“Hoi,” the bargeman cried, the clap of sound breaking the silence, echoing across the still dark waters. The line trembled, shuddered, then rose, spreading out, a great flock of flamingos, their pink bodies filling the morning sky. Aculeo watched uneasily, unsure if it was an omen, not wanting to speak of it in case it was. Tell him your story, Sekhet had urged the porne Tisris after they’d shown up at his door first thing that morning. Go ahead and tell him. And like a fool I listened, he thought, eyeing the young woman huddled in the corner of the dusty barge. Tisris glanced back at Aculeo. She was shivering, though the mid-day heat off the water was enough to make him sweat. She was pretty enough, dusky-skinned, with sharp cheekbones and fine black hair that fell midway down her slender back. She had closed her dark-lidded eyes, as though she was trying to sleep. More likely trying hard not to think where they were going. “You need to tell him what happened,” Sekhet had said, gently urging the girl along.
