Chapter 46
XLVI
I LEAP AND SPIN AND STALK FORWARD WITH AS MUCH FEline grace as I can muster, raising my arms and gazing upward in intent supplication as my hips sway.
The steady beat Ahmose is providing wavers, and I falter to a stop that feels even more ridiculous than the movements, breathing heavily.
Ahmose is watching with a worrying mixture of dismay and restrained laughter.
I glare at him. Then Netiqret. “There has to be another way.”
“There is not.” The austere, dark-haired woman is at the desk in the corner, scratching something onto papyrus.
“The celebrations are our only opportunity to gain access past the inner courtyard of the temple for the foreseeable future. I have an invitation that will get me past the Overseers, without them seeing my face. You do not.”
“Surely I can just control the ones I need to get past.”
“I already told you: there will be several assigned to each door. Given the limitations of how you can use your ability, it’s not feasible.” Not even bothering to glance up from her writing.
I fix my skewed clothing and glower to the air in front of me, but don’t argue.
I finally had to explain that I need physical contact with any iunctus I want to instruct, and that I can control only a couple at a time.
That’s at least had one benefit, though: once I admitted that the scarab medallions I was wearing improved my ability, Netiqret provided me with one of the two she owns, without hesitation.
“But you’re certain that there will only be one checking the performers. ”
“Overseers are stretched thin during the Return. There will only be one. And you have already proven beyond doubt that you cannot play a musical instrument.” She finally looks up, fixing her gaze on me. “Which leaves dance.”
“You can do it,” says Ahmose encouragingly, his generally dour demeanour for once absent as he moves me gently aside.
He seemed genuinely delighted when he first heard the plan.
The man, as it turns out, has a zeal for such performances.
“You have to remember that dance is about letting go, as much as control. It is about freedom and joy and open expression within the steps. This one in particular is a celebration of life. Commit to your movements. Delight in your movements. Do everything with zest!” He clicks his fingers and claps his hands and dances to the rhythm he’s creating, smooth and sinuous, leaping and pirouetting.
Then he stops, bows and backs away, gesturing for me to try again.
Vek.
I danced as a child, back on Suus. I know I did. I can picture my parents swaying together. I can picture the sun setting and a crowd on the beach at some celebration or other, laughter and music and everyone moving in rhythm.
But the Catenan Republic had little use for dance, and so neither have I these past few years.
Not to mention that these Duatian dances are wild.
Passionate, almost animalistic. They follow forms but there are leaps rather than steps, whirls rather than bows.
None of the stiff, precise formality I for some reason expected, when this was first raised a month ago.
Ahmose begins his staccato clapping rhythm, humming a few animated notes as he does so, and I start again.
Step and step and spin and pause and leap and sway.
Gritting my teeth into a smile as if I am enjoying the entire ridiculous process.
Fifteen seconds of movement, Ahmose’s enthusiasm audibly dying in the background, before I stop again and face their assessment.
“Ka-sheut.” Ahmose rubs his face. Glances at Netiqret, who he seems to have bonded with over this experience. “He’s like a child’s puppet.”
“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 a mandatum, he will reveal us.”
“A mandatum?” 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?”
“Eighty-two external, tasked with searching out threats. Eighteen assigned to guarding Ka.”
My breath catches. I try not to show too much excitement. “Guarding Ka,” I repeat slowly. “Where are those ones?”
“They are stored along the tunnel from the temple to the pyramid. Dormant, unless activated by an intruder.”
Vek. My heart leaps. I don’t know how she knows all this, but if she’s right, then Caeror was too. Ka is in there. “Do you know if there’s any other way into the pyramid?”
She frowns and backs away. Uneasy, as if suddenly remembering she’s not meant to be talking to me. Hair swaying over her face as she points to the jar. “Do not consume more than you need.”
She turns and hurries upstairs, gait unsettlingly stiff.
I frown after her. Not sure about any of the conversation we just had, if it could even be called that. She doesn’t have the untouched personality of someone like Ahmose, but not the mindlessness of a Gleaner or Overseer, either.
It’s less than a minute before there’s motion on the stairs again and Netiqret is descending, Kiya trailing her. The old woman’s eyes are sharp as she glares down at me. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing!” I hold up my hands. “She spoke to me. Unprovoked.”
“What did she say?”
“That I lied to you about being from outside. Which I did not,” I add firmly. “What is she, Netiqret? She seems to know a lot of things.”
“She is a iunctus.” The emphasis cold, and though it’s a patently obvious attempt to ignore the real questions I have, Netiqret doesn’t seem to care enough to disguise it. “Do not talk to her again. Even if she initiates it.”
“Why not?”