Have they ever seen it?”
“We’ll talk with them next, sir,” the scribe said.
“Ask them.” Bak scowled. “Also, you must find out what they do when they see it. Do they run away? Or have they tried to catch it?” He suspected they turned their backs, preferring to have seen nothing rather than risk the gods alone knew what in a vain attempt to catch a wraith.
“Catch it, sir?” Kasaya asked, looking incredulous.
“If they reported to me, they’d at least try. They’d better.”
Bak left no doubt how he felt about men who failed to do their duty. To Hori, he asked, “What appearance does this spirit take?”
“It’s never seen in the daylight, as you said yourself, sir.
At night it’s either a dark and distant shadow in the moonlight or a spot of light flitting among the stones.”
Bak looked thoughtfully at the cluster of workmen’s huts.
Unpainted mudbrick. Light roofs of reed, palm frond, and mud construction. A lean-to added here and there. “The craftsmen dwell in villages outside this valley, do they not?”
“Most dwell in a village near the end of the ridge to the north.” Lieutenant Menna, who had approached so silently none of the three had heard him, came the rest of the way up the ramp and crossed to them. “It’s within easy walking distance so they can go home each night and return the next morning.”
“That’s why none have seen the malign spirit,” Bak said to Hori and Kasaya. “They’re never here during the hours of darkness when it shows itself.”
“Then that’s why they know nothing of Montu’s death,”
the scribe said. “They weren’t here the night he was slain.”
“If he was slain in the night,” Bak said.
Grimacing, Menna brushed a faint trace of dust off his kilt. “Your morning, it seems, has been as unproductive as mine.”
Bak studied the guard officer, who was almost as neat and clean as when they had first met. Dusty feet and a rivulet of sweat trickling down his breast betrayed no greater effort than walking from the river to Djeser Djeseru. He could not resist asking, “You’ve been looking for rifled tombs?”
Menna looked sincerely rueful. “Unfortunately not. I had reports to dictate. I’d barely finished when I received Pashed’s message that another tomb had been found.”
Rising to his feet, Bak looked across the blocks of stone toward Ineni, the man Pashed had assigned to watch the open shaft. The guard, a lean man of medium height with a reddish birthmark on his neck, was leaning against the reclining lion statue, talking to a dozen or so men. Telling tales of a treasure, he felt sure. Irritated, he asked, “Did you bring the priest Kaemwaset?”
“I couldn’t find him, so I thought it best I come without him. As soon as I return to Waset, I’ll look further. With luck and the favor of the lord Amon, we’ll return before nightfall.”
Bak cursed beneath his breath. “I hope the tomb is made safe before dark. I’ll sleep better tonight if it’s closed and sealed for eternity.”
“You saw jewelry on the body, Pashed said.”
“We did.”
Menna stared at the cluster of men near the reclining lion.
“Ineni is a good man, but I think it best I assign Imen to the task. He’s more responsible by far-and not nearly so talka-tive.” Looking none too enthusiastic, the officer added, “After I’ve dealt with that, I must see the tomb.”
Bak glanced around in search of Pashed, but the chief architect was nowhere to be seen. Rather than take the time to search for him, he said, “I’ll go with you.”
He did not mistrust Menna, but he was firmly convinced that no man should enter a tomb alone. Especially a sepulcher in which jewelry had been seen. At least not until the men who were robbing the dead were snared and taken away.
“You see the bracelets,” Bak said, bending over the wrapped body, his eyes on the jewelry glittering in the torchlight. “They’re of similar workmanship to those I found in Buhen. I’d not be surprised to find that they all were made in a royal workshop.”
Menna knelt for a closer look. “If the shaft hadn’t been so securely closed, the stones too heavy for a few wretched robbers to move without discovery, I’d suspect the objects you found came from this very tomb.”
Bak could understand how tempting the thought was. To conclude that one tomb was being rifled was far more palat-able than the thought that several had been robbed. Which he was certain was the case. The jewelry he had found in the honey jar had been that of royalty. The individual in this small tomb had been important, but not so exalted.
“This makes me more certain than ever that the looted sepulchers are to be found in this area.” He had no authority to tell the guard officer how best to perform his task, but he had every right to ask a few questions. “Have you begun to look again at the cemeteries in western Waset? Especially those near here, where Nebhepetre Montuhotep, his successors, and their noble followers were entombed?”
Menna’s voice grew stiff, defensive. “I wanted first to finish the reports I spoke of earlier. Now that dreary task is complete, leaving me free to lead my men on a new search.”
He stood up, added with a stingy smile, “Never fear, Lieutenant. We’ll begin at first light tomorrow, retracing our steps once again, examining the burial places with the same diligence as before.”
With increased diligence, I hope, Bak thought.
The torch sputtered, emitting a puff of smoke. The odor of burned oil blended with the smell of decay and dry, dusty flowers.
“Don’t misunderstand me.” Bak turned away from the body and, holding the flickering torch before them, led the way down the horizontal tunnel. “I’m in no way criticizing you. I know from experience how difficult it is to snare a man whose very life depends upon remaining unknown and free.”
“I’ve had no experience in pursuing criminals of so vile a nature,” Menna admitted, “but I well know the cemeteries in western Waset, and I know even better the men who dwell here, many of whom look with a covetous eye upon the tombs and the vast wealth they believe they contain.”
“Do you have suspects?”
“I suspect them all.”
In other words, Bak thought, he has no idea who the thief is. He vowed again to keep his eyes open-wide open. And, at the first opportunity, to explore the burial places around Djeser Djeseru and the neighboring temple.
At the top of the shaft the guard Menna had selected had replaced Ineni. Imen was a man of medium height and years with ruddy weathered skin, strong muscles, and the work-hardened hands of one who had toiled in the fields or on the water for much of his life. He looked to be tough and tena-cious, a man not easily frightened. Warned not to gossip, he stood alone. Bak wondered if he would maintain his silence after they left.
“Montu was a pompous ass.” The chief artist Heribsen was either totally without guile or did not care what Bak thought. “The less I had to do with him the happier I was. I went out of my way to avoid him.”
“This temple site is large, but much of it is open to view,”
Bak said. “You surely saw him at a distance.”
The gnome-like man led him through the gap in the incomplete wall and into the temple and its unfinished courtyard. The lord Re had dropped behind the western mountain, leaving much of the building in the shade of the cliff that rose high above it. “He may’ve been slain two days ago, you say?”
“We found him yesterday, as you know. He died the night before or the previous day, I’d guess. Common sense says in the night, but. .” He spread his hands wide, shrugged.
“Who knows?”
“I did see him that day,” Heribsen admitted. “Near mid-afternoon, it was. I’d come up here to take a look at the sanctuary and I saw him on the terrace below.” He laughed-at himself, Bak felt sure. “I slipped inside, hiding from him, plain and simple.”