“If its strings were badly tangled,” agrees Netiqret helpfully.
I glare, still panting from the exertion, then try to take the criticism in good humour. Nod to the silent, eerily staring girl in the corner. “Kiya has no complaints.”
“Do you like his dancing, Kiya?” asks Netiqret.
She stares at me, and shakes her head firmly.
I scowl at the strange iunctus. She doesn’t react.
“Is two months going to be enough?” asks Ahmose to Netiqret. Genuine worry in his voice.
“Once inside, he can slip away without performing,” reiterates Netiqret. “He needs only to be selected, which means he needs only to show competence in a single dance. And their options will be limited during Return. He will have to be truly terrible to be refused entry.”
Ahmose coughs. “So is two months going to be enough?”
I’m caught between chagrin and genuine amusement, pleased to see Ahmose relaxing enough to make light, even through the frustration of—apparently—not being very good at this, either. I dearly wish we had begun practicing earlier,but up until her grinding admission of defeat yesterday, Netiqret was convinced that teaching me the lyre was the more reliable option. “Perhaps there’s an easier dance I can try?”
“You know, there is,” Ahmose says. “It is normally performed by women, but occasionally men do it as well. It would make you very popular.” He starts to demonstrate, moving his body suggestively and then abruptly shaking his belly at me. To the side, Netiqret actually sniggers before Ahmose can no longer hold back his giggling and stops.
I glower at their hysterics. “Gods-damned ass.”
Eventually their chortling subsides, and Netiqret waves a lazy hand. “Enough, for now. We know what we are up against. Get a drink. Have a rest.”
I grunt and take myself off as Netiqret and Ahmose begin discussing ways I might be able to cover up my offensive awkwardness. Netiqret’s sparsely furnished residence is typically quiet as I head downstairs, the muted muttering of the city seeping through the stone walls as the white glow of Ka’s pyramid through the windows indicates it’s near enough to noon. I grab a cup, pass the ceramic jars of sweet beer—the last thing I need is more of a headache—and head for the only one containing water drawn from the nearby well. It tastes as unpleasant as ever.
“Do not consume more than you need.”
I almost choke mid-swallow at the quiet, high-pitched voice from too close behind me. I turn sharply to find Kiya standing completely still, only a few feet away. Head slightly bowed so that her braids loop in front of her face. I glance past her, instinctively looking for Netiqret. The older woman is nowhere to be seen.
“Um. Why not?” I look at the jar I’ve drawn from. I’ve never spoken directly to Kiya before, never even heard the iunctus speak aloud. We’ve been told not to interact with her. And she’s always with Netiqret when she’s around us.Always. “Is it unhealthy, Kiya?”
“The more you drink, the more must be filtered. They don’t like that.”
“Who?”
“The old ones.” She speaks in a soft, absent way. As if she’s focusing on something else entirely. “They work to make the water safe. It’s their job. But they don’t like it.” Her gaze seems to rove before settling back on me. “You lied to her.”
“To who?” I’m bemused. “Netiqret?”
“You told her you were from outside. That you came from a community.”
“I am. I did.”
“The last independent community was absorbed by the Amemet two hundred and seventeen years ago.”
“It wouldn’t be much of a resistance if Ka knew where to find them,” I explain gently. Trying not to sound as confused as I feel. “And that is a very specific number, Kiya. What makes you think this?”
“I do not.” Before I can untangle the simple, inattentive statement, she moves on. “The iunctus that accompanies you. He is the result of the Amemet integration error eighty-seven days ago. He should be removed. He brings no useful skills and if he is subjected to amandatum, he will reveal us.”
“Amandatum?” I’m off-balance in this strange conversation. “What’s that?”
“An Amemet blade used to override iunctii consciousness.” All in that odd, singsong child’s voice. Calm and curious and not really speaking to me at all.
I crouch beside her. More than just curious, now. “You know about the Instruction Blades? And the Gleaners—the Amemet, you called them?” I peer through the braids and try to catch her gaze, but her eyes dart elsewhere, refusing to meet mine.
“Only reported numbers. Not details. A separate biosystem.”
“How many are there?”
