Salma was waiting impatiently to unpack the glass perfume bottles. It had been her favorite job for as long as she could remember—even before her father died and her mother took over their perfumery business. As she pulled the packing straw from the basket, her hands trembled with excitement. What colors would the bottles be this week? The sun had just risen above the pyramids, flooding their workshop with golden light and touching the small glass bottles with a dazzling brightness. Cradling one in her palm, Salma stroked the shining bands of glowing red, blue, and yellow glass. Shaped like a long teardrop, the bottle had a tiny lid that fitted its narrow neck.
“Be careful!” her mother reminded her, looking up from the flower press. “Those bottles are really expensive.” She was twisting white water lily pulp in a cloth and collecting in a jar the liquid that ran out. Handing the jar to one of the women assistants, she joined Salma to admire the bottles, wiping her fingers on her apron.
“I’ve found a trader who can take our samples to Queen Cleopatra,” she whispered in Salma’s ear. “The queen wears perfume and hair oil every day, and she even scents her bathwater.”
