Wawat and wed to a local woman, he spent most of his time in the garrison and considered himself out of touch.
Untrue, but so he believed.
Bak shrugged. “I can make no promises, but I doubt they’ll harm us. I suspect they’ve come to create unease in our hearts.”
“To threaten,” Amonked said, coming up behind them.
The ferryman dropped the sail, slowing the vessel, and set a course for the beached skiffs. The waiting men stood grim-faced and unmoving, silent, watchful. Unnerving.
Amonked rested his hands on the rail and scowled to ward the men across the water. “Will these people continue this… this silent confrontation throughout our journey to
Semna?”
“I’d not count on them remaining silent,” Nebwa said.
“This is abominable! Demeaning to our sovereign!” Hor hotep, standing behind Amonked, slapped his leg with his baton of office. “A good beating here and now would put a stop to this outrage once and for all.”
Nebwa swung around, eyes smoldering. “You’ll lay your baton on no man or woman in Wawat, Lieutenant. You hear me?”
“You’ve no right…!”
The ferry swung suddenly toward the waiting men and swept into the shallows, throwing muddy water to either side and splattering the men on deck. Without warning, the prow dug into the soft bottom. The vessel stopped as if it had struck a solid wall. Bak stumbled against the rail and at the same time grabbed Nebwa’s arm to keep him from falling. Amonked held on tight. Horhotep, who dared not grab the inspector, was thrown off his feet and skidded across the deck. Minkheper, flung backward, grabbed an upright supporting the canvas roof, threatening to topple the shelter. Sennefer fell to his knees. The men on shore, though they must have been surprised-and delighted maintained their stony silence.
Bak glimpsed a look of exultation on the ferryman’s face. The impact had been deliberate, prompted by Hor hotep’s cruel threat.
“I fear you’ll have to wade ashore, Troop Captain,” the ferryman said. “We’re too far out to use the gangplank.”
Nebwa gave the man a fierce look, then noticed Horhotep lifting himself off the deck and searching for splinters.
Shaken by silent laughter, he handed over the token the ferryman would present to the garrison quartermaster for payment for services. “I trust next time you’ll be more care ful,” he said with mock severity.
The ferryman tried not to smile, failed. “Yes, sir!”
Bak was the first to drop off the vessel. He sank into the muck up to his ankles, and thick, black water swirled around his lower legs. He waded to dry ground and stopped midway along the line of men. Feeling a bit ridiculous with grime to the knees and his sandals oozing mud, he bade them a good afternoon, his expression uncritical but stern.
He called those he knew by name so they would have no doubt he could identify them later if trouble arose.
The line held firm; the men clung to their silence and their grim demeanor. He stood where he was, his stance as firm as theirs, letting his eyes travel from one man to the next, settling briefly on each in turn. He heard Nebwa be hind him and Amonked drop into the water with a loud splash. Three further splashes told him the remainder of the party had left the ferry.
He walked forward, displaying a confidence he did not entirely feel. The line of men parted, slowly, reluctantly, and allowed him through. Resisting the urge to look back, to make sure Nebwa and the others remained unmolested, he walked to the cut in the mudbank and climbed partway to the top. Only then did he turn around.
Nebwa stood knee-deep in the water with Amonked’s small party around him. He was speaking low but with vehemence-giving orders, Bak assumed. With a hasty smile, Amonked broke away from the group and strode after Bak. Walking relaxed and easy, his expression benign, he passed through the break in the line of men. Minkheper followed close behind, talking of the coolness of the eve ning. Sennefer passed through with the aplomb of a wealthy landowner accustomed to dealing with the poor. Horhotep, looking furious, marched out of the water with Nebwa so close he might have been guarding him. Maybe he was.
Never missing a step, Nebwa clapped the nearest farmer on the shoulder, asked another how his eldest son was, waved to a third and called him by name. Within moments he was walking up the cut in the wake of his charges.
Bak wove a path through piles of equipment and sup plies, listening to men’s voices and the sounds of animals settling down for the night. A faint odor of burning fuel hung in the air and the scent of onions and fish clung to empty bowls and the breaths of the men he passed. The feral dogs were nosing around in their endless quest for sustenance. Peace and contentment reigned, a peace he prayed would continue.
He thought of the falcon left atop the wall at Kor. Of how easily the man had entered the fortress, breaching its defenses, and climbed undetected to the battlements. Dur ing the light of day, no man could infiltrate the caravan, but the moon was waning, each night darker than the one before.
He walked past Amonked’s guards’ encampment. The men, divided into two units, were seated around makeshift hearths, basking in the warmth after consuming their eve ning meal. Their camp had long ago been set up-thanks to Sergeant Dedu. They spoke quietly to one another, con tent with a task well learned, no longer argumentative as before.
Earlier, Nebwa had taken aside Sergeant Roy, telling him in no uncertain terms what he expected of him: full and unquestioning cooperation. Dedu would provide the train ing Roy had been unwilling or unable to give, and Mery mose would take his rightful place at the head of the guards.
Roy had grumbled, but the threat of having him reassigned to Horhotep had shut him up fast enough.
Bak circled Amonked’s pavilion, which smelled faintly of oil lamps and Nefret’s perfume. The light inside made the fabric walls glow, and vague shadows darted back and forth. Beyond, he found the row of tents occupied by the remainder of the inspection party. The one he sought was the sole shelter not yet erected, that of Thaneny, who had had to aid Amonked in preparing his report on the island fortress. Pawah, who shared the flimsy structure, had been pressed into service to run errands and serve as the inspec tor’s personal servant. Now here they were, later than everyone else, preparing to raise their shelter.
“Do we have to sleep in a tent?” Pawah asked. “I’d much rather lie in the open-like the drovers do.”
“Not another word.” Thaneny bent at the waist to straighten the heavy linen. “Have you forgotten already how cold you were last night?”
“I’ll sleep with my head outside,” the youth said defi antly.
“Grab a pole,” Thaneny commanded.
Pawah made a face for Bak’s benefit, but obeyed. Tha neny proved to be surprisingly agile for one so crippled, and soon the center of the canvas was raised on waist-high poles, the sides pinned down with rocks. A simple but ideal shelter for two men-except in a high wind.
Thanks to the gods, the breeze had died and the night was clear, with pinpoints of light glittering strong and bright overhead. Such clarity meant the night would be cool. Bak shivered at the thought. He, like everyone outside of Amonked’s immediate party, had to sleep beneath the stars.
Thaneny slipped into a tunic to ward off the chill and sat on the ground in front of the tent. Bak dropped down beside him. Pawah picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle down the sloping side of the shelter.
“How did you manage the trek today?” Bak asked the scribe.
“He traveled in utmost comfort,” Pawah said, “like a great nobleman.”
The scribe cuffed the youth on the rear. “Go away, waif.”
Grinning, Pawah ducked out of his reach.
Thaneny smiled at Bak. “I must admit, the child is right.
Amonked gave me leave to use his carrying chair, saying he wished me to watch over mistress Nefret while he was away inspecting the island fortress. Throughout the morn 112