“I’ve always thought Hapuseneb likable-and clever.” The midday sun beat down on the quay, heating the stones beneath Bak’s sandaled feet. A light breeze dried the thin film of sweat on his brow. “He certainly proved me right. I felt the whole time we talked that he’d already guessed my next question, had the answer ready, and was thinking of the one beyond.”
Imsiba’s eyes traveled the length of a line of men carrying bundled hides down the gangplank from Ramose’s ship and along the quay to the fortress. “With so many vessels plying the waters both above and below the Belly of Stones, he’d have more opportunity than most to smuggle contraband.”
“Would a man with a fleet of his own place a tusk on another man’s ship, where he’d have no control over its fate?”
“It would make no sense,” Imsiba agreed.
Bak eyed Ramose’s ship, noting its simple, sturdy lines; the rich, dark wood of its hull; the well-tended fittings and stays; the bright new paint of the forecastle and the faded deckhouse not yet repainted. His gaze settled on the prow, where fresh, pale wood scarred the darker, weathered wood between the waterline and the rail. Other than a few of the outermost lines and curves, little remained of the faded symbols that had announced the name of the vessel-as if the name itself had been targeted for destruction.
“Is that patch fresh? I don’t remember seeing it.”
“You must always have stood on the wrong side of the ship.” Imsiba stared at the scar, thinking back. “I noticed it several days ago, before Ramose first sailed from Buhen, bound for Abu.”
The burly Medjay Psuro followed the last of the men bearing the hides. “That’s about it, sir. Nothing left now but the ingots belowdecks. They’ll take much of the afternoon, and tomorrow we’ll reload Captain Ramose’s original cargo.”
“No need to push the men too hard,” Bak said. “The ship isn’t going anywhere.”
“Patience is running thin among the fishermen, sir.” Psuro gave his superiors a crooked grin. “I boarded a boat this morning and feared for a while I’d be thrown overboard.”
“I’m not surprised,” Imsiba said. “To be searched day in and day out would try the most patient of men.”
“Go see old Meru,” Bak told them. “He’ll expect favors without number, but if he feels moved to do so, he can silence the younger men’s grumbling.”
As the pair walked away, Bak hastened up the gangplank to Ramose, who stood at the bow of his ship, watching a half dozen members of the crew wash down the empty deck.
Bak thanked the captain for taking the time and trouble to haul Roy’s crew and cargo back to Buhen, relayed an invitation from Commandant Thuty to dine that evening, and reminded him that he could not yet set sail.
“Why hold me?” Ramose demanded. “My ship was searched from stem to stern before we set sail for Abu. Your men saw my cargo unloaded three days ago, checking each and every object against the manifest, and tomorrow they’ll see it reloaded.”
“We’ll not hold you forever.” Let Thuty sooth his ruffled feathers with a good meal and plenty of beer, Bak thought.
“The bow of your ship’s been repaired, I see. What happened?”
“We ran aground, hit a projecting rock.”
Bak detected an edge to the captain’s voice, noted the angry bulge of his jaw. He had struck a tender spot.
Wounded pride perhaps. Or something else?
“You played knucklebones with Mahu…” He went on, repeating the tale Sitamon had told.
“I didn’t hear any talk of smuggling or anything else that might’ve led to Mahu’s murder.” Ramose scratched his substantial belly, scowled. “You know how it goes around here.
Rumors outnumber truths ten to one. We’ve nothing better to do, just the same dreary routine day after day, so we take what we hear and embellish it. And when a man dies as Mahu did, all who retell the tale adorn the truth even more.”
Considering the events of the last few days, dreary routine held a certain appeal for Bak. “You saw no one speak in confidence to Mahu?”
“Absolutely not.” Ramose snorted. “I drank more beer than was good for me, I must admit, but I’m not a man to miss what’s patently meant to be a secret. Two men whispering together will draw my attention like a lotus draws bees.”
Until a besotted blindness sets in, Bak thought. “Has anyone ever approached you, suggesting you carry contraband?”
Ramose’s mouth tightened; an angry fire burned in his eyes. He seemed about to speak, glanced at the men on hands and knees at the far end of the deck, and shook his head in the negative.
“Someone has, I see,” Bak prompted.
Ramose hesitated a long time. When at last he spoke, he spat out the words as if they fouled his tongue. “A month ago it was. A half-naked desert tribesman came to me on the quay at Kor. He slithered up like a snake, and his whisper was the hiss of a viper. He dangled before me a promise of great wealth and suggested I carry illicit cargo. Do you know what I did?”
Bak shook his head, reluctant to speak lest he dam the flow.
“I threw him in the river! That’s what!” Ramose took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and snarled, “I’ve not seen him since.”
Bak pictured the repaired bow and guessed what must have happened. “After his swim, he came back in secret, didn’t he? He smashed a hole in your ship and destroyed its name, letting you know he’d sink it if you spoke out of turn.”
Ramose ground his teeth together and glared. “No! No one threatened me!”
The man would not speak up, Bak could see. He had too much to lose: vessel, crew, cargo. “Were you surprised to learn of the contraband we found on Captain Roy’s ship?”
Ramose visibly relaxed, on safer ground now. “I can’t, in all honesty, say I was. I’ve sailed these waters with Roy for years and I’ve never known him to offend the lady Maat. But men whisper. You know how it is. ‘Where was his ship moored during the night?’ ‘He left Buhen ahead of me, yet I reached Ma’am first.’ That kind of thing.”
Bak bent to brush an ant off his foot. “You noticed nothing wrong with his cargo from one mooring to the next?”
“How would I have known what he should or shouldn’t be carrying? It wasn’t up to me to walk the length of his deck, manifest in hand.”
Bak’s smile held not a shred of humor. He felt like a man casting a line in a dozen different pools, with no clue as to which might contain a fish-if any. “You must’ve heard by this time that we found another man dead while you were away.”
“Intef, the hunter.” Ramose scowled at the men scrubbing the deck. “A simple man, he was, but likable.”
“You knew him?” Bak asked, surprised.
“I sometimes brought him on board for the journey from Kor to Buhen. It’s not a long march, but when a man and his donkeys are weary, it seems so. He, in turn, would give me a hare or two.” Ramose gave a bleak smile. “I’ll miss him.”
The simplicity of the words jarred Bak, made him feel overly suspicious, more distrusting than he should be of his fellow man. “Did he ever speak of his travels in the desert?”
“He seldom spoke of anything, preferring instead to hear us talk of our voyages.” Ramose stared at his hands, his face clouded with sorrow. “He grew to manhood in that oasis across the river and he longed to see more, to live a seaman’s life. I offered him a berth more than once, but he had a family, he told me, a farm he couldn’t leave for long.” He turned away, his voice grew rough. “I wish I’d been more persistent, convinced him to sail with us to Abu. At least once.”
“Lieutenant Kay can use a bow,” Hori said, “but from what his sergeant told me, he has no special skill with the weapon.”
The youthful scribe lifted a heavy basket, which bristled with papyrus rolls projecting from the mouths of the jars he had stowed inside, and cradled it in his arms. A jar filled with the most recent dispatches remained on the bench, but he had carried the rest of the clutter to an alcove behind the entry hall.