Patently annoyed by the interruption, Inebny said, “The guide claims to have watched my son sail away with the in tent of crossing the sea to the Eastern Desert. He meant to re trace their footsteps, returning to Kemet by the same path.”
“Would striking off alone like that have been safe?”
Nebwa asked.
“He’s explored that stretch of desert many times and wouldn’t have been a stranger to the route.” Inebny’s eyes followed an ant making its solitary way across the floormat, but Bak doubted he saw the insect. “He probably thought he could travel faster by himself.” He paused, nodded. “Yes, I’ll wager he thought another man and several donkeys would slow him down.”
“Why would he have been in such a rush?” Bak asked.
“He’d already been gone for many weeks. What difference would a few more days make?”
A sharp exchange between two men outside the tent mo mentarily drew Inebny’s attention. “I suspect he grew impa tient with the slow pace of the donkeys. Or he might’ve wished for some reason to dispense with Senna’s services.”
Bak thought he heard Commandant Thuty approaching.
Nebwa must have thought so, too, for his gaze shifted from
Inebny to the entryway. “How long ago did he leave that port?”
“Two months, Senna told me, a fact verified by Lieutenant
Puemre.”
“Two months to cross the Eastern Desert?” Bak asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s my understanding that one or two men not overly burdened with supplies and donkeys can cross in a week by the southern route the caravans travel from Waset.”
Inebny permitted himself a meager smile. “My son pre ferred a longer, more challenging path, one untrodden by other men of Kemet.”
Bak heard a soft snort from Nebwa. He could understand his friend’s irritation. That the commander was proud of his son, one could understand, but such extreme pride was ag gravating. It made one wonder how much Inebny’s tale was colored by his feelings. “Exactly which way did they go?”
“They followed a series of wadis that took them in a north easterly direction around the southern flank of one of the highest peaks in the desert range and thence to the sea. Their path ran at a diagonal to the trails our caravans customarily use. Their journey, according to the guide, would’ve taken no more than two weeks if they hadn’t continually gone off to investigate interesting landforms along the way.”
Nebwa spoke up, voicing Bak’s thought. “You told Com mandant Thuty that you’ve known of Minnakht’s disappear ance for five days, yet your son left the port across the
Eastern Sea two months ago. Why did Senna take so long to tell you?”
Inebny stood up, strode to the doorway, and lifted the fab ric. The back of his kilt, Bak noticed, was stained by sweat, and one of the stool’s legs was bisected by a long, irregular crack.
“He claims to have spent weeks questioning wandering nomads and searching the land for signs of my son.” The commander draped the fabric over a pole supporting the roof.
The breeze immediately found its way inside, bringing slightly cooler air with it. “He said Minnakht would often see a wadi or a ridge or some other landform he believed promis ing and would, without thought to man or beast, spend many days looking for signs of precious minerals or stones. That I’ve no doubt. I know how obsessed my son could be when something attracted his interest.”
“What exactly was he looking for?” Bak asked. “Gold?”
“He always sought gold, of course, but other valuable minerals and stones as well.” Inebny turned his back to the outside, but remained in the doorway. “He hoped one day to present to our sovereign a map showing the whereabouts of a mine or quarry worthy of her divine father, the lord Amon himself.”
Always the skeptic, Nebwa asked, “Has he ever found anything of value?”
“Not in sufficient quantities-unfortunately-to make mining on a large scale worthwhile.” An unexpected smile brightened Inebny’s face. “This time, however, he was very optimistic. He said nothing about what he had found, but I caught him many times with a secret, rather smug smile on his face. The same smile he wore as a child when he’d learned a secret he could barely contain within his heart.”
“Did he ever before seem so confident?” Bak asked.
Inebny’s smile grew rueful. “Often.
“I’m the wrong man for the task, sir,” Bak insisted. “Com mander Inebny should seek someone who knows the Eastern
Desert, an explorer like his son.”
Thuty stopped in the intersection where he, Nebwa, and
Bak would part company. “If you can’t find Minnakht, Lieu tenant, no one can.”
“Bak’s right, sir,” Nebwa said. “He’d be entering the desert blinded by ignorance.”
“You’ll sail north with the rest of us in two days’ time.”
Thuty’s tone was strong and decisive, a man making an offi cial pronouncement. “We’ll go as far as Kaine, and there we’ll speak with Senna. Minnakht disappeared without pay ing him his due, and Inebny vowed to return with the live stock and supplies he’s asked for. He’ll be there waiting, I feel sure. Once you hear him out, you can decide for yourself if you wish to go. I’ll not press you further.”
Bak muttered a curse beneath his breath. Sooner or later,
Thuty always had his way. An empty feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that the same would hold true on this occa sion.
Chapter 2
“I fail to understand why you let my son sail alone.” Com mander Inebny’s voice was harsh, angry.
Senna bowed his head, not quite concealing the flash of re sentment in his eyes. “He insisted, sir. Would you have had me force my wishes upon him?”
“Don’t be impertinent!”
“Sir!” Bak could not blame the nomad for taking offense at the commander’s attitude. “That you’re frustrated and an gry at the uncertainty surrounding Minnakht’s fate, I can un derstand, but to berate a man who’s trying to help can serve no purpose.”
“Frustrated, yes. Angry, no.” Inebny, his complexion as flushed as a radish, glared at the guide. “As for trying to help…” His loud, cynical laugh was echoed by the bray of a donkey, further enflaming him.
Commandant Thuty flung a quick look at Bak, an apology of sorts for his friend’s behavior, then placed an arm around the commander’s shoulders. “Come, Inebny. We’ve asked
Bak to speak with Senna. Let him do so.” Allowing for no re fusal, he firmly ushered Inebny away along the high wall that enclosed Kaine.
The cargo ships carrying the commandant and the men and women traveling with him had sailed north from Waset early the previous day. They had made good time and, shortly before midday, the crews had moored the vessels alongside the mudbank at Kaine, a small unimposing village of single-story mudbrick houses baking beneath the unfor giving sun. Inebny’s sleek traveling ship, which had fol lowed them downriver, had moored at the stern of the largest cargo vessel. At least thirty children had gathered along the shore to gawk at so rare a visitation.
Thuty and Inebny had immediately set out to locate Senna, with Bak, Imsiba, and Psuro trudging after them. They had found the nomad outside the village wall, where the weekly market was coming to a close. All that remained were a few farmers packing up produce wilting in the heat, unsold live stock-a cow and calf, a couple of donkeys, and a few sheep and goats-and scattered groups of men and women chatting with friends they might not see for a week or a year. Small children ran laughing and shouting among bundles and bas kets, broken and crushed fruits and vegetables, animal waste.
Four boys played leapfrog beside mounds of reeds, palm trunks, and sun-dried mudbricks lying beside the knee-high walls of a building under construction.
Bak shifted position, placing the sun at his back, and beckoned Imsiba and Psuro, who had preferred to stand aside while the two senior officers were there. “I’ll not apologize for Commander Inebny’s behavior, Senna. Only he can do that. All I can say is that I do believe you’re trying to help.”