The warm air of the Canaan almost made the journey to Kemet worth the lack of a bed. The Peleset was an interesting place, all sorts of strange peoples, strange cities, and strange merchandise. Now I am not a man who lives frugally, I do enjoy my wine, my olives, and my meat, however Prince Kukkana quite enjoyed how lavish a life one could have on plundered coin. Which is why I, a man who often has a seat alongside the captain of the guard and third sons of the lord, am now on a war chariot, drawn by war horses, making sure, of all things, that Mycenaean pottery doesn't break. 

“At least I don't have to walk." I say trying to cheer myself up.

As to why I am going to Kemet, we're supposed to go there to find the prince's fiance, who is daughter to the current lord's guest-friend whose name I cannot remember and much less pronounce. As for why I came along, the to-be father-in-law likes to have charioteer competitions with the men of Hattusa, and I am the master of the chariots for the household. Irksome but I am getting double-pay for the journey and I get to mooch off Prince Kukkana's food in the meanwhile. 

“Totally not to get away from that crazy whore Nawila who oversees the house's slaves and greatly enjoys its laborers in bed." I can hear my subconscious suggest.

 “Ergh .Nasty woman." I mutter recalling the time I walked in on the “mistress" enjoying a dozen or so field laborers at once.

Anittas, the other fellow on the chariot must've heard me as he answers. “Thinking about Nawila?" He asks.

I turn to face the shirtless man before answering. “Yep I haven't a clue why she indulges herself in my workshop of all places."

The man wears a sympathetic look on his bronzed face. “My friend, if I knew what she did in my stables, you'd consider joining the Semites of Yerushalem."

I feign a sudder. “I think they're called Hebrews, and I wouldn't doubt it."

Anittas chuckles. “I know you work with horses plenty yourself, and for you displeasure I'll tell you she can handle a draft horse better than you that hammer of yours."

The image of that woman being mounted like a brood mare is near enough to me puke. “Enough of the whore of whores or the saltfish will be swimming again in vomit." I spit.

Anittas chuckles. “Saltfish, the only food I hate more than salt pork." He half-heartedly jokes. “Pirwa must shine favorably on me Haduwa because at least on campaign I get some of the forage." He says naming the patron of his craft.

“Hasameli is a far kinder God my friend, where you need to deal with horses I just need to do the best I can on my craftsmanship." I boast.

“Pah, horses are easy enough to deal with, metal and wood are far less kind than those animals, the worst I have to deal with is kicks and bites. You, my friend, have hands so scarred and shoulders so broad I first assumed you were the household champion before I knew your job." He mocks.

“Anittas, both of us could give that young fool of the champion a run for his money, the man can barely swing a hammer, and I saw how badly he fumbled with your fork, and the man supposedly used a spear and mace." The thought of the spindly, pale, Babylonian noble forces a laugh out of me, one that Anittas joins in with.

The silence returns and I go back to watching the pottery and passing country, ahead of you the prince's chariot with two of his concubines and himself atop keep wheeling on, the laughter and hedonism of youth in full effect with the young prince. Seeing the lands of Canaan seems to make a man think about his past, his life, and his choices. The thoughts of how oddly long lived my family is, my mother has lived so long as to see her daughters become grandmothers, and will seemingly see her granddaughters become grandmothers. My father lived to see every one of his sons except for me become fathers before he died in a Kurgan raid on his farm about ten years ago. All my brothers, all older than me, had left the home long before I was born, Tarhini was granted a title and made a father before I was born and he got me this job as head of the chariots of his friend's household. Mother always pestered me to marry but there are not many women available to the craftsmen of a Hatti estate.

A strange life to be sure, one spent working with bronze and now black metal too. Though being a freeman and for all practical purposes a retainer had its perks, for one there are very, very few men, even nobles, who try to pick a fight with me, fewer still want to kill a good chariot repairman, some say men like me are worth their weight in gold, though that value is only to the nobles but carpentry, casting, and forging on their own are useful to the people, but those were the sort of men who had sons rather than slaves tend the fires. With the idea of a son back in my head, the quiet reminder to find a woman to make my wife returns. Perhaps I could buy a native woman from these semites? 

Anittas seems to read your mind. “Don't even think that slave woman will love you Haduwa, I can tell from experience, they won't." He advises, about as much to my liking as a drop of molten bronze on my hand. I take one more look over the landscape, and I swear I see a heron holding a clay slab in its beak. Odd.

____________________________________________________________________________

The summers in Kemet were insufferable to a woman with feathers like myself, it's like that of stable, hot, too humid, foul smelling, and the sounds of people getting it on were constant. Running a hand along my carving tools I look over my set of scribes, a mix of slaves and peasants, and oddly the slaves looked the better fed of the two. Among the ranks of the blessed Pharaoh's priests and priestesses, his lords and ladies, and even the vizier himself, for every one of them, at least ten scribes were needed for their affairs with their equals, at least two dozen for managing their finances, and perhaps a score more for each estate or temple. All these scribes, gossipping, chatting, and working each needed their own subordinates, most needed at least four, one to get the clay, one to prepare it, another for getting the papyrus, and another for preparing it, and then there are those like me, who need other scribes. The idea of my supposed “master" and great priest of Hathor here in Haruba loving anything more than more than a flask of Maykop wine. Part of me wishes she had the gall to be like her preaching purity and the sanctity of marriage and childbirth whilst having a harem room of her own full of concubines and concubinus while having never wed or given birth just ruffles my feathers all wrong. Either way this is your last day at this miserly workplace as the Lord Djehutihotep has decided to hire my services at a higher rate still. 

I try to listen in on the workers listening. “You know what's really funny Dav'id? We're working in this temple to this “god" of fertility but I have yet to see a woman here married or pregnant. Well except the maids anyways." Says one of the ten or so workers working on clay.

Ouch. Aside from the blasphemy, a scathing remark to pair is near as bad a cut to the heart as a khopesh across the chest. In their quarters this'd be fine enough, but here? Unacceptable especially for a slave.

“Who here just uttered blasphemy in the Temple of the Blessed Goddess Hathor, Goddess of Fertility and Love?" I demand with a raised voice. “He who did so come forth or all shall be punished." I finish letting my beak clack shut before going back to my meandering as the sounds of footsteps draw nearer.

Looking over the young Egyptian that came before me, a shock to be sure;“So it was you? Or are you just taking the fall?" I ask incredulously.

“It was me, Master of the Recorders." He says, his shoulders slumping.

With a deep sigh I quickly decide what to do with him. “Go to the priestess and tell her of what you have said, in her temple no less, and she'll decide your punishment as she is your master, not me." I announce.

The rest of the day passes without any more issues, or any more work being done, or any more personal slights for that matter. As the dusk light turns in through the open windows of the hall, the bronze tools on my desk take on the appearance of polished gold. It's a lovely sight to be sure. Today though is the last time I close my box of tools up on this table, and hopefully in this temple. Looking over everything else, checking to make sure the clay containers are sealed, the papyrus properly stowed away, I leave where I spent my years from when I was barely more than a hatchling to a fully grown, and to everyone's surprise, alone, woman.

I walk the paths back to my apartment in the craftsmen's district, and from what the people are talking about all the hub-hub is that of the coming Hittite Prince, the son of Lord Djehutihotep's guest-friend, a Prince Taru and he is here to wed the daughter of Lord Djhutihotep, princess Aahmas. Personally I've never seen any other of the local nobility than that of Djehutihotep, but given what I've heard of his wife I imagine his daughter's name is fitting.

I can feel the bite of hunger and nip at me and the growing smell of stews, roasted meats, breads, I search for my usual vendor, a ferret woman who always has a nice spread of meats, fruits, and breads. It takes me until the sun is fully set to find her, her usual companion who is either her husband or brother strumming away on his instrument while she serves foods to her patrons. I take a seat on the outside of the makeshift hall. The woman looks me over, and seemingly knows I've paid her fee for the week.

“So, tonight we have either spiced roast squab and breaded fried mullet, both with bread, onion, sheep's cheese, and roast vegetables, as for drinks we have milk, beer, and wine." She goes on. “As for our snack, we have dates, a milk cake, and a half-pomegranate to be taken home and enjoyed." She finally finishes.

After weighing my options I came to my decision. “I'll go for the mullet with wine for the evening." I request cordially.

“Aegean white, Syrian Rose, or local red for the wine." She asks.

“Whatever you think pairs best with the meal." I half-heartedly answer.

When she does eventually bring me my meal, the fish is steaming hot and the oil still glistening on its crust, the vegetables look nearly crisp, and the bread is soft. After spreading the cheese and onion onto the bread and taking a peck from the fish the rest of the meal vanishes in a ravenous blur of hunger. Moments after I finish the ferret arrives with her signature “evening snack pack" and asks if I'd like another cup of wine which I decline. Feeling full I rise from my bench seat and make my way through the torchlit streets to my apartment. The coals are still burning on the hearth, and setting down my tools I make my way to bed not bother with taking off the now useless temple-scribe's robes.

The moment my head hits the wool sack I find myself somewhere else. Before me is a man with the body of a human and the head of an Ibis. “Finally free of Hathor, for now anyway oh daughter mine." He says, something in me knows that he is a man. “Were you a cat Seshat would be proud to call you sister, but your resemblance to me has probably kept her away." The man boasts. 

Something about this man seems so familiar yet alien, the ibis head calling me daughter. No this can't be Thoth, and how would Seshat be my sister? My gullet feels like it's spilling on a potter's wheel and my feathers ought to be roasting me like a quail. “Are you really Thoth?" I manage to stammer, struggling to get each word out of my treacherously long neck.

The Ibis headed man lets out a deep hearty laugh. “Of course my dear, of course, either way I needed to know why I saw Hathor twice in you and I must say I'm rooting for you!" He says as if that's the most normal thing to say between longtime friends.

Before I manage to speak the dream shifts to the usual randomness that comes to be forgotten the moment I wake. I spend the rest of the night being swept along the currents of the dreams, with Thoth and the image of a tree made of bronze and black metal being all that remain. Come the morning light, I can feel the buzz of the wine from last night. That's likely what gave me those strange dreams. I stare at the sandstone ceiling of my apartment. I don't really want to get up but being late to the first day of a new job is worse than an early start. I ready myself, a yellow and blue robe, my tools, and a few sputrz of a perfume of saffron and myrrh. A quick look in my bronze mirror has me polishing my beak with olive oil and giving my feathers a quick fluff-up. On my dresser I notice a figure of Thoth on a string. Odd, I don't remember having that but something compels me to wear it for the day.

The walk to the palace is uninterrupted, the peasants and slaves are about thier buisness and would never interrupt a scribe about her business at the gates of the palace grounds two towering guards, one a jackal, the other a human that looks to be of the Lybian sort with his emerald green eyes, both gleam in their wildly different armor, the Jackal in the bronze plates of charioteer, and the human in black-metal scales.

As I approach, one of the guards halts me. “What is your name Daughter of Thoth or Sister of Seshat, we looking for a scribe under invite by the Great Lord of all Sinai as Decreed by the Pharaoh,, Djehutihotep, by the name of Meryt someone who I'm sure is no longer the aid of the Priestess of Hathor."

“Well she's here." I answer, trying my best to remain calm. Thank the Gods that Herons cannot sweat.

The Libyan looks me over, with a shrug he remarks. “She looks scribe-y enough, tools and the Thoth figure in all." He then signals to follow and the Jackal remains at the gate glistening like a statue.

The walk through the gardens has my eyes as wide as plates, everything is so green, so well aligned, so perfect. Twice did the Libyan have to pull me by the wrist to keep me going. Before I realize I've left the gardens I'm before two towering red cedar doors inlaid with gold and silver banding in shapes I don't have to pick out before they swing open revealing at least a dozen more metal armored guards and the noble family in all their splendor behind them.

On instinct I fall to my knees as is custom. “My Lord-" is all I manage to get out before the deep, aged voice of the lord echoes through the room.

“Enough formalities Meryt, I am not a river lord who takes offense at every off glance. I have offered you a job but I have not told you the details of it." He explains in a formal but slightly condescending manner, that is appropriate for one superiors.

“I would have come no matter what." I say trying my best to sound pleased, and remembering something very crucial I add. “My lord"

“You see, a man of my position needs many scribes, but I need a particularly peculiar position filled. My daughter is to be wed to a great son Hattusa, however, our families share a very strong bond, one built on a mutual love of the chariot and its practices. They bring a very, very well respected craftsman with them and he lacks an entourage. I will need you to accompany him and ensure he has the materials needed to perform his craft for the celebrations with the races, mock battles, and displays for the masses."

This was unexpected to be sure, but the aid of craftsmen for chariots, that was a position trusted only to the most truthful of scribes with how much coin moves around for men like them. “I'll take the job." I reply eagerly. “If you'd have me of course." I finished.

I can hear the Lord Djehutihoptep mutter. “Is the temple to Hathor really that bad? I will have to ask her about this later to ensure my plans." before he speaks publicly. “There is more to it, both of you are unwed, so be aware of such things, I do not know the way the free Hittites court and I am curious. As for the matter, I will try to give him, and the prince, a reason to stay in Kemet at least for a while, something I intend to have you aid me in." He explains in a proper noble fashion.

The prince was second in his mind. Oh. That's interesting. “I'm sure with the right resources I can find a way to keep the craftsman and his master in Kemet with the right resources, though I hear the Hittite freemen are about as particular with their women as highborn maidens are with their men, strange in the ways they choose their spouses, and in ways only known to them." I say trying my best to lay a cushion should I fail in the endeavor.

The Lord nods, then turns to his wife who also nods. “Noted." For a moment no noise fills the hall. “The job is yours, Meryt, do the best you can." He proclaims. He turns to his plate-armored guards. “Escort her to her new quarters, and get Sennerfer here quickly so he can sort out her affairs outside the palace." He orders

Before I can speak, the Lady of the house says something in a tone as equally casual as commanding me. “All ladies who attend the palace must live here, but worry not, your pay won't be docked for living expenses here." She says raising an arm. And for the first time, I learned why it was said she had the skin of the moon, even her hands were as pale as chilled milk.

This time as I'm pulled along I am not caught in shock. Twice did guards threaten lower ranked soldiers with death as they rose to approach me. Along the twisting hallways I am led down I can tell where the main palace ends and the guest palace begins.

Finally taking a look at the guards one is a hyena and the other an eagle in a strange plumage. It's always nice to see a fellow bird. “Here's your office, attached is your living quarters. If you need anything or get anything we'll ensure you have it in a timely manner." Proudly boasts the eagle in thick upper nile egypt.

“Thank you." I say with my best display of earnest meaning. “Though what am I to call you?" I ask.

The eagle speaks first. “I am Djedkare of Ineb-hedj" he boasts, moving his arms to show off his silver wedding band.

The hyena speaks next. “I am Joshua, of the tribe of Israel." He says a band of bronze with a strange script upon it.

So Djehutihotep assigned married guards to me. Smart man, if he intends to use me as a final bargaining chip, it also makes him look more appealing to other female craftsmen and merchants, common along the Horus Road.

I close the door to the office-apartment and immediately begin to inspect the place. A proper cotton bed with linen sheets and a woven woolen pillow. Tables made of stone and bronze, expected as wood is reserved for other matters and the nobles. A separated area from the bedchambers for housing guests and even a table-bed for letting one spend the night. The office however was truly a spectacle, perhaps twenty paces across and fifty deep, with two doors on either end with two separate bells, one for clay, and one for papyrus. A proper ink pot made of glass. GLASS. Oh I would've taken a pay cut to have this sort of office, much less the apartment. With that, a herald comes with purchase requests for the kitchen and the head butler of the guests provides a complete inventory, and work begins like usual but with far more respect.