As Bak cleared the last of the houses, he studied the low rock shelf containing the old cemetery, searching for Mery and his friends. Other than three yellow dogs probing the ruined structures, not a creature stirred. Too early for the boys, he guessed. Turning left, he followed a sandy lane that ran along the unbroken outer face of the close-packed block of houses. At the far end, where the path struck off across the sand, he passed the building where Captain Roy’s crew was being held. He thought of stopping, but decided against it. The longer the men lingered, thinking themselves forgotten, the more eager they would be to open their hearts and wag their tongues.
Beyond the stretch of sand lay the animal paddocks.
Marking his destination by a thin yellowish cloud of dust rising from the far corner, Bak followed a path between thigh-high mudbrick walls enclosing more animals than he had ever before seen confined at Buhen. Cattle, goats, sheep, and donkeys, with men toiling among them, cleaning away manure, spreading fresh hay, and filling troughs with grain and water.
Most of the creatures were placid: eating, drinking, watching the world around them, ears twitching, tails swishing away the flies. A few younger animals cantered around the limited space, kicking up dust, squealing. Bak’s nose tickled, teased by the heavy smell of hay and grain, the rank odor of manure.
He found Hapuseneb standing outside a donkey paddock.
The wealthy trader, attired as usual in fine jewelry and linen, looked completely at ease in this place of dust, the stench of animals, and the sweat of lesser men. He was talking across the wall to a pot-bellied youth nursing a charcoal fire contained within a ring of stones. Both watched another man trying to catch a young and frisky gray donkey. Each time he drew close and threw his rope, the creature ducked its head and darted away. The other animals in the enclosure were fearful, trotting this way and that, heads up, eyes wild.
The man was red-faced and angry, too conscious of his master’s presence, Bak suspected.
Hapuseneb spotted the approaching officer and smiled.
“Lieutenant Bak! You’ve come at last!”
Bak paused, startled, then realized the inevitable had happened. “Someone warned you of my mission, I see.”
“Nebamon, yes. And Userhet. They said…”
Racing hooves pounded the earth, distracting the trader.
The man in the paddock threw his rope and the noose settled around the gray donkey’s neck. Trembling, tossing its head, blowing, it stood stiff-legged, refusing to budge. An older man ran up and the two together threw the creature onto its side and snugged a rope around its flailing limbs. The youth withdrew a branding iron from the glowing coals and raced to the fettered animal. A sizzle, the stench of burning hair and flesh, a terrified bray. The ropes were jerked free. The donkey struggled to its feet and shot into the herd, losing itself among its fellows.
Hapuseneb watched the man with the rope trudge back to the herd in search of another victim. “I dislike seeing my ships and caravans lay idle-it’s not good business-but this enforced rest does have one advantage: I’ve plenty of time to have the animals branded and doctored and to have repairs made to my sailing vessels.”
He operated three ships above Semna and two cargo vessels that plied the waters between Buhen and Abu. His caravans came and went much of the time, carrying trade goods around the Belly of Stones, bridging the troubled waters between Semna and Buhen. A man of wealth, one who toiled night and day to amass ever more.
A man easy to take as a friend, Bak thought, but one who would no doubt make a fearsome enemy. “Two nights ago, I stayed in Kor, and there I saw others taking a like advantage.”
Hapuseneb tore his attention from the paddock, frowned.
“You’re responsible for the delay, I’ve been told.”
“Two men have been slain,” Bak pointed out, “one caught with an elephant tusk on his ship. And you’ve surely heard of the contraband we found on Captain Roy’s vessel.”
Hapuseneb barked a laugh. “If that ship carried half what the rumors claim, it would’ve sunk from the weight of its cargo.”
Bak sensed beneath the sarcasm the irritation of a man with a grain of sand under his kilt. “You sound bitter, Hapuseneb. That’s not like you.”
“I don’t like smugglers.” The trader’s mouth tightened. “I have to pay tolls, oft times more in one year than the entire worth of goods some men ship to Kemet throughout that same year. Much of my merchandise is hard won, with men losing their lives carrying it through lands wild and dangerous and down a river that’s equally treacherous. If I must pay passage through this land of Wawat, giving up to our sovereign far more than I think fair, I expect everyone else to do the same.”
Bak eyed the trader with interest. He was reputed to be a careful man with his wealth, and so he sounded. How far would he go to acquire more? “Has anyone ever approached you, asking you to transport illicit cargo?”
“Those who toil for me are often approached.” Hapuse-136 / Lauren Haney neb’s eyes darted toward Bak and he laughed. “Don’t worry. I punish all who bow to temptation, the number of lashes in direct proportion to the value of the smuggled items.”
Bak whistled. “A strong reaction.”
“A strong deterrent.”
Bak did not trust the use of the cudgel to get the truth from men being questioned. Would the whip be equally unreliable in eliminating temptation? “Did you know Roy?”
“Not well. He kept to himself usually, and his friends weren’t mine.” Hapuseneb pulled a square of cloth from his belt and wiped the dust from his face and neck. “Other than his crew and now and again another ship’s master, I seldom saw him with other men.”
Bak pressed up against the wall, getting out of the way of a dozen long-horned cattle driven by a dark-skinned boy of eight or so years. “Did you ever see Roy with Intef, the hunter?”
“The man found slain in the desert?” Hapuseneb shrugged.
“I don’t know. I’d not have recognized him without game-laden donkeys trotting along behind him.”
“I know you were acquainted with Mahu,” Bak said in a wry voice.
“We weren’t the best of friends, but I’ve known him for years, yes.” Tucking the cloth into his belt, Hapuseneb gave Bak a long, speculative look. “You claim, Nebamon told me-or was it Userhet? — that someone approached Mahu, asking him to smuggle contraband, the night we played knucklebones at Nofery’s place of business.”
“So I’ve been told.” Bak kept his voice level, unrufflea, though the knowledge that his suspects were comparing notes set his teeth on edge.
“He also said you suspect one of us, one of the five who played that night. I’m convinced you err. Neither place nor people nor circumstances support the charge.”
Bak chose not to debate the issue. “Do you remember any talk of smuggling that night? Any secretive behavior?”
Hapuseneb turned to face the paddock, where a black donkey had spread its legs wide and bared its teeth, defying every attempt to throw it. “Since I spoke with Userhet-or maybe Nebamon-I’ve had plenty of time to think on that evening. I recall nothing of note, I assure you.” He gave Bak a sharp glance. “Perhaps because nothing happened. What kind of man would approach another in a crowded place of business like Nofery’s? Why appproach a man as honest as Mahu? The frontier is overrun by men far more willing than he to defy our sovereign’s demands.”
“Why hide an elephant tusk aboard Mahu’s ship at a time when all vessels in Buhen and Kor are being searched?”
Hapuseneb threw back his head and laughed. “I see you’re ahead of me, Lieutenant.”
Am I? Bak wondered. “Mahu’s life was taken while he was in my care. I’ll not rest until I lay hands on the man who slew him.”
The words had come unbidden, and once uttered could not be taken back. Bak was torn between satisfaction and regret. With his suspects comparing notes, the threat, empty as it was, would soon reach the ears of the slayer. If he believed Bak proficient as a tracker of men, he might feel himself forced to act. A dangerous prospect since he knew the name of his adversary, while Bak knew nothing of the man he sought.