broad, and the lightly made seat creaked from the strain. “The day he left
Waset to sail north to Kaine. He was checking the supplies and equipment he meant to take into the desert, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.” He smiled at the memory.
“That was like him: checking and double checking. He left nothing to chance.”
Bak exchanged a silent thought with Nebwa, who stood beside him facing the commander: Minnakht had left some thing to chance or he would have returned to Kemet.
“Who reported him missing?” he asked.
“His nomad guide, Senna by name.”
“Minnakht has vast experience in the Eastern Desert, so
Commandant Thuty told us,” Bak said, thinking to draw out further information.
Inebny raised his head, listening to the blare of a trumpet signaling an order to the troops perfecting an exercise on the sandy plain on which the tent had been raised. Rather than listen to his friend’s tale a second time, Commandant Thuty had gone out to observe the soldiers’ performance. Inebny had watched his friend leave with a touch of resentment, and had been either too annoyed or too self-absorbed to offer seats and refreshment to Bak and Nebwa. A breeze ruffled the fab ric roof and walls, but with the doorway covered by a length of linen, not a breath of air could get inside. The tent was stifling.
Evidently satisfied the exercise was proceeding as it should, Inebny said, “He’s journeyed into the desert two or three times a year since his first expedition eight years ago.”
His breast swelled with pride. “When he made that initial journey, he was seventeen years of age. A young man of un common courage, with a remarkable quest for knowledge.”
“Has he always used the same guide?” Nebwa asked.
A slight frown creased Inebny’s brow. “Until a year ago, he used an older man, one he felt as close to as an uncle. That man died, of what ailment I’ve no idea. Senna has accompa nied him since.”
“Did Minnakht remain in Kaine for long?” In spite of grave doubts, or maybe because of them, Bak found himself caught up in the puzzle.
Inebny rose again to pace. “He stayed for two days. Long enough to purchase donkeys and a few items he preferred to get from the nomads who go there to trade.” The commander lifted the fabric covering the entryway and peered outside, where barked instructions and the sound of marching men could be heard. “The guide joined him there and accompa nied him across the desert to the Eastern Sea.”
Bak scowled. “Commandant Thuty said Minnakht van ished somewhere between Kaine and the turquoise mines on the far side of the sea. Did Senna not travel with him all the way?”
“He crossed the sea with him, yes, but he had no need to go beyond the port.” Inebny dropped once more onto his stool. The creaking sound was louder, alarming almost. “My son joined a military caravan delivering supplies from the port to the mines, and he returned with a caravan bringing turquoise and copper back to the coast. I’ve talked with the officer in charge of the port, Lieutenant Puemre.”
“Exactly who was the last man to see Minnakht?” Nebwa asked, unable to conceal his impatience with the slow progress of the questioning.
“Senna-so he says.”
Bak looked thoughtfully at the officer. “You doubt the guide’s honesty?”
Inebny shrugged. “How far can you trust these nomads?”
“I suspect they’re like the rest of us,” Nebwa said, not bothering to hide his irritation. “Some are honest and reli able, others are not.”
Bak leaped in with a question before the commander could register Nebwa’s near insolence. “Where exactly did
Senna last see Minnakht?”
“At the port a day or so after my son returned from the mines. He…”
“Sir!” A young officer swept aside the hanging over the doorway. He saw Nebwa, took note of his rank, muttered an apology, and retreated.
Patently annoyed by the interruption, Inebny said, “The guide claims to have watched my son sail away with the in tent of crossing the sea to the Eastern Desert. He meant to re trace their footsteps, returning to Kemet by the same path.”
“Would striking off alone like that have been safe?”
Nebwa asked.
“He’s explored that stretch of desert many times and wouldn’t have been a stranger to the route.” Inebny’s eyes followed an ant making its solitary way across the floormat, but Bak doubted he saw the insect. “He probably thought he could travel faster by himself.” He paused, nodded. “Yes, I’ll wager he thought another man and several donkeys would slow him down.”
“Why would he have been in such a rush?” Bak asked.
“He’d already been gone for many weeks. What difference would a few more days make?”
A sharp exchange between two men outside the tent mo mentarily drew Inebny’s attention. “I suspect he grew impa tient with the slow pace of the donkeys. Or he might’ve wished for some reason to dispense with Senna’s services.”
Bak thought he heard Commandant Thuty approaching.
Nebwa must have thought so, too, for his gaze shifted from
Inebny to the entryway. “How long ago did he leave that port?”
“Two months, Senna told me, a fact verified by Lieutenant
Puemre.”
“Two months to cross the Eastern Desert?” Bak asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s my understanding that one or two men not overly burdened with supplies and donkeys can cross in a week by the southern route the caravans travel from Waset.”
Inebny permitted himself a meager smile. “My son pre ferred a longer, more challenging path, one untrodden by other men of
Kemet.”
Bak heard a soft snort from Nebwa. He could understand his friend’s irritation. That the commander was proud of his son, one could understand, but such extreme pride was ag gravating. It made one wonder how much Inebny’s tale was colored by his feelings. “Exactly which way did they go?”
“They followed a series of wadis that took them in a north easterly direction around the southern flank of one of the highest peaks in the desert range and thence to the sea. Their path ran at a diagonal to the trails our caravans customarily use. Their journey, according to the guide, would’ve taken no more than two weeks if they hadn’t continually gone off to investigate interesting landforms along the way.”
Nebwa spoke up, voicing Bak’s thought. “You told Com mandant Thuty that you’ve known of Minnakht’s disappear ance for five days, yet your son left the port across the
Eastern Sea two months ago. Why did Senna take so long to tell you?”
Inebny stood up, strode to the doorway, and lifted the fab ric. The back of his kilt, Bak noticed, was stained by sweat, and one of the stool’s legs was bisected by a long, irregular crack.
“He claims to have spent weeks questioning wandering nomads and searching the land for signs of my son.” The commander draped the fabric over a pole supporting the roof.
The breeze immediately found its way inside, bringing slightly cooler air with it. “He said Minnakht would often see a wadi or a ridge or some other landform he believed promis ing and would, without thought to man or beast, spend many days looking for signs of precious minerals or stones. That I’ve no doubt. I know how obsessed my son could be when something attracted his interest.”
“What exactly was he looking for?” Bak asked. “Gold?”
“He always sought gold, of course, but other valuable minerals and stones as well.” Inebny turned his back to the outside, but remained in the doorway. “He hoped one day to present to our sovereign a map showing the whereabouts of a mine or quarry worthy of her divine father, the lord Amon himself.”
Always the skeptic, Nebwa asked, “Has he ever found anything of value?”
“Not in sufficient quantities-unfortunately-to make mining on a large scale worthwhile.” An unexpected smile brightened Inebny’s face. “This time, however, he was very optimistic. He said nothing about what he had found, but I caught him many times with a secret, rather smug smile on his face. The same smile he wore as a child when he’d learned a secret he could barely contain within his heart.”
“Did he ever before seem so confident?” Bak asked.
Inebny’s smile grew rueful. “Often.
“I’m the wrong man for the task, sir,” Bak insisted. “Com mander Inebny should seek someone who knows the Eastern
Desert, an explorer like his son.”
Thuty stopped in the intersection where he, Nebwa, and
Bak would part company. “If you can’t find Minnakht, Lieu tenant, no one can.”
“Bak’s right, sir,” Nebwa said. “He’d be entering the desert blinded by ignorance.”
“You’ll sail north with the rest of us in two days’ time.”
Thuty’s tone was strong and decisive, a man making an offi cial pronouncement. “We’ll go as far as Kaine, and there we’ll speak with Senna. Minnakht disappeared without pay ing him his due, and Inebny vowed to return with the live stock and supplies he’s asked for. He’ll be there waiting, I feel sure. Once you hear him out, you can decide for yourself if you wish to go. I’ll not press you further.”
Bak muttered a curse beneath his breath. Sooner or later,
Thuty always had his way. An empty feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that the same would hold true on this occa sion.
Chapter 2
“I fail to understand why you let my son sail alone.” Com mander Inebny’s voice was harsh, angry.
Senna bowed his head, not quite concealing the flash of re sentment in his eyes. “He insisted, sir. Would you have had me force my wishes upon him?”
“Don’t be impertinent!”
“Sir!” Bak could not blame the nomad for taking offense at the commander’s attitude. “That you’re frustrated and an gry at the uncertainty surrounding Minnakht’s fate, I can un derstand, but to berate a man who’s trying to help can serve no purpose.”
“Frustrated, yes. Angry, no.” Inebny, his complexion as flushed as a radish, glared at the guide. “As for trying to help…” His loud, cynical laugh was echoed by the bray of a donkey, further enflaming him.
Commandant Thuty flung a quick look at Bak, an apology of sorts for his friend’s behavior, then placed an arm around the commander’s shoulders. “Come, Inebny. We’ve asked
Bak to speak with Senna. Let him do so.” Allowing for no re fusal, he firmly ushered Inebny away along the high wall that enclosed Kaine.
The cargo ships carrying the commandant and the men and women traveling with him had sailed north from Waset early the previous day. They had made good time and, shortly before midday, the crews had moored the vessels alongside the mudbank at Kaine, a small unimposing village of single-story mudbrick houses baking beneath the unfor giving sun. Inebny’s sleek traveling ship, which had fol lowed them downriver, had moored at the stern of the largest cargo vessel. At least thirty children had gathered along the shore to gawk at so rare a visitation.
Thuty and Inebny had immediately set out to locate Senna, with Bak, Imsiba, and Psuro trudging after them. They had found the nomad outside the village wall, where the weekly market was coming to a close. All that remained were a few farmers packing up produce wilting in the heat, unsold live stock-a cow and calf, a couple of donkeys, and a few sheep and goats-and scattered groups of men and women chatting with friends they might not see for a week or a year. Small children ran laughing and shouting among bundles and bas kets, broken and crushed fruits and vegetables, animal waste.
Four boys played leapfrog beside mounds of reeds, palm trunks, and sun-dried mudbricks lying beside the knee-high walls of a building under construction.
Bak shifted position, placing the sun at his back, and beckoned Imsiba and Psuro, who had preferred to stand aside while the two senior officers were there. “I’ll not apologize for Commander Inebny’s behavior, Senna. Only he can do that. All I can say is that I do believe you’re trying to help.”
The nomad managed the briefest of nods, a signal of un derstanding rather than trust. “Minnakht’s decision to leave as he did was his alone, sir. You must believe me.” Senna, a few years older than Bak’s twenty-five, was a man of medium height with stringy muscles on a thin body. A puck ered whitish scar ran down his right shoulder, beginning at the top and ending beneath his arm, as if someone had tried to cut off the limb.
“He surely had a reason for not taking you with him.”
Senna dropped his gaze to his hands, folded together at his waist. “He failed to say.”
Bak felt certain the guide was evading the truth, and he could see that Imsiba and Psuro felt the same. “You’d trav eled with him before, I understand. Two men alone night and day, walking across the barren desert with nothing better to do than get to know one another. Even if he didn’t give a rea son, you must’ve known in your heart why he left you.”
“He gave no hint, I tell you.”
“Still…” Bak let the question hang between them, a heavy veil of silence that no one but Senna could lift.
The nomad was slow to answer. Finally, staring at the earth beneath his feet, he spoke with visible reluctance. “He left me behind for a reason, yes, one I’m not proud of.”
“Tell me.”
Senna raised his eyes to Bak’s. “While he was away at the turquoise mines, I grew ill. Something I ate, I suspect. I was pale and weak when he returned, not fully recovered. He wanted to leave right away, but thought me too sick to ac company him. He said we’d meet later, and so I believed we would.”
A pack of dogs came racing along the wall, barking at a small yellow cur Bak assumed was an outsider invad
ing the territory of the village mutts.
“Why do you feel shame?” Imsiba asked. “Any man can become ill.”
“I’d agreed to accompany him throughout his travels. To break such a vow is not a thing I do without regret.”
Psuro crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “It was he who broke the vow, not you.”
“You agreed to meet at a specific place?” Bak asked.
“At a spring below the red mountain, which we bypassed on our eastbound trek. A place where the people of many tribes water their flocks.” Senna licked the sweat from his upper lip. “I waited there for over a week, and I talked with all who brought their animals. No one had seen him.”
“Seems simple enough to me,” Psuro said, wrinkling his nose at a sour smell carried on the light breeze. “Whatever happened to him took place somewhere between the port where you last saw him and the area grazed by the eastern most tribe whose members you spoke with.”
“Between the mountains and the Eastern Sea?” The guide shook his head. “Someone should’ve seen him. No one did.”
Bak knew how barren the desert was around Buhen and assumed the Eastern Desert was equally empty of life. He also knew how far and wide nomads ranged and how they gossiped. In spite of the desolation, Minnakht could not have traveled far without someone seeing him. Unless he chose not to be seen. “Did he set off in the boat by himself?”
The nomad shifted his feet, uncomfortable with the ques tion. “He left with two fishermen, men I didn’t know.”
“Do you think he knew them, perhaps from the past?”
“He didn’t say. He merely assured me they were honest men.”
“My son has not journeyed to the netherworld.” Inebny stood close in front of Bak, fists planted on his hips. “I know he’s alive and well. I’d have felt his passing.”
“Senna is certainly worried, sir.”
The commander’s laugh was brusque, cynical. “I’d be worried, too, if I’d allowed the man I was hired to care for to vanish in the wilderness.”
Bak could not avoid Inebny’s belligerence, but he could elude his physical proximity. He stepped a couple of paces back along the narrow path between the cargo and the ship’s railing and sat on a large woven-reed chest marked with a dried mud tag identifying the contents as linens belonging to