“Thanks ever so,” I said. “Carter, may I speak with you?”
I grabbed his ear and pulled him toward the deckhouse.
“Ow!” he complained as I dragged him along. I suppose doing that in front of Zia wasn’t nice, but I thought I might as well give her pointers on how best to handle my brother.
Walt and Zia followed us into the main dining room. As usual, the mahogany table was laden with platters of fresh food. The chandelier illuminated colorful wall murals of Egyptian gods, the gilded columns, and the ornately molded ceiling.
I let go of Carter’s ear and snarled, “Have you lost your mind?”
“Ow!” he yelled again. “What is your problem?”
“My problem,” I said, lowering my voice, “is that you summoned this boat again and its demon captain, who Bast warned would slit our throats if he ever got the opportunity!”
“He’s under a magic binding,” Carter argued. “He was fine last time.”
“Last time Bast was with us,” I reminded him. “And if you think I trust a demon named Bloodstained Blade farther than I can—”
“Guys,” Walt interrupted.
Bloodstained Blade entered the dining room, dipping his ax head under the doorframe. “Lord and Lady Kane, the journey is short from here. We will arrive at the Hall of Judgment in approximately twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, BSB,” Carter said as he rubbed his ear. “We’ll join you on deck soon.”
“Very good,” said the demon. “What are your orders when we arrive?”
I tensed, hoping Carter had thought ahead. Bast had warned us that demons needed very clear instructions to stay under control.
“You’ll wait for us while we visit the Hall of Judgment,” Carter announced. “When we return, you’ll take us where we wish to go.”
“As you say.” Bloodstained Blade’s tone had a hint of disappointment—or was that my imagination?
After he left, Zia frowned. “Carter, in this case I agree with Sadie. How can you trust that creature? Where did you get this ship?”
“It belonged to our parents,” Carter said.
He and I shared a look, silently agreeing that was enough said. Our mum and dad had sailed this riverboat up the Thames to Cleopatra’s Needle the night Mum had died releasing Bast from the abyss. Afterward, Dad had sat in this very room, grieving, with only the cat goddess and the demon captain for company.
Bloodstained Blade had accepted us as his new masters. He’d followed our orders before, but that was little comfort. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t like being on this ship.
On the other hand, we needed to get to the Hall of Judgment. I was hungry and thirsty, and I supposed I could endure a twenty-minute voyage if it meant enjoying a chilled Ribena and a plate of tandoori chicken with naan.
The four of us sat around the table. We ate while we compared stories. All in all, it was quite possibly the most awkward double date in history. We had no shortage of dire emergencies to talk about, but the tension in the room was as thick as Cairo smog.
Carter hadn’t seen Zia in person for months. I could tell he was trying not to stare. Zia was clearly uncomfortable sitting so close to him. She kept leaning away, which no doubt hurt his feelings. Perhaps she was just worried about having another fireball-throwing episode. As for me, I was elated to be next to Walt, but at the same time, I was desperately worried about him. I couldn’t forget how he’d looked wrapped in glowing mummy linen, and I wondered what Anubis had wanted to tell me about Walt’s situation. Walt tried to hide it, but he was obviously in great pain. His hands trembled as he picked up his peanut butter sandwich.
Carter told me about the pending evacuation of Brooklyn House, which Bast was overseeing. My heart nearly broke when I thought of little Shelby, wonderful silly Felix, shy Cleo, and all the rest going off to defend the First Nome against an impossible attack, but I knew Carter was right. There was no other choice.
Carter kept hesitating, as if waiting for Walt to contribute information. Walt stayed silent. Clearly he was holding something back. Somehow or other, I’d have to get Walt alone and grill him for details.
In return, I told Carter about our visit to the House of Rest. I shared my suspicions that Amos might be calling on Set for extra power. Zia didn’t contradict me, and the news didn’t sit well with my brother. After several minutes of swearing and pacing the room, he finally calmed down enough to say, “We can’t let that happen. He’ll be destroyed.”
“I know,” I said. “But we can best help him by moving forward.”
I didn’t mention Zia’s blackout in the nursing home. In Carter’s present state of mind, I thought that might be too much for him. But I did tell him what Tawaret had said about the possible location of Bes’s shadow.
“The ruins of Saïs…” He frowned. “I think Dad mentioned that place. He said there wasn’t much left. But even if we could find the shadow, we don’t have time. We’ve got to stop Apophis.”
“I made a promise,” I insisted. “Besides, we need Bes. Think of it as a trial run. Saving his shadow will give us a chance to practice this sort of magic before we try it on Apophis—um, in reverse, of course. It might even give us a way to revive Ra.”
“But—”
“She’s got a point,” Walt interrupted.
I’m not sure who was more surprised—Carter, or me.
“Even if we get Setne’s help,” Walt said, “trapping a shadow in a statue is going to be difficult. I’d feel better if we could try it on a friendly target first. I could show you how it’s done while—while I still have time.”
“Walt,” I said, “please, don’t talk like that.”
“When you face Apophis,” he continued, “you’ll have only one chance to get the spell right. It would be better to have some practice.”
When you face Apophis. He said it so calmly, but his meaning was clear: he wouldn’t be around when that happened.
Carter nudged his half-eaten pizza. “I just…I don’t see how we can do it all in time. I know this is a personal mission for you, Sadie, but—”
“She has to,” Zia said gently. “Carter, you once went off on a personal mission in the middle of a crisis, didn’t you? That worked out.” She put her hand on Carter’s. “Sometimes you have to follow your heart.”
Carter looked like he was trying to swallow a golf ball. Before he could say anything, the ship’s bell sounded.
In the corner of the dining room, a loudspeaker crackled with Bloodstained Blade’s voice: “My lords and ladies, we have reached the Hall of Judgment.”
The black temple looked just as I remembered. We made our way up the steps from the dock and passed between rows of obsidian columns that marched into the gloom. Sinister-looking scenes of Underworld life glittered on the floor and in friezes circling the pillars—black designs on black stone. Despite the reed torches that burned every few meters, the air was so hazy with volcanic ash, I couldn’t see far in front of us.
As we moved deeper into the temple, voices whispered around us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw groups of spirits drifting across the pavilion—ghostly shapes camouflaged in the smoky air. Some moved aimlessly—crying softly or tearing at their clothes in despair. Others carried armfuls of papyrus scrolls. These ghosts looked more solid and purposeful, as if they were waiting for something.
“Petitioners,” Walt said. “They’ve brought their case files, hoping for an audience with Osiris. He was gone so long…there must be a real backlog of cases.”
Walt’s step seemed lighter. His eyes looked more alert, his body less weighed down by pain. He was so close to death, I’d feared this trip to the Underworld might be hard for him, but if anything he seemed more at ease than the rest of us.
“How do you know?” I asked.
Walt hesitated. “I’m not sure. It just seems…correct.”
“And the ghosts without scrolls?”
“Refugees,” he said. “They’re hoping this place will protect them.”
I didn’t ask what from. I remembered the ghost at the Brooklyn Academy dance who’d been engulfed in black tendrils and dragged underground. I thought about the vision Carter had described—our mother huddled beneath a cliff somewhere in the Duat, resisting the pull of a dark force in the distance.
“We need to hurry.” I started to forge ahead, but Zia grabbed my arm.
“There,” she said. “Look.”
The smoke parted. Twenty meters ahead stood a massive set of obsidian doors. In front of them, an animal the size of a greyhound sat on its haunches—an oversized jackal with thick black fur, fluffy pointed ears, and a face somewhere between a fox and a wolf. Its moon-colored eyes glittered in the darkness.
It snarled at us, but I wasn’t put off. I may be biased, but I think jackals are cute and cuddly, even if they were known for digging up graves in Ancient Egypt.
“It’s just Anubis,” I said hopefully. “This is where we met him last time.”
“That’s not Anubis,” Walt warned.
“Of course it is,” I told him. “Watch.”
“Sadie, don’t,” Carter said, but I walked toward the guardian.
“Hullo, Anubis,” I called. “It’s just me, Sadie.”
The cute fuzzy jackal bared his fangs. His mouth began to froth. His adorable yellow eyes sent an unmistakable message: One more step, and I’ll chew your head off.
I froze. “Right…that’s not Anubis, unless he’s having a really bad day.”
“This is where we met him before,” Carter said. “Why isn’t he here?”
“It’s one of his minions,” Walt ventured. “Anubis must be…elsewhere.”
Again, he sounded awfully sure, and I felt a strange pang of jealousy. Walt and Anubis seemed to have spent more time talking with each other than with me. Walt was suddenly an expert on all things deathly. Meanwhile, I couldn’t even be near Anubis without invoking the wrath of his chaperone—Shu, the god of hot air. It wasn’t bloody fair!
Zia moved next to me, gripping her staff. “So, what now? Do we have to defeat it to pass?”
I imagined her lobbing some of her daisy-destroying fireballs. That’s all we needed—a yelping, flaming jackal running through my father’s courtyard.
“No,” Walt said, stepping forward. “It’s just a gatekeeper. It needs to know our business.”
“Walt,” Carter said, “if you’re wrong…”
Walt raised his hands and slowly approached the jackal. “I am Walt Stone,” he said. “This is Carter and Sadie Kane. And this is Zia…”
“Rashid,” Zia supplied.
“We have business at the Hall of Judgment,” Walt said.
The jackal snarled, but it sounded more inquisitive, not so chew-your-head-off hostile.
“We have testimony to offer,” Walt continued. “Information relevant to the trial of Setne.”