“He was, yes.” Hori crossed the room to the lower end of the coffin. He bent over, letting the rope slide off his shoulder and the coils settle with a whisper around the projecting feet.
“But Commandant Thuty had newly come and gone, and Captain Ramose was too elated by his visit to give the Kushite more than a passing thought.”
Bak eyed the wooden toes projecting above the rope. The coffin was becoming altogether too familiar an object. It had to go-and soon. “Make your point, Hori. You’ve three more men to see.”
Hori’s cheeks flamed. “The commandant visited the captain specifically to invite him to his party for the vizier, saying he wished to praise him to one and all for the effort he took to salvage the wrecked ship and the merchandise on board.
Captain Ramose can think of nothing but what he’ll wear and how he’ll stand among some of the highest men in the land of Kemet.”
Bak raised an eyebrow. “I recall Ramose only two days ago sneering at the thought of attending the party.”
Hori, still smarting, allowed himself a faint smile. “I told him of your journey south, saying nothing but hinting at much, as I did with Userhet. He practically shoved the rope into my arms and pulled a tattered wig out of a chest, asking if I thought it too out of style to wear.” He glanced at Imsiba as if seeking an ally, and spoke again to Bak. “He wasn’t joking or putting me off. I think he’s as free of guilt as you are, sir.”
“I agree.” Bak stood up, took a turn across the room, and stopped at the door. “But if we err and he’s not the man he seems, the hints you dropped should make him act.” He laid a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “Go now and search out Hapuseneb and Nebamon, one after the other. According to Nebwa, they both have many donkeys standing idle at Kor.”
“Yes, sir.”
The boy hurried away and Bak turned to the big Medjay.
After spending the previous day upriver, the bandage on Imsiba’s arm was none too clean and needed to be changed.
He could think of no better time to get it wet. “Come, Imsiba.
Let’s go for a swim. You’re in need of cheering.”
Long, powerful strokes took Bak up the river and away from Imsiba, who lay on the surface of the water, clinging to a half submerged boulder to prevent the current from carrying him downstream. Their two kilts fluttered like white birds on the branches of a tamarisk tree, one of several growing along the bank at the base of the towering spur wall that barred desert traffic from the river terraces. Normally they would have gone farther afield to swim in a cove they especially favored, but with Hori reporting regularly, this was more convenient.
Reaching a point well above the spur wall, he rolled onto his back and let himself drift downstream. He wished with all his heart that he could help Imsiba, but other than urge him to swallow his pride and pursue Sitamon with a will, he could do nothing.
He turned his thoughts to Hori and the game he had created during those long, sleepless hours before dawn. Was he wasting time, as Imsiba thought? Or would one of his suspects break and run, hastening to the tomb Intef had found in hopes of salvaging what he could before Bak located it? Would the tomb contain an uncut elephant tusk? Or were the tusks being smuggled by some other person, one who had nothing to do with Wensu, Roy, and the headless man?
He thought not-if Wensu had indeed planted the tusk on Mahu’s ship, as he believed.
Water splashed into his mouth, rousing him. He glanced toward the fortress, where he saw Hori trotting along the lower terrace. Rolling over, he swam to the trees and pulled himself up on the stone revetment which held the bank in place. With the river still running high, much of the protective facing was under water. Imsiba abandoned his makeshift anchor and swam to him. The leaves whispered in a desultory breeze. A sparrow hopped from branch to branch, scolding a black and white cur sniffing the riverbank in search of rats.
“I saw both Hapuseneb and Nebamon.” Hori halted at the end of the terrace where it butted against the spur wall and gave himself a moment to catch his breath. “I’m sorry, sir, but they were together. I saw no way to draw one aside and then the other, so I told my tale to both at the same time.”
Bak stood up and began to dress. “It can’t be helped. What happened?”
“They both said they’d be glad to loan their donkeys, should you need them. Nebamon asked questions without number, most of them vague and devious. At first I couldn’t understand his aim.” The boy wrinkled his nose, showing his distaste for awkward or unnecessary guile. “I finally decided he was trying to learn if you were following the track of the headless man, but he didn’t want Hapuseneb to know he believed so unlikely a man existed.”
“Nebamon set us onto the headless man,” Imsiba said to Bak. “Would he have done so if he were laden with guilt?”
“He’s never been high on my list. He’s not a man who takes risks, and he hasn’t the wealth to obtain smuggled goods in the quantity we saw on Captain Roy’s ship. He’s even now treading close to the edge of failure.” Bak bent over and ruffled his wet hair, splattering water. “Desperate men ofttimes summon courage uncommon to their nature, but I can’t see Nebamon doing so.”
“What did you get from Hapuseneb?” Imsiba asked Hori.
“He was quick to realize Nebamon was holding something back. After that, he said almost nothing, merely watched and listened.” The boy grinned. “I can see Nebamon even now, pinned beneath Hapuseneb’s sharp eyes, wiggling like a serpent, swearing he doesn’t believe in a headless man.”
“I’ve always thought Hapuseneb a most likable man,” Imsiba said, scowling. “Determined, yes, but not ruthless.”
Bak spoke aloud his reasoning of the early morning hours.
“His ships both north and south of the Belly of Stones carry many precious items, as do the large caravans he uses to transport goods past the rapids. He complains about the tolls, but his profits are high. He has the nerve to smuggle and the means. A question remains, one I’ve asked before.”
He looked at Imsiba and at Hori. “Would he use another man’s ship to carry contraband when he could keep tighter control by using a vessel of his own?”
Imsiba shook his head. “I think it unlikely.”
“I’d better see Lieutenant Kay.” Hori said.
From the grim look on Imsiba’s face, Bak could see that their thoughts traveled a like path. Kay was skilled with the bow and arrow, while Userhet’s knowledge of the weapon was unknown, unlikely even. Userhet could read and write and so could Kay, but did the officer have sufficient compet-ence to create a false but convincing manifest?
“Go first to the scribal office building, Hori. Talk with the men who’ve seen Kay’s reports and learn how skilled he is at writing.”
“Yes, sir.” The youthful scribe pivoted on his heel, and hurried away.
Hori trotted along the terrace, carrying a basket that bumped his left leg with each step. Imsiba and Bak hastened toward him, meeting him halfway between the spur wall and the southern gate.
The youth held out the basket, which contained a half dozen maces, battle axes, and slings. “Lieutenant Kay was happy to loan these weapons, sir, but when I told him you were going off into the desert, he said you’d fare better borrowing a few skilled archers.”
Bak turned the boy around and aimed him back the way he had come. “How accomplished is Kay with brush and ink?”
“His writing is terrible, sir.” The boy grinned, but when he saw how serious Bak was, he quickly sobered. “As you directed, I went first to the scribal office building. There I looked at reports he’s submitted to Commandant Thuty. He turned in two I could barely read. According to the chief scribe, the commandant threw up his hands in disgust and now the lieutenant goes to a scribe each morning to dictate his reports.”
“So the headless man is Userhet,” Imsiba said, his voice grim.
Hori frowned, unconvinced. “I know he’s overseer of warehouses, but even that lofty position wouldn’t give him access to bows and quivers. The scribe responsible for archery equipment is too strict a guardian.”