DUAT—THE EASTERN, LIVING SIDE OF DUAT—IS, TO MYvague surprise, far more alike Caten than I expected.
There are the immediate surface similarities in its crushes of people, its loud noises and fetid smells, the general chaos of a city that immediately threatens to overwhelm me as I step out onto the street. Not that the black mirrored sky or the thickly eyelined people lit by the constant glow of Ka’s pyramid could ever leave me confused as to where I am. But deeper, it is an even closer anchor. No Octavii here, but only because they have not yet been swathed in white. In the distance, I spot the motionless black form of an Overseer. People laugh and stroll around it, no different to if it were a Praetorian on guard in Caten. Ignoring the echo of their future slavery.
Coming from Neter-khertet it is at once bustling and grim, an uncomfortable juxtaposition of life and death. They are somehow both freer and more bound than the people back home. It is a different kind of servitude, I suppose. A different system to hide the same prisons, the same powers, the same wrongs.
“Shouldn’t we take the tunnel? It can get us fairly close to the temple,” I observe to Netiqret as we start walking, trying not to sound uneasy.
“The tunnels are for emergencies. I would be fascinated to hear how you know about them, though.”
I ignore the pointed observation. “So my being out here is safe?”
She chuckles. Even her laugh refined. “Your being with me is safe, so long as you listen. Pay attention, stay close, and do everything you can to naturally match my step.” We keep walking, and Netiqret immediately varies our pace, scanning the way ahead even as she seems entirely relaxed. Our path meanders, but never noticeably. We pass just behind one group. To the left of another as they focus in on something on the right. “I understand the desire to keep out of sight, but it’s an inflexible approach. Get caught hiding, and you are caught; there are few, if any, ways to talk your way out of the situation. You are noticed and you are remembered. Plus, sometimes there simply are no tunnels. No shadows to hide in. Foster a reliance on the environment, and you lean on luck.”
She spots something in the distance and changes our trajectory slightly. It’s all smooth and effortless, just a noblewoman going for a stroll. Her pace is neither fast nor slow. We’re never crowded, but nor are we ever walking noticeably alone.
“The Overseers are simple enough to avoid,” Netiqret continues genially, as if discussing what we’ll be eating for dinner. “Believe me when I tell you that they are slaves to their instructions. Perfectly predictable in their behaviour. The only danger in being around them is if something unexpected draws their attention in your direction. So you have to keep watch. Do you know why I just nudged us left?”
“No.”
“Because we would be walking too close to those two. Between them and the next Overseer.” She nods very slightly off to the right, where two women are standing by a stall, deep in conversation. Their voices are low, but as I observe them I can see a tension in the set of their shoulders, catch a furrowed brow and a slight, sharp gesture from one toward the other. I watch surreptitiously, then look back at Netiqret.
“They’re arguing. You think they’re going to make a scene.”
She doesn’t reply; we keep walking, and I resist the urge to crane my neck and look back around. There’s nothing, though. No rising voices, no commotion.
“Nothing happened.”
“But there was the possibility. More of one than anything on this side of the street. You have to play the odds and—”
There’s suddenly a sharp screech from behind us, somewhat distant now, and I glance over my shoulder to see one of the two women with her finger in the other’s face. Very much drawing attention, now, including from the Overseer.
I turn back to see Netiqret still looking ahead, but smiling an unmistakeably smug smile.
“Sometimes things go wrong. Someone will eventually find something interesting in your features, or notice you because some fool has smashed a jar next to you, or done something else stupid over which you have no control. If that happens, look people in the eye. Nod back if you’re nodded to, but never frown or smile. People remember if you seem like you’re friendly or unfriendly, interested or displeased. Just look through them. Like you’re thinking of something else. We all tend to imagine that everyone who looks at us will remember us, but to most people we’re just bricks in a wall. Anonymity isn’t about being invisible. It’s about being forgotten.” She glances at me, briefly assessing. “In time, we might have to pad out that physique of yours. Thicken up that beard. Teach you to walk with a touch more slouch. I doubt you’re going to be burning your face into the minds of any passing young women, but it won’t hurt to make sure.”
“Inspirational. Thanks.”
Netiqret ignores me. “The less predictable something is, the more it should be avoided. Move away from young children. They have a tendency to be interested in everything around them, cause accidents, shout or cry, and sometimes try and speak with passing strangers.” Her face shows what she thinks of that. “Not to mention that their parents are often more aware of their surroundings than other adults.”
She goes on like that for a while. Attractive or wealthy men and women, she suggests being near but not next to. Musicians—whom she seems to despise—she says to skirt completely. Though from the way she says it, I wonder whether she really simply hates music.
“And you’re certain the Overseers will always react in the manner you expect,” I half query eventually. Her observations have proven true, thus far, but it seems like it would only take one exception for disaster to strike.
“They’re different from the iunctii. Better to think of them as tools. A kind of flexible machinery, set in motion by Ka and then left to do their work. He tells them how they should react to their environment and then they will always,alwaysdo that. The same way, every time.”
We’ve almost caught up to the slow-moving funeral procession, wails gradually louder in our ears, green-glowing water of the Infernis visible now as the march nears its destination. I’ve seen the outer walls of the temple from over the other side of the river many times. Thirty feet high, glassy obsidian encompassing not only the Pyramid of Ka, but its vast surrounds. Acres of intricate structures. The barrier stretches for thousands of feet, a hard shell around the glittering, golden heart of Duat.
It’s broken only by the entrance. Three massive statues stand almost as high as the walls, elaborately carved in white stone as they guard the two obsidian gates between them. Representations of Ka, I assume. Identical visages of a stern, regal man, adorned in headdress and the long false beard that seems to be popular among noblemen here.
I study it all silently as we approach. The black walls are sheer and smooth and impenetrable: no climbing them, and no grapple that could possibly secure itself anywhere on their surface. If there was even anywhere inconspicuous to try, which I’m not convinced there would be.
And that’s only to get into theoutersection of the temple compound. I have no idea what security will lie between there and the pyramid itself—but faintly, very faintly, I can hear its last line. The barely audiblethrumthat fizzes in the air, makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
“Shall we go in?”
I baulk. Just as she said earlier, the gates stand open, and a steady flow of people trickles between the looming statues. But there are Overseers at the entrance. “They look like they’re checking people’s faces.”
“They won’t be. Too many people, not enough reason. It would be a waste of Nomarch resources.”
