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Authors: Lauren Haney
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she had, he asked Psuro, "Have these children heard that the lord Amon will come today to Buhen?" The Medjay shrugged. "I doubt it, sir. Not one among them speaks our tongue."
Bak nodded, satisfied. "Tell them of his visit. Stress his greatness, his warmth and kindness, his generosity toward those who worship the gods of other lands." He spoke in fits and starts, thinking out a strategy as he went along. "Tell them that soon they'll be sent to our capital city of Waset, where they'll serve the priests who walk the halls
of the god's greatest mansion. Then speak no more of the god, but go back to your questions."
His spirits rose as the plan took form. "In the meantime, I'll go find Hori and send him to you. Together you must take these children to the top of the fortress wall so they can see the lord Amon for themselves. Perhaps the god, with Hori's youth and good humor to help, will loosen their tongues where we cannot."
Bak walked across the audience hall, the most spacious room in the commandant's residence with a high ceiling supported by a forest of red octagonal columns. Hori had just rushed off to the guardhouse, as excited by the prospect of playing policeman for a few hours as he was of watching the lord Amon's arrival from atop the wall. If nothing else, Bak thought with a rueful smile, I've made one person happy today.
The hall and the rooms around it buzzed with life. A youthful scribe stood in front of Thuty's office, explaining to a grizzled sergeant the need for exact records of disbursements rather than rough guesses. Seated on a bench built against the wall, a potter, his hands and arms flecked with dry clay, listened to a stout, balding scribe extolling the virtues of the slim decorated vases from the land of Keftiu, which he wished copied. Near the exit, a young archer dictated a letter to the public scribe, a tired looking man of middle years.
Bak was surprised at the number of people still going about their duties. Although the lord Amon was not expected for another hour or more, the general populace had begun soon after midday to stream out the towered gates leading to the waterfront and the quays. The Medjays and the spearmen Nebwa had lent to help them had already broken up three fights and confined a half dozen belligerent drunks and a couple of petty thieves.
Nodding to the scribe, he crossed the threshold to a long, narrow corridor. The walls had been painted yellow in a
futile attempt to brighten the dimly lit space. A large, dark figure came hurrying toward him.
"Imsiba!" Bak clasped the Medjay's shoulders as if he had been gone a month instead of a few hours. "I feared you'd miss the lord Amon's arrival!" He barely paused for breath. "How did you get back so soon? What happened at Iken?"
A wizened old man limped through the audience-hall door. Bak and Imsiba retreated to the base of a stairway rising to the commandant's quarters on the second floor. Light filtered down the steps from the open courtyard above. Pale dust, streaked by sweat, mottled the big Medjay from head to toe.
"Well?" Bak demanded:
With a weary smile, Imsiba slumped onto the bottom step. "The commander of Iken, Woser is his name, saw me without delay. I knew how eager you'd be for my report, so I stopped only at the barracks for a bite to eat and the local gossip."
"Have they caught the man who slew Puemre?" Bak prodded.
The Medjay's smile faded. "Not yet." "Then I'm to go to Iken."
"Commander Woser thinks your time will be better spent getting the truth from that vile trader Seneb." Bak's eyes narrowed. "Did you not tell him my doubts on that score?"
"I did."
A childish giggle sounded at the top of the stairs. A darkeyed girl no more than two years of age stood naked above them, sucking her thumb, staring.
"Let's leave this place, Imsiba, before all Thuty's children descend on us." Bak eyed his friend critically. "We'll go to the river, where you can have a bath before the sacred barge arrives."
In the street
Bak nodded, satisfied. "Tell them of his visit. Stress his greatness, his warmth and kindness, his generosity toward those who worship the gods of other lands." He spoke in fits and starts, thinking out a strategy as he went along. "Tell them that soon they'll be sent to our capital city of Waset, where they'll serve the priests who walk the halls
of the god's greatest mansion. Then speak no more of the god, but go back to your questions."
His spirits rose as the plan took form. "In the meantime, I'll go find Hori and send him to you. Together you must take these children to the top of the fortress wall so they can see the lord Amon for themselves. Perhaps the god, with Hori's youth and good humor to help, will loosen their tongues where we cannot."
Bak walked across the audience hall, the most spacious room in the commandant's residence with a high ceiling supported by a forest of red octagonal columns. Hori had just rushed off to the guardhouse, as excited by the prospect of playing policeman for a few hours as he was of watching the lord Amon's arrival from atop the wall. If nothing else, Bak thought with a rueful smile, I've made one person happy today.
The hall and the rooms around it buzzed with life. A youthful scribe stood in front of Thuty's office, explaining to a grizzled sergeant the need for exact records of disbursements rather than rough guesses. Seated on a bench built against the wall, a potter, his hands and arms flecked with dry clay, listened to a stout, balding scribe extolling the virtues of the slim decorated vases from the land of Keftiu, which he wished copied. Near the exit, a young archer dictated a letter to the public scribe, a tired looking man of middle years.
Bak was surprised at the number of people still going about their duties. Although the lord Amon was not expected for another hour or more, the general populace had begun soon after midday to stream out the towered gates leading to the waterfront and the quays. The Medjays and the spearmen Nebwa had lent to help them had already broken up three fights and confined a half dozen belligerent drunks and a couple of petty thieves.
Nodding to the scribe, he crossed the threshold to a long, narrow corridor. The walls had been painted yellow in a
futile attempt to brighten the dimly lit space. A large, dark figure came hurrying toward him.
"Imsiba!" Bak clasped the Medjay's shoulders as if he had been gone a month instead of a few hours. "I feared you'd miss the lord Amon's arrival!" He barely paused for breath. "How did you get back so soon? What happened at Iken?"
A wizened old man limped through the audience-hall door. Bak and Imsiba retreated to the base of a stairway rising to the commandant's quarters on the second floor. Light filtered down the steps from the open courtyard above. Pale dust, streaked by sweat, mottled the big Medjay from head to toe.
"Well?" Bak demanded:
With a weary smile, Imsiba slumped onto the bottom step. "The commander of Iken, Woser is his name, saw me without delay. I knew how eager you'd be for my report, so I stopped only at the barracks for a bite to eat and the local gossip."
"Have they caught the man who slew Puemre?" Bak prodded.
The Medjay's smile faded. "Not yet." "Then I'm to go to Iken."
"Commander Woser thinks your time will be better spent getting the truth from that vile trader Seneb." Bak's eyes narrowed. "Did you not tell him my doubts on that score?"
"I did."
A childish giggle sounded at the top of the stairs. A darkeyed girl no more than two years of age stood naked above them, sucking her thumb, staring.
"Let's leave this place, Imsiba, before all Thuty's children descend on us." Bak eyed his friend critically. "We'll go to the river, where you can have a bath before the sacred barge arrives."
In the street
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