From what Bak had heard of Puemre, he doubted any defense would have stopped him for long. "Senu makes no secret of his dislike for the duties of a watch officer. Is he equally dissatisfied with the course of his life, his career?" "I respect him," Inyotef said carefully, "and within the limitations I've mentioned, I like him. He's not a man who'd slay another from behind, that I can assure you." Bak could already hear the "but."
"But," Inyotef went on, "Senu, like all of us, has been the victim of whimsical gods, especially in his early years." "Good fortune follows bad as surely as day follows night," Bak said, spouting a platitude an elderly aunt often repeated, a banality he hated though at times found useful. "But you speak of Senu as a victim, which makes a lie of the promise of good fortune."
"He won a golden fly, but the joy of it was short-lived." Bak eyed his friend narrowly. "Tell me straight out, Inyotef. Don't dance around the edges of the tale, teasing me with hints."
"It happened a long time ago in our war with the land of Kush. He was a sergeant, new to the rink and inexperienced." Inyotef stared into his drinking bowl as if reluctant to speak, swishing the beer around, bringing the dregs to the surface. "He… He disobeyed orders, I heard, and told his unit to charge the Kushite army. Most of his men were slain, but they held off the enemy long enough for a fresh and superior force to move into the area and come to their aid, winning the battle." The pilot paused, glanced at Bak with a sad smile. "His bravery won him a golden fly, but his disobedience curbed what could've been a brilliant career. Now you see why he's bitter."
The tale was much as Senu had told it, but with a different slant, one that made him seem more foolhardy, a danger to his troops. Bak had heard bitterness in Senu's voice, but he had thought at the time the feeling was more worthy than Inyotef believed, a bitterness over the loss of lives rather than a damaged career. The truth was no doubt somewhere between the two. As for whether or not Senu had reason to slay Amon-Psaro, Bak felt no closer to an answer now than he had been before.
"When do you meet Huy?" Inyotef asked. "Midafternoon." Bak glanced upward, checking the time. The sun, a golden orb magnified by the yellowish haze in the air, had not long ago passed its highest point, leaving him an hour or more to hustle Minnakht and his men off to the island with a final load of used bricks. He added, with a laugh, "Woser told him this morning how close to finished the men are with the work. He wishes to see this miracle for himself."
A quick smile flickered on Inyotef's lips. "I thought to sail across with you, but you're leaving so late I haven't the time."
Bak, with the pilot by his side, veered off the path and strode to the river's edge a few paces downstream of the northern quay. He nodded toward a squat cargo vessel moored close in, its broad-beamed hull riding low in the water. "You're taking the grain ship upriver to Askut?" Askut was an island fortress about halfway between Iken and Semna.
"Not for a day or two yet." Inyotef flashed another smile. "The captain and his crew wish to see Amon-Psaro march into the city. I can't say I blame them. With so large and colorful a following spread out across the desert, the procession should put to shame the lord Amon's arrival."
Bak was glad Kenamon was not around to hear the god coming off so short when compared to a tribal king from the wretched land of Kush. He knelt at the river's edge and splashed water on his face and shoulders and chest. It was not the swim he had hoped for, but it would have to do. "If you've no ship to pilot, what's so important you can't come with us?"
Inyotef stepped out of his sandals and waded to his knees into the water. "I wish to study the rapids downstream. When I see how high the river has risen, I can estimate how many days will pass before the water covers the rocks to a sufficient depth to carry a ship."
Nodding his understanding, Bak stood up. "Tomorrow morning then. I doubt Amon-Psaro will arrive before midday, so you'll have plenty of time to examine our handiwork before you're needed to transport him."
"I'll look forward to it."
"The swine!" Bak glared at his skiff, beached above the stone revetment midway between the two quays. The small vessel lay on its side, the interior damp and in places puddled with water that had flowed in through a small, ragged hole in its prow. "Someone took an ax to it! Who? And why?"
"To keep us from sailing to the island?" Huy snorted at so ridiculous a thought. "Surely not! We've too many other ways of getting there."
A dozen onlookers standing on the slope above them talked among themselves, offering wild speculations as to who the culprit might have been. A spearman assigned to harbor patrol held them at a distance while his partner knelt at the prow, looking as mystified as Bak and Huy.
"You didn't see anyone?" Bak demanded, eyeing the sailor who had rescued the vessel.
"No, sir." The short, muscular man, clad in an ill-fitting loincloth, scratched his unkempt head. "I was alone on the cargo ship, sitting in the shade of the forecastle, fishing, dozing. It was nice there, breezy, not too hot. Maybe I heard something, something that woke me. I don't know. When I noticed your skiff-half underwater, it was-I bellowed like a bullock trapped in a marsh. They came running." He nodded toward two local farmers who had hurried to his aid. "We dived in and between the three of us dragged it out just in time."
"When I find the man who did this…" Bak let the threat hang in the air, allowing those around him to imagine any number of worthy retributions.
Huy knelt beside the spearman and probed the hole with his fingers. "I know a carpenter, one who's built several small boats, who might be able to fix it, but not before nightfall."
"Send for him."
With a nod as curt as Bak's voice had been, Huy strode up the slope. He spoke a few quiet words to the spearman, who dismissed the audience with a sharp command and a display of spear and shield. As soon as the last man had vanished from sight, he hastened away on the troop captain's errand.
Bak stood, hands on hips, glaring at the hole. He was angry, but more than anything he was puzzled. This was simple destruction, not a threat to his life, so what was its purpose? His thoughts darted hither and yon, searching for an answer. He could find none.
The sun was sinking toward the western desert by the time the two officers sailed out of the harbor. Huy's skiff was older than Bak's and needed a fresh coat of paint, but it was serviceable, the officer explained, for the short journeys he often made to the islands south of Iken.
Bak, seated in the prow, watched with approval while Huy raised the sail and searched out an erratic breeze, letting the wind shove them out of the harbor. As soon as they were midstream in the channel, he spilled the air from the sail, took up the oars, and let the current carry them north toward the long island. Bak recalled Huy saying he could not swim and Inyotef describing the officer as terrified of the water. In his experience, few men so afraid could-or Would-make themselves into accomplished sailors. "You handle the vessel with admirable skill. It's hard to believe you fear the water."
Huy gave him an ironic glance. "You've heard my worst-kept secret, I see."
Bak laughed. "Each of us has a weak spot. The trick is to overcome it, as you obviously have."
"As long as my feet are dry, I'm fine." Huy, keeping a wary eye on a shaggy tamarisk branch floating along beside them, rowed with strong, sure strokes across the current. "I realized when first I traveled as a soldier that I must control my fear or look the fool. As I hadn't the will to learn to swim, the next best way was to learn to sail."
"Inyotef said the two of you and Amon-Psaro sailed through the rapids on a warship." Bak eyed a cluster of rocks to their right and the churning waters racing through a gap between an island and a low-lying segment of land slowly being engulfed by the river. "That must've been an experience never to forget."