A slow smile blossomed across Qebhet's face. She remembered mentioning the band. She saw them often of an evening, dapper men with sharp pinstripes and spectral instruments, filling the night with a jangling, syncopated music that few could hear but which nevertheless permeated into the rhythms of the street, putting a bounce into tired footfalls. She remembered mentioning it, but she hadn't expected anybody else to. "I would think you must be an excellent pickpocket anyway," she said.