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a badly-constructed wooden table. She picked up the beer mug of a staring
one-eyed man and drained it at a gulp. Tastes like camels smell, she said. I
think I ll have another.
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She picked up an overturned stool and sat down at the table. The two thugs
to either side of her moved a little to give her space. Excellent.
Vivant would have had a fit if he had known she was coming here a
lady exposed to scum like these: a fat thief and his wife, fanning herself in the
smoky atmosphere; the man with the eye-patch, his working eye running over
Benny s body; a tall man and a short man in black clothes, almost a sort of
uniform, with tiny bulges that suggested hidden weaponry; a drunken French
soldier chewing on a cigar. She wondered who was winning the game of dice.
Probably whoever was cheating the most successfully.
In Benny s experience, the second best archaeological information came not
from textbooks or learned professors, but from the locals people who had
lived with, and perhaps even lived in, the ruins or remains or tombs you
were interested in. If they didn t know where something was, they could find
someone who did.
A bored waiter slammed another mug of beer down in front of her. Benny
grinned and hefted the glass in a toast. Right, she said. Who s for a little bet,
then?
Sesehaten the scribe took his leave of Lord Sedjet who had been in a foul
mood for weeks and went to the local tavern to quench his thirst in black
beer and bad singing.
Sesehaten sighed as he trudged through the streets of Akhetaten. He was
carrying his sandals in one hand, feeling the intense heat of the day soaking
into the soles of his feet through the dust.
He hated this city. He hated its hodgepodge of hastily erected buildings.
He thought very little of its lazy inhabitants, courtiers uprooted from Thebes
in the great rush to join the Pharaoh at his new capital. Oh, the Lord Sedjet
wasn t too bad an employer, even if his skull were thicker than a mud brick.
But Sesehaten hated paperwork, and a wealthy man s estate is nothing but
paperwork.
There was a lot of paperwork these days. Every time the Pharaoh found
some new tradition to skittle, there were more forms and plans and receipts,
on papyrus or slates or bits of broken pottery.
It had been, what, seven years since the new king s coronation? And in
that time, the inheritance of centuries had been knocked over like so many
ducks being taken with throwing-sticks. Just trying to think about the pace of
change these days gave Sesehaten a headache.
Worse than that was the thrumming behind his eyes. It came with sun-
set, not every night, but strongly this evening as the fierce stars began their
wheeling in the sky. He knew enough astronomy to pick out Mars and Jupiter,
and to name one or two of the brighter stars. But tonight there were darker
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secrets purring in the sky, trying to push themselves into his brain, as though
he had forgotten a skyful of knowledge. When this happened the only thing
to do was drink the noises into silence.
So he kept his eyes in the dust, letting his naked feet take him to the tavern.
He plonked himself down on a stool in the corner. One hand automatically
went to his shaven scalp, ran down the smooth skin and scratched behind his
left ear. He yawned, running his eyes over the clientele. Plenty of foreigners,
as there were always foreigners these days. Pretty much the usual low-life
knocking themselves out on bad beer. Or good beer, if they could afford it.
That was what Sesehaten was here for.
A woman shuffled up to his table, holding a tray full of bowls. She wore a
peasant s dress which covered her breasts. Her hands were an unhealthy red
colour with sunburn and washing-up.
Tepy, he breathed.
She lifted her head, just a little, to look at him. What are you doing here?
he asked stupidly.
I wait on tables, she said dully. I m a waitress.
Oh, no. I ve been looking for you for more than a week. Sit down, for for
Aten s sake, he pleaded.
Ace stood there for a few seconds, as though she hadn t understood what
he was saying. Then she dropped her tray on the table and dragged a stool
over to him. She leaned on her elbows, looking at him blearily.
It was not the same woman. Not with those soft, empty eyes, those slumped
shoulders. I thought you planned to enlist, he stammered.
She snorted. They didn t even laugh, she said. Didn t even laugh. They
said no woman could fight as well as an Egyptian soldier. So I beat up a few
of them.
Sesehaten laughed, hesitantly. That got their attention, said Tepy. So they
went off to find their general. He said I fought better than some of his officers.
But a woman in the ranks would only cause confusion, break up the boys. A
foreign whore in the field would ruin morale.
You re no whore, said Sesehaten.
It s only a matter of time, she said simply, and he was suddenly aware of
the eyes pressed to her body, furtive glances or overt stares from around the
open room of the tavern.
There are, said Tepy, waving a heavy hand, there are little boxes which an
Egyptian man can fit into. He gets one from his father, right, a little box with
a label saying SCRIBE or PEASANT or PRIEST or SCULPTOR. For women there
are only two boxes. Right? They re labelled WIFE and WHORE.
There are women who are singers or professional mourners, said Sese-
haten. And musicians.
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Can t sing, said Tepy.
Oh no, that s not true. I ve heard you sing, it s quite pleasant.
The singers, said Tepy, spend the whole night telling horny boys to get lost.
Or not, depending on how strapped for cash they are. They re not married, so
they must be open for business, right? Trap s closing around me, Sesehaten.
I m being stuffed into one of those little boxes.
Your like a cat herding geese, said the scribe. Out of place. Not part of ma
at, the order of the universe.
There was an explosive sound across the room: wine jar and skull meeting.
A quarrel had started up in a corner of the tavern, two meaty soldiers arguing
about the fine details of some old campaign. Scuse me, said Tepy.
She weaved over to the two men, who had knocked over their table and
were grappling ineffectually. She tapped one of them on the shoulder, and
when he turned around she smiled invitingly.
They both gaped at her. Tepy reached up and put her arms around the
soldier s neck. Wine dribbled down his face and dripped off his nose while he
grinned stupidly down at her.
She locked her hands together behind his head and slammed his body down
as her knee came up into his groin. He didn t make a sound just a thump as
he hit the floor. His friend stared down at him, still holding the handle of the
broken wine jar.
Tepy gave him her smile, and he hoofed it for the door.
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