"In many daces, it won't. But there are paths of greater depth through the rapids. When the flood is at its highest and with the ship controlled by men with ropes standing on the taller islands, it's.. " Inyotef laughed. "It's an exciting journey, but reasonably safe. Amon-Psaro thought the voyage as much of an adventure as I did, but Huy…" He let his voice tail off, shook his head. "Last year I saw Huy standing alone, facing four armed men. Smugglers, they were. Desperate and vicious killers. He never showed a moment's fear. But his feet were planted firmly on the sand. Put him on a boat, let the craft rock on the swells, and he turns pale with terror."
Bak swallowed the last bite of bread and meat. Brushing the crumbs from his lap, he asked, "What was Amon-Psaro like?"
Inyotef shrugged. "In many ways, he was no different than any other boy of ten or so years. Curious about everything, easily impressed, innocent, fun loving. Yet he was a prince to the core of his being, a regal creature who knew himself to stand above mere mortals."
Bak sipped from his bowl, recalling Huy's words. "He was my brother," the group captain had said. Could an ordinary soldier, a guard, be like a brother to a royal child? One who walked with the gods? "Did Senu and Woser return to Kemet at the same time?"
"Other ships traveled north with ours, forming a convoy. I didn't know them then, so I don't know if they were on board."
Bak eyed the pilot, wishing he could see his face better. "I have one more question, Inyotef, perhaps the most important I've asked this evening. As an old friend, I beg you to be frank in your answer."
Inyotef laid the bone on the leaves in the basket with the care and precision of a man sorely tried. "Have I lied to you thus far?"
"I mean no offense," Bak said, raising his hands as a sign of appeasement. "My words were careless, I know. But your fellow officers have been far from open with me." Inyotef chuckled. "You're a policeman."
The gibe stung, especially from a man Bak considered a friend. "It's been clear from the outset that Commander Woser and the other officers, specifically Huy, Senu, and Nebseny, don't want me to identify Puemre's slayer. In fact, they've gone to great lengths to stand in my way. why?
The chuckle grew to a full-fledged laugh. "You're imagining obstacles where none exist, Bak. They're as eager to satisfy the lady Maat as you are."
My good friend, Bak thought, disgusted, a man whose indignation knows no bounds when 1 even hint he might not tell the truth. He wondered how many of Inyotef's other answers had been equally deceptive.
Bak lay stretched out on his sleeping pallet, staring at the stars. Soon after Inyotef's departure, he had gathered his bedding from the sleeping platform, shaken it out thoroughly in search of any deadly creature that might have been hidden among the sheets, and carried it up to the roof. He wondered why Kasaya had not yet returned from the commander's residence, thought of all the work Pashenuro and the men had done at the island fortress and all they had yet to do, worried that his search for Puemre's slayer and therefore an assassin seemed to be going nowhere.
He was close to sleep, yet awake enough to hear the sounds and smell the scents of night. The soft patter of reed sandals in the street and the odor of burning oil identified the spearman assigned to patrol that sector of the lower city through the hours of darkness. The terrified squeak of a mouse and a throaty growl announced a cat's capture of a late-night snack. Snarling dogs spoke of a fight over a bone or a bitch or a small animal caught by one and desired by all. A crying child and the stench of excrement told of a baby suffering from an illness of the stomach. A woman giggling on the next rooftop and the soft murmurs of a male voice preceded a rustling of bedding, heavy breathing, and moans of ecstasy. Familiar, comfortable sounds. Bak's eyelids grew heavy and he slept.
"Lieutenant Bak. Are you asleep, sir?"
Bak opened his eyes, shook himself awake, sat up. "Kasaya! What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. But I thought you'd want to know." The burly Medjay hunkered down beside him and spoke in a murmur so his voice would not carry to the occupied rooftops close by. "I've found a woman in the commander's residence who'll speak with you, a servant called Meret."
"She wants to talk now?" Bak asked, his voice dubious. Kasaya shook his head. "At sunrise tomorrow. At a place not far from the river where the women gather to do their washing."
"Isn't she afraid her master will hear of the meeting from the other women?"
"Most feed their families before washing their linen, but she has more sheets and clothing than all the others combined so she must start early. The place she mentioned is sheltered by a row of trees. It's easy to see all who approach and impossible to be seen from the lower city or the fortress."
"Why has she offered to help? Is she seeking vengeance for some real or imagined slight on Woser's part or on the part of Aset?"
"No, sir." Kasaya stared at his knees, fidgeted with his hands. "She's… Well, she's a widow, sir, and lonely." Bak reined in the urge to grin. "And you're going back to her bed tonight."
"Yes, sir."
Clapping him on the shoulder, Bak sent him on his way. As the Medjay's soft footsteps faded away in the street below, he lay back down. He regretted the need to use the woman in so shallow a way, but he had no choice. All he could do was pray she would provide the breakthrough he so desperately needed.
Amon-Psaro would march through the gates of the fortress before nightfall the next day, yet the identity of the man who wished to slay him was as elusive as it had been from the beginning. Many signs pointed to a conspiracy among the officers, yet he rejected the theory. The idea that four senior officers, all stationed at a single garrison, hated
Amon-Psaro enough to wish him dead stretched credibility. The fact that they all were assigned to the garrison at Iken when Amon-Psaro decided to come to Iken was a joke played by whimsical gods, not an occurrence planned in an organized plot. The idea that they all would risk a war to settle a personal grudge was as totally implausible. If he could get the truth from Woser, maybe once and for all he could settle the matter.
Chapter Fourteen
Bak walked along the water's edge, staying close to the trees, blending as much as possible into the long shadows of first light. Should Woser learn of this meeting, he would not thank Meret for speaking of his private affairs, especially with the police officer whose efforts he had done all he could to obstruct. She would no doubt be beaten, and Bak did not want that on his conscience.
The morning was soft and gentle, the land not yet heated by the lord Re. The air was sweet, the sky a clear, vibrant blue. The trees were alive with birdsong, too loud to hear the leaves rustling in the breeze or the murmur of the rapids, whose voice was softened by distance.
Kasaya stepped out of the trees twenty or so paces ahead and waded into the river. He cavorted in the water as if born to the lord Hapi, diving, rolling, leaping, letting the current carry him downriver, battling the flow to return upstream. He was showing off to the woman, Bak guessed, flaunting his youthful vigor, his large well-formed body, his good spirits.
As Bak approached the spot where the Medjay had entered the water, he paused. Ahead, the row of trees curved away from the river's edge and back again, forming a sandy half circle dotted with weathered boulders and bushes growing from patches of rich black soil. A backwater during the height of the flood, he guessed, but now an ideal place for the local women to do their laundry. Sheets so white they burned his eyes were already draped over several boulders and bushes, drying in the sun.