Bidding a temporary farewell to Hori and Kaemwaset, Bak hurried up the causeway to Djeser Djeseru about an hour before midday. The scribe and priest turned aside to walk to the ruined temple of Nebhepetre Montuhotep. At their heels, ranging from side to side as the urge struck, trotted a large white dog they had borrowed from a desert patrol unit garrisoned in Waset.
Bak stopped at the eastern end of the terrace, where it overflowed onto the ruined walls of the temple of Djeserkare Amonhotep and his revered mother Ahmose Nefertari.
Standing quite still, concentrating fully on all he saw, he studied the cliffs around the valley and the rim above, where a path ran along the edge. With the sun striking the cliff high and from the front, the vertical surfaces looked flat and the crevices shallow. The tower-like projections merged into the background and much detail was lost. A thin haze, minute particles of airborne dust, turned the cliffs an unnatural pinkish purple, further obscuring all but the most outstand-ing features. The heat was pervasive, the sand hot beneath his sandals.
The malign spirit had twice used rock slides as a means of destruction, and Bak could think of no more spectacular a way of creating further devastation and fear than a slide originating high up the face of the cliff. Along much of the way, rock and debris would plunge harmlessly onto the tower-like projections, but he could see several chute-like places where a slide could fall unimpeded onto the memorial temple of Maatkare Hatshepsut. One had but to look at the ruined columned hall at the rear of Nebhepetre Montuhotep’s temple to see what damage could be done.
“Menna.” Pashed, standing in the sunlight at the top of the ramp leading to the temple, looked out across Djeser Djeseru, thinking of all Bak had told him. “Yes. I’ve always thought him a man who’d go to far greater lengths to attain his goals in a less than admirable fashion than to exert himself by earning his bread in a hardworking and diligent manner.”
Bak gave the senior architect a surprised look. “You never said.”
“You surely noticed he seldom visited Djeser Djeseru. Or any of the cemeteries of western Waset, for that matter. If I’d not taken control, the guards here would’ve spent much of each day playing knucklebones and throwsticks, drinking beer and wagering. As it was, they neglected their duty at night.”
“Afraid of the malign spirit.”
Against his will, Bak looked at the cliff towering above the temple. He saw no movement along the rim, no man poised to start a rock slide, but his skin crawled as he thought again of the possibilities for destruction.
“I could hardly blame them for that,” the architect said grudgingly. “They were but a few among the many.”
Laughter, a sound incongruous under the circumstances, tugged Bak’s glance to the north end of the lower colonnade, where a gang of men were increasing the height of the rubble ramp in the expectation of hauling up another stone block and placing it on top of a partially completed column.
“Montu would’ve known even better than Menna how best to do damage to Djeser Djeseru.”
Pashed did not appear surprised by the suggestion, but gave it some thought nonetheless. “He was indolent, yes, selfish and arrogant, and cruel in his own way, but I never thought him so callous he’d slay men at random.”
“Someone did, and I’d bet my best kilt it was either him or Menna.” A darkness consumed Bak’s heart, a feeling of sadness-and rage-that one man could be responsible for so much needless death and injury. “If one of them didn’t, the fishermen or Imen did at their leader’s instruction.”
Pashed’s voice turned harsh with anger. “I’d like to slay them all with my bare hands.”
“Imen can do no more harm. If the fishermen haven’t run away, they may well come today, drawn by Senenmut and the desire to do damage. And I’ve summoned Menna. .” A wry smile flitted across Bak’s lips. “. . with a promise that the two of us will snare the malign spirit, he and I together.
Whatever the truth, I’ll find it, and your troubles will be over.”
“I wish I could be as certain as you.”
Bak tamped down his irritation. Over the past few years, Pashed had shouldered far too much adversity for any one man. He had every right to be pessimistic. “There’ve been four attempts on my life, Pashed. Whether Menna is the malign spirit or the fishermen are walking in the shadow of a dead man, they have to know their time is running out. If they’re determined to bring about an accident serious enough to stop construction, they must do so without delay.
What better time than when Senenmut is here?”
“Senenmut has the ear of our sovereign.” The worry lines deepened in the architect’s face, alarm seeped into his voice.
“He’s her right hand, much beloved. How can we let him walk into what could be a deadly trap?”
Bak had explained once that Maiherperi and Amonked had both tried to dissuade Senenmut from coming. He saw no need to repeat himself. “Move as many of the men as you can away from the cliff, and remove the craftsmen from the sanctuary and side chapels. I know, because of Senenmut’s inspection, that you can’t take everyone away from their tasks, but do the best you can.”
Looking harried, pushed to the limit, Pashed nodded.
“You must go from one chief craftsman to another, from one foreman to another, and tell them to be extra alert for anything out of the ordinary, any problem. We may not be able to stop altogether what they plan, but with luck and the help of every god great and small, we should be able to contain the damage.”
“Where will I find you should I need you?” Pashed asked, too worn down to offer further resistance.
“Utter not one word of what I’ve told you,” Bak cautioned, not for the first time. “I must speak with Menna before the men learn he could be the malign spirit. I don’t want them attacking an innocent man.”
“I’ve always been one to behave in a right and proper manner, to obey the law of the land and do right by the lady Maat, but in this case. .”
“No.” Bak placed a hand on the architect’s wrist. “What good is the law if men take punishment into their own hands?” He noted Pashed’s troubled demeanor and said no more. The man’s conscience would lead him to reveal nothing-or so he prayed.
He started down the ramp, remembered a question he had failed to ask, and turned back. “Do you know anything about the tomb of a woman called Neferu, spouse of Nebhepetre Montuhotep?”
“Neferu?” Pashed shook his head slightly, as if to clear away his troubled thoughts, at least enough so he could speak of a less bothersome subject. “Hers was the first sepulcher we came upon in this valley.”
Bak gave him a sharp look. “Kaemwaset knew nothing of it until he found mention of it in the archives. Has he not been priest from the day construction began?”
“He wasn’t assigned to Djeser Djeseru until after our sovereign laid the foundation deposits and the chief prophet consecrated the valley. We found the tomb a few months earlier, the day we inspected the landscape to learn the extent of the effort we must make to give the building a firm base.”
Bak nodded his understanding. “You were here at the time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where exactly is the tomb located?”
Pashed pointed eastward and a bit to the left of the temple of Djeserkare Amonhotep and Ahmose Nefertari. “At the base of the slope below the cliff, north of an old wall partly buried in sand that runs alongside the temple.”
“How did you find it way out there?”
“The mouth of the tomb lay open.” The architect eyed the terrace below them, the incomplete statues and architectural elements, the many men toiling there, and a look of pride blossomed briefly on his face. “You must remember that before this project began, this valley was seldom visited by man or woman much of the year. Only during the Beautiful Festival of the Valley. Oh, a few women came to bend a knee at the shrine of the lady Hathor, and the cemetery guards made random visits. The robbers must’ve felt they had the place to themselves.”
Bak well remembered how empty and desolate the valley had been when, as a small boy, he had accompanied his father’s housekeeper to the shrine of the lady Hathor. “What did you find inside the tomb?”
“As was apparent the moment we laid eyes on the open shaft, robbers had been there ahead of us. Not once, but several times. Much of the devastation we found in the burial chamber had occurred many years before, many generations ago, but a small niche looked as if it had been opened recently. What had been removed, we had no way of knowing.”
Bak was willing to bet his iron dagger that the jewelry he had found in far-off Buhen had come from that niche. If so, the malign spirit and his gang had already entered Neferu’s tomb and rifled it. It could not possibly be the one they were searching for-or had found but had been unable to clear.
“The tomb was quite lovely,” Pashed went on. “Senenmut ordered it temporarily closed, to be reopened later. He’s not yet decided if the terrace will be extended beyond its entrance, but he plans to make it accessible so all who come to Djeser Djeseru will be able to visit the sepulcher of our sovereign’s worthy ancestor.”
An admirable goal, Bak thought, especially since Maatkare Hatshepsut’s forebears had no blood tie to Nebhepetre Montuhotep, and probably not to his spouse either.
“I must leave you, Pashed, but I wish to be told the instant Senenmut appears.”
“Should I need you, where will you be?”
With a grim smile, Bak pointed toward the ruined temple of Nebhepetre Montuhotep, where Hori, Kasaya, and Kaemwaset stood with the white dog among the broken columns on the northern terrace. “We’ll be there, searching for the tomb of a royal spouse or child.”
The architect flung him a startled look. “If Menna’s the malign spirit, if the tomb he’s been seeking is there, he’ll not sit back and let you find it ahead of him.”
“So I hope.”
“How much time do we have before Senenmut arrives?”
Kasaya asked.
Bak knelt among the broken columns and scratched the dog’s head. The sturdily built animal, which stood higher than his knee, had slick white hair and a bushy tail that curled over its back. Its head was thick and flat, its brown eyes alert and intelligent. It wore a red leather collar studded with bronze squares. “I hope he’ll take a pleasant noonday meal in the royal house before crossing the river. That’d give us about two hours free of worry.”
Hori wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Why would he not listen to Amonked and Maiherperi? Why walk into the arms of a slayer?”
Bak gave the dog, trained as a tracker of men, a final pat and stood up; his eyes slid toward Kaemwaset. “It’s time we began.”
The priest untied the ends of a cloth bag he had hung on his belt and withdrew the roll of papyrus on which Hori had redrawn the plan. He handed it to Bak, who climbed over the broken wall into the main court. His companions followed.
Locating a column standing to waist height, facing the cliff behind the temple, he unrolled the scroll across the broken but relatively flat upper surface.
He and Kasaya glanced at each other, their thoughts alike, and both examined the vertical cliff face that loomed high above the temple. Here the tower-like projections were not as numerous or as tall, not as well-defined, as those behind Djeser Djeseru, and they would not shelter the temple as well. A significant break in this natural shield could be seen, and it occupied the worst possible location. It rose directly above what looked like a fairly recent slide that had partly crushed a portion of the columned hall near the sanctuary.
Menna had not been seen for some time, and the fishermen had vanished about thirty hours ago. Was one man or more somewhere high upon the cliff face even now? The most likely target for attack was the new temple and not the old, but. .
Shoving the thought firmly aside, Bak signaled his companions to gather around his makeshift table. While they looked at the plan, the dog lay in a nearby patch of shade, licking a paw. A warm breeze ruffled their hair and dried the sweat the sun stole from their bodies. The odor of fish drifted to them from the workmen’s huts, as did an acrid smell from the metalsmiths’ furnace. A familiar, comfortable scene that made a lie of Bak’s fears.
“We’ve no way of knowing for certain,” he said, “but let’s assume the temple in this plan was torn down and its foundations buried beneath the one in which we’re standing.”
Kasaya glanced around, skeptical. Hori eyed the ruin with distaste, reluctant to search again for something he had looked for twice without success. Kaemwaset nodded, his faith in Bak bolstered by prayer.
Bak turned his back to the cliff and studied the main court. Around the ruined block of rubble and stone in the center, a few paving stones had been removed and others were broken, but no gap was deep enough to reveal what lay beneath. If the need to know became imperative, they could dig a vertical shaft in the hope of finding the old temple, but such a laborious effort must be a last resort.
Turning slowly, he looked at the broken stone blocks and slabs among which he stood. Pairi and Humay had been somewhere here or in the colonnade court just beyond when he and his men had disturbed them. Had they been working their way around the temple and reached this point after many nights of fruitless searching? Or had they concluded the tomb they sought lay in this court or the next?
The dog growled, alerting them to a new arrival, the young scribe Ani.
“Lieutenant Bak!” Ani stepped over a chunk of rock and came to a halt before the makeshift table. “Senenmut is coming, sir. He’s about halfway up the causeway.”
“Already?” Bak moaned.
“Can we go see him, sir?” Kasaya asked.
“We’ve a task to do,” Bak snapped, then relented. “All right. We can see him well enough from the terrace.”
“Sir!” Hori looked pained. “The terrace is too low. We won’t be able to see anything. Can’t we go over to Djeser Djeseru?”
“We can’t take the time.” Bak’s eyes darted toward the priest. “Should you be there to greet him, Kaemwaset?”
“I see no need. This is a simple inspection, with no part of the temple to be dedicated.” Kaemwaset’s eyes twinkled.
“I’ll stay here with you. Searching for a hidden tomb will be much more intriguing than walking around a construction site I’ve seen many, many times before.”
Bak stood with his three companions on the edge of the terrace that faced Djeser Djeseru. Behind them lay the ruined colonnade they had walked through four nights earlier, carrying oil lamps and trying to look mysterious in the hope of proving to the workmen that the malign spirit was a flesh and blood man. The old temple was lower than the new and the view far from ideal, but it was good enough to satisfy Bak, who had no desire to attract Senenmut’s attention.
He studied the cliffs towering over the two temples. The lord Re, high overhead, reached into the crevices and cracks that broke the face of the cliff, making them blend together as a single rough-hewn mass. He saw no sign of life on the rim above, and if anyone had climbed partway down the cliff face, he was safely concealed among rocks, impossible to distinguish in the deceptive light.
Uneasy, preferring to face an enemy he could see, he focused on the procession walking at a good fast pace up the distant causeway toward Djeser Djeseru. Sunlight glinted on bronze spear points. Leather armor glistened, polished to a high sheen. Ostrich feather fans waved back and forth, stirring the air above lofty officials. Though he heard, faint and far away, the hunting cry of the falcon streaking down from the deep blue sky, neither the words spoken by Senenmut’s party nor the sound of marching feet carried across the sand.
Maiherperi had kept his vow and more, sending with Senenmut two companies of guards, one hundred men who carried the white shields of the royal house. One contingent marched at the head of the inspection party. Solely responsible for Senenmut’s safety, they could not leave his presence.
A second unit marched behind, men handpicked by Maiherperi and given red armbands to distinguish them from Senenmut’s personal guards. These men Bak could call upon when needed. Whether the royal guards were setting the speed of forward movement or whether the Overseer of Overseers had deemed it wise to come and go as quickly as possible, Bak could not begin to guess.
The inspection party was larger than he had expected. At least fifteen men rode on carrying chairs held high above the ground on the shoulders of porters. Senenmut had to be the man in front, and Bak thought he recognized Amonked by his side. Their faces and those of the men behind them were hidden in the shadow of white awnings that sheltered them from the sun. The latter were lesser noblemen, he suspected, men who hoped to gain advantage by breathing the same air as that of their sovereign’s favorite. Heralds, fan bearers, and scribes kept pace behind them.
Bak took a small, highly polished mirror from a square of cloth tied to his belt, caught the sun on its surface, and angled it toward the rear column of guards. Within moments a mirror flashed a response from the lieutenant in charge of the men wearing the armbands. Should one need the other, they each knew where to find him.
After taking another long, careful look at the cliff above the new temple, Bak turned away. He could find nothing out of order, but he was far from satisfied. Somewhere up there, he feared, a man lay hidden, waiting.
He walked to the fallen segment of wall where he had been surprised by Pairi. Warning the others to keep a wary eye on Djeser Djeseru and the cliff above, he scrambled over the broken stones and crossed the littered pavement of the main court to the opening in the rear wall, trying to re-create in his thoughts exactly what had happened that night.
Pairi had led him into the colonnade court, where he had been struck from behind. Another man, Humay no doubt, had been the one to fell him. Earlier, well before he had been struck down, Pairi had shouted, “Let’s go, my brother,” or something similar. He didn’t recall seeing Humay, but had sensed someone’s presence. Or had the frenzied shadows cast by the wildly flaring torch sent his imagination soaring?
He backed up to stand beside the column where the plan lay, both ends curled to meet in the center. He closed his eyes and tried to bring back that night. The man-Pairi-appearing out of nowhere. He, Bak, leaping over the fallen section of wall and racing after him, torch in hand. Sparks flying, erratic shadows flitting over and around the fallen columns, Pairi’s fleeing footsteps.
Suddenly he remembered: While passing the block structure in the center of the court, he had glimpsed a man off to the right.
He eyed the right rear-northwest-corner of the main court. Both back and side walls rose higher than his head.
A slope of dirt and debris fallen from the cliff over many years pressed against them from the outside and had spilled over into the main court. The two rows of eight-sided columns that had once supported the roof behind the central, ruined block were sadly damaged. A few stood to various heights, but most lay broken on the pavement among remnants of architraves and roof slabs. Again he asked himself: Had Pairi and Humay reached this point after many nights of searching? Or had they found a rich tomb?
Seeking some sign of fresh disturbance, he walked along the spill, turned the corner, walked a dozen or so paces farther. The pavement beneath his feet was covered with sand and littered with chunks of stone of all sizes and shapes.
Voices drew him on to the fallen segment of wall. Kasaya, Hori, and Kaemwaset stood where he had left them, looking toward Djeser Djeseru. Senenmut and Amonked, easier to see than before, were walking slowly along the fill above the southern retaining wall, watching the men below slide a stone in place. Kaemwaset was pointing out various men in Senenmut’s party whom he recognized.
Bak turned away to retrace his steps. Rounding the corner and walking a few paces along the rear wall, thinking of the plan Hori had so painstakingly redrawn, he knelt to dig away the debris at the base of the spill. It was not as hard-packed as he had expected, betraying the fact that it had been recently deposited.
His expectations were small, a faint hope at best, but the lord Amon chose to smile upon him. The edge of his hand struck a hard projection. He quickly dug away more debris, revealing a slab of carved stone set into the pavement.
Barely daring to breathe, he moved a few chunks of broken rock and dug away more of the spill, revealing several carved slabs between the one he had initially found and the corner of the court. They formed two rectangular shapes. Shrines, he guessed, from their location at the rear of the court. Dedicated to the gods important to Nebhepetre Montuhotep. The base of a fallen column caught his eye. It stood almost directly in front of the entrance to the shrine farthest from the corner.
The shrines had been built during an earlier stage of construction!
Forgetting Menna, forgetting the likelihood of a rock slide, he ran to get the plan and returned to the corner. Unrolling the scroll, he compared the six small structures that lined the rear edge of the platform with what he could actually see. They might well be the shrines he had found-if the original temple lay beneath the northern side of the present building instead of being centered beneath it as he had assumed. If so, he had found the two northernmost shrines. He saw no sign of the other four, but he had every confidence that a diligent search would reveal them.
He wanted to shout for joy, but had he found anything to shout about? The shrines of gods contained no wealth except for the god himself and his accoutrements. Once removed, as these had been many generations before, nothing remained to steal. That did not mean the tomb Menna-or Montu-and the fishermen had been searching for was not close by. But where?
Returning to the terrace, he saw that Senenmut and his followers were walking among the rough-finished statues and architectural elements on the opposite terrace, stopping before first one image and then another. The porters had settled down with the carrying chairs near the old mudbrick temple of Djeserkare Amonhotep and Ahmose Nefertari.
They, at least, would be safe should a rock slide occur.
Senenmut’s guards stood at full alert around him and his party, while the other guards had spread throughout the construction site, searching for trouble.
He saw no one on the rim of the cliff, nor any movement on its vertical face. The lord Re had begun his descent to the western horizon, and shadows filled the deepest crevices.
The tower-like formations appeared to be separating themselves from the parent rock. Within the hour each individual formation would stand out in full relief against the cliff face.
“It’s time we showed Tracker here. .” He nodded toward the dog. “. . the tunic we took from the fishermen’s house.”
“You’ve found something?” Hori asked, his eyes lighting up, betraying the fact that he was tiring of the activity at Djeser Djeseru.
While Bak quickly explained what he had discovered, Kaemwaset retrieved a torn and dirty linen tunic that smelled of fish and sweat from the top of a tall column where he had left it earlier. The priest had proved to be the most proficient of the four when the patrol officer who had loaned them the dog had instructed them on how best to use him.
Openly pleased at playing so important a role,
Kaemwaset gave Tracker a good long sniff of the garment.
Bak, Hori, and Kasaya stayed well clear. The officer had warned that the fewer men to touch the cloth, the less confused the dog would be by conflicting smells.
Tracker put his nose to the pavement. He immediately headed off in the wrong direction, trotting back and forth among the fallen columns as if confused by too many paths.
Not surprising since the fishermen had frequently carried lights along the terrace, pretending for the workmen’s bene-fit to be the malign spirit.
“Take the dog into the main court,” Bak told Kaemwaset.
The priest grabbed Tracker’s collar and scrambled with him over the wall. Hori followed.
Bak stopped the Medjay before he could cross after them.
“You must stay on the terrace, Kasaya.”
“But, sir!” the young man said, crushed.
“Someone must keep a close watch on the cliff above Djeser Djeseru-especially when Senenmut climbs up to the temple-and you’ve the keenest eye of any of us. Should you see movement of any kind, any sign of trouble, call me.”
He handed over the small mirror. “At the same time, signal the officer in charge of the guards Maiherperi assigned to help us. The quicker you pass on the news, the more men he can get out of the way should a rock slide occur.”
“Can I not go with you and still keep watch?”
“I fear you’d become too distracted.” Bak laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Senenmut’s life and the safety of many others, men we’ve come to know and like, may well depend upon your quick reaction.”
Clearly not placated, Kasaya mumbled, “Yes, sir.”
Certain the Medjay would do what he must, like it or not, Bak clambered over the break in the wall. Kaemwaset released the dog. Tracker was less confused in the main court, as if the fishermen had trod the same path time and time again. Following a trail no man could see, he trotted toward the rear of the building. Bak and his companions hurried after him. At the opening into the colonnade court, the dog ranged back and forth again, as if he had either lost the scent or had too many choices. Staying well back, they watched him explore with his nose each trail of invisible footprints in turn. He followed one path to the robber’s shaft, another along the northern colonnade and into the ruined columned hall at the back of the temple.
Hori groaned. “Not in there, I pray.”
“The heart of the temple is slowly collapsing,” Bak explained to Kaemwaset, “not at all safe.” He eyed the darkness into which Tracker had vanished. “We saw no sign of intrusion among the columns, no footprints in the dust. Why do you suppose he went in there?”
The dog loped out from among the columns and sniffed his way directly to Bak. Tail wagging, he looked to Kaemwaset as if expecting a reward for a task well done.
Bak, grinning in spite of himself, suggested the priest move closer to the break in the wall, where the dog had seemed the most confused, and give him another good, long sniff of the tunic.
The response was immediate. Tracker followed the scent to the corner where Bak had found the shrines, making him fear the dog was once again tracking the wrong man. He sniffed the paving stones in the area, retraced his steps, and went into the colonnade court. His nose drew him to the corner that lay behind the shrines. There he sniffed the floor and the intersecting wall, then stood up on his hind legs, stretch-ing himself as high as he could. He looked at the men behind him, pawed the wall, barked. His meaning was clear: he wanted to cross the wall.
Bak’s hopes shot upward. He had assumed the rocks and debris outside filled the corner where the walls intersected.
Maybe not. “Let’s go around,” he said, sounding much calmer than he felt.
As they hurried to the main court, Tracker dropped onto all fours and paced back and forth in front of the wall, whimpering, not wanting to leave. Though torn, Hori turned back to stay with him.
Bak and Kaemwaset exited the main court, ran past a startled Kasaya, and hurried westward along the terrace, which disappeared beneath the high mound of dirt and rocks that had piled up against the thick sturdy walls of the temple.
The climb upward was fast and easy, the debris packed solid by time and weather. At the top and around the corner where no one could see from the front of the building, they found the surface to be soft and loose, newly placed. It had clearly not fallen from above. A few paces farther, they discovered where it had come from. In the corner, where the colonnade court joined the main court, they found a large excavation dug down to the paving stones of what had originally been an open platform facing the cliff.
“Hori!” Bak called. “Somebody’s been digging here.
Bring the dog.”
“He’s on his way, sir. He heard you out there.”
Tracker raced around the corner and sped across the mound, flinging dirt in his wake. He half ran, half slid down into the excavation. Following his nose, he sniffed every square cubit of pavement, his tail wagging hard and fast.
From where he stood atop the mound, Bak spotted beneath the dog’s feet a telltale sinking of the paving slabs. Under-neath, he felt sure, lay a tomb.
If the shrine on the opposite side of the wall had been built for the deceased, six shrines most likely meant six tombs of six royal ladies.
“Lieutenant Bak!” Kasaya yelled. “I see a man on the hillside north of Djeser Djeseru, coming down the trail. I think it’s Lieutenant Menna.”
Bak ran to the corner of the building and looked out across the workmen’s huts and Maatkare Hatshepsut’s new temple. The man was a long way off, but the light was striking him at an advantageous angle. He looked like Menna, walked like him.
Why would he approach the valley by such an indirect route? he wondered. Had he had time to go all the way to the top of the cliff or had he met the fishermen somewhere along the way? Were they even now preparing a foul deed? Was he simply being cautious, approaching the valley by way of a high path that offered a good view of the temples?
Or was Menna merely coming from an old cemetery located farther to the north? An innocent man going about his business.
Kaemwaset came up beside him and shaded his eyes with his hand. “If we can see him, he can see us. If he’s the malign spirit, he can’t help but know we’ve found his excavation.”
“Our timing couldn’t have been better,” Bak said, grimly satisfied.
“He must not have guessed you suspect him.”
“Senenmut is climbing the ramp to our sovereign’s temple,” Kasaya called from the base of the mound.
Hori came running out of the main court.
“I must go meet Menna.” Bak whistled to call Tracker, who came racing out of the hole. “You, Kasaya, must remain here and keep an eye on the cliff and Senenmut’s party.” To the priest, he said, “I’ll send men to help you and Hori keep the tomb safe. In the meantime, all of you must go to the front of the temple where you’ll be out of harm’s way in case of a rock slide. I’ll. .”
A low growl grabbed his attention. Tracker, standing beside Kaemwaset, was poised as if for flight, head raised, ears cocked. The hair rose on the back of his neck and he began to bark, loud and frantic. Bak heard a faint rumble from above that rapidly increased to a roar.
“The cliff!” he shouted. “Run! Now!”