The tall man in the medium-length kilt, covered by the long black coat and accentuated by the wide metal bracers and leather collar walked through the crowd in the Nebjet'ii docks, paying little attention to the throng that surged like crashing waves on either side. Somewhere off in the northern distance a vespertine was sounding at a temple, rising like a needle through the smoke and fog and dust of this nearly wretched zoo. His trained eye, clear and penetrating of vision despite the bright red veins accentuated by a sightly moist, red nose appraised each person as he passed them by habit only, especially since- if the deal that was about to go down went as planned- he would soon not need to work his hellish business again and could safely retire to Mesnekht. He'd sell the new place on Ma'atkare. Just because he worked for them didn't mean that he wanted anything to do with them, nor any reason to stay around at their reach of arm. Anywhere in the Quabtau would do fine.

      Walking close enough to touch the sacred cloak of the figure in a purple carapaced armor, he dropped a delicate sneer out of the corner of his face at the Sauii em Ma'at, dipping his head and shoulders in mock reverence.

      If only that boy knew who I was, the man thought, alcohol creeping into the corners of his thought process. But the better part of business was not obviosity a component of so he let his gaze fall back to the ground and entered the local Heq'akit, ignoring the music and distraction and settled himself into a seat at a table opposite a somewhat dichotamous-looking man, whose neatly-groomed hair and bearing posture clashed in an obvious way with his tattered-over robe and dirt-streaked trousers, themselves doing a valiant job failing to obfuscate the expensive sandals sticking from the ends of them.

      "A child can see that you're hiding something, Nebukhafre," said the man with the collar, gravel in his voice from the years of liquor harder than local beers. He glanced behind him, pointed at a girl behind the bar, flashed a hand signal. She nodded. Some things were universal.

      "Let the children think that. Let the Sauii think that. They can think all they want to," his smile dripping something not unlike joviality but his voice obviously oozing sarcasm. "I can hide all I want to as long as I can answer my Negative Confessions, and I can buy my way through that. How about you, Mose? What kind of answer can you give the Gods at the end of your days?"

      The girl from behind the bar approached the table and deposited two jars of the local beer. Neither of the men gave her any attention, but Mose did turn an appraising eye towards her as she left. "That's not what we're here for, Mose," Nebukhafre regarded him from the corner of one eye, his attention elsewhere. "But you're on the right track..."

      Mose smiled a bit. Ahhh, business.

      "Tell me what it is that you have in mind, dear old friend. We can get you anything that you need." A long pull of the beer, slightly grainy: Not the hard, processed liquor that he's used to, a good head though: a light frown.

      Nebukhafre didn't avert his glance, but did turn up the corners of his mouth. The dark lights in the Heq'akit made him look somewhat sinister, a front: Mose knew better. That boy has had someone else to do his fighting his whole life, this is no different. Conclusion: This isn't a normal job. Tensing the muscles in his back, Mose let his eyes follow Nebukhafre's stare to the stage, where his talent for appraisal took a bit of a vacation and his capacity for amazement took the plate.

      There was on the low stage that was little more than a pile of dressed stone flattened in one corner of the place a young woman of a certain quality singing in the traditional Old Tongue that existed long before the planet Ma'at had been diaspora'd for the many dozens of other worlds in the Neb. She wasn't of exceptional face, nor of distinctive body or proportion. But her voice was mesmerizing... Mose couldn't help but to stare and listen, captivated in the same way as the man he was there to meet. The more he looked, the more he had trouble distracting himself, but distract himself he did, if only to suit the needs of business.

      "Nebukhafre..." He had trouble getting it out, mostly coming out as an unconnected sequence of syllables as if he had been hit in the chest with a large flat piece of metal.

      "Before you name a price, Mose, be known that this is more than you think it is." Nebukhafre has not averted his gaze here, something is under the table to be said and it is for certain. "She is not for me. She isn't even bound for Ma'atkare. She isn't even to be harmed, and rape is out of the question. Your people are to stay away from her, and if you are doing business with me, that starts now."

      Something told Mose that there was a serious amount of Tchaimu on the table, he just couldn't see it yet. Raising his left hand in a peculiar gesture, his right was then lifted unobtrusively with thumb and index fingers outstretched. A man sitting by himself at a table near the door promptly got up and left while another near the portal to the rest rooms ducked through a low curtain hanging over it and vanished into the shadows. Nebukhafre was certain, through his ten years or so of dealing with Sefekhnebs Mose, that he was aware only of the obvious ones, and that there was still one man outside the front and back doors, and at least two more in the area around the Heq'akit in the port itself. The Aui Ta are cautious, if anything, and Mose was even more so, with all that he had to loose... His people would all be armed to the teeth. An involuntary shudder went up his spine, but he wasn't sure if it was from a secret fear of Mose or a lurking, festering attraction for the woman singing.

      "Mose, my dear old friend... She must be taken to the house of my... Friends on Hemet Tepi, and from there I'm almost certain that events will take their prescribed course."

      Mose nodded, still looking at the woman. The houses Ammunma'atkare and Hemet have a long standing relationship that will one day go to head, this must be the first step. "I think I get the picture... One of the two of them..."

      Nebukhafre smiled, a full teeth smile, one that would be friendly and warm. But there was something in his eyes that glinted incorrectly, and if Mose had taken that moment to look then perhaps he'd understand that Nebukhafre Ammunma'atkare had finally begun to slip from sanity and into the pit of madness that so many of his ancestors had taken. Just usually took them four or so decades more, and therefore Mose was not anticipating it. "You see, my dear friend, their future depends on the two of those boys. The Two of them..."

      Mose turned his head with a shudder... Baiting the frog with a poisoned fly, the old saying went. He got up to leave, the unspoken implications of price and detail to be defined later. But Nebukhafre shot out his hand, clasped on the wrist of the man called Mose. His smooth, royal skin contrasted immensely with the scarred wrist of Mose, many self-inflicted, many others defense wounds.

      "Mose, Your initial reactions were quite correct. Eventually price be damned, she'll be mine. But she has a larger role to play first..." Nebukhafre gave Mose a quick look that the two men understood very very well, and Mose nodded in understanding. Part of him, as usual, told him that this line of work was insane and that he was spoiling the lives of far too many, but that part was as usual buried under a layer of alluvial silt from the cesspit of his mind, the tchaimu dancing through his consciousness as he pulled away from Nebukhafre and left the Heq'akit.

      He had many people to get in touch with. The Hemet family was a tough crowd to perform for- he'd been involved with them in the past. But something told him that one of the two boys from Hemet Tepi would take a liking to the girl, and that she wouldn't need to do anything or be involved with the plot. Indirection is the byword here... Set the stage and the players won't be able to help the roles that they would play. Walking purposefully through the port, Sefekhnebs Mose let a slow, partial smile dance across his face for just a moment. A brief expression, it quickly evaporated to be replaced by disdain. He had to find a pilot...