Free A Vile Justice by Lauren Haney Page B

Hatnofer," the steward said. "She was one of the few people in this household to know the value of keeping accurate accounts. The rest of them . . ." He gave a longsuffering sigh. "They just don't seem to care. They take an item from a storage room, don't bother to note its removal or to tell anyone, and then complain when they go in search of another like item and find none."
    "Was she as diligent in managing the household and its many servants?"
    "To a fault, some would say." Amethu frowned. "I don't mean to be critical, but you'll find out soon enough. She was not well liked. Too stem and unforgiving. Too demanding. But she kept the household running as smooth as a welloiled chariot wheel. She'll be greatly missed."
    "What of mistress Khawet? Can she not oversee the servants?"
    "Enough!" Amethu scrambled to his feet and hurried to the man kneeling at the base of the granary. He reached into the basket, withdrew a handful of wheat, and let it trickle from one hand to the other. His mouth pursed in disapproval. "We can't distribute this. It's full of sand. We'd have a rebellion on our hands."
    He flung the grain to the ground and took a fresh handful. Sifting it through his fingers, he shook his head. "Unacceptable. Set this basket aside and move on to the next granary. After you've gathered enough wheat for today's needs, come back here, sweep this one out, and pour all this dirty grain into the storage chamber where we're saving the seed for planting."
    "Yes, sir," said the man outside, his voice echoed from within.
    Amethu returned to his stool and bowed his head in what Bak took to be a prayer. When at last the steward raised his eyes, he again shook his head, this time in vexation. "They never learn. Never. A foreman should sit out here, not me, but the last time I entrusted this task to another man, we had sand in our bread for a week."
    Bak held his tongue. Gritty bread- was endemic to the army. "We were speaking of mistress Khawet, of her ability to take over Hatnofer's duties."
    "Khawet is a nice woman. I've known her from a babe. The question is: can she oversee a large and busy household in addition to satisfying her father's many demands? Not to mention the demands of a husband."
    "She has no children."
    "A pity." Amethu paused to watch the servant climb out of the granary and drop onto a shoulder-high platform that joined the empty structure to the one beside it. Hurrying down a stairway that descended to the ground, he knelt beside his partner, who had broken the seal that attested to the integrity of the full granary. "I've long been of the opinion that Hatnofer's problem was her failure to conceive. She was a woman of good humor and sweetness in her youth. A few years ago, as life began to pass her by, her disposition soured. Now I see Khawet traveling, the same path, and I fear for her."
    From what Bak had seen of Djehuty, he was more than enough child for any woman. Or perhaps he was being unfair. "You've been with Djehuty for many years, I see."
    "My father was his father's steward. I grew to manhood in this provincr, learned to read and write in the governor's villa. When my father left this worldly realm, Djehuty's father appointed me to his place, as was right and proper."
    "Can you think of a reason anyone would want him dead? Would kill and kill again to plant fear in his heart?" Amethu looked distinctly uncomfortable. "He's stepped on toes What man hasn't?"
    "Has he come down so hard he'd merit death?"
    "He's basically a good man, Lieutenant." Amethu cleared his throat, as if the next words were caught there. "Oh, he can be thoughtless at times. Selfish and petty. Altogether a most aggravating individual. But as he intends no ill, all who know him forgive him."
    Especially those who walk the corridors of the governor's villa, Bak thought. Men who wield a moderate amount of power and live in far greater comfort and style than their neighbors. Those who owe their lofty positions to Djehuty and dare not