“Not quite what you expected, Lieutenant?” Lieutenant
Puemre, his eyes twinkling, stood with Bak on the bow of
Captain Kheruef’s cargo ship.
The vessel and its two attendant ships were anchored in front of the port that served the mines. A smaller, fleeter trav eling ship-used to carry messages, Puemre had ex plained-was moored with them. Bak likened it to a small, graceful dove sitting with three ostriches.
“No, sir,” Bak admitted. “Not even the southern frontier, with its barren and empty landscape, prepared me for this stark coast and no doubt lonely outpost.”
The two men stood at the railing, looking at the port for which Puemre was responsible across a narrow stretch of water so clear Bak could see fish swimming around the hull.
Within a wall built of stones, the various colors muted by dust, were a dozen or so single-story interconnected build ings inhabited by soldiers, a somewhat larger structure that served as military headquarters, and a storehouse easily identified by its vaulted roof. A rough stone quay jutted into the sea in front of the enclosure. A more casual village lay outside the wall. A few dwellings were similar to those of the army, but most consisted of a framework of spindly poles supporting mud-coated brush walls. Donkey paddocks lay south of the dwellings. A large plain spread out beyond the port, with haze-shrouded hills rising behind and jagged peaks in the faroff distance.
“You think it lonely now,” Puemre said, “you should visit us during the heat of the year when the mines are closed down.”
“I’m amazed that anyone remains.”
“This is a military base, and we must keep it manned throughout the year. Nomads come and go, and a surprising number of people dwell in the few oases scattered along the flanks of the mountains or in the wadis that cut through the highlands. And the fishermen come. Amonmose’s men and others who fish the Eastern Sea or the waters around the southern tip of this peninsula.”
“They all come to trade?” Bak asked, thinking of User and the objects he had brought across the Eastern Desert in the vain hope of trading with the nomads.
“Every ship brings items not easy to get in this empty land.
A goodwill gesture by our sovereign, well worth the effort.”
Bak pointed out User, seated on the deck between the mas sive oarlike rudders of the next ship in line, playing knuckle bones with Ani and Wensu. Several sailors toiled at the bow, singing a bawdy song while they scrubbed away the manure dropped by the caravan’s donkeys. He asked if the explorer’s trade goods would be welcome at the port. They would, so
Puemre said.
Amonmose had long since disembarked and was walking north along the shore to the place where his fishermen had begun to set up their camp. Psuro had gone with Nebenkemet to see to the donkeys’ well-being, while the other Medjays had boarded the third vessel to watch a final wrestling match in what had been an ongoing competition among the sailors.
The ship rose and fell on gentle swells, its hull and fittings creaking. At irregular intervals, schools of small fish sur 210
Lauren Haney faced, drawing seagulls in large numbers. The squawking birds plummeted out of the sky to gather on the water and feed. Amid the frenzy, a half-dozen terns swooped down to snatch fish on the fly. Several small boats lay on the shore above the waterline, and three feral dogs fought over the torn remains of a gull. Farther down the beach, a group of naked children were splashing in the shallows, their laughter ring ing through the clear air.
“Who dwells in those huts?”
“Men who’ve chosen to remain for one reason or another, usually because they’ve wed a nomad woman and are raising families. We’ve the usual number of camp followers, of course. Men who wager, hoping to lay hands on a few chunks of turquoise, women no better than they should be, men who jump ship and find themselves with no way to earn their daily bread. And so on.” Puemre glanced at Bak and smiled. “As you can imagine, when we’re not organizing the unloading and loading of ships, our primary task is to maintain law and order.”
Bak had seen many impoverished villages on the southern frontier. This was no better than the worst. “I have endless re spect for you and the soldiers who man this desolate outpost.”
“All things eventually come to an end, Lieutenant, whether good or bad.” Puemre, a short, squat man with a slight paunch and thinning grayish hair, turned his back on the port and, with Bak by his side, walked along the deck.
“I’m to be relieved at the end of this mining season. With luck and if the Lady of Turquoise chooses to smile upon me,
I’ll be posted to a garrison in Kemet.” The goddess of whom he spoke was a local version of the lady Hathor.
The two men ducked beneath the woven reed roof of the deckhouse, whose colorful mat walls had been rolled up to allow air to pass through. On a small boat tied to the side of the ship, the two soldiers who had rowed Puemre across the water argued in a good-natured way.
“According to Captain Kheruef, you’re not what you ap pear to be,” Puemre said, sitting on a mat and crossing his legs before him.
Bak, who had raided Kheruef’s beer supply, broke the plugs from two jars, handed one to his companion, and sat down on the mat. He revealed his identity as a policeman, ex plained his mission, and told of the caravan’s journey across the Eastern Desert and the men who had been slain along the way. He spoke of the watching man, who might well be the slayer, and of how he had managed to slip away untouched.
He failed to mention that Minnakht was alive and well. He had concluded that he would glean more information if the men he spoke with remained in ignorance, if he lumped the explorer’s probable death in among the others.
A snarl drew Bak’s glance toward the shore. A gull had dropped onto the sand and, wings flapping, was trying to chase the dogs away from a new prize, this a dead fish. He skipped over the long voyage north and across the Eastern
Sea to conclude his tale. “Now here we are, twelve days later, safe at our destination.”
Puemre took several sips of beer, evidently reviewing the account, and licked the foam from his lips. “I’m surprised
Amonmose came with you. Even more surprised that he’s or dered his men to abandon their camp. He must indeed be worried.”
“Many men have died within the past year.”
Puemre studied him with interest. “You’re determined to snare the slayer, I see.”
“He took the life of one of my Medjays.” Bak’s voice was hard, grim. “I mean to see justice done.”
The port officer shifted on the mat, uncomfortable with the promise of vengeance. “Why come across the sea? From what you’ve told me, he’s in the Eastern Desert, not here.”
“I can’t be certain, but logic tells me the many deaths are related to Minnakht’s disappearance.” Bak sipped from his beer jar, letting the slightly bitter brew wash over his tongue.
“Minnakht hasn’t been seen since he left this port. I hope to learn more of his last few days. I don’t even know why he ventured so far from the land he knew so well.”
Puemre toyed with his beer jar, thinking. “Too many men traveling with you have died, that I grant you, but why? Why concentrate on your caravan?”
“I know nothing of the man who was slain at the well north of Kaine, but, with the exception of my Medjay, all the others who’ve died were at one time or another involved in a quest for gold.” Bak drew close a basket containing dried dates and offered them to Puemre. “Minnakht made no secret of the fact that he hoped to find gold, and User has been seeking the riches of the desert for many years. Because we’ve been fol lowing Minnakht’s last route across the desert, the slayer may believe we can lead him to gold. Or he might fear we’ll stumble upon a vein he’s already found.”
“Do you suppose he’s followed you across the sea? Nei ther my men nor I have any experience with murder.”
Bak could find no answer. Silence hung between them, an invisible curtain of puzzlement and frustration.
“I suppose Minnakht has gone to the netherworld.” With an unhappy sigh, Puemre bit into a date. “I’m sorry. I liked him, as did most men who met him.”
“According to User, Minnakht had never before left the
Eastern Desert. Why did he abandon a lifelong pattern? Why did he stray so far from his usual haunts?”
“He wanted to see the mountain of turquoise. He was, af ter all, an explorer, one who year after year studied the land in search of the wealth it offered.”
Bak was not surprised by the answer, but he wondered if it was not too simplistic. “Tell me of his visit.”
“The hot months of the year were upon us, so we were closing the mines. Lieutenant Nebamon, our caravan officer, was readying men and donkeys for their final journey into the mountains to bring back the few remaining miners and sol diers and the fruits of their labors. I insisted Minnakht travel with them.” Puemre nibbled the pulp from the date and flung the seed overboard. “He remained here a couple of days, waiting. From what I heard, he spent much of the time in what passes in the outer village for a house of pleasure. He drank beer and talked about his adventures in the desert, fill ing the ears of all who would listen. Then he joined the cara van and set out for the mountain of turquoise.”
“According to his guide Senna, he left this port soon after returning from the mines.”
“He meant to leave the following day, but he altered his plans.” Puemre took a healthy drink of beer and nodded his appreciation. It was probably the best brew he had drunk in a long time. “He’d talked with the overseer of the copper mines west of the mountain of turquoise, and he wished also to see the mines a considerable distance to the south. He asked for a guide to take him, but I refused to supply one.
Those mines, quite a long journey from here, were also being shut down. I insisted he wait until the overseer came in with another caravan. Which proved to be a delay of only three days.”
“If he was seeking gold, why would he want to visit cop per and turquoise mines?”
“The more a man knows, the more able he is, I suppose.”
Puemre shrugged, uncertain of the answer. “He asked end less questions about anything and everything. That’s why he was so well liked. People enjoy talking about themselves and what they do day after day.”
A gull dropped onto the forecastle rail, drawing Bak’s glance. “Did you know Senna?”
“I knew Minnakht brought a nomad guide.” Puemre flung a date pit at the gull. The bird merely tilted its head, showing its disdain. “I heard, while he was away at the mines, that
Senna tried to befriend a few local nomads, but he was an outsider and was treated as such. By the time I learned he was ill, Minnakht had returned. I thought all was well, so paid no further heed. I was surprised to hear a few days later that Minnakht had left without him. By the time I sent a man to see if he still ailed, he’d gone.”
Bak sipped from his beer jar, taking care not to stir up the sediment, thinking over what he had learned. Nothing much new, certainly nothing of significance. “I’ve vowed to follow in Minnakht’s footsteps. Will you clear away any difficulties
I might face while I’m on this side of the Eastern Sea?”
“A caravan will leave before nightfall tomorrow to deliver men and supplies to the mountain of turquoise. The officer in charge is Lieutenant Nebamon, with whom Minnakht trav eled a few months ago. He’ll welcome your company.”
Bak flashed a smile of thanks. “How many of the men who are presently working the mines are the same as those with whom Minnakht spoke?”
“The officers and overseers, most of the miners, and about half the soldiers are the same. The prisoners who toil on the goddess’s mansion, adding the new chambers our sovereign wishes built, differ from year to year.”
Bak set aside his empty beer jar and stood up to stretch his back. “All the men in User’s party will wish to come, and I want my Medjays with me. Is that too much to ask?”
“If you’ve a reason for taking so many men, it can be arranged.”
“I have no idea who the guilty man is,” Bak admitted, “and
I’ve thought at times that we have a snake among us.” He gave Puemre a humorless smile. “If I keep them all together and within arm’s reach, I hope to prevent another death.”
The following afternoon, the caravan left the port. The walking was easy for men and donkeys as they crossed the vast flat plain between the sea and the hills. Its sandy floor was strewn with chunks of gray and red granite, pink feldspar, and black basalt that had many centuries ago been swept down from the mountains. Ani ran from one rock to another, delighted with the display. He picked up innumer able colorful shards but, mindful of the difficulty of trans port, left most where he found them.
Along with the soldiers serving as guards and tending the donkeys and Bak’s small party, the caravan included thirty prisoners, men who would toil on the mansion of the Lady of
Turquoise. Bak did not envy them their punishment. The lord
Re had dropped behind the western horizon, offering a mag nificent showing of color, but the day was slow to cool. A prel ude to the many more long, hot days the men must endure.
Leaving the plain behind, they entered higher ground, fol lowing a series of dry watercourses carpeted with golden sand and hugged on either side by hills and escarpments, some yel lowish, some a glittering gray, and others shades of brown, all losing their color as night fell to blend together in shades of gray. A surprising number of acacias dotted the wadi floors, as did silla bushes and a kind of shrub the donkeys refused to eat.
Subsidiary wadis went off in all directions, a confusing maze of dry valleys cutting through the barren rock.
“You’ve no idea what you’re looking for?” Lieutenant
Nebamon drew Bak aside, allowing his sergeant to lead the caravan around a shoulder of rock by way of a narrow trail covered with a thick layer of soft sand. A steep bank fell away to the right, dropping fifty or so paces to the wadi floor.
Sand displaced by the animals spilled over the rim and slid down the slope with a gentle whisper.
They eased past several donkeys to stand beside a large boulder poised on the edge of the trail. A small grayish bird flitted out from above, startled from its sleep. The heavily laden donkeys passed one by one, their hooves mired in the deep sand. Several brayed their irritation at such strenuous effort.
“Did Minnakht ever explain why he wished to see the mines?”
“Not specifically.” Nebamon pushed back his lank black hair. He was of medium height and stick-thin. He looked to be about Bak’s age but his face was lined and leatherlike, vic tim of the harsh sunlight. “He questioned me about the way the men locate the copper ore and the turquoise and how they extract and process what they find.” He smiled at the mem ory. “I’m afraid I disappointed him. I’ve no interest in watch ing men burrow in the ground or toil over blazing furnaces, so I seldom go beyond the miners’ camps.”
Puemre had said this was Nebamon’s third year as caravan officer. Bak could not imagine spending so long a time in what had to be an exceedingly boring outpost without seek ing distraction. As far as he could see, no diversion existed except the mines. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“I once climbed the mountain of turquoise. I saw a few holes in the ground and men hacking away at the rock. I thought the lumps of stone they found small reward for the effort of transporting men, food, and supplies over inordi nately long distances and of grubbing the rock from the earth.”
“Men and supplies most often come from Mennufer along a trail some distance to the north, I understand. That has to be shorter than the southern route from Waset.”
“The journey is shorter, both by land and sea, the voyage made faster by northerly breezes. Still, the effort is substan tial for so modest a gain.”
“Our sovereign takes immense delight in the jewelry made from those chunks of stone,” Bak pointed out.
Nebamon leaped out to steady a donkey that had stepped on an unstable rock at the edge of the trail. “I assume Puemre told you she’s adding chambers onto the mansion of our
Lady of Turquoise.” He shook his head in disapproval.
“She’s never been here, of course, nor will she ever set foot in this wretched land, but I suppose she believes that enlarging the structure will increase her stature.” With a cynical laugh, he added, “While I was up there, I entered the mansion to bend a knee to the goddess. I almost broke my neck, stum bling over the stones lying about, awaiting placement.”
Bak enjoyed the lieutenant’s irreverent attitude, but fore saw grief in the future. Should the officer be posted to a gar rison in Kemet, he would have to bite his tongue to keep himself out of trouble. “Did Minnakht ever find a man who could answer his questions?”
“I heard that he spent a considerable amount of time with one of the miners. A man who toiled in the mines for several years, traveling all the way from the land of Retenu.”
Puemre had told Bak that many of the miners came from afar. They spoke a tongue other than that of Kemet and wor shipped different gods. For some reason Puemre could not fathom, the mansion of the Lady of Turquoise satisfied their devotional needs.
“Has that man come again this year?”
“I haven’t seen him. He was older than the other miners.
Too old for rough labor, I thought, and he seemed to know it.
He talked of leaving this life of deprivation and toil so he might spend his final years in his homeland, close to his wife and children, and their children.”
Bak muttered an oath. Thus far the gods were doling out the information he sought in such small bits that he feared he would die of old age before he learned the truth.
The prisoners trudged past, watched closely by their guards. Where they might flee in this waterless landscape, he could not imagine. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they were roped together in a loose chain. Their faces were impossible to see in the darkness, but he sensed their lack of hope. He could not help but feel pity, but they had of fended the lady Maat and justice must be served.
Justice. He prayed that soon he would be able to offer to the gods the name of the man who had taken Rona’s life and the lives of so many others. At times he felt a glimmer of hope that he would do so; at other times he felt no closer to the truth than he had the day he and his men had set out from
Kaine.
The caravan reached the camp at the base of the mountain of turquoise the following morning. Bak pitied the soldiers posted to this hot and sun-bleached valley, and he was certain the miners and prisoners who toiled atop the mountain suf fered a harsher existence.
The camp was basic-primitive almost. Several groups of rough stone huts had been erected near the scree-covered base of a reddish sandstone mountain. A small flock of goats and four donkeys, tended by a nomad family, were perma nent residents, satisfying the scant needs of the army. Be cause the caravan animals had to bring their own food from the port and water had to be carried from a distant well, they never remained more than two or three days. Like the houses, the paddocks were walled with stone. Acacias fanned out across the valley floor, providing some relief from the sun.
A half-dozen soldiers stood guard, while others performed the small, tedious duties necessary in a desert outpost. Their primary duty, Bak suspected, was to care for the caravan ani mals during their brief but regular sojourns. A few men branded as prisoners suffered the harshest duty, repairing tools, cleaning manure from the paddocks, and so on. No mads came and went, men who had left families and live stock in distant wadis while they came to trade.
Like the soldiers who had brought in the caravan, Bak and his party slept through the day. Not until after the evening meal did he have the opportunity to speak with Lieutenant
Huy, a slim, ruddy-faced man who, according to Nebamon, treasured his senet board and playing pieces and pressed all who came near into playing the game with him.
“I’m eternally grateful, Lieutenant.” Huy sat on a low stool beneath an acacia and set up the board, which had fold ing legs and contained a drawer in which to store the pieces.
“I seldom get to challenge anyone new.”
Bak, seated on a similar stool, watched him place the pieces in their appropriate squares. “Nebamon said you’d want to play.”
What the caravan officer had actually said was, “If you want him to answer your questions, you must play at least one game with him. But let me warn you: he fancies himself an expert, and he doesn’t like to lose. His goodwill is impor tant to the smooth running of this mine, and I can’t tell you how difficult it is to think of new ways to let him win.”
“He must’ve told you, then, that each time he comes, we compete.” Huy, who had given Bak the white cones and had taken the blue spools as his own, made the opening move without throwing the knucklebones, as he should have, to de cide who would begin. “I enjoy our games, but I can predict his every move. He plays with no imagination whatsoever.”
Bak took a sip of beer, smothering a laugh, and began to play. After allowing Huy to take his third playing piece, he said, “I understand Minnakht asked many questions about mining the turquoise while he was here.”
“He did.” Huy pounced on another piece. “I helped him as best I could, but finally sent him to Teti, the overseer.” He no ticed Bak’s curious look and smiled. “I’m responsible for the mines, yes, but my primary task is the smooth running of this camp and seeing that the men are supplied with all their needs, modest as they are. Teti knows the mines and mining better than any living man, so I entrust him to oversee the ac tivities atop the mountain of turquoise.”
Bak saw an opening on the game board so obvious a blind man could have spotted it. He could not resist taking one of
Huy’s pieces. “I understand he also asked about copper mining.”
The officer eyed the board and his mouth tightened, but as the number of spools exceeded the cones, he had no grounds for complaint. “He inquired about the workings west of here and those much farther away to the south. I told him all I knew, which isn’t much. I’ve been to the former, of course, but I’ve never seen the more southerly mines.”
“He visited the closer location, I understand.” Bak noted a careless move on Huy’s part and was sorely tempted to take advantage. He resisted the urge.
“He did, and he asked for a guide to take him south. I re fused. We were closing these mines for the season and none of the men who remained had sufficient experience to lead him through the mountains. I also warned him that those mines might already be shut down.”
“After I climb the mountain of turquoise, I wish to see the copper mines he visited. Would that be possible?”
“When Nebamon returns to the port, his caravan must make a detour to those mines. They’ve a load of copper ready to transport to the sea, the first of this season.”
Nebamon and his men had set up camp near the donkey paddocks, as had User and his party. Bak and his Medjays had elected to sleep twenty or so paces away and an equal distance from the nearest cluster of huts. At dusk, while Min mose prepared an evening meal of fish cooked with onions,
Bak strode across the sand to the caravan officer’s camp.
Nebamon saw him coming and motioned him to sit on the sand beside him. Handing his guest a jar of beer, he grinned,
“How did your game progress, Lieutenant?”
“Unfortunately I failed to win,” Bak said, forming an un happy look that would have convinced no one-except per haps Lieutenant Huy.
“I trust you made up for the loss in another way.”
Bak took a sip of beer and grimaced. It was one of the bit terest brews he had tasted since leaving the southern frontier.
“Tomorrow I’ll climb the mountain of turquoise and speak with the overseer.”
Nebamon smiled at Bak’s reaction to the beer. “Teti.”
“You know him?”
“I’ve seen him here at the camp a couple of times.” Neba mon sipped from his beer jar, then set it on the sand between his bare feet. “The miners say he’s a hard man, but one who can smell turquoise where none believe the stones exist.
They say he enters a shaft and strolls around with his hands locked behind his back. He tilts his head one way and an other, peering at the walls, and finally points a finger. Eight times out of ten, the miners find turquoise in that very spot.”
“If he’s so competent, why would Minnakht have spent so much time with the miner from Retenu?”
“Teti probably didn’t want to be bothered with him.”
If the overseer had no time for one man, Bak wondered how he would feel about ten, strangers one and all, demand ing a personal tour of his domain. “Huy said I could climb the mountain and descend in one day.”
The caravan officer raised his beer jar and twisted it in his fingers, making a show of studying it. Bak was reminded of the old woman Nofery, his spy in Buhen, and the way she doled out information, hoping to make a better bargain.
Nebamon, however, responded freely enough. “My sergeant,
Suemnut, and his men must escort the prisoners up the mountain tomorrow and must deliver the supplies we brought. They’ll leave at first light. You can walk up with them. The trail isn’t difficult, but can be confusing to one who’s never climbed it.”
“How long will they remain atop the mountain? I’ll need time to speak with Teti and I’d like to see the mines.”
“They won’t tarry.” Nebamon glanced toward the pad docks and said in a too-offhand voice, “If the donkeys are rested by the time they return-and they should be-I thought to leave in the early afternoon.”
Bak gave the officer a speculative look. He was convinced he wanted something, but what it might be, he could not imagine. “I’ve come too far to make such a hasty journey.”
Nebamon drank from his beer jar. Screwing up his face in distaste, he nodded. “I agree.”
Bak hated to ask the question. The answer might be costly.
“Could I convince you to stay an extra day?”
Nebamon’s lips twitched. “On one condition.”
“That is?”
“When at last you reach the land of Kemet, I’d be obliged if you’d send back to me twenty jars of the finest brew you can find, and a single jar of a good northern wine.”
Bak burst out laughing. “Done.”
“I’d like to go with you, sir.” Psuro untied his rolled sleep ing mat, clutched the edge, and flung it out on the sand.
“We’re surrounded by soldiers, true, but if the man who’s been trying to slay you is close by, you’re no safer here than you were in the Eastern Desert.”
“I insist you accompany me, Sergeant, and Nebre and
Kaha as well.” Bak glanced toward User’s campsite. “I feel certain User and Ani will wish to go and probably all the other men who came across the Eastern Sea with us. Any one of them may be as much at risk as I am.”
“I doubt that, sir.”
Refusing to argue with him, Bak picked up his sleeping mat, untied it, and shook it open. A long, thick brownish snake writhed free and dropped to the ground. A viper. Snap ping out a curse, Bak leaped backward. The deadly reptile sped across the sand toward Psuro, who stood paralyzed with shock. Too far away from their weapons cache to grab a spear, Bak tore his dagger from its sheath. Uttering a hasty prayer to the lord Amon, he flung the weapon. The slender blade impaled the snake just below its head. While it whipped its tail, trying to shake itself free, Bak leaped toward the spears, grabbed one, and slashed the head from the crea ture. Moments later, the snake writhed its last.
Psuro stared, appalled, at the reptile. “How could a viper get into your sleeping mat?”
“Not by itself, I’d wager.”
The sergeant tore his eyes from the creature. “As I said be fore, sir, you’re no safer here among all these soldiers than you were in the solitude of the desert.”