Journey Through the Mirrors by T. R. Williams Page B

the most hated of the nomes because it controlled the city’s electrical grid. His childhood friend Amun, whom he was only able to see during the yearly celebration, sat on his other side. Before the Great Disruption, both Madu and Amun attended the engineering school at Cairo University. Madu studied electrical engineering, while Amun pursued a degree in mechanical design. Both had recently celebrated their twenty-fourth birthdays, milestones that, before the rise of the Khufus, they had always celebrated together with their families and friends.
    “Who are you looking at?” Amun asked.
    “Does that girl look familiar to you?” Madu whispered. “A row ahead of us and a little to the left. She is wearing a gold dress with a wesekh necklace.” Amun looked closer and shook his head. Madu asked his grandfather the same question, but he didn’t recognize her, either. “I’m certain I’ve seen her before,” Madu said, frustrated that he couldn’t place where.
    “She is pretty,” Amun said. “And you are ugly. Therefore, I should be the one who speaks to her.”
    “I need to get a better look at her face,” Madu said, losing interest in the soccer match. “There is something about her.”
    Madu decided to catch the girl’s attention by letting out an excruciatingly loud cheer anytime his team advanced on the field or scored. But that didn’t work. Then he decided to heckle even more loudly anytime the team from Ati fumbled. That worked better, anyway, as the young woman and her friends would turn from time to time to see where the ruckus was coming from. Madu acted as if he was intently focused on the match, but he was actually stealing glances at the girl, trying to figure out where he had seen her before.
    “I don’t think that girl and her friends are very happy with you,” Amun said. “I think you’re beginning to annoy them. Probably best to stop now.”
    “It is Jubilee, and I am only voicing support for our team,” Madu answered. “I have to find out who she is.” He leaned far to his left to geta better view of the girl. Amun grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him upright.
    “Listen to Amun,” Madu’s grandfather said, giving his grandson a look of warning. “Mind her tattoos.” They were on the girl’s right arm. Unlike the rest of the citizenry, who were branded with the insignia of their nomes, members of the Khufus’ families or those under their protection received customized ink tattoos. “She is from Ati and bears the mark of Khufu Khalfani. Stay clear of her, Madu. She is the Khufu’s property or a member of his family. She has the authority to bring the wrath of the Khufus upon us.”
    Amun hit Madu in the arm and gestured for him to look at the two men flanking the young woman. They were unusually muscular and had the bearing of Medjay guards. Madu’s grandfather was correct; the girl was someone of importance. Madu had no desire to draw the attention of any of the Khufus—that would be asking for it. It had happened before, and Madu was not going to repeat that experience. He remained quiet for the rest of match, which ended with the team from Ati taking the day.
    Madu stood, and as he helped his grandfather to his feet, Amun urgently whispered, “She’s looking at you!”
    Madu turned. The young girl was indeed looking at him. Her expression indicated that he looked familiar to her, too, though she couldn’t place him. They stared at each other some moments, and then Madu saw the young woman’s eyes widen as if she had solved the mystery. Her eyes darted to Madu’s grandfather and then back to Madu. She pointed to her right arm, signaling that she wanted to know which nome Madu was from. Without hesitating, Madu raised his arm to show her. He immediately saw an expression of dread come over her face. She broke eye contact and hurried away with her escort, leaving Madu to wonder where a member of Khufu Khalfani’s circle and he would have crossed