The day passed in sleepy progress. It was gruellingly hot, although the proximity of their companion Drifters cast shadows over the Custard’s deck, alleviating some of the direct sunlight.
“The heads of the families will want to meet with you,” said Anitra. “Discuss plans.”
Rue nodded. “I’m afraid I don’t speak your language.”
Anitra shrugged. “Grandfather and I will interpret for you.”
Rue didn’t like that this put her in a dependent position but she supposed she was already dependent upon these two for this whole arrangement, so she might as well cast herself adrift on the Drifters’ whims.
“About your grandfather…”
“He told you more?”
Rue nodded.
“He’s a good man, loyal. It has cost him much, I think, that loyalty.”
Rue wondered if that loyalty was to her mother or her grandfather or someone else further back in time. He was, after all, ancient. Instead she asked, “The name, Panettone?”
“Is an old one around here. He is not the first to use it. We remember only because we Drifters have dancers of record whose steps stretch back for a thousand years. Panettone is not as old as Goldenrod, but whose name is?”
Rue gave a small smile. “Tasherit perhaps?”
“Ah, that one. Best if she not come to our meeting this evening.”
“Are Drifters not fond of the shape-shifters?”
“It depends entirely on the shape. They ruled the Two Lands as gods for a very long time, before they didn’t. While the fettered of the earth remember only their harshness, we Drifters remember more. The Daughters of Sekhmet left of their own volition. They were not thrown over. They have ever been the hot breath of the desert winds. We make our living by those winds. Your deadly lady, without her shape, unable to prove her true nature, with all that beauty, she would be unsettling, confusing. Confusion is dangerous to negotiations.”
Rue thought about the God-Breaker Plague. Even floating as they did, high above the river, she could feel its oppressiveness – so much like her mother’s touch. It was getting worse the closer they got to Luxor. Taking away the sparkle of opportunity, the possibility of other’s shapes. Rue didn’t like the sensation. Perhaps I truly am the inhuman parasite some have thought me to be. Rue shook off that depressing thought.
“Are you Drifters against the God-Breaker Plague?”
Anitra tilted her head. “How is one to be against reality? It is what it is, a plague of unmaking. It is no political party to protest. We have accepted it but we are Drifters, so we need not live within it. It no longer expands, of course, not now, but it will remain as long as the Creature in the Sands still reaches out into the desert.”
Rue didn’t follow. “If you say so. I suppose it has its uses. If you’re a supernatural who wants to die, for example.” She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice. To lose her father in such a way… it was still difficult to face.
The closer they got to Luxor, the more profound the nullifying feeling of the plague. Rue learned to tolerate it. She spent most of her time standing on the main deck, eyes glued to magnification lenses, watching the Nile below. Paddle ferries chugged along while old-style dahabiyas, with their two triangular sails, nipped in and around them. Closer to the embankments, small reed rafts floated, from which scantily clad young men slapped the water with big sticks in a pretty, if confusing, method of fishing. Or was it crocodile control?
They arrived in Luxor as the sun set on the third day. It seemed to grow larger as it sank, a massive orange globe tinted red at the bottom by the dust of the desert. Primrose owned a dress that did that.
Luxor was greener than Cairo, the Nile near the city dotted with half-formed islands. The banks were thick with palm trees, which crowded into the sandstone of the town, while rocky grey monoliths spiked out of the desert beyond. The Spotted Custard floated in over the massive statues of Memnon, sitting in faceless judgement over those little islands, like two stern governesses. Primrose – Baedeker’s in hand – pointed out Karnak at one end of the town and the Temple of Luxor at the other.
At Rue’s orders, The Spotted Custard and company remained high above the city. The feeling of the plague was simply too unpleasant if they de-puffed even slightly. The decklings were disappointed. They wanted to see the Valley of the Kings up close.
That evening, Rue was to host a Drifter gathering. Quesnel declined to attend. Primrose didn’t feel it was her place and Miss Sekhmet made herself obligingly scarce. Which left Rue and Percy, of all people, to welcome their guests.