Woserhet fell,” Kasaya said. “The slayer was determined to destroy those pots.”
Bak stared at the label, but could make nothing of the few legible symbols. “Have you gone yet to the main storehouse archives, Hori?”
“Yes, sir.” The scribe took the piece and set it with the others. “Woserhet audited the records there about four months ago, and he came back several times during the past month. The chief archivist knew him fairly well, and he’s convinced the auditor would’ve drawn his attention to any thing he found amiss.”
“Did Woserhet concentrate his effort in any special part of the archives?”
“If so, the archivist took no notice.”
“Perhaps another scribe paid more heed.” Bak rose to his feet. “You must go back and ask. Then you must look through all the records anyone remembers Woserhet exam ining. When you finish with that, you must look at past rec ords for the storage block in which his body was found, going back five years or so. You must also ask if any storage jars are missing.”
“A huge effort, sir, too big for a man alone.”
Bak smiled at the scribe’s lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll find someone to help. In the meantime, I’ve another task you may find more to your liking. This at the customs records center.”
Kasaya, useless for any task requiring the ability to read, looked glum. “Is there nothing I can do, sir?”
“You must find Woserhet’s servant Tati. We could use his help, and we need the files that have disappeared with him.”
“I don’t understand, sir.” Hori veered around the gang plank of a large, graceful traveling ship moored against the bank of the river. Two sailors sat on board, paying more at tention to the comings and goings in the market than to the ropes they were mending. “Why are we going to the cus toms office?”
“I saw objects on Captain Antef’s cargo ship that looked very much like those used in the sacred rituals. I think some one is stealing from the storehouses of the lord Amon and the Hittite merchant Zuwapi is shipping the objects to Hatti, and probably to other lands to the north of Kemet as well.”
Hori shook his head, unable to understand. “Who would dare steal from the lord Amon? Or any lesser deity, for that matter?”
“With luck and if the gods choose to smile upon us, an ex amination of the shipping records may point to the thief.”
“What specifically am I to look for?”
Bak veered around a mooring post sunk deep into the riverbank. The line snugged around the post squeaked each time a swell lifted the small cargo ship, whose deck was mounded high with rough chunks of golden sandstone. A lone sailor sat on the rocks, his head bowed over his fishing pole, snoring.
“Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious, but basi cally ask yourself these questions: Does Zuwapi always ship his trade goods on Antef’s vessel? Did Maruwa ever make his return journey to Hatti on Antef’s ship when it was laden with
Zuwapi’s cargo? Focus also on Zuwapi’s export items and look for objects of value. I suspect the destination shown on the manifests is always Ugarit, but if any other port is listed, take note, paying heed to exactly what was delivered where.”
Hori nodded, understanding. “If Zuwapi is transporting stolen goods out of Kemet, Maruwa may have noticed.”
“A strong possibility. And if he did, he would’ve reported the fact.” Bak ducked around a man seated on the moist earth with a small, chirping monkey. The man was examin ing a handful of bright beads and amulets thrown to him as a reward for the animal’s performance. Or stolen by the mon key from a market stall.
“Do you think Zuwapi slew Maruwa?”
“I’ve been told he dwells in Mennufer when he comes to the land of Kemet. If we should discover he’s here in Waset, we must take a long, hard look at him.” Bak caught Hori’s arm and eased him around a half dozen sailors, hurrying off their ship in search of fun and games. “I’ve no trouble think ing he’d slay Maruwa, but why would he take the lives of
Meryamon and Woserhet?”
“I’ll wager Meryamon was the thief, a man who could point a finger at him.”
“Woserhet was slain first. With the auditor dead, Zuwapi would’ve had no need to slay Meryamon. The man who may’ve been providing him with stolen goods. Goods sold in cities to the north at a substantial profit.”
Hori gave Bak a sheepish smile. “Put that way, my theory seems a bit thin.”
Lauren Haney
After leaving Hori at the customs records center, Bak pur chased from a market stall a chunk of boiled fish wrapped in leaves. Eating as he walked, he strode along the waterfront toward Antef’s ship, thinking to check the men who were guarding the cargo. As he approached the vessel, he saw in the distance several men coming toward him. Taking them for sailors, he paid no heed.
He reached the gangplank and headed upward. Captain
Antef stood at the bow, watching him with an obvious lack of enthusiasm, understandable since he rightly blamed Bak for the harbormaster’s decision to hold his ship in Waset.
At the top of the gangplank, Bak ate the last bite of fish and threw the leaves overboard. He caught another glimpse of the sailors, paused, looked at them harder. The three in front were walking side by side, while the fourth was slightly behind. It took but an instant to register the laggard’s appearance, his swarthy complexion. He was the foreign looking man who had argued with the red-haired man to whom Meryamon had passed a message.
Bak hurried down the gangplank and walked at a good fast pace toward the approaching men. The swarthy man abruptly veered aside and strode swiftly into the nearest lane, vanishing between two building blocks. Bak broke into a run, sped past the sailors, and darted into the mouth of the lane. He spotted the swarthy man at the far end, running full out. The man vanished into an intersecting street. By the time Bak reached the corner, he had disappeared. He searched the nearby lanes, but the man had gone.
The exercise, though futile, had been informative. The swarthy man knew who he was and did not wish to be ques tioned. Could he be Zuwapi? A man supposed to be in
Mennufer?
Chapter Twelve
“I’m beginning to worry, Imsiba.” Bak leaned against the rail of the cargo ship, a broad, sturdy vessel spotlessly clean but badly in need of overall maintenance, and shook a peb ble from his sandal. “The day Woserhet lost his life,
Amonked said he hoped I’d find the slayer before the festi val ends.”
The Medjay sergeant whistled. “You’ve only four and a half days, my friend. Not a lot of time.”
“Soon after-two or three days, I’d guess-we’re to sail to Mennufer with Commandant Thuty.” Bak’s voice turned grim. “I’d not like to leave behind a vile criminal unaccount able to the lady Maat.”
The two men walked up the deck. Imsiba’s eyes darted here and there and everywhere, seeking faults in the ship his wife might purchase. A northerly breeze made bearable the heat of the harsh midafternoon sun. The vessel rocked gently on the swells. Fittings creaked, ropes thunked against the mast, a crow perched on the masthead called to two others on a nearby rooftop. Sitamon, as delicate as a flower, stood at the forecastle with the vessel’s grizzled owner and the tall, rangy man who had served as master of the cargo ship she had owned while in Buhen. As he would captain the vessel she ultimately chose, his questions were sharp and percep tive, designed to reveal the craft’s good points as well as its flaws.
Imsiba knelt to examine a large coil of graying rope lying on the deck. “Do you have any idea who the slayer might be?”
“If valuable objects are being stolen from the storehouses of Amon, as I believe, practically anyone who toils within the sacred precinct might be guilty of taking Woserhet’s life and that of Meryamon. If governor Pentu’s withdrawal from
Hattusa was the reason for their deaths, someone in his household is probably the slayer.”
“Do I detect uncertainty, my friend, a lack of confidence?”