Benzamir looked back at the rose-coloured walls of Misr. ‘The city stretched out as far as here, taking in all the east bank, all the west, up and down the river as far as the sea. They called it El Quhira, the Victorious. Can you imagine that many people?’
‘No. Especially now that they’re all ghosts. The dead outnumber the living, and it frightens me.’
‘I can see why the diggers chose this place,’ said Benzamir. ‘No one in their right minds would come to their market unless they had to.’
‘Yes, well,’ said Said pointedly.
‘For a big man, you scare easily.’
‘And you take things too lightly. You’ve power in your fingertips, but there’s going to be a time when it’s of no use to you. There’s worse than Ibn Alam in this world.’
‘I know. Look, Wahir. We’re almost there.’
As they walked, the pyramids had grown from shadows in the distance to vast, looming entities: two huge structures and a smaller third one. There were other remains too: walls and ramps; tiny pyramids now no more than weathered bumps; and a headless lion lying in the dirt.
At the foot of the Khufu pyramid there was an array of widely spaced tents flapping in the hot wind from the Sahara. Each tent had its own retinue of draught animals and wagons, with a perimeter of armed guards eyeing each other up.
They weren’t the first buyers, either. There were horses ridden by merchants and slave cages pulled by oxen parked up at the outskirts of the camp, and the colour of the locals’ clothes contrasted with the black of the diggers, who moved through the tents like crows.
Selah made sure that his men were clear on their orders, then came over to Benzamir. ‘Well, my friend, are you ready to do business?’ He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
‘If we can. Hopefully they’ll have something we want.’
‘These diggers have a fearful reputation, but be confident around them. They can smell fear and will rob the sight out of your eyes if you give them a chance. I’ll arrange some introductions for you, but regretfully I can’t do more. My dealings should be done by midday, if you want to travel back with us.’
‘You’ve done more than enough, and we’re grateful.’ Benzamir looked at his sceptical companions. ‘They don’t look very grateful, but trust me, they are.’
Selah stepped back with a bow into the midst of his bodyguards, who took up a less than discreet distance from him. ‘As Allah wills it.’
He walked away, and the men around him fell into step.
‘You see,’ said Said. ‘That is how to meet diggers. With numbers. Master, we are just three. And one of us is a mere boy!’
Wahir was about to spring to his own defence when Benzamir silenced him with a raised hand.
‘Look around you. Who will people remember in a day’s time? Selah, or us?’ He pointed to a flamboyant merchant in purple and green, walking on the hot ground shadowed by a canopy carried over his head by slaves. ‘That man there, or us? We’re nothing. I prefer it that way.’
Without waiting, he strode off towards the first tent.
The guards were Ewers, their pale faces shiny with grease and sweat under the weight of their iron helmets. They carried spears decorated with little metal trinkets dug from the ground, which glittered and tinkled in the early light.
‘Is your master receiving guests?’
The men crossing their spear heads over the entrance looked at them with blank incomprehension.
‘They do not use our language, master,’ whispered Said.
‘Really? What do they use then? I know lots.’
‘I don’t know. Try them all.’
So Benzamir tried ancient versions of several long-dead European languages, and had most success with English. There were sufficient words the guards recognized for him to make himself understood. The spears uncrossed and all three of them went into the soft white light of the tent.
It was spartan inside. A rug had been unrolled across the floor, and three folding chairs arranged more or less at random in the middle. The back of the tent was open, leading out towards the display of goods on offer. A man with his back to them was talking to another hidden figure. He was alerted to his visitors’ presence by Benzamir’s affected coughing.
‘Buyers,’ he said. He lifted his eye patch to give his cloudy pupil a better look. Wahir curled his lip and took a step back. ‘Child not for eating?’
‘No,’ said Benzamir. He was struggling; there just weren’t enough words to go on. He hoped that he’d mistranslated the digger; surely he wasn’t a cannibal? ‘Buyers, yes.’
‘What have you? Chinks?’ The man scratched his stubble and lurched forward. One of his legs was false. Possibly both.
‘Chinks? Coin, yes.’ He tapped his purse so that it made a noise.
‘Boy?’
‘No, not boy. Definitely not boy.’
The digger looked disappointed, then consoled himself with the thought of legitimately minted money. ‘What buy you? Metal like friend Selah? Much iron, much copper, some lead, small tin.’
Benzamir chanced his arm. ‘User tech. Anything that works.’
The digger’s whole body language changed in an instant, from hard but fair trader to furtive runner of contraband.
‘No User machines for me. Shah run clean business.’
‘Of course you do. You leave all that sort of stuff behind for your rivals to find, Prince Digger. What do you have?’
‘Shah won’t trust stranger, though friend Selah says good of him. Shah asks stranger to leave.’ He barked out an order, and a giant pale-eyed Ewer stepped through the rear entrance.
‘We’re leaving,’ said Benzamir, and hurried Said and Wahir out into the sunlight.
‘I didn’t understand any of that,’ said Said, ‘but even I can tell it didn’t go well.’
‘It was fine up to the point where I told him what I was looking for. I may as well have asked for his head on a stick. I’m not well enough known here.’
‘Perhaps they think you’re a Kenyan spy,’ said Wahir.
‘What does a Kenyan spy look like? No, that was a silly question. What I’m saying is, this could take a very long time and be utterly futile.’
‘Don’t be down-hearted.’ Said pointed to all the other tents spread out at the base of the pyramid. ‘There are others we can try. They might not be as suspicious as that one-eyed, one-legged digger.’
‘We’ll work our way down the line. Wahir? Special job for you. I want you to listen in on other people’s conversations, see what the locals are saying. If you hear anything interesting, let me know. And if you can track down some food, that’d be useful.’ Benzamir put his hand on the boy’s head. ‘You can do that, yes?’
‘Yes, master.’ Wahir looked less than certain, but determined to do his duty. He strode off purposefully, searching for an opportunity to eavesdrop.
‘I just hope no one tries to eat him.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Said’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. ‘Why would anyone want to do that?’
‘Doesn’t matter. I’m sure that wasn’t what he meant. Come on, we’ve got our work cut out.’
They were rebuffed more often than not. Only twice did the diggers show him anything of use. One had an old chemically powered projectile weapon, beautifully preserved but useless: no firing pin, and the owner had no idea what a firing pin might do or look like. The other had a cache of holograms – fragile plates of plastic that showed pictures of a white-skinned family dressed in a succession of outlandish clothes: they were eating at a table; they were standing in front of what could only be their house; they were sitting in a long white box, laughing.
Benzamir’s fingers felt all around the pictures and found what he presumed would be the play button. The power had long since evaporated away, and the images stayed frozen in time.
‘Amazing, but not what we’re after,’ he said, and reached up to push Said’s mouth closed.