Amonmose’s face lit up. “If that’s the case, why don’t you come with us? The bigger the caravan, the safer we’ll be.”
Bak liked the suggestion. To travel with User’s caravan would answer two of his needs. It would offer the safety of numbers and give him the chance to know better the men traveling with the explorer. “Do you fear an attack, Amon mose? Or are you afraid there’ll be another slaying?”
“In all the years I’ve crossed this desert, I’ve never known the nomads to be dangerous. True, the tribes fight each other, but the people themselves are generous and kind, especially to a stranger. I’ve traveled farther to the south, to be sure, but
I’m certain the nomads here are no different.” Amonmose laid down the waterbag and picked up another. “Something’s happened out here. I feel it in my bones.” He managed a thin smile. “No, it’s more than a feeling. In Kaine I learned that
Minnakht has vanished. A seasoned explorer he was, one who took no unnecessary risks, a man reputedly beloved of the nomads. Now we find a stranger murdered in our midst. I don’t like it, sir.”
“Are you about ready?” User asked, approaching Ani. The jeweler stood a half-dozen paces away, holding his rolled sleeping mat as if not quite sure what to do with it.
“User, listen to this,” Amonmose called out, overriding
Ani’s response. “Lieutenant Bak plans to travel a route much the same as ours. I’ve asked him to come with us.”
Looking annoyed, User urged Ani to hurry and hastened to join Bak and Amonmose. “The smaller the caravan, Amon mose, the faster we’ll travel and the easier it’ll be to find for age for our donkeys. Did I not tell you that yesterday when you asked to accompany us?”
“You did, yes. But considering the circumstances, don’t you think it to our advantage to join forces? Bak and his Medjays are well armed and trained to fight, while the rest of us are civilians. I can’t speak for Ani or Wensu or for Nebenkemet but I, for one, have no aptitude in the use of weapons.”
User planted his fists on his hips. “Considering what cir cumstances? The dead stranger? Bah! His death had nothing to do with us.”
Amonmose’s mouth tightened, betraying the determina tion that had led him to build a fishing fleet in an unlikely and formidable location. “Lest you’ve forgotten, User, no one has seen Minnakht for at least two months, which probably means he’s dead and buried.” User opened his mouth to rebut but the big man plowed on. “A merchant in Kaine told me an other young explorer has also disappeared in this desert.”
Another disappearance? Bak’s interest sharpened.
“About ten months ago, that was,” Amonmose went on.
“He, too, must be dead, his body hidden where no one can find it. I’d not be surprised to learn that the first disappear ance led to the second and the second to this stranger’s mur der. Do you want one of us to be the fourth victim?”
Bowled over by the torrent of words, User could think of no retort. He had to know that he had no control over Bak and his Medjays. He might not wish them to join his caravan, but if they chose to walk a few paces ahead or behind and to camp close by, he could do nothing but fume.
“Our donkeys won’t be loaded for at least a half hour.
You’ll be ready to leave by then, Lieutenant?”
Bak stood with Senna and Psuro, watching the solitary donkey and drover plod south down the main wadi, taking the body of the unknown man to Kaine. It would be a long, hot trek for man and beast, but the rations token Bak had sup plied, assuring a generous reward upon presentation to the nearest garrison quartermaster, should partly make up for so unpleasant a trek.
“Will we be joining User’s caravan, sir?” Senna asked.
Offering a silent prayer that drover and donkey would have a safe journey, Bak turned to the guide. “What do you recommend, Senna?”
“We’d make better time without them. And…”
“And what?” Psuro asked impatiently.
Senna looked uncertainly at Bak. “Well, sir…” Again he hesitated, but a sharp look from the sergeant drove him on.
“We’d have two guides and two masters, not a good idea at the best of times and especially not here in this harsh and desolate land.”
“User and I would have to come to an understanding.” Bak watched Psuro kick sand over the blackened remains of the fire, leaving no sign of their presence but the soft and uneven surface. “Tell me what you know of Dedu.”
“I can’t vouch for his honesty.” Senna looked toward the well, where the guide in question was lifting a water jar onto a donkey. “He’s from a tribe that ranges the land south of here and along the edge of the Eastern Sea. I’ve heard that in years past he served often as a guide, usually traveling with
User but sometimes leading caravans across the southern route between Waset and the sea. He’s since become a man of substance, with a family and flocks, and seldom strays away from his tribal territory.”
If Dedu was capable enough to toil for the caravan masters entrusted to transport copper and turquoise, he could be de pended upon to lead a small caravan through a less-traveled portion of the Eastern Desert.
“What do you know of User?” Bak asked.
“I’ve heard he’s a hard man, one who doesn’t hesitate to use the whip on men who fail to obey him. They say his hon esty comes and goes, depending upon his needs. He doesn’t trust most nomads, nor do they trust him.”
Bak’s donkeys were fully loaded and ready to travel when
Nebre and Kaha returned to the camp. He told Senna, Min 54
Lauren Haney mose, and Rona to go on ahead with the animals, leading them up the secondary wadi. Whether or not they joined
User’s caravan, he wanted himself and his men at the head of the procession.
When they were well on their way, Bak asked the two
Medjays, “What did you find?”
“I found no sign of the watching man in User’s camp,”
Kaha said. “Not a man among them brought sandals that leave the print I found on the hillside. Nor did I find any re cent sign of nomads other than at the well.”
“What of your search farther afield?” Psuro asked.
“We circled far out around the well and the three camp sites. You must’ve seen us from time to time.” Nebre paused, awaiting Bak’s nod. “We found no tracks of anyone entering or leaving the circle who didn’t belong here.”
Bak eyed the row of tamarisks that rounded the bend to the north. “Those trees are thin, but at night a man could’ve come from upstream unseen.”
Kaha leaned his shield against his leg, freeing a hand so he could adjust the waistband of his kilt. “We took special care when looking for prints in that direction, sir. We found none.”
“We came upon one other likely place,” Nebre said. “A place where rocks have tumbled down and broken apart, forming coarse gravel on the bottom of a wash. A man could walk down the wash, leaving no trace of himself, but we found no sign of disturbance where the gravel tails off into the sand.”
“In other words…” Bak looked from one man to the other, seeking their conclusion.
“We might’ve missed some sign, sir,” Nebre said, “but if not, someone in User’s party must have slain the stranger.”
Crossing his arms in front of his breast, Bak stared up the wadi toward the well and the men and animals preparing to set out. He did not have to think for long. Two men had gone missing and another was dead. One coincidence had troubled him; two he found to be incredible. And here he stood, with an invitation-reluctant though it might be-to join the men most likely to have slain the unnamed man. How could he not accept?
“We’ll travel with the other caravan. It’s better to keep an eye on people you don’t trust than to allow them to go their own way, giving them a chance to do further mischief.”
Chapter 4
Bak stood off to the side of a rough track left on the wadi floor by what had to be hundreds of goats or sheep, mostly the former since they could survive the heat and harsh graz ing easier than could the latter. He had tried to find signs of the nomad family after passing the place where they had been camped, but the sand had been so stirred up by the many sharp hooves that nothing remained but soft grainy un dulations. The few clear tracks he found, those of animals that had wandered away from the path, could have been left in the early hours of the morning-or they could have been made a year or more ago. He suspected they and the mingled tracks on the path had been left by all who had come this way since the last water had flowed down from the mountains.