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."