decision."
Bak was surprised, and he let it show. "The rooms are more befitting a vizier than a police officer fresh from the frontier. I'd have thought Djehuty would have preferred I stay in the barracks."
She gave him a tremulous smile. "He wanted you close in case of need, but not so close you'd remind him every moment of the deaths he yearned to forget."
"I see," he said, his voice dry. "You spoke with Hatnofer of my arrival and then ... ?"
Khawet stared at her feet, which were protected by leather sandals little more than a sole and a couple of narrow straps. "She set aside several sheets, saying she'd take them to Nebmose's villa and prepare the rooms for your use. She was ready to leave, her arms laden with bedding, when Amethu sent a message, saying he was toiling over the household accounts and he needed her assistance right away." She plucked a flower from a nearby bush and twisted the stem between her fingers, making the fragile reddish petals shiver and dance. "She seemed so distracted, so overburdened with tasks that I took the linens from her, saying I'd prepare the rooms."
"But you didn't."
"No." She spoke to the flower, not to him, and her voice was tight, almost brittle with strain. "My father summoned me. He was displeased with his fan bearer and wanted him whipped. It wasn't easy to convince him the boy was too small by far to hold so long and heavy a handle high in the air. By the time I had done so, I had forgotten my promise to Hatnofer. Later ... Much later, I remembered. I summoned Nefer and we..." Her voice broke and she turned away. "I feel i1. Will you leave me now?"
Bak yearned to probe further, but he could not in all conscience do so. He was too new on the trail of the slayer to limit his questions only to those that were necessary, for he had no idea which were essential. And she was too upset to tolerate questions that had no obvious purpose.
" `How will I explain to Djehuty?' " Bak said, imitating as best he could Amethu's harried expression and voice. `He wanted you close-within the walls of this compound, not in some empty house in the city.' "
Psuro gave the duck a quarter turn on the makeshift spit he had erected over the mudbrick hearth. Grease dripped into the fire, filling the air with smoke. The cloud billowed upward, passing through the light roof of branches and straw, leaving in its wake a tantalizing aroma. "How'd you convince him you wanted none of it, sir?"
Fanning away a tattered ribbon of smoke, Bak grinned. "I told him you Medjays are a superstitious lot and you'd get no rest in a place so recently defiled by murder."
Psuro gave him a doubtful look. "He believed that?"
"I don't know," Bak admitted. "He was so startled by my wish to keep you by my side, he could do nothing but sputter."
"I thank the lord Amon you held out, sir." Kasaya, carrying a folded sleeping pallet over his shoulder, peered through the door of the tiny house the steward had found for them on a narrow lane a few streets away from the governor's compound. Over the rear wall, they could hear the laughter of neighborhood children. "It's one thing to walk into a house, eyes wide open, in search of a murderer, and another to sleep there."
"I doubt we'd be in any danger," Bak said. "Not yet, at any rate. If I've read the signs right, the slayer has set his sights higher than us."
"Governor Djehuty." Psuro picked up a stick and stirred a steaming bowl of lentils and onions cooking at the edge of the coals. "From what you've said of him, sir, he seems a weak man, one too preoccupied with the small world around himself to step hard on another man's toes."
"He'd have to step very hard to anger a man so much he'd slay time after time to make his point," Kasaya said. "He would indeed." Eyes smarting, Bak stood up and joined the younger Medjay at the door. "But maybe Djehuty's not what he seems. We know too little of him. Nor do we know enough about those who've died thus far. We must look for a tie that
Bak was surprised, and he let it show. "The rooms are more befitting a vizier than a police officer fresh from the frontier. I'd have thought Djehuty would have preferred I stay in the barracks."
She gave him a tremulous smile. "He wanted you close in case of need, but not so close you'd remind him every moment of the deaths he yearned to forget."
"I see," he said, his voice dry. "You spoke with Hatnofer of my arrival and then ... ?"
Khawet stared at her feet, which were protected by leather sandals little more than a sole and a couple of narrow straps. "She set aside several sheets, saying she'd take them to Nebmose's villa and prepare the rooms for your use. She was ready to leave, her arms laden with bedding, when Amethu sent a message, saying he was toiling over the household accounts and he needed her assistance right away." She plucked a flower from a nearby bush and twisted the stem between her fingers, making the fragile reddish petals shiver and dance. "She seemed so distracted, so overburdened with tasks that I took the linens from her, saying I'd prepare the rooms."
"But you didn't."
"No." She spoke to the flower, not to him, and her voice was tight, almost brittle with strain. "My father summoned me. He was displeased with his fan bearer and wanted him whipped. It wasn't easy to convince him the boy was too small by far to hold so long and heavy a handle high in the air. By the time I had done so, I had forgotten my promise to Hatnofer. Later ... Much later, I remembered. I summoned Nefer and we..." Her voice broke and she turned away. "I feel i1. Will you leave me now?"
Bak yearned to probe further, but he could not in all conscience do so. He was too new on the trail of the slayer to limit his questions only to those that were necessary, for he had no idea which were essential. And she was too upset to tolerate questions that had no obvious purpose.
" `How will I explain to Djehuty?' " Bak said, imitating as best he could Amethu's harried expression and voice. `He wanted you close-within the walls of this compound, not in some empty house in the city.' "
Psuro gave the duck a quarter turn on the makeshift spit he had erected over the mudbrick hearth. Grease dripped into the fire, filling the air with smoke. The cloud billowed upward, passing through the light roof of branches and straw, leaving in its wake a tantalizing aroma. "How'd you convince him you wanted none of it, sir?"
Fanning away a tattered ribbon of smoke, Bak grinned. "I told him you Medjays are a superstitious lot and you'd get no rest in a place so recently defiled by murder."
Psuro gave him a doubtful look. "He believed that?"
"I don't know," Bak admitted. "He was so startled by my wish to keep you by my side, he could do nothing but sputter."
"I thank the lord Amon you held out, sir." Kasaya, carrying a folded sleeping pallet over his shoulder, peered through the door of the tiny house the steward had found for them on a narrow lane a few streets away from the governor's compound. Over the rear wall, they could hear the laughter of neighborhood children. "It's one thing to walk into a house, eyes wide open, in search of a murderer, and another to sleep there."
"I doubt we'd be in any danger," Bak said. "Not yet, at any rate. If I've read the signs right, the slayer has set his sights higher than us."
"Governor Djehuty." Psuro picked up a stick and stirred a steaming bowl of lentils and onions cooking at the edge of the coals. "From what you've said of him, sir, he seems a weak man, one too preoccupied with the small world around himself to step hard on another man's toes."
"He'd have to step very hard to anger a man so much he'd slay time after time to make his point," Kasaya said. "He would indeed." Eyes smarting, Bak stood up and joined the younger Medjay at the door. "But maybe Djehuty's not what he seems. We know too little of him. Nor do we know enough about those who've died thus far. We must look for a tie that
Similar Books
