Doctor Who_ Set Piece - Kate Orman [36]
secrets purring in the sky, trying to push themselves into his brain, as though he had forgotten a skyful of knowledge. When this happened the only thing to do was drink the noises into silence.
So he kept his eyes in the dust, letting his naked feet take him to the tavern.
He plonked himself down on a stool in the corner. One hand automatically went to his shaven scalp, ran down the smooth skin and scratched behind his left ear. He yawned, running his eyes over the clientele. Plenty of foreigners, as there were always foreigners these days. Pretty much the usual lowlife knocking themselves out on bad beer. Or good beer, if they could afford it.
That was what Sesehaten was here for.
A woman shuffled up to his table, holding a tray full of bowls. She wore a peasant’s dress which covered her breasts. Her hands were an unhealthy red colour with sunburn and washing-up.
‘Tepy,’ he breathed.
She lifted her head, just a little, to look at him. ‘What are you doing here?’
he asked stupidly.
‘I wait on tables,’ she said dully. ‘I’m a waitress.’
‘Oh, no. I’ve been looking for you for more than a week. Sit down, for – for Aten’s sake,’ he pleaded.
Ace stood there for a few seconds, as though she hadn’t understood what he was saying. Then she dropped her tray on the table and dragged a stool over to him. She leaned on her elbows, looking at him blearily.
It was not the same woman. Not with those soft, empty eyes, those slumped shoulders. ‘I thought you planned to enlist,’ he stammered.
She snorted. ‘They didn’t even laugh,’ she said. ‘Didn’t even laugh. They said no woman could fight as well as an Egyptian soldier. So I beat up a few of them.’
Sesehaten laughed, hesitantly. ‘That got their attention,’ said Tepy. ‘So they went off to find their general. He said I fought better than some of his officers.
But a woman in the ranks would only cause confusion, break up the boys. A foreign whore in the field would ruin morale.’
‘You’re no whore,’ said Sesehaten.
‘It’s only a matter of time,’ she said simply, and he was suddenly aware of the eyes pressed to her body, furtive glances or overt stares from around the open room of the tavern.
‘There are,’ said Tepy, waving a heavy hand, ‘there are little boxes which an Egyptian man can fit into. He gets one from his father, right, a little box with a label saying SCRIBE or PEASANT or PRIEST or SCULPTOR. For women there are only two boxes. Right? They’re labelled WIFE and WHORE.’
‘There are women who are singers or professional mourners,’ said Sesehaten. ‘And musicians.’
69
‘Can’t sing,’ said Tepy.
‘Oh no, that’s not true. I’ve heard you sing, it’s quite pleasant.’
‘The singers,’ said Tepy, ‘spend the whole night telling horny boys to get lost.
Or not, depending on how strapped for cash they are. They’re not married, so they must be open for business, right? Trap’s closing around me, Sesehaten.
I’m being stuffed into one of those little boxes.’
‘Your like a cat herding geese,’ said the scribe. ‘Out of place. Not part of ma’
at, the order of the universe.’
There was an explosive sound across the room: wine jar and skull meeting.
A quarrel had started up in a corner of the tavern, two meaty soldiers arguing about the fine details of some old campaign. ‘’Scuse me,’ said Tepy.
She weaved over to the two men, who had knocked over their table and were grappling ineffectually. She tapped one of them on the shoulder, and when he turned around she smiled invitingly.
They both gaped at her. Tepy reached up and put her arms around the soldier’s neck. Wine dribbled down his face and dripped off his nose while he grinned stupidly down at her.
She locked her hands together behind his head and slammed his body down as her knee came up into his groin. He didn’t make a sound – just a thump as he hit the floor. His friend stared down at him, still holding the handle of the broken wine jar.
Tepy gave him her smile,