Following along behind were musicians playing handheld harps and oboes and drums. Dancers performed intricate steps; singers chanted the words to a song so aged and ob scure that none but the god’s priests could understand. Shak ing off the temptation to stay, to watch the procession from beginning to end, Bak left the sanctuary. He had to get help for Hori.
With the beat of drums throbbing in his ears, he left the crowd behind and hurried north along the processional way, his feet crunching gravel no longer blindingly white, made dingy by the passage of many feet. Passing a company of soldiers, a family, and several men and women walking alone and in pairs, he rapidly approached the half-finished gate opening into the sacred precinct of Ipet-isut. The most direct route to the royal house, which lay north of the man sion of the lord Amon, was to walk through the sacred precinct.
“Sobekhotep told me of Woserhet’s death and explained your need.” Thanuny, the auditor Bak had borrowed from the royal house, had thinning gray hair and a worn face, but looked like a man who could wrestle a bull and come out the winner. “I knew him and liked him. I’ll gladly help you snare his slayer.”
Bak slowed at the intersection and looked both ways before crossing. He had vowed, after the second attempt on his life, to take greater care, but had immediately forgotten.
Now, remembering the pledge, he found himself being overly cautious. “When did you last speak with him?”
“A month or so ago. Upon his return to Waset after his lat est trip downriver.”
“He was inspecting the accounts of the gods’ mansions and also those of the provincial governors, I’ve been told.”
Bak sidled around a laden donkey, the baskets hanging on either side filled with golden grain. “Can you guess the rea son in light of what you now know?”
Thanuny dropped behind him to pass the sturdy creature.
“If, as you believe, he wished to trace offerings made to the lord Amon from production to disposal, the provinces would be the place to start. He’d learn what items were sent to Waset, follow their path to the storehouses, and find out if they were there. If not, he’d try to discover where they went.
“The only objects he wouldn’t be able to trace from the source are imports from foreign lands: gifts and tribute given to our sovereign by kings from afar who wish her con tinued good will, items wrested from far-off lands in times of conflict, and objects obtained for the royal house through trade. All are the property of our sovereign, who offers a portion to the gods, the lord Amon among them, as a demon stration of her generosity and devotion.”
Another intersecting street, another pause to look for trou ble, a silent curse at the need. “User, the Overseer of Over seers of the storehouses of the lord Amon, told me that a few objects no longer of use in the sacred precinct are given to the god’s small mansion in Mennufer and to his shrines, while the rest revert to the royal house. I’m speaking specif ically of the smaller, more valuable objects like those con tained in the storage block in which Woserhet’s body was found.”
“We receive items from the lord Amon, yes. Often in sur 196
Lauren Haney prisingly small quantities.” The auditor flung Bak a cynical smile. “Between you and me, Lieutenant, User is a stingy caretaker. Those storehouses in the sacred precinct must be filled to bursting, yet he doles out the excess as if each object was more precious than life itself.”
“If someone is systematically stealing from the god, per haps User truly doesn’t have the objects to give away.
Maybe he’s blind, not miserly.”
They approached a major street. Bak felt the need to pause, to peek around the corner. He resisted the urge. If he was to snare the slayer before the festival ended, he had no time to slink around the city like a feral dog.
They turned the corner and strode toward the building that housed the central archives for the storehouses of Amon.
“You’ll find my scribe Hori to be young and, in many ways, an innocent, but he knows records and he knows how to search through them. He’s done an exceptional job so far, but he’s one man alone. To do by himself what must be done would take him half a lifetime.”
“As I said before, Lieutenant, I’m happy to help. I’d not like to see Woserhet’s slayer go free and unpunished.”
The auditor seemed a competent and congenial man. Bak had an idea he and Hori would get along well.
“The task will be a pleasant break from counting spears and shields and pairs of sandals in the storehouses of the royal guards.” Thanuny’s smile vanished as quickly as it had formed. “But I must admit I’d not like to end my life as
Woserhet did.”
“You’ll find two Medjays with Hori. They’re well armed and well trained and exceedingly loyal. A man would have to slay them both to reach either of you.”
“You were right, sir. Zuwapi always ships his trade goods to Ugarit on Captain Antef’s ship.”
Hori glanced uncertainly at the auditor, standing at Bak’s side beneath the sycamore tree that shaded much of the courtyard in the center of the archives building. Two Med jays stood with their backs against the trunk, chatting in their own tongue, looking very much at ease. Sharp, alert eyes belied the picture of relaxed disinterest.
“Say what you will,” Bak said. “I’ve told Thanuny of my suspicions. You must fill in later any details he needs to know.”
Hori gave the auditor a tentative smile, then went on with his report. “Maruwa seldom traveled north on Antef’s ves sel, but twice he did in the past three years. Once-the first time-when the ship was delayed in Waset to recaulk the seams. The second time about a year later. He received a message from his family, saying bandits had raided one of his stables. He had to return without delay.”
Bak’s smile was grim. Two long voyages to Ugarit. Many days of boredom, with nothing to do but look at the coastline they were following. Plenty of time to notice something amiss with the cargo. “What items does Antef usually list on his manifest when he sails from Kemet to the port cities at the eastern end of the Great Green Sea?”
Referring to the limestone shard on which he had made notes, the young scribe said, “Much of his cargo-nineteen items out of twenty-is almost always rough pottery, bulk wine, coarse linen, sheep skins and cowhides, bronze items such as fishhooks and harpoon points, sometimes papyrus stalks. Three years ago, he hauled several shiploads of wheat to Retenu when famine struck that foul land.”
“Other than the grain, all the items are made for trade and not of the best quality.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What of the more valuable items? I saw them on deck.
Not placed where they were easily seen, but not hidden ei ther. An inspector wouldn’t miss them. They’d have to be on the manifest.”
“That’s the rest of the cargo, the one item in twenty.” Hori referred again to the shard. “Aromatic oils, perfumes, fine linen, bronze vessels of one kind or another, faience amulets, multicolored bead jewelry.”
The breeze rustled the leaves, which rained down from the tree. Bak brushed one from his hair. “Are all the goods, both ordinary and special, shown as belonging to the trader
Zuwapi?”
“Usually. But sometimes, when Antef has the space, he accepts the goods of smaller traders or takes on board the household items of a family moving north.”
“Do any of those people include valuable objects among their belongings?”
“Nothing but personal items, and those of modest worth.”
Bak turned to the auditor. “As you may or may not know,
Thanuny, a manifest lists the items on board the ship, the man who’s shipping them, their port of departure, and the port where they’re to be off-loaded. No mention is made of where they initially came from or where they’re to go after they leave the ship.”