Bak turned his back on a place he preferred to forget and walked outside the enclosure. He moved with care, trying not to ignite the dull ache in his shoulder. The bandage the physician in Swenet had wrapped tight around his upper torso helped some, but any wrong move seemed to tear the muscle more. Compared to the shoulder, he barely felt his skinned arm, which was covered from wrist to elbow with a second bandage stained brown by a salve whose odor was overwhelmed by the strong smell of the poultice the physician had daubed on his shoulder.
"I wish we were as close to laying hands on the slayer as he evidently thinks we are," he said. "Another exercise like this, and I might not survive."
"Don't talk like that, sir!" Kasaya, standing at the base of the sycamore tree, trying to lure the black monkey with a chunk of bread, threw him a worried look. — "Some malevolent genie might hear and turn your words around, bringing upon you the very misfortune you speak of."
"Oh?" Bak asked, eyebrow raised.
The young Medjay flushed. "I know you wish us to seek common everyday reasons for things that happen before we look to malign spirits as the cause. But here in Abu, with so many people slain… Well…"
"The man who took those lives has a reason, one that may never make sense to us but is most compelling to him." "Who do you think used the sling, sir?" Psuro asked. "The archer? Did he survive the rapids after all?"
"I don't know." Bak leaned back against a boulder. "Its use puzzles me. It's not subtle, like those unwanted gifts, nor is it as direct as a bow and arrows."
Psuro gave him a wry grin. "I'd not call a bowl of scorpions subtle, sir."
Bak's laugh was quick, humorless. "Ingenious, then. I wasn't sure the insects were meant to kill, but I'm certain I was supposed to die in the water gauge." He stared at nothing, brows drawn together in thought. "If we leave out the archer's attempt to slay me with the bow, what do we have? A steady escalation from a small, harmless message to a serious attempt at murder."
"Another pattern," Psuro said. "What kind of man toys with his victims this way?"
Kasaya, lost by so complicated a thought, tore the soft white center out of the bread and began to press it into a ball. "Maybe the archer broke an arm when his skiff overturned. One arm's enough to use a sling."
"A possibility, I suppose. Or maybe my death in the water gauge was meant to resemble that of Sergeant Min-if the rumor Kames heard is based on fact." Bak watched the monkey working its way along a limb above the-young Medjay. "Psuro, you must go again to the garrison. See if you can find anyone who remembers Min. Look to those who would've remained behind, supplying the troops or serving their needs. Qhartermaster, armorers, and so on."
"Yes, sir."
"In the meantime, I want another look at the garrison daybooks. I glanced through them when first we came to Abu, and nothing struck me as being of importance. Perhaps today, with a more educated eye, I'll have better luck. And it occurred to me that the governor might also keep daybooks.
Djehuty was garrison commander, as was his father before him. As such, both were obliged to make daily entries. A habit once learned is not easy to set aside."
Kasaya, munching on the bread ball, patted his flat stomach and smiled. "A few more days in the governor's villa and…"
The monkey dropped out of the tree. It landed on his arm and grabbed for the hollow crust. The Medjay yelped, startled, and caught the creature by the neck. It squealed, terrified. Its little hands reached out for the bread, greed taking precedence over freedom. Laughing, Kasaya broke off a bit of crust and offered it. The monkey snatched it away and stuffed it into its mouth.
Psuro gave man and beast a disgusted look, then leaned back against the wall to study the landscape from which the rock must have been slung: the small walled mansion of the lady Satet, the much larger enclosed precinct of the lord Khnum, and houses crammed together in the space between, their walls pierced by a few windows too high and narrow for a sling to be used. Near the mansion of the lord Khnum, a lane opened onto the terrace, offering the women of Abu easy access to the public well.
Bak guessed what the Medjay was thinking.' "The whole time I was hanging from that vine, I expected my assailant to appear and finish what he'd started. If I'd given any thought to this area, I'd've known better. Standing at the lane, where he could see anyone coming and going, he could risk using the sling a time. or two, but he dared not approach the water gauge, where he'd draw attention to himself as well as to me."
"Whoever he is," Psuro said, impressed-in spite of himself, "he has the nerve of a god and the luck to go with it." Striding through the entry portal, Bak nodded to the neat and alert guard who manned the gatehouse. He was happy to see that the previous day's effort had made enough of an impression to last at least overnight. He walked on toward the governor's house, reluctant to go inside. The morning was pleasant, the intense heat of the inundation season dissipating as the season of planting began. He longed to go hunting in the desert or fowling in the marshes or sailing on the open river. Anything other than facing another day of this seemingly futile search. Seven days had passed since Hatnofer's death. He had to admit he had learned a great deal since then, yet he had no more idea now who the slayer was than he had had at the beginning. With only three days remaining, he needed divine intervention.
Smiling at the thought, at so unlikely an occurrence, he paused before the family shrine to look inside. No fresh flowers here, he noted, only an incense bowl long ago burned out, setting at the base of a red-painted statue similar to the one at Nebmose's villa. If no one bothered here, who was tending the shrine there?
Three men nearing their middle years came out of the governor's house, traders from the look of their sun-darkened skin, practical clothing, and mix of jewelry from Kemet and the lands to the south.
One, taller than his companions, raised a hand in greeting. "If you've come with a petition, sir, your luck's run out. Governor Djehuty's ailing today, unable to conduct an audience."
Not ailing, Bak thought, but malingering. Too fearful to show himself. "Did anyone say what the trouble was?" "He can't leave his bed, we were told. Other than that, nothing. I pray he feels better tomorrow. We've a contract dispute with a man from Swenet and need a decision before we set sail for the Belly of Stones."
"May the gods smile on you," Bak said, moving on. Twenty or so-men straggled out of the house, each displaying hope, patience, dismay, anger, or disappointment according to his temperament. By the time Bak entered the audience hall, the last of the petitioners had gone, as had the scribes who assisted the governor and his aide. Troop Captain Antef and Lieutenant Amonhotep stood at the foot of the empty dais. Their raised voices resonated through the high-ceilinged room. Bak stopped near the door, not wanting to intrude.
Antef glared at Amonhotep. "If he's not available to make decisions, what am I to do? Make them myself and face his wrath later?"
"You're assuming your decisions will differ from his," the aide said.
"They always do."
Amonhotep stood stiff and silent, his face troubled, strained. At last he gave the more senior officer a tight smile. "Ahight, I'll speak for him." He closed his eyes, drew in a breath, commanded, "Pull your troops out of the quarry. Give them a few days' rest. I'll. send a courier to Waset saying the next Osiris figure will arrive late. I'll give as the reason our shortage of professional stonecutters, and I'll ask for additional experienced men."
Bak guessed this was the first time the aide had made so important a decision without Djehuty's nod of agreement. In this case, a decision Djehuty would not condone.