The Red Pyramid(The Kane Chronicles, Book 1)

Chapter 26. Aboard the Egyptian Queen


AS FAR AS RIDES TO THE Land of Death go, the boat was pretty cool. It had multiple decks with ornate railings painted black and green. The side paddlewheels churned the river into froth, and along the paddlewheel housings the name of the boat glittered in gold letters: egyptian queen.
At first glance, you’d think the boat was just a tourist attraction: one of those floating casinos or cruise boats for old people. But if you looked closer you started noticing strange little details. The boat’s name was written in Demotic and in hieroglyphics underneath the English. Sparkly smoke billowed from the stacks as if the engines were burning gold. Orbs of multicolored fire flitted around the decks. And on the prow of the ship, two painted eyes moved and blinked, scanning the river for trouble.
“That’s odd,” Sadie remarked.
I nodded. “I’ve seen eyes painted on boats before. They still do that all over the Mediterranean. But usually they don’t move.”
“What? No, not the stupid eyes. That lady on the highest deck. Isn’t that...” Sadie broke into a grin. “Bast!”
Sure enough, our favorite feline was leaning out the window of the pilot’s house. I was about to wave to her, when I noticed the creature standing next to Bast, gripping the wheel. He had a human body and was dressed in the white uniform of a boat captain. But instead of a head, a double-bladed axe sprouted from his collar. And I’m not talking about a small axe for chopping wood. I’m talking battle-axe: twin crescent-shaped iron blades, one in front where his face should be, one in the back, the edges splattered with suspicious-looking dried red splotches.
The ship pulled up to the dock. Balls of fire began zipping around—lowering the gangplank, tying off ropes, and basically doing crew-type stuff. How they did it without hands, and without setting everything on fire, I don’t know, but it wasn’t the strangest thing I’d seen that week.
Bast climbed down from the wheelhouse. She hugged us as we came aboard—even Khufu, who tried to return the favor by grooming her for lice.
“I’m glad you survived!” Bast told us. “What happened?”
We gave her the basics and her hair poofed out again. “Elvis? Gah! Thoth is getting cruel in his old age. Well, I can’t say I’m glad to be on this boat again. I hate the water, but I suppose—”
“You’ve been on this boat before?” I asked.
Bast’s smile wavered. “A million questions as usual, but let’s eat first. The captain is waiting.”
I wasn’t anxious to meet a giant axe, and I wasn’t enthusiastic about another one of Bast’s grilled-cheese-and-Friskies dinners, but we followed her inside the boat.
The dining parlor was lavishly decorated in Egyptian style. Colorful murals depicting the gods covered the walls. Gilded columns supported the ceiling. A long dining table was laden with every kind of food you could want—sandwiches, pizzas, hamburgers, Mexican food, you name it. It way made up for missing Thoth’s barbecue. On a side table stood an ice chest, a line of golden goblets, and a soda dispenser with about twenty different choices. The mahogany chairs were carved to look like baboons, which reminded me a little too much of Graceland’s Jungle Room, but Khufu thought they were okay. He barked at his chair just to show it who was top monkey, then sat on its lap. He picked an avocado from a basket of fruit and started peeling it.
Across the room, a door opened, and the axe dude came in. He had to duck to avoid cleaving the doorframe.
“Lord and Lady Kane,” the captain said, bowing. His voice was a quivery hum that resonated along his front blade. I saw a video one time of a guy playing music by hitting a saw with a hammer, and that’s sort of the way the captain sounded. “It is an honor to have you aboard.”
“‘Lady Kane,’” Sadie mused. “I like that.”
“I am Bloodstained Blade,” the captain said. “What are your orders?”
Sadie raised an eyebrow at Bast. “He takes orders from us?”
“Within reason,” Bast said. “He is bound to your family. Your father...” She cleared her throat. “Well, he and your mother summoned this boat.”
The axe demon made a disapproving hum. “You haven’t told them, goddess?”
“I’m getting to it,” Bast grumbled.
“Told us what?” I asked.
“Just details.” She rushed on. “The boat can be summoned once a year, and only in times of great need. You’ll need to give the captain your orders now. He must have clear directions if we’re to proceed, ah, safely.”
I wondered what was bothering Bast, but the axe dude was waiting for orders, and the flecks of dried blood on his blades told me I’d better not keep him in suspense.
“We need to visit the Hall of Judgment,” I told him. “Take us to the Land of the Dead.”
Bloodstained Blade hummed thoughtfully. “I will make the arrangements, Lord Kane, but it will take time.”
“We don’t have a lot of that.” I turned to Sadie. “It’s...what, the evening of the twenty-seventh?”
She nodded in agreement. “Day after tomorrow, at sunrise, Set completes his pyramid and destroys the world unless we stop him. So, yes, Captain Very Large Blade, or whatever it is, I’d say we’re in a bit of a rush.”
“We will, of course, do our best,” said Bloodstained Blade, though his voice sounded a little, well, sharp. “The crew will prepare your staterooms. Will you dine while you wait?”
I looked at the table laden with food and realized how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten since we were in the Washington Monument. “Yeah. Um, thanks, BSB.”
The captain bowed again, which made him look a little too much like a guillotine. Then he left us to our dinner.
At first, I was too busy eating to talk. I inhaled a roast beef sandwich, a couple of pieces of cherry pie with ice cream, and three glasses of ginger ale before I finally came up for air.
Sadie didn’t eat as much. Then again she’d had lunch on the plane. She settled for a cheese-and-cucumber sandwich and one of those weird British drinks she likes—a Ribena. Khufu carefully picked out everything that ended with -o—Doritos, Oreos, and some chunks of meat. Buffalo? Armadillo? I was scared to even guess.
The balls of fire floated attentively around the room, refilling our goblets and clearing away our plates as we finished.
After so many days spent running for our lives, it felt good to just sit at a dinner table and relax. The captain’s informing us that he couldn’t transport us instantly to the Land of the Dead was the best news I’d had in a long time.
“Agh!” Khufu wiped his mouth and grabbed one of the balls of fire. He fashioned it into a glowing basketball and snorted at me.
For once I was pretty sure what he’d said in Baboon. It wasn’t an invitation. It meant something like: “I’m going to play basketball by myself now. I will not invite you because your lack of skill would make me throw up.”
“No problem, man,” I said, though my face felt hot with embarrassment. “Have fun.”
Khufu snorted again, then loped off with the ball under his arm. I wondered if he’d find a court somewhere on board.
At the far end of the table, Bast pushed her plate away. She’d hardly touched her tuna Friskies.
“Not hungry?” I asked.
“Hmm? Oh...I suppose not.” She turned her goblet listlessly. She was wearing an expression I didn’t associate with cats: guilt.
Sadie and I locked eyes. We had a brief, silent exchange, something like:
You ask her.
No, you.
Of course Sadie’s better at giving dirty looks, so I lost the contest.
“Bast?” I said. “What did the captain want you to tell us?”
She hesitated. “Oh, that? You shouldn’t listen to demons. Bloodstained Blade is bound by magic to serve, but if he ever got loose, he’d use that axe on all of us, believe me.”
“You’re changing the subject,” I said.
Bast traced her finger across the table, drawing hieroglyphs in the condensation ring from her goblet. “The truth? I haven’t been on board since the night your mother died. Your parents had docked this boat on the Thames. After the...accident, your father brought me here. This is where we made our deal.”
I realized she meant right here, at this table. My father had sat here in despair after Mom’s death—with no one to console him except the cat goddess, an axe demon, and a bunch of floating lights.
I studied Bast’s face in the dim light. I thought about the painting we’d found at Graceland. Even in human form, Bast looked so much like that cat—a cat drawn by some artist thousands of years ago.
“It wasn’t just a chaos monster, was it?” I asked.
Bast eyed me. “What do you mean?”
“The thing you were fighting when our parents released you from the obelisk. It wasn’t just a chaos monster. You were fighting Apophis.”
All around the parlor, the servant fires dimmed. One dropped a plate and fluttered nervously.
“Don’t say the Serpent’s name,” Bast warned. “Especially as we head into the night. Night is his realm.”
“It’s true, then.” Sadie shook her head in dismay. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you lie to us?”
Bast dropped her gaze. Sitting in the shadows, she looked weary and frail. Her face was etched with the traces of old battle scars.
“I was the Eye of Ra.” She spoke quietly. “The sun god’s champion, the instrument of his will. Do you have any idea what an honor it was?”
She extended her claws and studied them. “When people see pictures of Ra’s warrior cat, they assume it’s Sekhmet, the lioness. And she was his first champion, it’s true. But she was too violent, too out of control. Eventually Sekhmet was forced to step down, and Ra chose me as his fighter: little Bast.”
“Why do you sound ashamed?” Sadie asked. “You said it’s an honor.”
“At first I was proud, Sadie. I fought the Serpent for ages. Cats and snakes are mortal enemies. I did my job well. But then Ra withdrew to the heavens. He bound me to the Serpent with his last spell. He cast us both into that abyss, where I was charged to fight the Serpent and keep it down forever.”
A realization crept over me. “So you weren’t a minor prisoner. You were imprisoned longer than any of the other gods.”
She closed her eyes. “I still remember Ra’s words: ‘My loyal cat. This is your greatest duty.’ And I was proud to do it...for centuries. Then millennia. Can you imagine what it was like? Knives against fangs, slashing and thrashing, a never-ending war in the darkness. Our life forces grew weaker, my enemy’s and mine, and I began to realize that was Ra’s plan. The Serpent and I would rip each other to nothingness, and the world would be safe. Only in this way could Ra withdraw in peace of mind, knowing chaos would not overcome Ma’at. I would have done my duty, too. I had no choice. Until your parents—”
“Gave you an escape route,” I said. “And you took it.”
Bast looked up miserably. “I am the queen of cats. I have many strengths. But to be honest, Carter...cats are not very brave.”
“And Ap—your enemy?”
“He stayed trapped in the abyss. Your father and I were sure of it. The Serpent was already greatly weakened from eons of fighting with me, and when your mother used her own life force to close the abyss, well...she worked a powerful feat of magic. There should’ve been no way for the Serpent to break through that kind of seal. But as the years have gone by...we became less and less sure the prison would hold him. If somehow he managed to escape and regain his strength, I cannot imagine what would happen. And it would be my fault.”
I tried to imagine the serpent, Apophis—a creature of chaos even worse than Set. I pictured Bast with her knives, locked in combat with that monster for eons. Maybe I should’ve been angry at Bast for not telling us the truth earlier. Instead, I felt sorry for her. She’d been put in the same position we were now in—forced to do a job that was way too big for her.
“So why did my parents release you?” I asked. “Did they say?”
She nodded slowly. “I was losing my fight. Your father told me that your mother had foreseen...horrible things if the Serpent overcame me. They had to free me, give me time to heal. They said it was the first step in restoring the gods. I don’t pretend to understand their whole plan. I was relieved to take your father’s offer. I convinced myself I was doing the right thing for the gods. But it does not change the fact that I was a coward. I failed in my duty.”
“It isn’t your fault,” I told her. “It wasn’t fair of Ra to ask of you.”
“Carter’s right,” Sadie said. “That’s too much sacrifice for one person—one cat goddess, whatever.”
“It was my king’s will,” Bast said. “The pharaoh can command his subjects for the good of the kingdom—even to lay down their lives—and they must obey. Horus knows this. He was the pharaoh many times.”
She speaks truly, Horus said.
“Then you had a stupid king,” I said.
The boat shuddered as if we’d ground the keel over a sandbar.
“Be careful, Carter,” Bast warned. “Ma’at, the order of creation, hinges on loyalty to the rightful king. If you question it, you’ll fall under the influence of chaos.”
I felt so frustrated, I wanted to break something. I wanted to yell that order didn’t seem much better than chaos if you had to get yourself killed for it.
You are being childish, Horus scolded. You are a servant of Ma’at. These thoughts are unworthy.
My eyes stung. “Then maybe I’m unworthy.”
“Carter?” Sadie asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m going to bed.”
I stormed off. One of the flickering lights joined me, guiding me upstairs to my quarters. The stateroom was probably very nice. I didn’t pay attention. I just fell on the bed and passed out.


I seriously needed an extra-strength magic pillow, because my ba refused to stay put. [And no, Sadie, I don’t think wrapping my head in duct tape would’ve worked either.]
My spirit floated up to the steamboat’s wheelhouse, but it wasn’t Bloodstained Blade at the wheel. Instead, a young man in leather armor navigated the boat. His eyes were outlined with kohl, and his head was bald except for a braided ponytail. The guy definitely worked out, because his arms were ripped. A sword like mine was strapped to his belt.
“The river is treacherous,” he told me in a familiar voice. “A pilot cannot get distracted. He must always be alert for sandbars and hidden snags. That’s why boats are painted with my eyes, you know—to see the dangers.”
“The Eyes of Horus,” I said. “You.”
The falcon god glanced at me, and I saw that his eyes were two different colors—one blazing yellow like the sun, the other reflective silver like the moon. The effect was so disorienting, I had to look away. And when I did, I noticed that Horus’s shadow didn’t match his form. Stretched across the wheelhouse was the silhouette of a giant falcon.
“You wonder if order is better than chaos,” he said. “You become distracted from our real enemy: Set. You should be taught a lesson.”
I was about to say, No really, that’s okay.
But immediately my ba was whisked away. Suddenly, I was on board an airplane—a big international aircraft like planes my dad and I had taken a million times. Zia Rashid, Desjardins, and two other magicians were scrunched up in a middle row, surrounded by families with screaming children. Zia didn’t seem to mind. She meditated calmly with her eyes closed, while Desjardins and the other two men looked so uncomfortable, I almost wanted to laugh.
The plane rocked back and forth. Desjardins spilled wine all over his lap. The seat belt light blinked on, and a voice crackled over the intercom: “This is the captain. It looks like we’ll be experiencing some minor turbulence as we make our descent into Dallas, so I’m going to ask the flight attendants—”
Boom! A blast rattled the windows—lightning followed immediately by thunder.
Zia’s eyes snapped open. “The Red Lord.”
The passengers screamed as the plane plummeted several hundred feet.
“Il commence!” Desjardins shouted over the noise. “Quickly!”
As the plane shook, passengers shrieked and grabbed their seats. Desjardins got up and opened the overhead compartment.
“Sir!” a flight attendant yelled. “Sir, sit down!”
Desjardins ignored the attendant. He grabbed four familiar bags—magical tool kits—and threw them to his colleagues.
Then things really went wrong. A horrible shudder passed through the cabin and the plane lurched sideways. Outside the right-hand windows, I saw the plane’s wing get sheared off by a five-hundred-mile-an-hour wind.
The cabin devolved into chaos—drinks, books, and shoes flying everywhere, oxygen masks dropping and tangling, people screaming for their lives.
“Protect the innocents!” Desjardins ordered.
The plane began to shake and cracks appeared in the windows and walls. The passengers went silent, slumping into unconsciousness as the air pressure dropped. The four magicians raised their wands as the airplane broke to pieces.
For a moment, the magicians floated in a maelstrom of storm clouds, chunks of fuselage, luggage, and spinning passengers still strapped to their seats. Then a white glow expanded around them, a bubble of power that slowed the breakup of the plane and kept the pieces swirling in a tight orbit. Desjardins reached out his hand and the edge of a cloud stretched toward him—a tendril of cottony white mist, like a safety line. The other magicians did likewise, and the storm bent to their will. White vapor wrapped around them and began to send out more tendrils, like funnel clouds, which snatched pieces of the plane and pulled them back together.
A child fell past Zia, but she pointed her staff and murmured a spell. A cloud enveloped the little girl and brought her back. Soon the four magicians were reassembling the plane around them, sealing the breaches with cloudy cobwebs until the entire cabin was encased in a glowing cocoon of vapor. Outside, the storm raged and thunder boomed, but the passengers slept soundly in their seats.
“Zia!” Desjardins shouted. “We can’t hold this for long.”
Zia ran past him up the aisle to the flight deck. Somehow the front of the plane had survived the breakup intact. The door was armored and locked, but Zia’s staff flared, and the door melted like wax. She stepped through and found three unconscious pilots. The view through the window was enough to make me sick. Through the spiraling clouds, the ground was coming up fast—very fast.
Zia slammed her wand against the controls. Red energy surged through the displays. Dials spun, meters blinked, and the altimeter leveled out. The plane’s nose came up, its speed dropping. As I watched, Zia glided the plane toward a cow pasture and landed it without even a bump. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed.
Desjardins found her and gathered her in his arms. “Quickly,” he told his colleagues, “the mortals will wake soon.”
They dragged Zia out of the cockpit, and my ba was swept away through a blur of images.
I saw Phoenix again—or at least some of the city. A massive red sandstorm churned across the valley, swallowing buildings and mountains. In the harsh, hot wind, I heard Set laughing, reveling in his power.
Then I saw Brooklyn: Amos’s ruined house on the East River and a winter storm raging overhead, howling winds slamming the city with sleet and hail.
And then I saw a place I didn’t recognize: a river winding through a desert canyon. The sky was a blanket of pitch-black clouds, and the river’s surface seemed to boil. Something was moving under the water, something huge, evil, and powerful—and I knew it was waiting for me.
This is only the beginning, Horus warned me. Set will destroy everyone you care about. Believe me, I know.
The river became a marsh of tall reeds. The sun blazed overhead. Snakes and crocodiles slid through the water. At the water’s edge sat a thatched hut. Outside it, a woman and a child of about ten stood examining a battered sarcophagus. I could tell the coffin had once been a work of art—gold encrusted with gems—but now it was dented and black with grime.
The woman ran her hands over the coffin’s lid.
“Finally.” She had my mother’s face—blue eyes and caramel-colored hair—but she glowed with magical radiance, and I knew I was looking at the goddess Isis.
She turned to the boy. “We have searched so long, my son. Finally we have retrieved him. I will use my magic and give him life again!”
“Papa?” The boy gazed wide-eyed at the box. “He’s really inside?”
“Yes, Horus. And now—”
Suddenly their hut erupted into flames. The god Set stepped from the inferno—a mighty red-skinned warrior with smoldering black eyes. He wore the double crown of Egypt and the robes of a pharaoh. In his hands, an iron staff smoldered.
“Found the coffin, did you?” he said. “Good for you!”
Isis reached toward the sky. She summoned lightning against the god of chaos, but Set’s rod absorbed the attack and reflected it back at her. Arcs of electricity blasted the goddess and sent her sprawling.
“Mother!” The boy drew a knife and charged Set. “I’ll kill you!”
Set bellowed with laughter. He easily sidestepped the boy and kicked him into the dirt.
“You have spirit, nephew,” Set admitted. “But you won’t live long enough to challenge me. As for your father, I’ll just have to dispose of him more permanently.”
Set slammed his iron staff against the coffin’s lid.
Isis screamed as the coffin shattered like ice.
“Make a wish.” Set blew with all his might, and the shards of coffin flew into the sky, scattering in all directions. “Poor Osiris—he’s gone to pieces, scattered all over Egypt now. And as for you, sister Isis—run! That’s what you do best!”
Set lunged forward. Isis grabbed her son’s hand and they both turned into birds, flying for their lives.
The scene faded, and I was back in the steamboat’s wheelhouse. The sun rose in fast-forward as towns and barges sped past and the banks of the Mississippi blurred into a play of light and shadow.
“He destroyed my father,” Horus told me. “He will do the same to yours.”
“No,” I said.
Horus fixed me with those strange eyes—one blazing gold, one full-moon silver. “My mother and Aunt Nephthys spent years searching for the pieces of the coffin and Father’s body. When they collected all fourteen, my cousin Anubis helped bind my father back together with mummy wrappings, but still Mother’s magic could not bring him back to life fully. Osiris became an undead god, a half-living shadow of my father, fit to rule only in the Duat. But his loss gave me anger. Anger gave me the strength to defeat Set and take the throne for myself. You must do the same.”
“I don’t want a throne,” I said. “I want my dad.”
“Don’t deceive yourself. Set is merely toying with you. He will bring you to despair, and your sorrow will make you weak.”
“I have to save my dad!”
“That is not your mission,” Horus chided. “The world is at stake. Now, wake!”


Sadie was shaking my arm. She and Bast stood over me, looking concerned.
“What?” I asked.
“We’re here,” Sadie said nervously. She’d changed into a fresh linen outfit, black this time, which matched her combat boots. She’d even managed to redye her hair so the streaks were blue.
I sat up and realized I felt rested for the first time in a week. My soul may have been traveling, but at least my body had gotten some sleep. I glanced out the stateroom window. It was pitch-black outside.
“How long was I out?” I demanded.
“We’ve sailed down most of the Mississippi and into the Duat,” Bast said. “Now we approach the First Cataract.”
“The First Cataract?” I asked.
“The entrance,” Bast said grimly, “to the Land of the Dead.”
SADIE
27. A Demon with Free Samples


ME? I SLEPT LIKE THE DEAD, which I hoped wasn’t a sign of things to come.
I could tell Carter’s soul had been wandering through some frightening places, but he wouldn’t talk about them.
“Did you see Zia?” I asked. He looked so rattled I thought his face would fall off. “Knew it,” I said.
We followed Bast up to the wheelhouse, where Bloodstained Blade was studying a map while Khufu manned—er, babooned—the wheel.
“The baboon is driving,” I noted. “Should I be worried?”
“Quiet, please, Lady Kane.” Bloodstained Blade ran his fingers over a long stretch of papyrus map. “This is delicate work. Two degrees to starboard, Khufu.”
“Agh!” Khufu said.
The sky was already dark, but as we chugged along, the stars disappeared. The river turned the color of blood. Darkness swallowed the horizon, and along the riverbanks, the lights of towns changed to flickering fires, then winked out completely.
Now our only lights were the multicolored servant fires and the glittering smoke that bloomed from the smokestacks, washing us all in a weird metallic glow.
“Should be just ahead,” the captain announced. In the dim light, his red-flecked axe blade looked scarier than ever.
“What’s that map?” I asked.
“Spells of Coming Forth by Day,” he said. “Don’t worry. It’s a good copy.”
I looked at Carter for a translation.
“Most people call it The Book of the Dead,” he told me. “Rich Egyptians were always buried with a copy, so they could have directions through the Duat to the Land of the Dead. It’s like an Idiot’s Guide to the Afterlife.”
The captain hummed indignantly. “I am no idiot, Lord Kane.”
“No, no, I just meant...” Carter’s voice faltered. “Uh, what is that?”
Ahead of us, crags of rock jutted from the river like fangs, turning the water into a boiling mass of rapids.
“The First Cataract,” Bloodstained Blade announced. “Hold on.”
Khufu pushed the wheel to the left, and the steamboat skidded sideways, shooting between two rocky spires with only centimeters to spare. I’m not much of a screamer, but I’ll readily admit that I screamed my head off. [And don’t look at me like that, Carter. You weren’t much better.]
We dropped over a stretch of white water—or red water—and swerved to avoid a rock the size of Paddington Station. The steamboat made two more suicidal turns between boulders, did a three-sixty spin round a swirling vortex, launched over a ten-meter waterfall, and came crashing down so hard, my ears popped like a gunshot.
We continued downstream as if nothing had happened, the roar of the rapids fading behind us.
“I don’t like cataracts,” I decided. “Are there more?”
“Not as large, thankfully,” said Bast, who was also looking seasick. “We’ve crossed over into—”
“The Land of the Dead,” Carter finished.
He pointed to the shore, which was shrouded in mist. Strange things lurked in the darkness: flickering ghost lights, giant faces made of fog, hulking shadows that seemed unconnected to anything physical. Along the riverbanks, old bones dragged themselves through the mud, linking with other bones in random patterns.
“I’m guessing this isn’t the Mississippi,” I said.
“The River of Night,” Bloodstained Blade hummed. “It is every river and no river—the shadow of the Mississippi, the Nile, the Thames. It flows throughout the Duat, with many branches and tributaries.”
“Clears that right up,” I muttered.
The scenes got stranger. We saw ghost villages from ancient times—little clusters of reed huts made of flickering smoke. We saw vast temples crumbling and reconstructing themselves over and over again like a looped video. And everywhere, ghosts turned their faces towards our boat as we passed. Smoky hands reached out. Shades silently called to us, then turned away in despair as we passed.
“The lost and confused,” Bast said. “Spirits who never found their way to the Hall of Judgment.”
“Why are they so sad?” I asked.
“Well, they’re dead,” Carter speculated.
“No, it’s more than that,” I said. “It’s like they’re...expecting someone.”
“Ra,” Bast said. “For eons, Ra’s glorious sun boat would travel this route each night, fighting off the forces of Apophis.” She looked round nervously as if remembering old ambushes. “It was dangerous: every night, a fight for existence. But as he passed, Ra would bring sunlight and warmth to the Duat, and these lost spirits would rejoice, remembering the world of the living.”
“But that’s a legend,” Carter said. “The earth revolves around the sun. The sun never actually descends under the earth.”
“Have you learned nothing of Egypt?” Bast asked. “Conflicting stories can be equally true. The sun is a ball of fire in space, yes. But its image you see as it crosses the sky, the life-giving warmth and light it brings to the earth—that was embodied by Ra. The sun was his throne, his source of power, his very spirit. But now Ra has retreated into the heavens. He sleeps, and the sun is just the sun. Ra’s boat no longer travels on its cycle through the Duat. He no longer lights the dark, and the dead feel his absence most keenly.”
“Indeed,” Bloodstained Blade said, though he didn’t sound very upset about it. “Legend says the world will end when Ra gets too tired to continue living in his weakened state. Apophis will swallow the sun. Darkness will reign. Chaos will overcome Ma’at, and the Serpent will reign forever.”
Part of me thought this was absurd. The planets would not simply stop spinning. The sun would not cease to rise.
On the other hand, here I was riding a boat through the Land of the Dead with a demon and a god. If Apophis was real too, I didn’t fancy meeting him.
And to be honest, I felt guilty. If the story Thoth told me was true, Isis had caused Ra to retreat into the heavens with that secret name business. Which meant, in a ridiculous, maddening way, the end of the world would be my fault. Bloody typical. I wanted to punch myself to get even with Isis, but I suspected it would hurt.
“Ra should wake up and smell the sahlab,” I said. “He should come back.”
Bast laughed without humor. “And the world should be young again, Sadie. I wish it could be so....”
Khufu grunted and gestured ahead. He gave the captain back the wheel and ran out of the wheelhouse and down the stairs.
“The baboon is right,” said Bloodstained Blade. “You should get to the prow. A challenge will be coming soon.”
“What sort of challenge?” I asked.
“It’s hard to tell,” Bloodstained Blade said, and I thought I detected smug satisfaction in his voice. “I wish you luck, Lady Kane.”
“Why me?” I grumbled.
Bast, Carter, and I stood at the prow of the boat, watching the river appear out of the darkness. Below us, the boat’s painted eyes glowed faintly in the dark, sweeping beams of light across the red water. Khufu had climbed to the top of the gangplank, which stood straight up when retracted, and cupped his hand over his eyes like a sailor in a crow’s-nest.
But all that vigilance didn’t do much good. With the dark and the mist, our visibility was nil. Massive rocks, broken pillars, and crumbling statues of pharaohs loomed out of nowhere, and Bloodstained Blade yanked the wheel to avoid them, forcing us to grab hold of the rails. Occasionally we’d see long slimy lines cutting through the surface of the water, like tentacles, or the backs of submerged creatures—I really didn’t want to know.
“Mortal souls are always challenged,” Bast told me. “You must prove your worth to enter the Land of the Dead.”
“Like it’s such a big treat?”
I’m not sure how long I stared into the darkness, but after a good while a reddish smudge appeared in the distance, as if the sky were becoming lighter.
“Is that my imagination, or—”
“Our destination,” Bast said. “Strange, we really should’ve been challenged by now—”
The boat shuddered, and the water began to boil. A giant figure erupted from the river. I could see him only from the waist up, but he towered several meters over the boat. His body was humanoid—bare-chested and hairy with purplish skin. A rope belt was tied around his waist, festooned with leather pouches, severed demon heads, and other charming bits and bobs. His head was a strange combination of lion and human, with gold eyes and a black mane done in dreadlocks. His blood-splattered mouth was feline, with bristly whiskers and razor-sharp fangs. He roared, scaring Khufu right off the gangplank. The poor baboon did a flying leap into Carter’s arms, which knocked them both to the deck.
“You had to say something,” I told Bast weakly. “This a relative of yours, I hope?”
Bast shook her head. “I cannot help you with this, Sadie. You are the mortals. You must deal with the challenge.”
“Oh, thanks for that.”
“I am Shezmu!” the bloody lion man said.
I wanted to say, “Yes, you certainly are.” But I decided to keep my mouth shut.
He turned his golden eyes on Carter and tilted his head. His nostrils quivered. “I smell the blood of pharaohs. A tasty treat...or do you dare to name me?”
“N-name you?” Carter sputtered. “Do you mean your secret name?”
The demon laughed. He grabbed a nearby spire of rock, which crumpled like old plaster in his fist.
I looked desperately at Carter. “You don’t happen to have his secret name lying around somewhere?”
“It may be in The Book of the Dead,” Carter said. “I forgot to check.”
“Well?” I said.
“Keep him busy,” Carter replied, and scrambled off to the wheelhouse.
Keep a demon busy, I thought. Right. Maybe he fancies a game of tiddlywinks.
“Do you give up?” Shezmu bellowed.
“No!” I yelled. “No, we don’t give up. We will name you. Just...Gosh, you’re quite well muscled, aren’t you? Do you work out?”
I glanced at Bast, who nodded approval.
Shezmu rumbled with pride and flexed his mighty arms. Never fails with men, does it? Even if they’re twenty meters tall and lion-headed.
“I am Shezmu!” he bellowed.
“Yes, you might’ve mentioned that already,” I said. “I’m wondering, um, what sort of titles you’ve earned over the years, eh? Lord of this and that?”
“I am Osiris’s royal executioner!” he yelled, smashing a fist into the water and rocking our boat. “I am the Lord of Blood and Wine!”
“Brilliant,” I said, trying not to get sick. “Er, how are blood and wine connected, exactly?”
“Garrr!” He leaned forward and bared his fangs, which were not any prettier up close. His mane was matted with nasty bits of dead fish and river moss. “Lord Osiris lets me behead the wicked! I crush them in my wine press, and make wine for the dead!”
I made a mental note never to drink the wine of the dead.
You’re doing well. Isis’s voice gave me a start. She’d been quiet so long, I’d almost forgotten her. Ask him about his other duties.
“And what are your other duties...O powerful wine demon guy?”
“I am Lord of...” He flexed his muscles for maximum effect. “Perfume!”
He grinned at me, apparently waiting for terror to set it.
“Oh, my!” I said. “That must make your enemies tremble.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Yes! Would you like to try a free sample?” He ripped a slimy leather pouch off his belt, and brought out a clay pot filled with sweet-smelling yellow powder. “I call this...Eternity!”
“Lovely,” I gagged. I glanced behind me, wondering where Carter had gone to, but there was no sign of him.
Keep him talking, Isis urged.
“And, um...perfume is part of your job because...wait, I’ve got it, you squeeze it out of plants, like you squeeze wine...”
“Or blood!” Shezmu added.
“Well, naturally,” I said. “The blood goes without saying.”
“Blood!” he said.
Khufu yelped and covered his eyes.
“So you serve Osiris?” I asked the demon.
“Yes! At least...” He hesitated, snarling in doubt. “I did. Osiris’s throne is empty. But he will return. He will!”
“Of course,” I said. “And so your friends call you what...Shezzy? Bloodsiekins?”
“I have no friends! But if I did, they would call me Slaughterer of Souls, Fierce of Face! But I don’t have any friends, so my name is not in danger. Ha, ha, ha!”
I looked at Bast, wondering if I’d just gotten as lucky as I thought. Bast beamed at me.
Carter came stumbling down the stairs, holding The Book of the Dead. “I’ve got it! Somewhere here. Can’t read this part, but—”
“Name me or be eaten!” Shezmu bellowed.
“I name you!” I shouted back. “Shezmu, Slaughterer of Souls, Fierce of Face!”
“GAAAAHHHHH!” He writhed in pain. “How do they always know?”
“Let us pass!” I commanded. “Oh, and one more thing...my brother wants a free sample.”
I just had time to step away, and Carter just had time to look confused before the demon blew yellow dust all over him. Then Shezmu sank under the waves.
“What a nice fellow,” I said.
“Pah!” Carter spit perfume. He looked like a piece of breaded fish. “What was that for?”
“You smell lovely,” I assured him. “What’s next, then?”
I was feeling very pleased with myself until our boat rounded a bend in the river. Suddenly the reddish glow on the horizon became a blaze of light. Up in the wheelhouse, the captain rang the alarm bell.
Ahead of us, the river was on fire, rushing through a steaming stretch of rapids towards what looked like a bubbling volcanic crater.
“The Lake of Fire,” Bast said. “This is where it gets interesting.”
SADIE
28. I Have a Date with the God of Toilet Paper


BAST HAD AN INTERESTING DEFINITION of interesting: a boiling lake several miles wide that smelled like burning petrol and rotten meat. Our steamboat stopped short where the river met the lake, because a giant metal gate blocked our path. It was a bronze disk like a shield, easily as wide as our boat, half submerged in the river. I wasn’t sure how it avoided melting in the heat, but it made going forward impossible. On either bank of the river, facing the disk, was a giant bronze baboon with its arms raised.
“What is this?” I asked.
“The Gates of the West,” Bast said. “Ra’s sunboat would pass through and be renewed in the fires of the lake, then pass through to the other side and rise through the Gates of the East for a new day.”
Looking up at the huge baboons, I wondered if Khufu had some sort of secret baboon code that would get us in. But instead he barked at the statues and cowered heroically behind my legs.
“How do we get past?” I wondered.
“Perhaps,” a new voice said, “you should ask me.”
The air shimmered. Carter backed up quickly, and Bast hissed.
In front of me appeared a glowing bird spirit: a ba. It had the usual combination of human head and killer turkey body, with its wings tucked back and its entire form glowing, but something about this ba was different. I realized I knew the spirit’s face—an old bald man with brown, papery skin, milky eyes, and a kindly smile.
“Iskandar?” I managed.
“Hello, my dear.” The old magician’s voice echoed as if from the bottom of a well.
“But...” I found myself tearing up. “You’re really dead, then?”
He chuckled. “Last I checked.”
“But why? I didn’t make you—”
“No, my dear. It wasn’t your fault. It was simply the right time.”
“It was horrible timing!” My surprise and sadness abruptly turned to anger. “You left us before we got trained or anything, and now Desjardins is after us and—”
“My dear, look how far you’ve come. Look how well you have done. You didn’t need me, nor would more training have helped. My brethren would have found out the truth about you soon enough. They are excellent at sniffing out godlings, I fear, and they would not have understood.”
“You knew, didn’t you? You knew we were possessed by gods.”
“Hosts of the gods.”
“Whatever! You knew.”
“After our second meeting, yes. My only regret is that I did not realize it sooner. I could not protect you and your brother as much as—”
“As much as who?”
Iskandar’s eyes became sad and distant. “I made choices, Sadie. Some seemed wise at the time. Some, in retrospect...”
“Your decision to forbid the gods. My mum convinced you it was a bad idea, didn’t she?”
His spectral wings fluttered. “You must understand, Sadie. When Egypt fell to the Romans, my spirit was crushed. Thousands of years of Egyptian power and tradition toppled by that foolish Queen Cleopatra, who thought she could host a goddess. The blood of the pharaohs seemed weak and diluted—lost forever. At the time I blamed everyone—the gods who used men to act out their petty quarrels, the Ptolemaic rulers who had driven Egypt into the ground, my own brethren in the House for becoming weak and greedy and corrupt. I communed with Thoth, and we agreed: the gods must be put away, banished. The magicians must find their way without them. The new rules kept the House of Life intact for another two thousand years. At the time, it was the right choice.”
“And now?” I asked.
Iskandar’s glow dimmed. “Your mother foresaw a great imbalance. She foresaw the day—very soon—when Ma’at would be destroyed, and chaos would reclaim all of Creation. She insisted that only the gods and the House together could prevail. The old way—the path of the gods—would have to be reestablished. I was a foolish old man. I knew in my heart she was right, but I refused to believe...and your parents took it upon themselves to act. They sacrificed themselves trying to put things right, because I was too stubborn to change. For that, I am truly sorry.”
As much as I tried, I found it hard to stay angry at the old turkey. It’s a rare thing when an adult admits they are wrong to a child—especially a wise, two-thousand-year-old adult. You rather have to cherish those moments.
“I forgive you, Iskandar,” I said. “Honestly. But Set is about to destroy North America with a giant red pyramid. What do I do about it?”
“That, my dear, I can’t answer. Your choice...” He tilted his head back toward the lake, as if hearing a voice. “Our time is at an end. I must do my job as gatekeeper, and decide whether or not to grant you access to the Lake of Fire.”
“But I’ve got more questions!”
“And I wish we had more time,” Iskandar said. “You have a strong spirit, Sadie Kane. Someday, you will make an excellent guardian ba.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. “Can’t wait to be poultry forever.”
“I can only tell you this: your choice approaches. Don’t let your feelings blind you to what is best, as I did.”
“What choice? Best for whom?”
“That’s the key, isn’t it? Your father—your family—the gods—the world. Ma’at and Isfet, order and chaos, are about to collide more violently than they have in eons. You and your brother will be instrumental in balancing those forces, or destroying everything. That, also, your mother foresaw.”
“Hang on. What do you—”
“Until we meet again, Sadie. Perhaps some day, we will have a chance to talk further. But for now, pass through! My job is to assess your courage—and you have that in abundance.”
I wanted to argue that no, in fact, I didn’t. I wanted Iskandar to stay and tell me exactly what my mother had foreseen in my future. But his spirit faded, leaving the deck quiet and still. Only then did I realize that no one else on board had said a thing.
I turned to face Carter. “Leave everything to me, eh?”
He was staring into space, not even blinking. Khufu still clung to my legs, absolutely petrified. Bast’s face was frozen in mid-hiss.
“Um, guys?” I snapped my fingers, and they all unfroze.
“Ba!” Bast hissed. Then she looked around and scowled. “Wait, I thought I saw...what just happened?”
I wondered how powerful a magician had to be to stop time, to freeze even a goddess. Some day, Iskandar was going to teach me that trick, dead or no.
“Yeah,” I said. “I reckon there was a ba. Gone now.”
The baboon statues began to rumble and grind as their arms lowered. The bronze sun disk in the middle of the river sank below the surface, clearing the way into the lake. The boat shot forward, straight into the flames and the boiling red waves. Through the shimmering heat, I could just make out an island in the middle of the lake. On it rose a glittering black temple that looked not at all friendly.
“The Hall of Judgment,” I guessed.
Bast nodded. “Times like this, I’m glad I don’t have a mortal soul.”


As we docked at the island, Bloodstained Blade came down to say good-bye.
“I hope to see you again, Lord and Lady Kane,” he hummed. “Your rooms will be waiting aboard the Egyptian Queen. Unless, of course, you see fit to release me from service.”
Behind his back, Bast shook her head adamantly.
“Um, we’ll keep you around,” I told the captain. “Thanks for everything.”
“As you wish,” the captain said. If axes could frown, I’m sure he would have.
“Stay sharp,” Carter told him, and with Bast and Khufu, we walked down the gangplank. Instead of pulling away, the ship simply sank into the boiling lava and disappeared.
I scowled at Carter. “‘Stay sharp?’”
“I thought it was funny.”
“You’re hopeless.”
We walked up the steps of the black temple. A forest of stone pillars held up the ceiling. Every surface was carved with hieroglyphs and images, but there was no color—just black on black. Haze from the lake drifted through the temple, and despite reed torches that burned on each pillar, it was impossible to see very far through the gloom.
“Stay alert,” Bast warned, sniffing the air. “He’s close.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The Dog,” Bast said with disdain.
There was a snarling noise, and a huge black shape leaped out of the mist. It tackled Bast, who rolled over and wailed in feline outrage, then raced off, leaving us alone with the beast. I suppose she had warned us that she wasn’t brave.
The new animal was sleek and black, like the Set animal we’d seen in Washington, D.C., but more obviously canine, graceful and rather cute, actually. A jackal, I realized, with a golden collar around its neck.
Then it morphed into a young man, and my heart almost stopped. He was the boy from my dreams, quite literally—the guy in black I’d seen twice before in my ba visions.
In person, if possible, Anubis was even more drop-dead gorgeous. [Oh...ha, ha. I didn’t catch the pun, but thank you, Carter. God of the dead, drop-dead gorgeous. Yes, hilarious. Now, may I continue?]
He had a pale complexion, tousled black hair, and rich brown eyes like melted chocolate. He was dressed in black jeans, combat boots (like mine!), a ripped T-shirt, and a black leather jacket that suited him quite nicely. He was long and lean like a jackal. His ears, like a jackal’s, stuck out a bit (which I found cute), and he wore a gold chain around his neck.
Now, please understand, I am not boy crazy. I’m not! I’d spent most of the school term making fun of Liz and Emma, who were, and I was very glad they weren’t with me just then, because they would’ve teased me to no end.
The boy in black stood and brushed off his jacket. “I’m not a dog,” he grumbled.
“No,” I agreed. “You’re...”
No doubt I would’ve said delicious or something equally embarrassing, but Carter saved me.
“You’re Anubis?” he asked. “We’ve come for the feather of truth.”
Anubis frowned. He locked his very nice eyes with mine. “You’re not dead.”
“No,” I said. “Though we’re trying awfully hard.”
“I don’t deal with the living,” he said firmly. Then he looked at Khufu and Carter. “However, you travel with a baboon. That shows good taste. I won’t kill you until you’ve had a chance to explain. Why did Bast bring you here?”
“Actually,” Carter said, “Thoth sent us.”
Carter started to tell him the story, but Khufu broke in impatiently. “Agh! Agh!”
Baboon-speak must have been quite efficient, because Anubis nodded as if he’d just gotten the whole tale. “I see.”
He scowled at Carter. “So you’re Horus. And you’re...” His finger drifted towards me.
“I’m—I’m, um—” I stammered. Quite unlike me to be tongue-tied, I’ll admit, but looking at Anubis, I felt as if I’d just gotten a large shot of Novocain from the dentist. Carter looked at me as if I’d gone daft.
“I’m not Isis,” I managed. “I mean, Isis is milling about inside, but I’m not her. She’s just...visiting.”
Anubis tilted his head. “And the two of you intend to challenge Set?”
“That’s the general idea,” Carter agreed. “Will you help?”
Anubis glowered. I remembered Thoth saying Anubis was only in a good mood once an eon or so. I had the feeling this was not one of those days.
“No,” he said flatly. “I’ll show you why.”
He turned into a jackal and sped back the way he’d come. Carter and I exchanged looks. Not knowing what else to do, we ran after Anubis, deeper into the gloom.


In the center of the temple was a large circular chamber that seemed to be two places at once. On the one hand, it was a great hall with blazing braziers and an empty throne at the far end. The center of the room was dominated by a set of scales—a black iron T with ropes linked to two golden dishes, each big enough to hold a person—but the scales were broken. One of the golden dishes was bent into a V, as if something very heavy had jumped up and down on it. The other dish was hanging by a single rope.
Curled at the base of the scales, fast asleep, was the oddest monster I’d seen yet. It had the head of crocodile with a lion’s mane. The front half of its body was lion, but the back end was sleek, brown, and fat—a hippo, I decided. The odd bit was, the animal was tiny—I mean, no larger than an average poodle, which I suppose made him a hippodoodle.
So that was the hall, at least one layer of it. But at the same time, I seemed to be standing in a ghostly graveyard—like a three-dimensional projection superimposed on the room. In some places, the marble floor gave way to patches of mud and moss-covered paving stones. Lines of aboveground tombs like miniature row houses radiated from the center of the chamber in a wheel-spokes pattern. Many of the tombs had cracked open. Some were bricked up, others ringed with iron fences. Around the edges of the chamber, the black pillars shifted form, sometimes changing into ancient cypress trees. I felt as if I were stepping between two different worlds, and I couldn’t tell which one was real.
Khufu loped straight over to the broken scales and climbed to the top, making himself right at home. He paid no attention to the hippodoodle.
The jackal trotted to the steps of the throne and changed back into Anubis.
“Welcome,” he said, “to the last room you will ever see.”
Carter looked around in awe. “The Hall of Judgment.” He focused on the hippodoodle and frowned. “Is that...”
“Ammit the Devourer,” Anubis said. “Look upon him and tremble.”
Ammit apparently heard his name in his sleep. He made a yipping sound and turned on his back. His lion and hippo legs twitched. I wondered if netherworld monsters dreamed of chasing rabbits.
“I always pictured him...bigger,” Carter admitted.
Anubis gave Carter a harsh look. “Ammit only has to be big enough to eat the hearts of the wicked. Trust me, he does his job well. Or...he did it well, anyway.”
Up on the scales, Khufu grunted. He almost lost his balance on the central beam, and the dented saucer clanged against the floor.
“Why are the scales broken?” I asked.
Anubis frowned. “Ma’at is weakening. I’ve tried to fix them, but...” He spread his hands helplessly.
I pointed to the ghostly rows of tombs. “Is that why the, ah, graveyard is butting in?”
Carter looked at me strangely. “What graveyard?”
“The tombs,” I said. “The trees.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He can’t see them,” Anubis said. “But you, Sadie—you’re perceptive. What do you hear?”
At first I didn’t know what he meant. All I heard was the blood rushing through my ears, and the distant rumble and crackle of the Lake of Fire. (And Khufu scratching himself and grunting, but that was nothing new.)
Then I closed my eyes, and I heard another distant sound—music that triggered my earliest memories, my father smiling as he danced me round our house in Los Angeles.
“Jazz,” I said.
I opened my eyes, and the Hall of Judgment was gone. Or not gone, but faded. I could still see the broken scales and the empty throne. But no black columns, no roar of fire. Even Carter, Khufu, and Ammit had disappeared.
The cemetery was very real. Cracked paving stones wobbled under my feet. The humid night air smelled of spices and fish stew and old mildewed places. I might’ve been back in England—a churchyard in some corner of London, perhaps—but the writing on the graves was in French, and the air was much too mild for an English winter. The trees hung low and lush, covered with Spanish moss.
And there was music. Just outside the cemetery’s fence, a jazz band paraded down the street in somber black suits and brightly colored party hats. Saxophonists bobbed up and down. Cornets and clarinets wailed. Drummers grinned and swayed, their sticks flashing. And behind them, carrying flowers and torches, a crowd of revelers in funeral clothes danced round an old-fashioned black hearse as it drove along.
“Where are we?” I said, marveling.
Anubis jumped from the top of a tomb and landed next to me. He breathed in the graveyard air, and his features relaxed. I found myself studying his mouth, the curve of his lower lip.
“New Orleans,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“The Drowned City,” he said. “In the French Quarter, on the west side of the river—the shore of the dead. I love it here. That’s why the Hall of Judgment often connects to this part of the mortal world.”
The jazz procession made its way down the street, drawing more onlookers into the party.
“What are they celebrating?”
“A funeral,” Anubis said. “They’ve just put the deceased in his tomb. Now they’re ‘cutting the body loose.’ The mourners celebrate the dead one’s life with song and dance as they escort the empty hearse away from the cemetery. Very Egyptian, this ritual.”
“How do you know so much?”
“I’m the god of funerals. I know every death custom in the world—how to die properly, how to prepare the body and soul for the afterlife. I live for death.”
“You must be fun at parties,” I said. “Why have you brought me here?”
“To talk.” He spread his hands, and the nearest tomb rumbled. A long white ribbon shot out of a crack in the wall. The ribbon just kept coming, weaving itself into some kind of shape next to Anubis, and my first thought was, My god, he’s got a magic roll of toilet paper.
Then I realized it was cloth, a length of white linen wrappings—mummy wrappings. The cloth twisted itself into the form of a bench, and Anubis sat down.
“I don’t like Horus.” He gestured for me to join him. “He’s loud and arrogant and thinks he’s better than me. But Isis always treated me like a son.”
I crossed my arms. “You’re not my son. And I told you I’m not Isis.”
Anubis tilted his head. “No. You don’t act like a godling. You remind me of your mother.”
That hit me like a bucket of cold water (and sadly, I knew exactly what that felt like, thanks to Zia). “You’ve met my mother?”
Anubis blinked, as if realizing he’d done something wrong. “I—I know all the dead, but each spirit’s path is secret. I should not have spoken.”
“You can’t just say something like that and then clam up! Is she in the Egyptian afterlife? Did she pass your little Hall of Judgment?”
Anubis glanced uneasily at the golden scales, which shimmered like a mirage in the graveyard. “It is not my hall. I merely oversee it until Lord Osiris returns. I’m sorry if I upset you, but I can’t say anything more. I don’t know why I said anything at all. It’s just...your soul has a similar glow. A strong glow.”
“How flattering,” I grumbled. “My soul glows.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Please, sit.”
I had no interest in letting the matter drop, or sitting with him on a bunch of mummy wrappings, but my direct approach to information gathering didn’t seem to be working. I plopped down on the bench and tried to look as annoyed as possible.
“So.” I gave him a sulky glare. “What’s that form, then? Are you a godling?”
He frowned and put his hand to his chest. “You mean, am I inhabiting a human body? No, I can inhabit any graveyard, any place of death or mourning. This is my natural appearance.”
“Oh.” Part of me had hoped there was an actual boy sitting next to me—someone who just happened to be hosting a god. But I should’ve known that was too good to be true. I felt disappointed. Then I felt angry with myself for feeling disappointed.
It’s not like there was any potential, Sadie, I chided myself. He’s the bloody god of funerals. He’s like five thousand years old.
“So,” I said, “if you can’t tell me anything useful, at least help me. We need a feather of truth.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking. The feather of truth is too dangerous. Giving it to a mortal would be against the rules of Osiris.”
“But Osiris isn’t here.” I pointed at the empty throne. “That’s his seat, isn’t it? Do you see Osiris?”
Anubis eyed the throne. He ran his fingers along his gold chain as if it were getting tighter. “It’s true that I’ve waited here for ages, keeping my station. I was not imprisoned like the rest. I don’t know why...but I did the best I could. When I heard the five had been released, I hoped Lord Osiris would return, but...” He shook his head dejectedly. “Why would he neglect his duties?”
“Probably because he’s trapped inside my dad.”
Anubis stared at me. “The baboon did not explain this.”
“Well, I can’t explain as well as a baboon. But basically my dad wanted to release some gods for reasons I don’t quite...Maybe he thought, I’ll just pop down to the British Museum and blow up the Rosetta Stone! And he released Osiris, but he also got Set and the rest of that lot.”
“So Set imprisoned your father while he was hosting Osiris,” Anubis said, “which means Osiris has also been trapped by my—” He stopped himself. “By Set.”
Interesting, I thought.
“You understand, then,” I said. “You’ve got to help us.”
Anubis hesitated, then shook his head. “I can’t. I’ll get in trouble.”
I just stared at him and laughed. I couldn’t help it, he sounded so ridiculous. “You’ll get in trouble? How old are you, sixteen? You’re a god!”
It was hard to tell in the dark, but I could swear he blushed. “You don’t understand. The feather cannot abide the smallest lie. If I gave it to you, and you spoke a single untruth while you carried it, or acted in a way that was not truthful, you would burn to ashes.”
“You’re assuming I’m a liar.”
He blinked. “No, I simply—”
“You’ve never told a lie? What were you about to say just now—about Set? He’s your father, I’m guessing. Is that it?”
Anubis closed his mouth, then opened it again. He looked as if he wanted to get angry but couldn’t quite remember how. “Are you always this infuriating?”
“Usually more,” I admitted.
“Why hasn’t your family married you off to someone far, far away?”
He asked as if it were an honest question, and now it was my turn to be flabbergasted. “Excuse me, death boy! But I’m twelve! Well...almost thirteen, and a very mature almost thirteen, but that’s not the point. We don’t ‘marry off’ girls in my family, and you may know everything about funerals, but apparently you aren’t very up to speed on courtship rituals!”
Anubis looked mystified. “Apparently not.”
“Right! Wait—what were we talking about? Oh, thought you could distract me, eh? I remember. Set’s your father, yes? Tell the truth.”
Anubis gazed across the graveyard. The sound of the jazz funeral was fading into the streets of the French Quarter.
“Yes,” he said. “At least, that’s what the legends say. I’ve never met him. My mother, Nephthys, gave me to Osiris when I was a child.”
“She...gave you away?”
“She said she didn’t want me to know my father. But in truth, I’m not sure she knew what to do with me. I wasn’t like my cousin Horus. I wasn’t a warrior. I was a...different child.”
He sounded so bitter, I didn’t know what to say. I mean, I’d asked for the truth, but usually you don’t actually get it, especially from guys. I also knew something about being the different child—and feeling like my parents had given me away.
“Maybe your mum was trying to protect you,” I said. “Your dad being Lord of Evil, and all.”
“Maybe,” he said halfheartedly. “Osiris took me under his wing. He made me the Lord of Funerals, the Keeper of the Ways of Death. It’s a good job, but...you asked how old I am. The truth is I don’t know. Years don’t pass in the Land of the Dead. I still feel quite young, but the world has gotten old around me. And Osiris has been gone so long...He’s the only family I had.”
Looking at Anubis in the dim light of the graveyard, I saw a lonely teenage guy. I tried to remind myself that he was a god, thousands of years old, probably able to control vast powers well beyond magic toilet paper, but I still felt sorry for him.
“Help us rescue my dad,” I said. “We’ll send Set back to the Duat, and Osiris will be free. We’ll all be happy.”
Anubis shook his head again. “I told you—”
“Your scales are broken,” I noticed. “That’s because Osiris isn’t here, I’m guessing. What happens to all the souls that come for judgment?”
I knew I’d hit a nerve. Anubis shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “It increases chaos. The souls become confused. Some cannot go to the afterlife. Some manage, but they must find other ways. I try to help, but...the Hall of Judgment is also called the Hall of Ma’at. It is meant to be the center of order, a stable foundation. Without Osiris, it is falling into disrepair, crumbling.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Give us the feather. Unless you’re afraid your dad will ground you.”
His eyes flashed with irritation. For a moment I thought he was planning my funeral, but he simply sighed in exasperation. “I do a ceremony called the opening of the mouth. It lets the soul of the dead person come forth. For you, Sadie Kane, I would invent a new ceremony: the closing of the mouth.”
“Ha, ha. Are you going to give me the feather or not?”
He opened his hand. There was a burst of light, and a glowing feather floated above his palm—a snowy plume like a writing quill. “For Osiris’s sake—but I will insist on several conditions. First, only you may handle it.”
“Well, of course. You don’t think I’d let Carter—”
“Also, you must listen to my mother, Nephthys. Khufu told me you were looking for her. If you manage to find her, listen to her.”
“Easy,” I said, though the request did leave me strangely uncomfortable. Why would Anubis ask something like that?
“And before you go,” Anubis continued, “you must answer three questions for me as you hold the feather of truth, to prove that you are honest.”
My mouth suddenly felt dry. “Um...what sort of questions?”
“Any that I want. And remember, the slightest lie will destroy you.”
“Give me the bloody feather.”
As he handed it to me, the feather stopped glowing, but it felt warmer and heavier than a feather should.
“It’s the tail feather from a bennu,” Anubis explained, “what you’d call a phoenix. It weighs exactly the same as a human soul. Are you ready?”
“No,” I said, which must’ve been truthful, as I didn’t burn up. “Does that count as one question?”
Anubis actually smiled, which was quite dazzling. “I suppose it does. You bargain like a Phoenician sea trader, Sadie Kane. Second question, then: Would you give your life for your brother?”
“Yes,” I said immediately.
(I know. It surprised me too. But holding the feather forced me to be truthful. Obviously it didn’t make me any wiser.)
Anubis nodded, apparently not surprised. “Final question: If it means saving the world, are you prepared to lose your father?”
“That’s not a fair question!”
“Answer it honestly.”
How could I answer something like that? It wasn’t a simple yes/no.
Of course I knew the “right” answer. The heroine is supposed to refuse to sacrifice her father. Then she boldly goes off and saves her dad and the world, right? But what if it really was one or the other? The whole world was an awfully large place: Gran and Gramps, Carter, Uncle Amos, Bast, Khufu, Liz and Emma, everyone I’d ever known. What would my dad say if I chose him instead?
“If...if there really was no other way,” I said, “no other way at all— Oh, come off. It’s a ridiculous question.”
The feather began to glow.
“All right,” I relented. “If I had to, then I suppose...I suppose I would save the world.”
Horrible guilt crushed down on me. What kind of daughter was I? I clutched the tyet amulet on my necklace—my one remembrance of Dad. I know some of you lot will be thinking: You hardly ever saw your dad. You barely knew him. Why would you care so much?
But that didn’t make him any less my dad, did it? Or the thought of losing him forever any less horrible. And the thought of failing him, of willingly choosing to let him die even to save the world—what sort of awful person was I?
I could barely meet Anubis’s eyes, but when I did, his expression softened.
“I believe you, Sadie.”
“Oh, really. I’m holding the bloody feather of truth, and you believe me. Well, thanks.”
“The truth is harsh,” Anubis said. “Spirits come to the Hall of Judgment all the time, and they cannot let go of their lies. They deny their faults, their true feelings, their mistakes...right up until Ammit devours their souls for eternity. It takes strength and courage to admit the truth.”
“Yeah. I feel so strong and courageous. Thanks.”
Anubis stood. “I should leave you now. You’re running out of time. In just over twenty-four hours, the sun will rise on Set’s birthday, and he will complete his pyramid—unless you stop him. Perhaps when next we meet—”
“You’ll be just as annoying?” I guessed.
He fixed me with those warm brown eyes. “Or perhaps you could bring me up to speed on modern courtship rituals.”
I sat there stunned until he gave me a glimpse of a smile—just enough to let me know he was teasing. Then he disappeared.
“Oh, very funny!” I yelled. The scales and the throne vanished. The linen bench unraveled and dumped me in the middle of the graveyard. Carter and Khufu appeared next to me, but I just kept yelling at the spot where Anubis had stood, calling him some choice names.
“What’s going on?” Carter demanded. “Where are we?”
“He’s horrible!” I growled. “Self-important, sarcastic, incredibly hot, insufferable—”
“Agh!” Khufu complained.
“Yeah,” Carter agreed. “Did you get the feather or not?”
I held out my hand, and there it was—a glowing white plume floating above my fingers. I closed my fist and it disappeared again.
“Whoa,” Carter said. “But what about Anubis? How did you—”
“Let’s find Bast and get out of here,” I interrupted. “We’ve got work to do.”
And I marched out of the graveyard before he could ask me more questions, because I was in no mood to tell the truth.