Lights on the Nile

by Donna Jo Napoli

  “Sure.” Kan laughed. “Just like I’m going home.”

  “Don’t laugh. I’m going to do it.” Kepi got to her feet. Beyond the wall of the metallurgy yard, she could see, the sky was decorated with upward swirls of pale-gray smoke from cooking fires. So many of them. So many people were preparing their evening meals.

  She looked into the window of the workshop again. The master had left. The workbenches were covered with jewelry in various stages of completion. She thought of the glass bead necklace Menes had bought her in Nekheb, the one she’d never seen. She wished she had let him give it to her then, so that now she’d have a token of him. “I miss jewelry,” said Kepi. “I used to wear so much that I jangled wherever I went.”

  Kan jumped to his feet as though a scorpion had pinched his bottom. “I have something to show you, then.” He took off the little pouch that hung around his neck and shook the contents into his hand. Several tiny silvery-white metal bowls, each no bigger than a fingertip, lay in his palm. They each had a miniature loop on the underside of the bowl basin.

  “Can I touch them?”

  “Sure.”

  Kepi held two up to the late afternoon sun. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Are they made of a special silver?”

  “It’s tin. In my country we smelt it out of rocks, just like we smelt copper here. The man who first owned me had a whole sack of pure tin pebbles, and I stole some before he traded me away. It’s all I have left of my country. I made these from a tin pebble.”

  “What are they for?”

  He flipped each basin over so the loops stuck out on top. “They’re bells.”

  “What are bells?”

  “Listen.” Kan put the rest of the bells away in his pouch. Then he pulled a thread from the edge of his loincloth and ripped it in half with his teeth. He strung the thread through the loops on the two bells and shook. The bells hit each other and gave off the sweetest high-pitched tinkling sound.

  “Marvelous,” whispered Kepi. Her whole body had tensed up. The tinkle of those bells felt familiar. They sounded like the noise Kepi had imagined the goddess Hathor’s necklace must make. That tinkle was more beautiful than the best music she’d ever heard. It filled her with joy. “Bells are completely marvelous.”

  “When I hear them, it makes me think I remember being small and happy, and maybe someday I’ll be happy like that again.” Kan put the tin bells back into the pouch and looked at her with a serious face. “Come on. Let’s take another tin pebble and make more bells. For you.”

  Breathless, Kepi waited in the workshop while Kan went to get a tin pebble from his hiding place. They hammered the tin flat enough to break into two pieces; then each of them hammered their piece even flatter. It was soft and gave way easily. But it still took Kepi a long time to make it thin enough for bells as delicate as the ones Kan had in his pouch.

  “Hear that?” Kan held a piece of tin close to Kepi’s ear and folded it. It gave off the strangest crackle. “It’s crying. You have to be gentle, because tin feels everything.” He showed Kepi how to fold tin the right way, so that each bell would have a loop at the top for stringing.

  It was tricky and took all of Kepi’s attention. In the end, she made five tin bells. The evening light had grown dim. Kan handed her a thread, and Kepi strung the bells together and shook them. They tinkled perfectly. How amazing that Kepi had made them so fine when her hands moved so clumsily at the task. They were as wonderful as jewelry. They made her feel like the old Kepi, the one who had a family that gave her jewelry. And the music these bells made was even better than the music jewelry made. The music made her feel she belonged to the goddess Hathor. It made her believe that Hathor was watching her. Of course! Hathor must have helped her make them. Hathor must have guided her clumsy hands. Hathor wanted her to have these bells. Thank you, great goddess Hathor. Thank you, thank you.

  “You’re a tinker now,” said Kan. “Anyone who makes things from tin is a tinker. Make sure you never take them out in snow, or they’ll turn to gray powder.”

  “I’ve never seen snow,” said Kepi, holding the precious bells to her chest. She wouldn’t even know what snow was if Father hadn’t told her about it.

  “I was just teasing. We have snow in my country. Seriously, though, never let them fall into a fire, or they’ll break.”

  “I won’t,” said Kepi, holding them closer.

  “If you polish those bells, they’ll shine as bright as silver. Now look at what I made.” Kan held the thing he’d been working on to his mouth and blew. It gave off a loud, shrill sound.

  Kepi jumped in surprise.

  “It’s a whistle. A boy from my country was here a couple of years ago. He taught me how to make them before he was traded away again. Isn’t it great?”

  “Indeed!” The master came into the workshop through the gloom of early evening. “What do you have there, boy?”

  Kan put the whistle behind his back. “Nothing.”

  “It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  “It’s mine.”

  The master scowled. “What’s yours is mine. You belong to me, you dirty little pig herder. You’ll get a beating for talking back, all right. And you . . .” He looked at Kepi. “What have you got?”

  “We made them,” said Kepi, moving to stand beside Kan. “They’re ours.”

  “Anything made in my workshop is mine.” The master held out his hands, one toward Kan and one toward Kepi.

  Kepi’s fingers closed tight on the bells. She’d never give them up. She saw the skin on Kan’s jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth.

  Kan and Kepi looked at each other, and almost as if they’d known all along this had to happen, they ran together out of the workshop, out of the metallurgy yard, out into the streets of Ineb Hedj.

  Chapter 26

  Masud

  “Kepi! Kepi, are you here?” came the raspy call.

  Kepi opened her eyes. It was the middle of the night, but the moon was bright. She didn’t dare move quickly, or the boat might rock and give her away. Kan lay sleeping beside her. They had taken refuge on a small fishing boat at the docks. Kan knew the way, because the slave boys often carried the garbage down here to dump into the river.

  Now Kepi slowly closed her fingers around the handle of the paddle beside her. If that call came from the master and if he tried to do anything horrible, she would swing it hard at him. He was big—but that lame leg made him slow. Maybe a blow with the paddle could hold him off long enough to get away.

  “Kepi, come on. You have to be here. Don’t act like one of the jackass boys!”

  Kepi sat up. “Masud?” she hissed.

  “There you are.” Masud ran along the docks and stood in front of their boat. “I saved you bread from the evening meal.”

  Kan jumped up at Masud’s voice. He rubbed his eyes. “Bread? Where is it?”

  Masud held out two small pieces. “It’s not much. Sorry.”

  Kan climbed from the boat onto the dock and took a piece of the bread.

  Kepi carefully felt in the bottom of the boat and found the five tin bells she’d made. She closed them in her fist, climbed out, and took the bread. “Thank you, Masud.”

  Masud squatted. “Get down like me. That way if anyone should look toward the dock, they’re less likely to see us.”

  Kan and Kepi squatted.

  “How did you find us?” asked Kepi.

  “I figured the dock was the only place in the city you knew other than the metallurgy shop and the workers’ home. Besides, you lived on a boat for so long.” He watched them chew the bread.

  Kepi could see from his face that he was hungry, too. He had saved these pieces from his own meal, and Kepi knew how skimpy the workers’ meals were. She swallowed the last bite gratefully. Then she searched with her fingers for that loose spot in her dress hem. She carefully pushed in the tiny tin bells, one by one, and worked them around to the side, where the ostrich feather nestled.

  “When the master
told us you’d stolen things and run away, he said you’d either die of starvation or come back like begging dogs.”

  “We didn’t steal,” said Kan quickly.

  “I know. I came looking for Kepi when I got back from an errand, and I saw the two of you through the rear window in the workshop. I was about to come in when the master caught you. He’s a big liar jackass. You won’t come back, will you?”

  Kepi shook her head. “I’m going home.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Only I’m going to do what I came here for first.”

  “I knew you’d try.” He pressed a fist against his mouth. Then he spoke slowly. “I’ve thought and thought about this. And not just tonight. I’ve been thinking about it ever since . . .” Masud looked at Kepi. “Ever since I met you.” He took a deep breath and let it out loudly. “I’ll help you. Because I’m free, I get to walk all over. And I was born here—I’ve been here all my life—so I know this city. I can find out things. You need me. And . . .” He hesitated. “. . . I’ll go with you. To your home. I’ll help you get there, and then . . . I’ll become a metallurgist in your village. There’s nothing left here for me now.”

  Kan groaned. “Kepi told me her plans last night. I didn’t believe her, but it’s really going to happen. You’re both going to leave.” He crossed his arms at the chest and rubbed his forearms. He curled forward even more against his knees, as if he was cold. “What have I done? Oh, I’ve been so stupid!” he muttered with his head down. “The master will hate me even more now, and I have no place else to go. I’ll starve”

  “Come with us,” said Masud. “You can work with me when we get to Kepi’s village.”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “You’re good at metallurgy.”

  Kan’s forehead crinkled, and for a moment Kepi thought he might do something awful—shout or cry, she couldn’t tell which. “So, what do we do now?” he asked softly.

  “Good,” said Kepi. She turned to Masud. “I’ll talk to the pharaoh. Then we can beg a ride on a trade boat and leave this place fast.”

  “It won’t be that easy.” Masud sucked his top lip behind his bottom teeth. “The pharaoh won’t talk to you.”

  “What do you mean? I’ll just go up to him and—”

  “He doesn’t give private audiences to anyone unless they’re the head priest of a town or an ambassador from another land. I asked around. Petitioners have to be important, Kepi. He’d never talk to a kid like you.”

  “Then I’ll jump out at him as he’s walking down the street.”

  “You can’t get near him. He’s surrounded by servants and dignitaries.”

  “No!” wailed Kepi.

  “There is one chance. Sometimes he gives a public audience. I don’t know when the next one is. Or where. But I can find out and get directions. Ineb Hedj is big.”

  “It can’t be that big,” said Kepi. “We can—”

  “Thirty thousand people. It’s the biggest city in the world.”

  Thirty thousand. The number was staggering. “All right. Let’s start asking.”

  “No,” said Masud. “I have to do it. Alone.”

  Kepi pushed him in the shoulder. “This is my job.”

  “And you’re wanted. The master went to the authorities after the evening meal and told them you stole his slave and the two of you stole his goods. You both have to hide while I find out everything.”

  “They’re looking for us.” Kan’s fingers dug into his arms now. His skin seemed to turn pale gray in the moon-light. “We’re done for.”

  “No, you’re not. I have a place to hide you.”

  “What about you?” asked Kepi. “Where will you be?”

  “I have to stay at the metallurgist’s. The master knows I’m your friend. If I leave, he’ll tell lies about me, too. The only way I can be free to walk around and ask questions is if I go on working. The master sends me on errands often, so I can ask then. And in the evenings after the meal, I can ask around, too. It’s the only way. I’ve thought it through—it’s all I’ve been thinking about. This is how it has to be.” Masud stood. “Come.”

  Kepi started to rise, but Kan caught her by the elbow. “Wait. The master favors you, Masud. You’re his adopted son. How do we know you’re not working for him?”

  Masud bent over them and opened his hands wide. “You have to trust me.”

  Kepi thought of how Masud had thrown the pottery shard to the boy and the legless man on the other side of the metallurgy yard gate. “I do trust you,” she said, “but I don’t understand you. Why would you do all this just for me?”

  “It isn’t just for you. My mother died when I was born. So it was only my father and me.” Masud took a deep noisy breath. “He died working on the pharaoh’s pyramid.”

  Kepi’s nose prickled from held-back sobs. “I’m sorry, Masud.”

  “Follow me.”

  “Where are you leading us?” asked Kan.

  “To a pottery workers’ home. My cousin lives there. Our fathers died together—and when I went to the metallurgist, she went to the potter.”

  “Does the master know about your cousin?” asked Kan.

  “Yes,” said Masud. “Oh. Oh, you’re right, I’m not good at this.” He sank back to a squat and dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know anyone else we can trust.”

  Kan suddenly clapped his hands. “Yes, you do. Amisi.”

  Masud’s jaw dropped. “Right! Amisi lives in the weavers’ home.”

  Amisi meant “flower.” It was the sort of name any girl would love to have. Kepi had been among only men or boys for so long, she felt strange at the very thought of another girl. “Who’s Amisi?”

  “An orphan who was brought to the metallurgist last year,” said Masud. “Amisi didn’t last; the work was too hard.”

  “And the master treated her too mean,” said Kan.

  “Why? What’s wrong with her?”

  “Her father was an embalmer,” said Masud.

  Embalmers were outcasts.

  “But don’t pass judgment on her,” said Kan. “Amisi’s as close to perfect as a girl gets.”

  Kepi wasn’t about to pass judgment on Amisi. But she didn’t like the way Kan talked about Amisi. “What’s so perfect about her?”

  “Wait till you see her,” said Masud.

  Now Masud was doing it, too. Kepi wanted to pinch them both.

  “Do you know where the weavers’ home is?” asked Kan.

  “Stay close. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 27

  Hiding Place

  Kan stopped in the middle of the road. “Is the weavers’ home far from our metallurgy shop?”

  “Not very.”

  “Then we have to pass by there first,” said Kan. “I need to get something.”

  Masud slapped his head in disbelief. “Do you have fever in your heart, so you can’t act sensible? You can’t go anywhere near there.”

  “You can, though. And everyone’s still asleep. So no one will see you. But if anyone does, you’ll think of some excuse.”

  Masud shook his head hard. “It’s too dangerous. I’ll bring you to Amisi now. And I’ll find an excuse to go on an errand when daylight comes, and I’ll bring you what you want then.”

  “I have to have it now.” Kan’s voice was hard as stone. “Now!”

  “All right.” Masud put his hand on Kan’s shoulder. “All right, all right. So, Kan, tell me where these tin pebbles are.”

  “How did you know I was talking about tin pebbles?”

  Masud shrugged sheepishly and turned his face away. “I guess I was listening to you and Kepi in the workshop for a little longer than I said.”

  Something about his tone calmed Kepi’s heart. It was affectionate. She didn’t think she’d mind meeting Amisi, after all.

  “You know the big white rock by the wall in the outside work area? The one shaped like a giant turtle?” said Kan.

  “Near the latrine?”


  “Under that rock is a hole. My bag of tin nuggets is there.”

  “Right near the latrine?” said Masud again. “What a disgusting place to hide something.”

  “Exactly. No one hangs around the latrine any longer than they have to. No one would look there.”

  Masud blew through his lips and made a blubbery sound. Kepi’s heart jumped. That’s what she always used to do to annoy Nanu.

  “All right,” said Masud. “Let’s go.”

  They raced through the maze of streets of the sleeping city, each one holding on to the elbow of the one in front, Masud in the lead. Some streets were so narrow, moonlight couldn’t enter. They ran through solid black. Kepi clutched Kan’s elbow with all her might.

  The night street sweepers hadn’t made it yet to many of the streets they traveled. Kepi felt squishy things underfoot. The sharp, sour smell of jackass dung hung in the air.

  She slammed into Kan’s back. The boys had stopped.

  “Wait here,” whispered Masud. “I’ll sneak to the latrine. If anyone catches me, I’ll say I had a stomachache, and I’ll go to my sleeping mat. It’ll be too risky for me to do anything else.”

  “But then what’ll we do?” asked Kepi.

  “If I don’t come back by dawn, hide. You’ll find someplace. Then meet me here, right at this spot, after the evening meal.” Masud cleared his throat. “Or we could go back to my original plan. Do you really need that tin right now, Kan?”

  “Yes.”

  Kan was stubborn, but Kepi remembered how he had talked about the tin, how it was the only thing he still owned from his country. She interlaced her fingers and pressed them against her mouth.

  Masud left.

  Kepi and Kan squatted by a wall. They heard an animal stomp on the other side, probably in its sleep. Something small crawled on Kepi. She swatted it away and moved closer to Kan. A nightjar swooped down and caught something in midair and glided off.

  Oh, dear. Nightjars were active in the evening and at dawn—but not in the middle of the night. Was the air beginning to lighten? It seemed more gray now than black. Something clunked. The people in this house must be waking up. Where could they hide?