‘Ha! Can’t see Myssa standing for that!’

  ‘Not our Myssa, no . . . But Myssa as she is now . . . She was standing right by him, and the way she looked at him, and touched him. You know – a hand on his arm, letting him hold her close. It was like . . . Oh, Khonsu, help me . . . It was like they were already lovers.’

  Hannu gave Piay a consoling pat on the back. For a while, they sat with their thoughts. Then Piay shook himself. With a glance along the skiff to check their host was still distracted, he pulled open his pouch and eased out the golden disc.

  ‘This is what Imhotep had left at the bottom of the shaft,’ Piay said.

  The disc seemed to catch fire in the light of the midday sun.

  Hannu marvelled. ‘Well, that’s treasure all right. It’s got to be worth a fortune.’

  Piay nodded, truly seeing the artefact for the first time. Lifting it, he turned the disc to examine it from all angles.

  ‘I’ve never seen such craftsmanship.’

  Now that he was looking at it in daylight, Piay could see that there were actually two discs on top of each other, revolving around a central pin. On the surface disc, an outer ring and inner ring slid separately. They could be moved by holding the flames of the sun that protruded from their edges. As they shifted, symbols on the bottom disc appeared in windows cut into the top one. But there were also triangular flaps that could be lifted and closed, revealing still more windows and symbols.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Hannu asked.

  Piay shook his head. ‘I have no idea. But considering where I found it, I’ve got to think it takes us to the Third Door. But how?’

  ‘That Imhotep must have been a sorcerer, there’s no doubt about it,’ Hannu breathed. ‘To create something like this, that would last a thousand years, until it was needed. No wonder people call him a god.’

  Piay slipped the disc back in the pouch.

  ‘I know – and this is so special, maybe it takes us all the way to the end of the quest.’

  ‘I wonder where that’ll be?’ Hannu mused.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Piay replied. ‘First there was the opening of a door to the afterlife. Then a descent into the underworld, into the dark, filled with danger, where I had to face my own death.’

  ‘Imhotep’s telling the story of the soul’s journey to the afterlife.’ Hannu grasped the idea instantly. ‘So the next stop on the way would be the judgement before you can enter the Field of Reeds.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Piay said. ‘Though I don’t believe that this is a journey to Paradise and the eternal rest of those who have been judged and not found wanting. This is a journey to meet the gods.’

  ‘The gods?’

  ‘With his spells, Imhotep has found the path to move between the world of men and the world of gods. Anyone who goes on this quest is being prepared to do the same.’

  Once again, Piay was struck by the similarities between Imhotep and Taita. Both were setting him seemingly impossible tasks in order to raise him up to become something better. And to raise all Egypt, too.

  Hannu gave a sceptical grunt. ‘This sounds like the crap the scribes spout when they’ve had too much beer. Give me a sword and an enemy to kill. That’s the kind of problem I like – simple to understand and easily solved.’

  Piay chuckled silently. ‘If only. Our lives would be so much easier. But now our problem’s getting very, very complicated, and all we can do is follow it through to the end and hope we get out the other side.’

  ‘If only Myssa were here,’ Hannu said.

  ‘Yes . . . if only.’

  T

  he air itself seemed to ripple and melt in the blistering heat of the brassy sun. The natural bowl in the wilderness had become a simmering cauldron, the dusty air searing the back of the throat and plucking all moisture from the skin. At the sand-swept foot of this cruel, inhospitable place, Akkan’s men stood with heads bowed in devotional silence. This was Seth’s temple.

  Myssa grimaced at the smell of the concoction the Cobra had brewed. It smelled like roses boiled in pitch, yet it had brought sweetness to the water in which it had been diluted, when she had first unwittingly sampled it. Now that she had been fully initiated into the cult of the blue lotus, no dilution was required. All she ever craved was more of the lotus, and stronger.

  Every morning now began the same way, with the sweats, the aches, the pains and, above all, the desperate craving for the potion that would cure them. Tallus would bring a bowl to her lips and she would swallow the brown liquor, gagging at its strength. Soon after, that blissful feeling of warmth and peace would spread through her, and all her troubles would vanish like the early morning mist in the heat of the rising sun.

  Then Tallus would whisper to her, a rolling jumble of words that became almost a chant, soothing her mind. What he said to her, Myssa could never remember. All she knew was that she was changed by it. And changed, she was sure, for the better.

  This very morning, Akkan had come to her with a new gown, more beautiful than any she had ever seen, cut in a style that she had only seen the most wealthy, high-born women wear.

  Straps the width of her middle three fingers, consisting of an open, criss-cross pattern of white cylindrical beads through which her skin was clearly visible, passed from the middle of her back, over her breasts, to just below her bust. The straps supported a close-fitting sheath of white linen so fine and so weightless that, though it fell almost to her ankles, it could hardly be said to cover her at all.

  When she had first shown herself to Akkan, in the privacy of their tent, he had been so aroused by the sight of her that he had insisted on taking her, there and then. Suffused with the bliss of the lotus, she had felt somehow liquid, melting into the ecstasy of his hard, merciless strength. Now, scented and painted, she was standing beside Akkan as he grasped her hand and intertwined his calloused fingers with hers. He was eager for the ceremony to begin.

  This was supposed to be a joyous ceremony. But as Myssa looked around the faces of the warriors and the acolytes, she saw only downturned mouths and sullen eyes.

  When the rope that had lowered Piay of Thebes into the pit had been pulled back up with no body on the end of it, they had all felt the same terrible apprehension that he had somehow outmanoeuvred them. Outraged by the thought that a man he held in such contempt had somehow solved Imhotep’s second clue and discovered some miraculous way to escape from the trap, Akkan had sent another helpless farmer down after him.

  The farmer was told, ‘Pull three times on the rope if you can see a body down there, twice if the pit is empty. As soon as you’ve done that, we’ll bring you straight back up again.’

  Two pulls, and the farmer was left down there to rot.

  Myssa twitched her nose. These strong men had failed. Their weakness had been exposed. Now they brooded and plotted a way to recapture their advantage. No answers had been forthcoming.

  The Cobra raised the bowl above his head and closed his eyes as he turned his face to the silver sky.

  ‘Beneath the eyes of Seth, we will join this man and woman together,’ he intoned. ‘A union sanctified by the power of our god, as has been the way of our people since the first time.’

  Myssa felt Akkan squeeze her hand. If he was expecting her to squeeze back, he would be disappointed. This ceremony, conducted so quickly, was his way of lashing out against the man who had got the better of him, a childlike gesture of impotent rage.

  More weakness, she thought.

  The Cobra lowered the bowl and strode over to put it to Myssa’s lips.

  ‘Drink now,’ he said, ‘and let the blue lotus transport you to a new life.’

  Once Myssa had swallowed, and gagged, Tallus presented the bowl to Akkan, who took a deep draught.

  ‘Now let us begin,’ the Cobra said.

  Myssa watched the heat haze rise over the desert. Over the days since her capture she had come to realise one thing. The sorcerer’s rituals had not turned her into another person, as Akkan had insisted had happened to him. Instead, the lotus seemed to work in two ways. The first, immediate effect was to bring her pleasure. But the second, deeper gift, which only became apparent as the bliss began to fade, was to summon the essence of her being to the surface.

  When she drank the potion, Myssa felt like her first, truest self – the young, free woman, proud and strong and defiant, who had stood at the heart of her people as she sought to guide her king. Yes, she had forgotten many things, and some that had once seemed important no longer intruded into her thoughts, but through this dream state, she had become the most potent form of herself. And that new sense of self remained with her, even when she was wide awake.

  Myssa eyed Akkan. He flashed her a smile that at last had some warmth in it. She smiled back, but inside she was thinking that the Hyksos had misunderstood the subtleties of their own magic. Akkan was lying to himself, for perhaps that was the only way he could deal with the thing he had become. He had not been transformed by the lotus – or by Seth – into the Child-Killer. The killer was the true core of this man, always there waiting to be released.

  ‘He is coming!’ the Cobra boomed.

  Myssa shuddered despite herself. In the distance, the howling of the jackals rose up, sweeping across the wasteland towards them.

  ‘Can you see him?’ Tallus called. ‘Can you see him?’

  Akkan craned his neck towards the sky and Myssa followed his gaze. For what seemed like an age, nothing moved. The Cobra continued to chant and Myssa felt her heart begin to beat to the rhythm of the words.

  Then, as relentless and steady as the night creeping in at dusk, a soaring shadow formed in the northern sky. Myssa felt the blood pound in her temples as she watched the beast-head rise up. Deep dread rushed through her, heralding the arrival of Seth.

  ‘He is here!’ the Cobra thundered. ‘Under his eye, let the bond be formed.’

  Myssa felt Akkan’s grip on her hand tighten. She glanced at him, but he was lost to a trance, mouthing the words that Tallus spoke. When she looked up once more, those fierce beast-eyes seemed to grow larger until they filled the entire sky. Myssa felt herself drawn into them, into the core of the god himself.

  Time must have passed, though Myssa was not aware of it. Her next conscious sensation was the diminishing sound as the Cobra’s final incantations drifted away and there was only the seething silence of that suffocating space.

  Myssa swam up from what felt like a deep sleep to see that the sky was clear. She could no longer sense Seth’s presence.

  At her side, Akkan trembled. His hand fell away from hers, and when he looked at her a light burned in the depths of his dark eyes. that

  ‘Come to me, my wife,’ he said.

  Myssa thought it sounded more like a command than a request, but she saw no need to resist. She stepped forward and the Child-Killer threw his arms around her, pulling her into a crushing embrace. She could feel the heat of his lust and the hardness of his member pressing against her belly. Evidently the morning’s activities had not sated his appetite.

  Akkan’s dry lips clamped on her mouth and he forced it open with his kisses, penetrating the warm depths with his tongue. When he pulled back from the clutch, his eyes sparkling, Myssa smiled.

  ‘Let’s go back to the tent.’

  Akkan needed no other prompt. Grasping Myssa’s hand, he hauled her away from his men, up the steep rocky side of the bowl and across the waste to where the camp sprawled. The Child-Killer’s tent lay at the centre of the jumble of shelters. He threw back the flaps and Myssa slipped inside, easing down onto the coarse blanket they used to keep the chill of the desert night at bay. She sat cross-legged, looking up at her new husband, smiling.

  The Child-Killer stood in front of her, legs apart, and raised the flat of his hand, signalling to her to remove that fine white gown.

  Myssa shook her head, teasing.

  ‘First,’ she said, ‘show me your sword.’

  Akkan removed his kilt and looked down proudly at what it revealed.

  Myssa gave another calculated giggle. ‘No . . . I mean your real sword. I want to see the weapon with which you have killed so many people, and feel its weight. I want to imagine the blood of your enemies staining its blade. You are my man. I want to feel your power.’

  Akkan frowned in puzzlement. This wasn’t what he had been expecting.

  ‘Isn’t a bride allowed to ask a favour from her man on her wedding night?’ Myssa purred. ‘Before she grants him her favours?’

  Now Akkan smiled. That was more like it. He leaned down, kissed Myssa’s lips and then, as he straightened back up, said, ‘How can I refuse?’

  W

  hen they reached the port of Peru-nefer, Piay and Hannu helped the trader unload his bales onto the wharf and then gave their thanks. The blackened bones of the burned-out hulks still protruded from the grey water as they had done since the siege, and blue sky shone through the collapsed roofs of the charred warehouses. No work had been carried out since their arrival.

  ‘Harrar seems in no rush to bring Memphis back to its former glory,’ Piay noted.

  ‘He’s the kind of man who likes to puff out his chest and speak loudly, but he shirks the hard work of getting things done,’ Hannu replied. ‘He’d rather sit with Zahur, getting fat on the food from the palace kitchens, and plotting how they can both get even richer at the people’s expense.’

  ‘Taita wants what’s best for Egypt. Harrar and Zahur just want what’s best for them,’ Piay agreed. ‘That’s the difference between a great man and two worthless leeches.’

  As Piay and Hannu trudged along the road from Peru-nefer to Memphis’ white walls, Piay felt his inner fire burning low. More than anything, he needed rest and hearty meals to build up his strength, but he could not afford that luxury. Somehow he would have to find a way to struggle on.

  ‘At least we’re one step ahead of the Sons of Apis,’ Piay said. ‘They surely can’t know yet that I’ve got the Eye of Horus and this Disc of Ra. With any luck they’ll still be concentrating on Akkan.’

  ‘But how long till Akkan discovers what’s happened to you? We know he has spies within Memphis.’

  ‘I’d love to see the look on his face when he knows I’m back in the palace, all nice and cool, while he’s still sweating out there in the wilderness.’

  ‘Personally, I’d rather not see his face at all,’ Hannu said. ‘Ever.’

  As they came closer to the walls of Memphis, they could hear a loud noise coming from within: shouting, screaming, and the rumble and crashing of a throng of people in motion.

  ‘Is the city under attack?’ Hannu asked as they both picked up their pace.

  There were no soldiers guarding the gate, and the street just beyond it was deserted, but the more they pressed on into the city, the louder the noise became. With a mounting sense of dread, Piay and Hannu hurried towards it.

  They turned a corner, near the main market, and suddenly found themselves on the edge of a crowd filling the street with a milling, churning mass of people. Faces twisted with rage and fists shook in the air, their fury spiralling into a single deafening roar.

  From the day that Piay and Hannu had arrived in Memphis the people’s hunger and their hatred of Zahur – and the self-serving privilege he embodied – had been obvious. Discontent had been simmering, and now it had turned into outright insurrection.

  ‘Wonder what set them off?’ Piay shouted.

  ‘Wouldn’t have taken much,’ Hannu replied.

  Soldiers herded the citizens like cattle, prodding them with spears and swords as they attempted to contain the mob. In other times the people would have meekly obeyed, but Piay could see something had consumed them. Some passion burned in their eyes that made them oblivious to sharp bronze blades.

  A gaunt man, driven mad by hunger, frustration and fury, threw himself at the line of grim-faced soldiers. More by luck than anything, he slipped past the lethal blades and slammed into one of the fighting men, clawing at his face and punching and biting like some wild beast.

  The soldier crashed backwards with the emaciated man on top of him.

  Most of the other troops were too busy trying to hold back the heaving crowd to go to their comrade’s aid. If one more man went down, the dam might break. But a younger soldier dashed forward from the rear. He looked barely older than a boy, his sword unfeasibly large in his hands, and he had the awkward, long-limbed movements of youth, without the hard-muscled precision of a seasoned fighting man.

  Piay felt struck by what he saw in the lad’s face: terror. He had the wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression of someone who had never faced the horrors of battle before. Piay remembered that feeling well. Nothing could ever prepare a man for the chaos and demented emotions of war. And Piay had no doubt that this was war: a kingdom fighting its own people.

  As Piay gaped, the young soldier lunged for the man who was now astride his victim, hammering his fists down like mallets in the shipyard. He, too, was lost to the madness.

  From behind, the young soldier hooked his left hand around the attacker’s neck under his chin and wrenched him off the fallen soldier, so that he, too, was on the ground. Without a second thought, the raw recruit wrapped both hands around the hilt of his sword and rammed the blade downwards into the man’s scrawny chest. When he yanked back his weapon, the blade was covered in blood from tip to hilt.

  Piay felt as if the world had closed around him in that instant. The roar of the crowd ebbed to a distant throb, and his vision centred on the dying man and the growing pool around him.

  Someone shouted, ‘They’ve killed one of us!’

  In an instant the news spread through the crowd: ‘The soldiers are killing innocent people!’

  The sound of the mob spiralled up, the roar of a mighty beast that had been prodded one time too many. As one, the throng hurled itself forward.

  The soldiers had no time to brace themselves.

  ‘They won’t be able to contain them!’ Hannu shouted.