‘That’s fascinating. You’re interested in metals, of course. But what else do they dig up?’

‘All sorts of treasures. Some things are just junk – interesting curios, nothing more – but there’s gold and silver and gemstones. More likely than not plucked from in amongst the bones of the ancients, the robbers. And sometimes’ – Selah leaned forward and lowered his voice, sharing a confidence – ‘there’s something special. Maps. Books. On thin sheets of cloth, not written by any human hand.’

Benzamir took a rose-water jelly and bit it in two. ‘I’ve seen one, or at least a copy of one. A set of maps owned by an imam, clearly taken from a pre-Turn book.’

‘If you’re interested, I could arrange an introduction for you. I’ve had word that there’s a market tomorrow at the pyramids. Meet me here an hour before dawn, though I’d advise you to bring your men. Honest traders like myself are in the minority.’

‘Great riches bring great wickedness,’ said Benzamir, watching how the light played through the pink sweet in his hand. ‘I’ll come, and yes, I’ll bring my companions. Thanks for the warning.’

They concluded a price for the knives, and Benzamir left Selah on his doorstep. He slowly worked his way back to his lodgings, and heard his name shouted down from a window as he approached.

‘Master Benzamir! We were beginning to think that the city had swallowed you whole.’

Benzamir took a step back and squinted upwards. ‘It’s not as scary as you think, Said. And stop calling me your master. You’re your own man, my friend.’

‘I don’t call you master for your benefit. I call you master for mine. The grander and more important you appear, the more status I have.’

‘Is that how it works? So am I a step up from Ibn Alam?’

‘Immeasurably greater, master.’ Said turned from the window. ‘Wahir, you lazy boy. The master is at the door, and all you do is sit and eat dates. Go and pour some water, fetch a towel.’

‘Said, I can wash my own feet,’ Benzamir laughed.

‘Quiet, master. Someone will hear you.’

He sounded genuinely concerned, and Benzamir stopped joking. He shouldered open the heavy door that led to the shared courtyard, then up the steps to his rented rooms.

He salamed two of his neighbours before beating off the attentions of Wahir and finally sagging down on a divan.

‘Where did you go? What did you see?’ asked Wahir, who still hovered with the bowl in his hands and the towel around his waist.

‘I found a man called Selah the Ironmaster, who makes fine weapons out of scavenged steel. He’s also invited us on a little adventure tomorrow morning. Before dawn, if you please.’ Benzamir held out his hands for the bowl and set it between his feet. Taking the towel, he said to Wahir: ‘If you’re desperate to do something, you could find me some beer.’

‘But I want to hear about this adventure,’ Wahir said, hands on hips.

‘Then you’d better hurry, insolent boy,’ said Said.

‘Enough. But he’s right, of course. No stories without beer. My people hold very dear to that.’

Wahir went at a run, and Said sent a scowl after him. ‘You’re too easy on the boy. At his age, he needs discipline, and to show respect to his elders.’

‘He does, in his own way. I like his enthusiasm, and I don’t want to squash him. I know it seems like bare-faced cheek a lot of the time, but if it doesn’t bother me, it shouldn’t bother you.’

‘What would have happened,’ said Said, ‘if you’d talked to your father like that? He would have beaten you with a stick. My father did to me, and it didn’t do me any harm.’

‘What your or Wahir’s father do with their sticks is no concern of mine. I’ve not got a stick, and even if I had, I wouldn’t use it on a child.’

‘He’s almost a man.’

‘Then I would have to give him a stick too, and we’d make a fair fight of it.’

‘You’re very strange, master.’

‘Not as strange as I am thirsty. Said, what do you know about the diggers?’

Said snorted. ‘Apart from the fact that they’re all pirates and thieves? That they’d sell you, your mother and your grandmother as slaves as soon as spit at you? Nothing, really, beyond that we should have nothing to do with the dirty grave-robbers.’

‘Ah,’ said Benzamir, ‘that’s a shame.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because tomorrow, while it’s still dark, we’re all off to the pyramids to see the diggers’ market. Selah asked if I wanted to go, and I said yes.’

‘We’re all going to have our throats cut – except you, of course – and left for the vultures. And the pyramids? Don’t you know that the reason why the diggers go there for their infernal market is because no one else dares to. At night. What were you thinking?’

‘I need to look for something – something my enemies might be using for trade. It’ll look like a User artefact, but new and clean and working. It’ll be the sort of thing that these diggers won’t be able to resist. They’ll try and sell it to me, and I’ll try and find out where they got it from.’

‘Master,’ said Said, ‘when you talk of such things, I get very confused. Mainly because I have no idea what you’re saying. You talk around yourself like you’re processing around a sacred stone, circling what you want to say but dare not.’

Wahir came crashing back through the door. His reed basket clinked promisingly. ‘What did I miss?’

‘Master Benzamir tells us that we’re off to get butchered like sheep at the hands of diggers tomorrow.’

‘That doesn’t sound so good,’ said Wahir, and pulled out three bottles of beer. He handed one to Benzamir, one to Said, and unstoppered the one he was left holding. ‘What?’

Benzamir put his feet up on the divan. ‘I was about to say you’re still too young, but considering what I’m about to tell you, I imagine you’ll need a stiff drink. Listen then. You’ll think me mad, but everything I say will be as true as I can make it.’ He drank some of the beer, washing the dust of Misr away, loosening his tongue. ‘Very well, then. There was a time that was, and was not.’

CHAPTER 16

IT TOOK BENZAMIR several goes to work out the best way to start. Each time he saw blank incomprehension on the faces of his friends, and he frowned with the effort.

‘I’ll try again. My ancestors lived where you did, in and around the hills of El Alam. They moved from the mountains to the coast and back. They traded their sheep and their goats, they raced camels, they lived in tents. They were Bedouin. In those days the rains were poor, the desert hot and harsh. But they were sons and daughters of the land, and for all their poverty they were a proud people. They had friends too; one friend especially, a powerful king who would give them magic. They made a special fire out of the sunlight. They sucked dew from the sand. Under the king’s guidance my people grew in both wisdom and wealth. It was a good time.

‘So when the king was attacked by his enemies, the Bedouin of El Alam rose up to fight with him. They stood shoulder to shoulder and said they would live and die as brothers. The king had many ships, and there was room enough for all my ancestors and their families. They sailed away to far distant shores, and there they gave battle. When they fought, they won. They discovered both a courage they had once doubted and a destiny they had never dreamed of claiming.

‘They carry on the fight to this day. There have been seven centuries of war and I’ve fought with them. It’s a terrible, glorious sight. You’ve both seen the power I can call on. Imagine a whole battlefield like that, and more. A mountain, razed. A river, boiled dry. Fields turned to glass. Wherever we find our enemies, we confront them and show them no mercy. They don’t understand mercy, don’t know what the word is. They’re a plague, a disease that we can’t yet cure. They eat and grow, and that’s all they do. We have to kill them, every last one, and when we’re finished with them . . .?’ He hung his head. ‘More often than not, we’ve destroyed everything else too.’