‘I will take him.’ Enet pointed to the man’s scribe, a youth of perhaps twenty who had been writing the slaves’ names and details in the record that would accompany them to the Melody.

The trader gaped, but it was too late. He could not tell the Spear of the City that she was mistaken, that the boy was not a part of his stock. He could not shame her like that, or bear the risk that such words could provoke.

‘As, as the Spear commands,’ he mumbled. He stood and the youth rose with him, fear and bewilderment smeared across his face. ‘Serve with honour and do everything you are asked. Do not shame me, understand? Do not shame yourself.’

‘High one?’ the scribe whispered, and the flesh-trader’s face twisted.

‘Go.’

‘Un-under the song, high one.’ The youth walked in a daze to the rear of the litter, next to the tongueless body slave. Wordlessly, he took the cage and its tiny, stinking occupant from the old woman. Enet pursed her lips; the boy had initiative, kindness. Perhaps she should … but no. She climbed back into the litter with Pikte and the bearers lifted her smoothly and broke into a trot. The sky was a riot of pink and orange and gold, the sunset wearing its finest plumage, it seemed, just for her. She watched it as they exited the flesh market and approached the wide, lazy loop of the Blessed River and the wooden bridge spanning it. Her estate lay only a stick away on the other side.

‘Here,’ she said and the bearers halted again. She nodded to her guards and they surrounded the youth and began to drag him forward. Enet let Pikte lead the way to the gap in the stone wall bounding the river. The scribe began to struggle and then to scream.

‘It is not time, it is not the appointed day!’ he shouted. ‘It is not new moon; you mustn’t. Please!’

Enet raised her arms and Pikte copied her. ‘Holy Setatmeh, you gods who bring life and plenty to our world, accept this offering from your humble servants.’

A single holy Setat raised its head above the water, watching them out of those wide, black eyes. A claw-tipped hand broke the surface and it flicked its fingers in a way so very human, a simple beckoning. A thrill of fear fluttered through Enet’s stomach as it opened its mouth. Would it sing for her, for all of them? Would it call them to their glorious deaths?

‘Wise Setatmeh, gods of water and of life, take this one in thanks for the bounty and the glory you bring us. Know that we revere you eternally, and pray that one day we will be joined with you forever in the awakened world spirit.’