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show you. But...” He held up one hand, pale palm outward, raising a finger. “It is a long journey, and difficult. Do you wish to make it?”
    “We do,” I said firmly, forestalling any other answer Joscelin might give. “We have some business to attend to in Iskandria, messire guide, but be assured, we are very interested in the descendants of Saba. Can you arrange to guide us there? We will pay.”
    Nesmut made a sound of protest. Karem, looking sullen, wandered to his worktable and pried at the edge of a cabochon gem, peering at its hidden face. Radi Arumi watched me through half-lidded eyes. “There is,” he said presently, “a caravan leaving for Meroë in a fortnight’s time. I have contracted to serve as their guide. Do you wish to go with them, I will accompany you, and from Meroë, we will set forth for Saba, where Melek al’Hakim’s descendants endure. Does it please you, my lady? If it does, we will speak of money.”
    I glanced at Joscelin, who shrugged. “Yes, messire guide. It pleases me. Let us speak of money.”
    And so we did, in a polyglot of languages, for it would not do but that Nesmut, our self-appointed liaison, had his say, and Karem contributed, while Joscelin and I conferred in D’Angeline. It was an art, I realized in time, and part and parcel of making the deal. At some point, a tray of strong mint tea was served, sweetened with honey. We sipped it from small cups and made polite argument with one another. When it was done, Joscelin and I had signed on to accompany a Menekhetan trade caravan to the Jebean capital city of Meroë, and thence to pay Radi Arumi a certain sum to lead us south to the descendents of Saba.
    “May Amon-Re smile upon our endeavors,” Radi said formally, rising and bowing. “I will await you at the Southern Gate a fortnight hence. We will leave ere daybreak.”
    So it was done, and it left us a full two weeks to search Iskandria for Imriel’s trail. Although I kept my face solemn, I was pleased with the outcome. It was time enough, I thought. If it was not, no amount of time would suffice. I thought that, then.
    “Gracious lady,” Nesmut said tactfully. “The noon hour is nigh. Will you not take repose? There is a house nearby that serves a very fine beer, yes.”
    “Yes.” I stood, stiff with long sitting, and wandered to Karem’s worktable, attempting to see his handiwork, “Karem, these are very fine! What is this, a cameo? It’s worthy of D’Angeline workmanship.”
    He moved awkwardly, interposing his body between me and the worktable, preventing me from seeing. “No, no, my lady is too kind,” he murmured. “They are poor trifles; poor trifles, nothing more.”
    “Gracious lady.” Nesmut, appearing at my side, tugged at my hand, looking at me with earnest eyes. “Let us go.”
    In the street, when the door to the jeweler’s shop had closed behind us, he relaxed. I exchanged a perplexed look with Joscelin, who shrugged. The sun stood high overhead and the heat had intensified.
    “Come,” Nesmut said. “We will take repose.”
    The establishment to which he led us was thoroughly Menekhetan in nature; cool and dim, with thick walls to keep out the heat and high ceilings to diffuse it, and the same low arrangement of table and chairs, nearer to the cool tiles of the floor. We paused in the arched doorway. Several men seated within were playing a game with an inlaid board. They looked up, neither hostile nor welcoming. Nesmut spoke to the proprietor at length in Menekhetan. Eventually he nodded and waved us to a table, bringing a brown earthenware jug of beer and three cups.
    The proprietor poured and the men resumed their board game, stealing occasional glances our way. “Nesmut,” I said. “Are you sure we are welcome here?”
    Draining half his beer at a draught, he nodded vigorously, swallowing and setting down his cup. “Yes, gracious lady. It is not a place for women, Menekhetan women, but I explained to Hapuseneb that you are a foreigner, and different. It is proper. Do not fear. I know much of the ways of foreigners,” he added, boasting.
    “And Menekhetans and Hellenes as well?” Joscelin inquired.
    Nesmut refilled his cup. “Everything, gracious lord, that passes in the city. But you are going to Jebe-Barkal, yes?”
    “Yes,” I said. “In a fortnight.” I sipped my beer and found it cool and refreshing, sweetened with honey and a trace of mint. “Nesmut, it is true, we do have need of a guide to the city,