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as she reached him.
    ‘At your service, sir.’
    The man looked at Nefert. ‘A fine dancer you have,’ he commented. ‘She’s exquisite. I hired you on a recommendation, and I haven’t been disappointed.’
    Isis gave a start. So this was Abana!
    ‘We are happy to hear that, sir,’ responded Nefert.
    ‘I should like to see her again,’ said Abana.
    ‘Well,’ said Nefert cautiously, ‘we are very busy at the moment in the run-up to the Beautiful Festival of the Valley, as I’m sure you can understand.’
    ‘Every night?’ snapped Abana. ‘I find that hard to believe. Anyway, I don’t want all of you. I just want to see this dancer again.’
    Isis felt her heart beating faster. All her instincts told her that this man couldn’t be trusted – and the thought of dancing alone again filled her with horror. She waited for Nefert to speak up in her defence, but her guardian’s next words came as a shock.
    ‘If you’re so pleased with our performance, perhaps you would consider doing us a favour,’ said Nefert. ‘There’s something my husband wishes to discuss with you.’
    The tax collector narrowed his eyes, and a cynical smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘A favour, indeed!’ he exclaimed. ‘But you haven’t given me an answer.’
    ‘If you would just listen to my husband,’ said Nefert.
    Isis couldn’t believe it. Nefert was trading her – trading her on behalf of Sinuhe! She felt panic rising and turned to Nefert. ‘But I don’t –’
    ‘Hush, Isis. I know.’ Nefert silenced her with a glare.
    Abana grinned. He was surrounded by even more guests now, all wanting his attention, while two of the servants hovered nearby. He stood and dismissed Nefert with a wave of his hand. ‘Tell your husband to do me a favour,’ he said. ‘I want to see this dancer tomorrow, and I won’t listen to anything unless he agrees to my terms. Is that clear?’

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    CHAPTER FOUR
    The house was quiet. Mut, Ramose and Kha were asleep, curled up together on mats in the back room. Hopi had returned home just before the troupe left for Abana’s party. Once they had gone, he had served himself the remains of the fish stew and carried it up on to the roof, where he mopped it up with chunks of bread. Then he laid the bowl down and watched the sun set over the western mountains, thinking.
    He had learned a lot that day. He thought about the scarabs, with their perfect balls of dung. He thought of Khepri, the scarab god of the rising sun, and imagined him pushing the sun up out of the underworld every morning.
    Then he thought of the peasant and his stories about Abana. Right now, his own family was performing in that villain’s house. Hopi felt anger rising again. Farmers’ lives were difficult enough – they toiled under the hot sun for most of the year, and when they had finished sowing, they were put to work on the king’s building projects, or made to repair the irrigation canals. Unscrupulous tax collectors had no right to make their lives any harder! The injustice of it made Hopi clench his fists in fury.
    It was dark now, the bulk of the mountains only just visible against the western sky. Twinkling oil lamps lit the homes of Waset, giving a faint glow to the town. Hopi got to his feet and limped across the roof with his bowl.
    ‘Boy.’
    Hopi jumped. He peered down the stairs, and could just make out Sinuhe standing at the bottom. His heart swelled, thinking of how the peasant had suffered. ‘Can I get anything for you?’ he asked.
    ‘I wish to speak with you.’ Sinuhe’s voice was grave.
    ‘Of course. I’ll just put this in the courtyard.’
    Hopi made his way down the stairs and out to the back of the house. The peasant followed him, staying close as Hopi tipped some water into the empty bowl. He lit an oil lamp and carried it through to the front room with Sinuhe still at his heels.
    ‘Who are you?’ demanded Sinuhe, as soon as they had sat down.
    Hopi was taken aback. ‘Who? I’m