"And us with only a spear."
Bak smiled. He liked this man, who went straight to the heart of a problem. "Ready?"
User, fully clad once again to protect his sensitive skin, paddled the skiff out from beneath the trees, setting a diagonal course into the current. Bak shoved aside the clutter in the hull and sat down, back bent and fishing pole in hand. When User deemed them, far enough from shore, he let the current carry them northward.
Bak eyed the clump of trees concealing the archer. The situation looked as bleak from here as it had from the mound. Tidy beaches lay to the north and south and an open stretch of sand separated the grove from the mound where Psuro waited. An ideal position for an archer to defend; a terrible place to attack-armed or unarmed.
He gave a series of quick, sharp whistles, imitating a bird, a signal to Psuro. A long, bloodcurdling yell followed, and the Medjay's dark figure popped up from behind a rock at the lower edge of the mound. He raised his arm, snapped it forward. A sharp crack sounded, a rock striking something solid. The skiff? The sturdy trunk of a tree? A boulder hidden by leaves? Bak had no way of knowing. The Medjay vanished from sight. If the archer fired off an arrow, it was too far away to see.
User swung the prow toward the archer's lair, dipped the oars deep, and shoved the vessel forward with skill and speed. AnotHtr yell and Psuro sprang up in a new position to hurl a second stone. Light glinted for a moment on the bronze tip of an arrow speeding his way, but he had already ducked behind his granite shield. No sound betrayed the rock's landingplace.
User paddled like a madman. The closer they came to the trees, the lower he and Bak crouched. A third and fourth yell, each louder and longer and more fearsome than the one before, carried across the river, frightening off a flock of ducks in flight. User thought he heard a rock splash into the water; Bak imagined he saw another arrow flying toward Psuro. How much longer, he wondered, before the man hidden among the trees realized he should watch his back?
As if the archer had read his thoughts, a spot of white showed through the trees and an arrow sped across the water. The missile struck the prow of their skiff with a thud; the shaft shattered and dropped into the river. Muttering a curse, User ducked so low Bak doubted he could see over the rail, but he continued to paddle, his course as straight as before. Another arrow followed and a second in quick succession, both flying over the vessel to fall in its wake.
Abruptly, a skiff shot out from among the trees. It was long and slender, similar to those used for sport by the officers at Buhen. Bak's heart sank. User knew his vessel and he knew the river, but could he cut off a boat so easy to maneuver and so fast?
"We have the advantage," the farmer said, his teeth clenched tight with determination and effort. "We're in the current; he's too close to shore."
"Can you keep him there?" "I can try."
Bak glimpsed Psuro racing across the sand toward their own skiff. Doubting the Medjay would catch up in time to help, he focused on the vessel they chased, at least seventy paces to their left but not far ahead. The man inside, too indistinct to identify, had abandoned his weapon to take up the oars, propelling his boat toward deeper water. User altered course to intercept him. They swept down the channel, not quite side-by-side, toward the end of the island and the turbulent waters guarding the northern approach.
Sweat poured down User's face and his soaked tunic stuck to his back. Bak longed to raise the sail, but knew it would do no good as long as they remained in the channel. Forcing himself to be patient, he pulled in the fishing lines, dangling useless in the water, and laid the poles in the hull where he had found them. Spear and shield close to hand, he knelt on the centerboard, ready to leap into action the instant they caught up with their quarry. He refused to admit the wider channel and more generous breeze would give a distinct advantage to the sleeker vessel, speeding the archer on his way, leaving them far behind lolling in his wake.
The channel ahead began to broaden, revealing a wide swath of rippling silver, water washing over boulders not far beneath the surface after flowing around both sides of the island. The archer, whose view was obstructed by proximity, failed to spot the hazard until he was almost upon it. He swung his skiff hard around, trying to keep out of harm's way. User pressed his vessel closer.
The archer hesitated, then turned back toward the turbulence. The skiff sliced through the ripples, flinging water to right and left. The river ahead turned violent, white with roiling foam. Suddenly the prow rose into the air, the man inside was flung out, and the lovely little boat fell on its side and burst apart on the rocks.
"I can't believe it's over. It happened so fast and now…" Bak, standing on the quay at Swenet, spread his hands wide and shook his head. "No slayer. No answers. Nothing."
"I thank the lord Amon he's gone! Now we can go home to Buhen." Psuro, delighted by the abrupt turn of events, tossed the mooring rope to Bak. "When will you tell Governor Djehuty?"
Bak snugged the skiff tight against the stonework and glanced at the sky, where a deep golden sun hovered above the western horizon. They had thought the archer drownedfew men could survive those raging waters-but they could not be sure. Bak had been swept through a worse maelstrom in the not too distant past. So they had spent several hours in a fruitless search of the many islands below the point where the man had vanished. Their failure to find him was not conclusive, but pointed strongly to his death.
"Tomorrow will be soon enough. Another anxious night won't hurt him.",,"He deserves far worse, if you ask me. If he'd let his troops settle down among the donkeys, he mightn't have lost a single man or beast. Why was he never called to account, I wonder?"
I "I'm convinced he coerced the survivors into remaining mute." Bak scowled his disgust. "And he has friends in high places. We wouldn't be here if the vizier hadn't interceded."
Psuro joined him on the quay and they climbed the short slope to the village of Swenet. Huge old trees towered over the water's edge, and birdsong filled the air. Women chatted in a small square, awaiting their turn at the public well or sitting in the shade on mudbrick benches, enjoying the breeze and an end-of-day chat. A yellow dog lapped water from a puddle, while her three puppies chased grasshoppers across a patch of newly sprouted clover.
"Someone didn't keep his mouth locked tight," Psuro said. "That's why those who survived are now being slain. But why wait five years? And why Djehuty? He wasn't in that cave."
Bak turned down the lane leading to Pahared's wife's house of pleasure. A bowl or two of beer would be in order, maybe more. Enough to chase away the feeling of a task unfinished. "We'll never know now, will we?"
"I guess you no longer care about Hatnofer." Kasaya, seated on the floor on a pillow stuffed with straw, gave Bak a bleary-eyed look. "After all, our task is done and we'll soon sail south, this ugly place forgotten."
Psuro, not half as unsteady as the man beside him, broke the plug from a fresh jar of beer, flung the pieces into a basket used for the purpose, and splashed the pungent golden liquid into their bowls. "This town is alright. It's the govenor who's ugly."
Kasaya bumped his elbow, spilling beer on the floor. "And the man who died in the rapids today."
Bak, not at all drunk, beckoned a skinny, scraggly-haired female servant to clean up the mess. He had come to this house of pleasure to celebrate, yet had found himself in no mood to do so. Too many questions remained; questions Djehuty would never answer, and he had no one else to query. User had rattled off the names of the survivors, which matched the list Simut had provided. Other than him, Amonhotep, and the governor, all were dead or had gone far away from Abu.