Path of Shadows lb-8

by Lauren Haney

  “What would you do?” Bak jeered. “Slink off into the wilderness and hide forever, living like a frightened animal?”

  “I do miss the land of Kemet,” Minnakht said with a rueful smile. “I’ll meet you, that I promise. If not today, then tomorrow.” He must have noticed the lack of conviction on

  Bak’s face. His smile faded. “If for some unaccountable rea son, I fail to do so, I’ll follow you wherever you go. Senna told me you were a man of your word, one who never fails to do his duty. If I’m ever again to see my home and my father, you’re the man who’ll keep me safe.

  “All I ask is that you watch User and wait for him to reveal himself as a slayer. I grant the possibility that the guilt lies elsewhere, but I think the likelihood small.” Minnakht leaned forward, as if to physically impress Bak with his plea.

  “Whatever you do, you must tell no one I live. Ahmose van ished nearly a year ago and other men have since been slain.

  I’d not like to follow them to the netherworld.”

  Bak studied the man seated before him, letting the silence build. He found him to be likable in spite of what he sus pected was an irrational fear. He could not and would not en tirely trust him-Minnakht or not, he was a stranger-but he saw no reason to spread the word that the young explorer lived. “I’ll say nothing, that I vow.” He glanced at Nebre and

  Kaha and added, “My men will also remain silent.”

  Chapter 13

  “The nomads have gone,” User said, stating the obvious.

  Bak scowled at the empty fishing camp, built on the shore of the Eastern Sea. “They’ve avoided us throughout our jour ney. Why should this place be any different?”

  He was thoroughly irritated with Nefertem. He did not know for a fact that the tribal chief had told his people to stay away from the caravan, but he strongly suspected such was the case. Why could the man not help rather than hinder?

  He and the explorer led the caravan into the camp, where men and donkeys gathered on the beach between two rough huts and the water’s edge. The shelters could not have been more basic. Spindly acacia branches supported roofs covered with brush held in place by rocks. They would not provide much shelter during a storm, but would suffice for men wish ing to sleep through the heat of the day. A larger, rectangular hut farther along the beach showed signs of occupation by animals-donkeys and goats, Bak guessed.

  He strode to an unpainted wooden boat lying on its side well above the waterline. It and three similar vessels had been overturned and left in a row to dry in the hot sun. He squatted to feel the sand beneath the small craft.

  “They’ve not been gone for long,” he said, standing up and brushing damp sand from his hands.

  Bak’s Medjays and the other men, long deprived of baths, eyed the sea with eager anticipation. Wensu abandoned his fellows and ran into the water, which splashed around his legs.

  “Not so fast!” User growled, wading in to grab his arm and usher him back to the shore. “The donkeys must come before your pleasure.”

  Wensu had the grace to blush.

  Bak stood at the water’s edge, where the tiny swells washed over his feet. The beach was a long, empty stretch of pale sand curled around a bay whose waters were a deep blue green. The sand was soft, stirred up all around the huts and boats by the nomads, and in one place he noticed a gridlike pattern where a net had been stretched out to dry. For as far as the eye could see to north and south, not a tree or bush inter rupted the shoreline. Seabirds were everywhere: soaring overhead, diving for fish, standing on the beach to dry their wings.

  “I don’t see any of my boats,” Amonmose said, striding up beside him and staring out to sea.

  “How best can we raise a signal?” Bak refused to think that help might be slow to come.

  “Let me show you.”

  The merchant walked slowly along the line of boats, studying the wooden masts resting on the ground. He stopped at the tallest and called to Nebenkemet, who was poking around in a basket tied to the back of a donkey. The carpenter pulled a roll of whitish fabric from the container.

  He shook it out, revealing a long-sleeved tunic that was none too clean, and hastened to Amonmose’s side.

  Bak helped the merchant tip the boat, raising the mast off the sand so Nebenkemet could tie the tunic to the upper end of the long, straight pole. Curiosity drew the other members of the caravan, who stood close by, watching. The merchant demanded rocks. While the men scattered, he, Bak, and Nebenkemet scooped out a shallow hole and set the vessel upright, its flat bottom resting in the cavity. The men returned with enough stone to anchor the hull in its sandy berth. The northerly breeze caught the fabric, making it blossom out and flap in the sun.

  Smiling his satisfaction, Bak asked the men standing around, “Who wants fresh fish for our evening meal?”

  They all raised their voices in eager anticipation.

  Bak held out what looked like a bundle of loose, knotted cords he had found tucked into the prow of the upright boat.

  “Have you ever fished with nets, Psuro?”

  “I can learn, sir.”

  “I have,” Wensu said, surprising them all. “My father has an estate a short way inland from the Great Green Sea. As a youth, I sneaked away with the men who fished its waters.”

  A half-hour later, two boats were sailing out to sea. From the foremost, with Wensu in command, Kaha was paying out the net between his craft and that of Psuro and Nebre.

  “I hope they don’t get lost out there,” User said, scowling at the vessels.

  Bak flung off his filthy tunic, kilt, and loincloth and waded into the water. Nebenkemet was settling the donkeys in the shade of the elongated hut, while Minmose was excavating a shallow pit for a fire. Ani and Amonmose had finished their tasks and were enjoying their first real bath in days. “Wensu vowed they’d never lose sight of the shore.”

  “He’s better than he was at the beginning. At least now he tries.” User stripped bare, as Bak had, and waded into the wa ter beside him. “But he’s just about the most useless man I’ve ever met.”

  Bak smiled. “Psuro will see that they return safely.”

  The explorer followed him into deep water. “You usually know what you’re doing, Lieutenant. I hope you do this time.”

  About three hours before nightfall, after a long swim and a rest, Nebenkemet and Minmose led a half-dozen donkeys up onto the coastal plain in search of fuel and forage for the ani mals. The sun was hovering over the western horizon when

  Bak spotted the men and the laden animals returning to the sea.

  He walked out to meet them. As the trio trudged into camp, they saw three fishing boats sailing toward the bay, the northerly breeze driving them along at a fast pace. The two smaller vessels had to be those Psuro and Wensu had taken out.

  The third was considerably larger, a seaworthy fishing boat.

  “That’s one of mine, Lieutenant!” Amonmose was practi cally dancing with excitement. “Wensu and Psuro must’ve hailed it.”

  Joy-and relief-flooded Bak’s heart. He could not be lieve how glad he was to see that boat, how much he looked forward to leaving this wretched desert.

  “I suppose I could take one or two of you with me.” The master of the fishing boat, a short, muscular man of thirty or so years, eyed the men standing around him, burned by the sun, their clothing stained, their hair unkempt.

  Amonmose ignored what was patently an insincere offer.

  “If you sail at daybreak tomorrow, how long will it take you to find one of our sovereign’s cargo ships?”

  “Ten or fifteen days if we sail north and have to go all the way to the port across the sea. Four or five if we sail to the southern trail, where they may even now be loading supplies brought across the desert from Kemet. A lesser time if we’re fortunate enough to intercept a vessel along the way.”

  “I suggest you sail south-and I pray you meet a north bound ship. We can’t remain here for long.” Amonmose pointed toward the animals stand
ing in their shelter. “We need a vessel with enough deck space for all those donkeys. I’ll not condone abandoning a single animal, you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Minnakht’s not coming, is he, sir?” Psuro kept his voice low so no one else would hear.

  “He said today or tomorrow. We’ll see.”

  They stood near one of the huts, while the other men sat on the sand, encircling the shallow pit in which a fire glowed.

  The fishermen sat among them, enjoying the company of men who had, little more than two weeks earlier, trod the streets and lanes of Waset, a city they had not visited for months. The odor of cooked fish came and went as a chill breeze fanned the air around the cooking pot. The nomads’ vessels lay beached nearby, while the larger fishing boat was anchored offshore.

  “If he doesn’t show up?” Psuro murmured.

  “We should have time to go back to the place where we met him. With luck and the favor of the gods, we can trace his path from there.”

  “You’re not thinking we should stay in this wretched desert!”

  Bak laughed at the horrified look on the sergeant’s face.

  “If he meets us here as he vowed he would, or if we can find him, we’ll take him back to Kemet without delay. Otherwise, we’ll leave him to his own resources and go on to the mines across the sea.”

  “The mountain of turquoise?” The sergeant gave Bak a puzzled look. “Why? Surely not to satisfy Nefertem. We’ve seen Minnakht. We know he lives and can tell him so.”

  “Our brief meeting yesterday left many questions unan swered, and many new questions have come to me since we spoke. If Minnakht fails to join us, fresh questions will arise.

  Questions related to him as a man and to his integrity. A jour ney to the mines might well answer those questions and at the same time help us snare the man who slew Rona.”

  The fishermen bade them goodbye at sunrise, weighed an chor, and sailed away, driven south by a stiff wind. The ten men stood at the water’s edge, watching the vessel vanish over the horizon. From the looks on their faces, each and every man felt cast adrift, as Bak did. He prayed fervently that a ship would soon come with plenty of space on its deck, that they would not have to return to the pools where Rona and Senna had been slain.

  Throughout the day they busied themselves with the small tasks of camping in the desert. User sent men out in search of additional fuel and forage. Wensu had caught considerably more fish than they needed and had left the net in the sea, thinking to keep them close and alive. They pulled the net in, let the smaller fish swim away, and killed the larger. They cleaned those they kept, gave a few to Minmose for the cook ing pot, and laid the rest out to dry. They repaired torn cloth ing and rope halters, cared for the donkeys’ hooves and medicated their sores, swam and rested. Bak looked often to ward the wadi down which they had come, but Minnakht failed to appear.

  At day’s end, he leaned against a pole supporting one of the huts, watching what appeared to be an idyllic scene. They had an abundance of food and would never starve with fish so plentiful. They were getting the rest they needed. Water was the problem. In two more days, they would have to send men and donkeys back to the gorge to refill the jars.

  Psuro suggested they walk along the beach. When they reached a point where no one would hear, he said, “I’m dis appointed in Minnakht, sir. I was hoping we could go home.”

  “You’d think a man like him, as accustomed to the desert as he is, would take advantage of our offer to help him.” Bak did not bother to hide his irritation. “If he won’t trust the no mads, we’re his next best alternative.”

  “Did he not tell you he fears User?”

  “An unrealistic fear, I’m convinced. User’s been striking out at the least provocation since Dedu was slain. He’s as an gry about the guide’s death as we are that Rona’s life was taken.”

  “Maybe Minnakht’s been too long alone, sir.”

  Bak looked westward, where the sun, a huge fiery ball, was dropping behind the high mountains, leaving the eastern slopes in shadow while coloring the sky a brilliant red. “To morrow we must make an effort to find him, but I suspect he’s already too far away to make the journey worthwhile.”

  “Do you think he’ll be safe?”

  “I think he’s more capable of taking care of himself than you and I and all our Medjays together.”

  Psuro threw a surprised look his way. Seldom did Bak al low such sarcasm to cross his tongue. “We shouldn’t have let him slip through our fingers, sir.”

  Bak was not entirely convinced that he had made a mis take in allowing Minnakht to go his own way. The very fact that the explorer chose to remain in the desert rather than re turn to his father in Kemet revealed something about him, something that gave pause for thought.

  Minmose had obtained a small bag of grain from the mas ter of Amonmose’s fishing boat. He had found a suitable stone on which to grind it and a deep pot in which to bake bread. As they had run out several days before, the yeasty smell emanating from the pot drew the men close as nothing else could. Bak was no exception. He sat down with User, who occupied a patch of sand downwind of the hearth.

  The odor made Bak’s mouth water. “While in Kaine,

  Amonmose heard of a man who walked into this desert about a year ago and was never seen again. You must also have heard the tale.”

  User gave him a wry smile. “For many years, Lieutenant, I’ve bought donkeys and supplies in Kaine. I know everyone in the village, from the smallest baby to the oldest grandfa ther. I doubt anyone with the ability to talk failed to tell me of the missing man.”

  “How long ago did you hear?”

  “Six or eight months, I suppose. When he failed to return, men began to talk.”

  “He was an explorer, Amonmose was led to believe.”

  “Ahmose by name, yes.”

  As the merchant had said, few men explored this waste land and those who did were bound to know of one another.

  “You knew him?”

  “I’ve heard of him, that’s all. He trod the desert far to the north, in the vicinity of the trail that connects Mennufer to the Eastern Sea.”

  “What was he doing this far south, I wonder?”

  The explorer pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. “I heard a few years ago that he knew Min nakht. Perhaps he heard the rumors of gold and thought to get a share.” He frowned, shook his head. “No, that couldn’t be true. The first I heard of gold was when Minnakht failed to return to Kaine, long after Ahmose vanished.”

  Minmose and Kaha lifted the pot off the fire, holding the hot vessel between two flexible sticks. Minmose pried the lid off to let the loaf cool. The smell of the fresh bread made the onlookers moan with anticipation.

  “Have you decided to travel on to the mountain of turquoise?” Bak asked.

  “Amonmose told the fishermen to sail south, you may’ve noticed.” User’s laugh held equal parts of cynicism and hu mor. “Any ship they meet, whether at the end of the southern trail or on the water, will most likely be sailing north. The odds are great that we’ll travel to the port that serves the mines whether we want to or not.”

  “No, Lieutenant, we can’t remain. As soon as the donkeys are loaded, we must sail.” Captain Kheruef stood on the bow of the largest of the three cargo ships that had sailed into the bay an hour after daybreak, while Bak and Nebre were arm ing themselves, preparing to walk up the wadi in search of

  Minnakht.

  Resting his hands on the railing, the captain looked out across the water, watching a donkey struggling to get away from Kaha, who was swimming it out to the ship on which the animals would travel. “We carry plenty of food and water for ourselves, but ten extra men will strain our resources. As for the donkeys, you’re fortunate we’re transporting hay and grain for the caravan animals kept at the port.”

  The three vessels, the largest in Maatkare Hatshepsut’s fleet, had been built several years earlier to sail to the distant l
and of Punt to trade for incense trees, exotic animals, ebony, and other luxury items. Rather than break the ships down and carry the pieces across the desert to be reassembled in Waset, as had been done with the rest of the fleet, these three had been left intact to haul men and equipment, and the turquoise and copper they mined, across the Eastern Sea. As User had guessed, they had been traveling north to the port when inter cepted by the fishing boat.

  The ship on which the animals would travel had anchored as close to the shore as its broad, nearly flat bottom would al low. Often used to transport donkeys, it had been an easy matter to clear the deck of cargo so pens could be raised. A half-dozen sailors stood on the deck near the open railing where the gangplank would normally be. Their task was to lift the donkeys on board, using a sturdy wooden winch. Be neath them, Nebenkemet and two additional sailors caught the fractious donkey and slipped a sling beneath its belly. A man yelled and the donkey rose upward, kicking out and screaming in fear. Within a short time, it stood on deck as docile as it had been on the beach.

  “You’ve done this before,” Bak said, appreciative of the ease with which the task was performed.

  “There are few quays along the shores of this sea, Lieu tenant.”

  “We’ll be gone for four hours, no more,” Bak said, contin uing a plea that had thus far fallen on deaf ears. “I wish to know if Minnakht stayed near.”

  “From what you’ve told me of him, I’m more inclined to believe he’s deep in the mountains, hiding from shadows.”

  Bak had had no qualms about relating his tale to the cap tain. He had thought it best to share with a man of authority the fact that Minnakht still lived. “We could-and probably should-refill the water jars at Amonmose’s fishing camp.”

  “So I mean to do. We must also instruct the fishermen there to move across the sea to the port.” Kheruef watched another donkey, this one more sedate, being hoisted onto the ship. “I know you think them safe, and I’m inclined to agree, but we must warn them anyway. A short delay, but necessary, making a hasty departure from this bay even more urgent.”