Magister Setne Inhetep swiped the offending droplet away, then replaced his soggy handkerchief inside the fold of his tunic. "Boy! Another tea here," Inhetep called irritably, muttering under his breath, "Damned lazy Yar-bans." The waiter came to the little table, slowly gathered up the remains of the magister's first order, and then slowly wended his way through the maze of seated customers toward the interior of the cafe. Inhetep was too hot to complain further, although he again wondered why an establishment of the stature of Ra's Chariot couldn't find decent help. "All these foreigners! Where are the young Egyptians who used to serve so well?" "Too many positions paying more than the work's worth!" answered a fat merchant from the table at Inhetep's elbow. "You should have to hire the sort of scum I am forced—" The fellow snapped his plump-cheeked jaws shut upon seeing the magister's glare, returning his attention to the bowl of fruited sherbet and sugar wafers before him. The hawklike features and green eyes of the tall man next to him were hard and authoritative.
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