"Not surprising," Bak said, tugging down the hem of his kilt, making it even all around. "Most are outsiders, men who remain only long enough to pass on to a ship the trade goods they've brought from far to the north or south." He reached for an intricate bronze chain from which hung several faience amulets, the most prominent among them the lord Horns of Buhen and the lady Maat. "No, you must query men and women who've lived in this province for many years. Not an easy task, I warn you. Half the people I spoke with yesterday resorted to talk of the gods or demons or some other malign force when I mentioned the storm. And the two guards, Kames and Nenu, hinted that the men in the garrison may've been ordered to remain silent."
Psuro offered a round, crusty roll to Bak and threw a second to Kasaya, sitting cross-legged on his sleeping pallet. The young Medjay caught it with a grin. "If I'd come back from that storm alive and suddenly I saw my fellow survivors falling to the earth like overripe fruit, I'd turn my back on Abu and walk as fast and far as I could."
"Nakht and Lieutenant Dedi weren't survivors," Psuro scoffed. "They weren't even here then. They were both too young to march off to battle. So who would think to connect them to Montu and Senmut?"
Kasaya, not in the least miffed, shot the roll back to Psuro. "Lieutenant Bak did."
Psuro raised his arm, preparing to return the missile. Bak gave him a long, hard look. With a sheepish smile, the stocky Medjay lowered the roll, broke it apart, and took a bite.
"Go see the chief scribe, Psuro. I asked him yesterday to prepare a list of all who survived the storm. He should have their names ready and waiting." Bak glanced around, searching for the document Commandant Thuty had prepared, giving him authority in Abu. He intended to visit the garrison records center and take a look at scrolls unavailable to the average officer. If Troop Captain Antef was not there, or if he refused to give permission, Thuty's message should open the door. "Mark off those who're no longer among the living and find out what happened to the remainder."
"And pray to the lord Amon that at least one man still lives," Kasaya said. "
"And that he lives close by," Psuro added.
Garrison headquarters was located in a row of interconnected houses across a narrow lane from the two-story barracks building. The dwellings had been altered over the years by the addition or removal of walls, and doors had been cut to allow free movement throughout the block. The sole structure that remained relatively unchanged was the commander's residence, an unadorned two-story house with offices on the ground floor and living quarters above.
After spending over a year within the high, fortified walls of Buhen, Bak had trouble reconciling himself to the idea of a garrison without walls, one surrounded by places of business and crowded residential blocks. Especially since Abu had once been the southernmost city in the land of Kemet, a frontier city from which armies set off for what were then wild and untamed lands farther south, paving the way for trading expeditions led by the stout-hearted governors of the province. Men Djehuty wanted very much to claim as ancestors.
A guard posted in the entryway of the commander's residence directed him through the columned audience hall to a rectangular chamber in which a half dozen scribes toiled. There he introduced himself to the chief scribe, who sat on the floor facing the others. The lesser scribes studied him furtively, any stranger a welcome distraction.
"I understand Troop Captain Antef has gone to the quarry," Bak said.
"That's right, sir. He left soon after daybreak. There was an accident. A heavy section of stone fell on a man's leg." The chief scribe, a slight man of medium height with a small birthmark on his neck, scowled in a vain effort to conceal his distress. "If the tale the messenger told was accurate, the limb is crushed and he'll lose it."
And probably his life, Bak thought with a shudder. Such injuries were almost impossible for a physician to treat. Only the gods. could intervene. "I'll speak with Antef later, then. In the meantime, i'd like to look at several documents you're sure to have filed away among your records."
The scribe shook off his distraction over the injured soldier and frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, but without the troop captain's approval, you can see nothing."
Bak handed him the scroll prepared by Thuty. The clerk read the document and read it again a second time. With an almost imperceptible sigh of resignation, he rolled it up and gave it back. "What do you wish, sir?"
"First, the daybook containing entries about a sandstorm that occurred five years. ago, the storm from which most of the men in this garrison failed to return. I'd also like to see the official report of the catastrophe. And I wish to look at the daybooks for the past two months." Those would include the entries made on the days the deaths occurred in the governor's household and any related items of interest.
The scribe allowed himself a brief, curious glance. "If you'll wait in the audience hall, sir, I'll bring them right away."
Bak followed his suggestion, seating himself on a wooden bench built against one wall of the hall. Scribes came and went, sergeants reported to junior officers, the chief armorer came in to complain about the poor quality of spears received from the capital. Most glanced Bak's way and dismissed him, thinking him just another officer passing through Abu.
In a surprisingly short time, the chief scribe presented him with a basket containing several scrolls and hastened back to his flock. Bak thumbed through the documents until he found the official report of the tempest, labeled year five of the reign of Maatkare Hatshepsut, harvest season. Djehuty, as garrison commander, had prepared the scroll more than a week after the storm, after the last of the survivors had returned to Abu. It went into considerable detail, a bland, sometimes officious accounting, giving away nothing that would discredit Djehuty or his troops. No surprises there.
He took up the appropriate daybook and scanned its entries. References to the storm were short acid succinct. The loss of over one hundred men and more than sixty donkeys was dealt with in a cursory, almost offhand manner that angered him in its easy dismissal of their lives.
Setting aside the documents related to the storm, he pulled the remaining scrolls out of the basket and sorted them by date. They proved to be disappointing, to say the least. Since none of the victims were assigned to the garrison and none of the murders had occurred there, the incidents were not referred to in any way.
Bak climbed a gradual slope, a rolling stretch of golden sand softened by the passage of many feet and warmed by the morning sun. Ahead, a hump of reddish stone protruded from the barren landscape, breaking the horizon to the left and right for at least two hundred paces. Men reduced to stick-like figures by distance and heat waves toiled on the face of the outcrop, one of several granite quarries located in the desert south of Swenet. A smaller assemblage, stripped down to loincloths, clustered on the sand at the base of the rock face, surrounding a large object impossible to see with so many men shielding it from view. Two stood slightly apart-Troop Captain Antef, Bak assumed, and a scribe.
As he drew near, plodding ankle-deep through the sand, another man, a sergeant most likely, emerged from among the workmen-troops from the garrison pressed to do duty at the quarry. Striding toward Antef, the man spotted Bak and pointed. The troop captain swung around, placed his hands on his hips, and shook his head. Bak could not see his features, but disgust was apparent in his stance.
He was surprised Antef would show disregard for a fellow officer in front of his men. He felt sure the aversion was not directed at him but at the task he must perform, the questions he must ask. Nonetheless, he resented being the recipient of such a display. Feigning indifference, he narrowed the gap between them. The men on the outcrop paid no heed to his approach; those close by sneaked glances his way; curious.