by Lauren Haney
"You echo my thoughts, Kasaya."
Bak's father resided on a small estate across the river from Waset, and he longed to see him again, but the thought of drawing attention to himself so close to the royal house did not appeal. Their sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut, had exiled him to the southern frontier and had hopefully forgotten him. He preferred not to revive her memory. Buhen was now his home, where he took pride in standing at the head of his Medjays and enjoyed nothing more than talking with his friends, sharing a jar of beer, a joke. Especially with Imsiba and Nebwa and Nofery and ...
"It's not unheard of for a man recovering from a serious illness to have a relapse." Psuro sneaked a look at Bak. "If we find him alive, I could stand guard tonight. Make sure he's root disturbed. Who knows? Perhaps when the sun rises, he'll have joined Khawet in the netherworld." He grinned. "A fate they both deserve through eternity."
Bak was sorely tempted, but could in no way justify the very crime he had come to prevent. "The thought appeals, Psuro, but no. And that's an order. No!"
"Yes, sir," the Medjay said, unabashed.
Kasaya whistled. "Look, sir." He pointed upstream toward an imposing warship maneuvering around the southern end of the island, passing with the utmost care among rocky islets and sunken boulders. The sail was lowered and over three dozen oarsmen were controlling the vessel in the treacherous waters. The pilot, a local man, stood at the prow beside the captain, calling out orders, while the helmsman tended the rudder. The drummer, silenced at so crucial a time, stood poised above his instrument, ready to respond the instant a need arose.
Bak recognized the symbol on the prow, the lord Montu, god of war, and the colorful pennants flying on the mast. The vessel was the fastest between Abu and Buhen, cutting two and sometimes three days off the nine- or ten-day voyage. His sense of accomplishment fled like a wary gazelle.
"It's the viceroy's flagship. What's he doing here?" Inebny, viceroy of Wawat and Kush, the most powerful man south of the land of Kemet, second only to the vizier in importance.
Psuro muttered an oath. "And us with the governor dead or dying and his daughter gone as well."
"They must've just come down through the rapids." Kasaya, who loved ships, was too excited to notice their distress. "I've never trod the deck of so grand a vessel. Do you suppose they'll let me aboard?"
"Did Djehuty summon him, I wonder?" Bak asked Psuro. "He threatened often enough to register a complaint, seeking our dismissal from the villa."
Psuro's expression was grim. "Let's hope he didn't paint too black a picture."
In spite of Khawet's many offenses against the lady Maat, Bak did not wish to move her body from the skiff to the governor's villa without due respect. He. sent Psuro off to the garrison to report her death to Troop Captain Antef, the highest ranking officer in Abu, and to get a litter on which they could carry her like the lady she once had been. Kasaya he ordered to remain at the skiff with the body. Knowing how fond Antef was of Khawet, Bak regretted not bearing the news himself, but the viceroy's arrival forced him to go first to learn Djehuty's fate.
Bak eyed the ragged bandages Psuro had rewrapped around his torso and arm, the scratches and scrapes on body and arms and legs, his burned hand. He had bathed in the river and cleansed the injuries as best he could before leaving the west bank, but still he looked like a refugee from a battlefield, one whose army had lost the war. The last thing he wanted was to stand before the viceroy-or anyone else, for that matter-in such a disreputable state, but what choice did he have? The official would come to the governor's villa, whether or not Djehuty had summoned him. And he would demand an accounting.
Thinking he might at least have time to change the bandages, Bak hurried up the steps from the landingplace. As he strode past the gatehouse, the sentry on duty shot to attention and gaped. Bak ignored him and walked on, passing the family shrine on his way to the front door. If he had paid more attention to this small structure and to Nebmose's shrine, the tale he had to tell the viceroy would be ending in a different way. Or would it? Had the gods ordained Khawet's demise, with him as their instrument of death, long before either had ever heard of the other?
Hurrying on to the house, he went inside and hastened across the entry hall. He raised his hands to shove open the double doors to the audience hall. They flew back before he could touch them, opened from the other side. Imsiba stood there facing him, as amazed to see him as he was to see the big Medjay. Beyond the sergeant's shoulder, Bak saw Commandant Thuty standing in front of the empty dais, eyes on the doorway, a smile spreading across his face.
"Imsiba! What are you doing here?"
"My friend!" The Medjay clutched his upper arms in greeting. "We've come to help you snare the slayer you seek."
"How long have you been in Abu?" Bak wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and stifled a new wave that threatened to overwhelm him. Imsiba and Thuty must think him demented.
"We've just arrived." Thuty scanned the empty room and his brows drew together in irritation. "Where is everyone?" he demanded. "I know the day's drawing to a close, but doesn't the governor post guards? Doesn't he have scribes documenting the results of the day's audience? Doesn't he have an aide to see each task done properly?" His eyes settled on Bak. "And what, for the lord Amon's sake, happened to you?"
Bak suddenly remembered the warship. "Is the viceroy here?"
"Not yet. He stayed with his vessel while they brought it down the rapids, as any worthy official would. We came by skiff, thinking a`smaller craft faster." Thuty flashed him a sharp look. "Why? What's wrong?"
"The last I saw of Djehuty, he'd been poisoned. A physician was with him, trying to save him."
"So the slayer struck again! Made a victim of the goverror himself!" Thuty struck a column with his fist. "I feared we'd get here too late."
"Governor Djehuty lives." Lieutenant Amonhotep stood at the door by the dais. His face was wan and drawn, with dark circles beneath red-rimmed eyes, emphasizing his exhaustion and the strain he had suffered. "He's asleep now, resting. The physician thinks he'll recover."
Bak offered a silent prayer of gratitude to the lord Amon. If nothing else, he had accomplished his goal.
"What of Khawet, Bak?" The aide, who must have learned the truth from Amethu or Simut, hesitated, then his voice dropped to a near whisper. "He was asking for her."
Bak laid a hand on the young man's shoulder and urged him to sit on the edge of the dais. He dropped down beside him, lowered his face into his hands, and rubbed his forehead. He felt as worn out as Amonhotep looked, as weighted down by circumstances. Aware the telling would get no easier with the passage of time, he looked up at Thuty and Imsiba. "You'd best sit, both of you. I've a tale to tell."
The sun had vanished behind the western hills, leaving the sky bright with afterglow. Bak, finished with his recital, sat on a stool outside the rear door of Nebmose's villa, where the light was better than indoors. The physician, a stern man in his late thirties, who wore a linen headcloth to cover his baldness, occupied a second stool, facing the reopened cut on Bak's side. A jar of oil, a bowl containing a greenish salve that smelled strongly of fleabane, and a roll of linen lay within arm's reach, sharing the bench with Commandant Thuty and Imsiba.
"Now tell me how you happen to be here," Bak said. Thuty, disgruntled at learning how tardy his arrival had been, gave a cynical snort. "The day after you left, Inebny sailed into Buhen. He'd been summoned to Waset to report to our sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut, on trade and tribute passing north through Wawat. As I'm responsible for all traffic through the Belly of Stones, he wanted my thoughts before he left. When we finished with that, we discussed your mission. I told him what Lieutenant Amonhotep had said, and Nebwa repeated all Nofery had recalled about the governor as a youth."
"She didn't say much." Bak wove his fingers together on top of his head, keeping his arms high so the physician could place a fresh poultice on his side. "Only that he was headstrong and foolish, as are many youths born
into noble families."
The physician tut-tutted. Whether he disapproved of so irreverent an attitude toward the nobility or Bak's failure to sit still was impossible to know.
"Troubled by what we told him, he asked to see Nofery. We summoned her, and they talked. One recollection led to another, and together they remembered Djehuty losing a company of men in a desert tempest."
"Nofery said nothing to me of the storm." Bak scowled. "If she had, my task would've been easier."
Imsiba hastened to her defense. "She'd heard the tale, as you yourself had, but, like you, was never told the name of the man responsible."
"I didn't like anything they had to say about Djehuty. He sounded a first-class swine." Thuty glared at the physician, daring him to register an objection. "Inebny agreed. As he had to go to Waset anyway, I thought to sail as far as Abu with him-and bring Imsiba along." His voice turned wry. "I thought you might need the weight of my authority."
"Where's Lieutenant Amonhotep?" Thuty asked, glancing into the governor's private reception room.
"The physician ordered him to sleep." Bak walked on down the poorly lit hall toward Djehuty's bedchamber. "I suspect he gave him a potion, thinking only a drug could keep him away4rom`what he considers his duty."
The viceroy Inebny, a slender man of medium height with a prominent nose and large ears, smiled. "The aide sounds a man conscientious to a fault."
Ineni burst through the door ahead. Looking neither right or left, he strode swiftly past, giving no indication he saw them. He reached the stairs and raced down, vanishing from sight. Bak could not imagine what Djehuty had said to his adopted son, but whatever it was, it had to have been unpleasant.
Leading the way through the door, mouth tight, chin jutting, Bak was prepared for anything-or so he believed. The bedchamber seemed a different place since last he had seen it. The soiled bedding had been taken away and replaced with a fresh sleeping pallet and sheets that smelled of sunlight and fresh air. The wilting lilies were gone, along with their heavy, sweet scent. In their place, a bowl of dried flowers gave off a more subtle and pleasing odor. The morning light was soft and delicate, filtered through thin linen hangings a servant had placed over the high windows.
"Khawet, my Khawet." Djehuty's voice was feeble, querulous. "Such a nice, agreeable child. Where is she?"
The viceroy exchanged a glance with Thuty and stepped forward. After hearing Bak's tale, he had decided that he should face the governor, presenting the news of Khawet's death and the accusation of murder.
The physician reached out a hand to halt his approach and shook his head, signaling for silence.
"Where has she gone?" Djehuty, his shoulders propped high on spotless white pillows, patted the sleeping pallet next to his thigh. "I want her here beside me."
Bak stared at the governor, startled by the change in him. He had been thin before but now was skeletal, and his pallor had a grayish cast. His eyes, black and glittering, looked as if they had sunk into his skull. He had aged twenty years. No wonder Ineni had rushed from the room, giving no word of greeting. Whether or not he loved his father, the shock must have been great.
"Where is she?" Djehuty peered around the room. His eyes seemed unable to stay in one place for long, as if he had trouble focusing. "Why is she always somewhere else when I need her at my side?"
Tut-tutting in place of words, the physician took the governor's hand in his and patted the long, bony fingers. Djehuty jerked his hand away and glared at the man, like a child offended by a touch. "Did she go out to play?" he asked, his eyes darting around, alighting on nothing. "Or did Hatnofer take her to the market? I hope she's holding her hand. Little girls should never wander around alone. It's unseemly."
Inebny sucked in his breath,, startled. Thuty muttered a few words Bak could barely hear, possibly a spell to ward off the demon that had invaded the governor's heart.
Recognizing a second, more dire reason for Ineni's distress, Bak moved up behind the physician. "Is he always like this?" he whispered
"What was that?" Djehuty demanded, turning waspish. "What'd you say? Don't whisper in front of me, young man. I don't like it."
"I asked if you're well, sir."
"I'm hungry, that's all. Haven't eaten in. . ." Djehuty's voice tailed off and he tilted his head to peer at Bak. "Who are you? What are you doing in my bedchamber?"
Bak found himself at a loss for words. How does one respond to a grown man whose thoughts have carried him into another realm? He queried the physician with a glance, got a shrug in return. The man was no help at all.
"Well?" Djehuty snapped. "Who are you? Answer my question, young man, or I'll have my father send you to the desert mines. He's governor of this province, you know."
"I'm a servant, sir, new to your household." The less important he made himself out to be, he hoped, the sooner Djehuty would accept him. Or, better yet, forget him.
"Go away." Djehuty flicked his long fingers, signaling Bak out the door. "Go find Khawet. I need her. Now!" He glanced toward the viceroy and the commandant. "You go with him. Both,,of you." His eyes began to wander. "Servants! Bah! Useless creatures, all of them." He looked down at the sheet covering him and frowned. He pulled the crumpled fabric one way and another, stretched it, patted it, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. He seemed unaware of their departure.
* * *
"How long has he been like this?" Bak asked.
"I wasn't certain when first he awakened from the poisoninduced sleep." The physician rubbed his eyes, as if wearied by a failure he could in no way have prevented. "I thought I might cure him. I hoped to, but ... Well, as you can see, no potions I could give him, no spells to frighten away the demons, no prayers to the gods would reorder his wits and allow him to think as he should. In the end, I accomplished nothing."
"Will he ever again be right?" Inebny demanded.
The physician hesitated, obviously impressed by so mighty a man and desirous of saying what he wanted to hear. But the truth could not be avoided. His eyes fell away from the viceroy, skipped over the commandant, and landed on Bak, a man more easily spoken to. "I've seen this before. Long ago, when first I began to learn my profession in the house of life at the mansion of the lord Amon in Waset. A man was brought in for us all to see. One who had been thrown into a pit of scorpions by a vile trader from the land of Retenu. As punishment for dishonesty, we were told."
His eyes flitted toward Inebny and Thuty, returned to Bak. "When we saw him, ten or so years after the occurrence, he behaved like Governor Djehuty. A child yet not a child, one who confused the passage of time and his.place in it." He bit his lip. "The poison. The pain. The shock. I don't know. Maybe in the governor's case, the realization of how much his only child hated him."
He looked at the viceroy at last, his gaze level, his admission frank. "Whatever it was, his wits are addled now and likely always to remain so."
"You are your father's son," Inebny said. "His family, and therefore yours, has held the seat of power in this province for many generations."
"Sir." Ineni stood stiff and straight in front of the dais, his eyes on the viceroy. "I've never wished to be governor, nor do I now. I want only to return to the family estate in Nubt. If, that is, you deem I have the right."
Inebny, seated in Djehuty's armchair, glanced at Bak, who was standing nearby with hnsiba and Thuty. Behind them, crowding the audience hall, was a multitude of people from Abu, Swenet, and farms and villages throughout the province. These men and women from all walks of life had heard their governor was ill. Too ill to ever again occupy the seat of authority. They had come to see for themselves this lofty officer from afar, seeking reassurance that chaos would be averted, justice and order would be maintained, and life would go on as before.
During the two days that had passed since Khawet's death and Djehuty's escape from reality, the viceroy and the officers from Buhen had discussed at length all Bak had learned during his search for the slayer. Now Inebny had to decide how
best to use the information, how much he should take to heart, in trying to resolve both provincial and personal affairs. Though outside his realm of responsibility, his rank placed him in charge. The decisions he made would most likely be approved by the vizier.
"Djehuty adopted you as his son, and that you remain." Inebny sat at ease, comfortable with his task. "As his sole heir, the estate is yours by right, and so is the governorship. The latter includes, as you well know, the two villas in Abu and the cultivable land at the north end of this island. You're also entitled to a percentage of the provincial taxes and a share of the tolls paid by passing traders."
The viceroy wore a simple white kilt, a short wig with tight curls, a broad collar of gold and carnelian and turquoise beads, with equally elegant bracelets, armlets, anklets, and rings. A large and muscular Kushite servant stood behind him, stirring the air with a magnificent ostrich-feather fan. The onlookers were suitably impressed, Bak felt sure.
Ineni would not be swayed. "I'm a farmer, sir. I have neither the patience nor the knowledge to sit on that dais and make lawful and wise decisions. Why should I be given a task I'd do poorly when I'd much prefer the task I do well?"
Inebny's mouth twitched as he held back a smile. "Your honesty alone recommends you for the position."
"But, sir . . :"
The viceroy raised a hand, silencing him. "The province will suffer from your abdication, I've no doubt,- but I wish you a long and happy life on the estate in Nubt, and many children to succeed you."
Ineni stood still and quiet, slow to comprehend. Then relief wiped away the confusion, the surprise, and set his face alight. "Thank you, sir. Thank you!"
Flashing a brilliant smile at Bak, he swung away and strode in among the crowd, whose startled silence grew to a clamor. Men reached out to clap him on the shoulder, women to squeeze his wrist or hand. They voiced disappointment at the defection of a man whose family they had served for many generations, yet at the same time they showed their delight that this man they liked had been allowed the life he preferred. Inebny looked on, his face expressionless, his eyes aglitter with satisfaction.