So, they were men. However silently, invisibly they might move, they were flesh and bone, and when they were wounded, they bled.

  And yet they did not cry out, even at the loss of their right hand. What kind of man could bear such agony in silence?

  From somewhere on the far side of the room, an Egyptian voice cried out, but was cut short. And the next thing Piay heard was the thud of a body hitting the floor.

  ‘We’ve got to get the captives away from here,’ Piay told Hannu. ‘Somewhere we can see what we’re fighting.’

  ‘Give me a blade,’ Shamshi pleaded, for there was nothing like the threat of death to make a man a warrior. ‘Let me defend myself.’

  ‘I’ll take off your arm if you so much as touch a sword,’ Hannu retorted. ‘Now run or die.’

  Whirling, Piay snatched the wrist of the tattooed man, yanking him forward. In the last of the lamplight, Piay could see the man’s eyes glowing and the ghost of that victorious smile. But as he tried to drag his captive out of the chamber, Piay was suddenly pulled up short. Someone was pulling the man in the opposite direction.

  For a second, the tattooed man was motionless, like a donkey being pulled by both its mane and its tail. But whoever was pulling from the other side must have arms and legs and muscle and bone, Piay thought, and none of those things were impervious to a blade.

  Still clinging onto the tattooed man’s wrist, Piay spun around and lashed out with his sword at where his enemy must be, but the edge of his weapon found nothing but thin air.

  Before Piay could brace himself once more, his invisible opponent gave an almighty tug and wrenched the tattooed man from his grasp. The darkness swallowed him.

  Piay flew backwards, crashing onto the stone, and as he did he once again felt the breath of air as one of those curved knives slashed by, a finger’s width above his head.

  Sprawling, he felt a rush of dismay that he had failed to keep hold of the captive. For the briefest moment, he entertained the thought of racing through the gloom to try and recapture him, but he knew that if he did, he would not see another dawn.

  As he pushed himself up, a hand hooked under his armpit and hauled him to his feet. It was Gatas.

  ‘Away from here,’ the captain croaked. ‘Away now or die.’

  And then they both were dashing in the direction that Hannu and Shamshi had gone, towards one of the doorways.

  When they crashed into the next chamber, the light from the lamps seemed so bright that Piay was momentarily blinded. He realised that his nose and the back of his throat were full of whatever was causing the strange sour wine taste, and he wondered if that was the source of their attackers’ seemingly magical abilities: some powder floating in the air that could play games with men’s minds? A potion? A spell?

  There was no time to dwell on that notion.

  ‘They are following us,’ Gatas cried, his voice breaking.

  Through a maze of chambers and corridors they raced until they tumbled out into the night. Moonlight flooded the courtyard. Hannu and Shamshi waited ahead and together the four men ran on, out of the palace compound and into the streets.

  ‘They want the Eye that Lord Taita still has,’ Shamshi gasped. ‘They will not rest until it is back in their hands.’

  ‘And they want you, too,’ said Gatas.

  Piay had hoped that the crowded streets would make it almost impossible for anyone to follow him and his companions, but most of the revellers seemed to have taken to their beds, and many of those who remained were slumped over tables, or lying in gutters, too intoxicated to move. And the bright, silver-grey moonlight did little to conceal them from their pursuers.

  On the other hand, it was at least easier to move more quickly.

  Very well, Piay thought. We’re in a race. We have to get to safety before they get to us.

  ‘Aim for the River Gate,’ Piay said breathlessly, as he ran beside Gatas. ‘If we reach the camp, we stand a chance. These ghosts can’t beat an army.’

  Just as he felt his spirits rise, Piay glimpsed movement at the edge of his vision. At the end of a side street, shadows danced by along the road that ran parallel to the one along which they were running.

  ‘They’re keeping pace with us, trying to cut us off before we reach the gate.’

  ‘How many are there?’ Hannu wheezed.

  ‘Too many to fight,’ Gatas barked back. ‘Don’t even think of engaging them.’

  Each time they passed a side street, Piay glanced along it. The shadows were still keeping pace, like a pack of jackals bearing down on wounded prey.

  The twin towers of the River Gate soared up ahead, silhouetted against the star-sprinkled sky. With the enemy vanquished and in full retreat, the huge gates had been left open. Piay felt his heart leap. If he and his companions could escape the city, they could seek shelter among the Spartan soldiers still camped outside the city walls.

  But the creatures on Piay’s tail would surely make the same calculation. They would attack while the odds were still in their favour.

  Piay kept his eyes on the final side street before the gate, expecting that that was where the attack would materialise.

  ‘Ready yourselves,’ he said.

  Then, as swords were pulled from their scabbards, Piay spotted something. Next to one of the warehouses, where merchants had delivered their wares in the days when the city was thriving, there was a wooden scaffold, assembled to repair the crumbling edifice. It had not been used for many a day, but at the top was a platform, still loaded with masonry and the abandoned tools of the stoneworkers.

  ‘Come with me,’ Piay called.

  Acutely aware that their pursuers were almost upon them, he raced to the foot of the scaffolding and put his shoulder against it. The structure was old, rickety, and he could feel it trembling even with the slight pressure he administered.

  The others recognised what he was attempting to do, and without hesitation they slotted in beside him, all heaving as one.

  The scaffold wavered, teetered, and then, with one final shove, rolled forward and crashed down. Piay was running again even before it hit the ground. As he passed the end of the side street, he caught a flurry of movement and then the pile of masonry and the scaffold thundered down in a billowing cloud of dust.

  Piay prayed the obstacle would slow the cut-throats just enough, and so it proved. He darted through the River Gate, yelling at the guards, in the name of the Pharaoh, to close the gate behind them. Though the sentries must have been bewildered by his request, they did what he said. The trundling of the huge doors rumbled at his back.

  Yet the four men didn’t slow their step. They careered along the road and sprinted into the heaving mass of celebrating soldiers. Amid the din of the singing and the clouds of smoke from the fires, they finally ground to a halt among the large mauve tents of the Spartan generals.

  ‘Don’t know about you, but I’ve got no intention of going to sleep,’ Gatas gasped, resting his hands on his thighs as he heaved in gulps of air. ‘Don’t care how tired I am, I’m not letting those devils slit my throat in the night.’

  ‘Very wise, my captain,’ Shamshi replied. ‘This is not done yet, not by a long way.’

  P

  iay knew full well that a set of gates would not prevent the ghost-men who had recaptured the silent, impassive, tattooed captive from climbing over the walls of Thebes and venturing into the camp. He had little doubt that they had the skill to make their way through it without anyone noticing them. The first he, Gatas, Hannu or Shamshi would know of their presence would be the hands that clasped their mouths shut and the blades that slit their throats.

  But time went by, and they were all still alive. It seemed that their invisible enemies were content, for now, to bide their time. They had their man. Soon, no doubt, they would come back for his mysterious amulet. Therefore, a new plan had to be made to foil them, and the Hyksos alike, and there was only one man whom Piay would ever want to devise it.

  ‘I need to talk to Taita,’ he said. ‘Hannu, you come with me. Captain Gatas, you will have the pleasure of Shamshi’s company. Feel free to tie him up. By all means gag him, to silence his blabbering. But I don’t think he has any desire to escape.’ Piay looked at the Hyksos priest. ‘Who knows what might be waiting for him out there in the dark.’

  Piay and Hannu walked through the camp, which, like the streets of Thebes, was now much quieter. The excitement of surviving a battle fuelled a man’s energy for a while, but fatigue would always catch up with him in the end.

  ‘Lucky sods, getting some rest,’ Hannu said enviously as they passed a tent from which the sound of snoring could be heard.

  ‘I also need to sleep,’ Piay agreed. ‘But not until we’ve spoken to Taita.’

  As they got closer to the tent, Piay saw, to his relief, that there was a ring of soldiers around it, all members of Hannu’s old unit, the Blue Crocodile Guards. If they couldn’t keep Taita safe, no one could.

  Taita must have been expecting them, for the entrance flap was partially open and Piay could see his master in deep conversation with Myssa. She was listening intently, her head slightly bowed, as Taita prowled around her, illuminating his points with hands thrown up or sweeping from side to side. Occasionally, Myssa would nod, signalling she had absorbed the knowledge he had imparted.

  Piay stood in the entrance and watched them both, feeling warmed that the two most important people in his life had already formed a deep connection. Indeed, Taita was so intent on what he was telling Myssa that he failed to notice the new arrivals, until Piay gave a discreet cough.

  Taita would normally have given Piay and Hannu a friendly greeting, but he just grunted an acknowledgement of their presence and flexed his fingers to direct them to enter the tent. His expression was grim and his mouth was downturned by the weight of his thoughts.

  Taita wasted no time before making the reason for his feelings clear.

  ‘The fate of all Egypt hangs in the balance,’ he began. ‘The one who solves the Riddle of the Stars will wield a power far mightier than even the Hyksos realise. They are right that it will give them the power to destroy us utterly. But that is only the very start of what it offers.’

  ‘So you’ve heard of it before?’ Piay asked, and then, before Taita could answer, he added, ‘Which is why you didn’t ask Shamshi about it. You didn’t want to reveal what you knew.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Taita said.

  ‘So, forgive me, master, but what do you know?’

  ‘I know that the riddle begins with Imhotep.’ Taita gave Piay the same inquisitorial look that he had used so many times in the classroom, and asked, ‘Do you remember who Imhotep was?’

  ‘The High Priest of Ra, the chancellor to the Pharaoh Djoser and the greatest of all architects,’ Piay replied, relieved that he had been able to provide an answer.

  ‘And . . .?’

  ‘And he lived a thousand years ago. And . . . ahh . . .’ Piay tried to remember what Taita had taught him and, to his great relief, entire sentences came back to him, almost exactly as his master had delivered them. ‘And he built a pyramid of steps to serve as Djoser’s tomb, the first great monument of its kind. He was the first man to use columns of stone to support a building. He was wise in all things, and now he lives among the gods, as one of their number, for his father was Ptah, the god of craftsmen and architects.’

  ‘Precisely so,’ Taita said, and Piay caught sight of Myssa out of the corner of his eye, standing behind Taita and silently applauding. Though whether she meant it, or was teasing him, he wasn’t quite sure.

  ‘So . . . I have read hints in the Hall of Records of what the Great Architect sealed away – scraps, rumours, but more than enough to tantalise. The old scrolls speak of Imhotep and his divinations. They say that he could see far into days yet to come, see all that would ever transpire in Egypt. He foretold a great crisis that would decimate the land of the Pharaohs—’

  ‘The invasion of the Hyksos,’ Piay said.

  ‘And perhaps those who would be our saviours,’ Taita continued. ‘But I will get to that in a moment. For now, know that Imhotep, in his great wisdom, was said to have hidden away a mighty force for good that could be used in rebuilding our land, used to bring the two kingdoms back together, a power that would protect Egypt from future harm. But something that could also be used for great ill if it fell into the wrong hands.’

  ‘What sort of power?’ Hannu asked.

  Taita pursed his lips, letting the gravity of that question and its answer press down upon them before he replied, ‘It is said that Imhotep found a way to communicate with the gods themselves. More than that, he could summon them to walk among us and to use their powers here in the realm of men.’

  Piay gaped. ‘The gods . . . here?’

  ‘That’s how it was, way back in time,’ Hannu muttered. ‘The gods were here, in our world. That’s what my father used to say, anyway.’

  ‘He may have been right,’ Taita said. ‘Even now, the Hyksos claim to be able to speak with Seth and to seek his guidance through their rituals using the blue lotus, the Dream Flower. Imagine, then, if the God of Chaos and War stood with them at all times, unleashing his power in every battle they fought? It is frightening to think of the destruction that could be wrought, the lives that could be wiped away in an instant.’

  Silence lay heavy in the tent for a long moment, but then Taita spoke again and the tone of his voice had changed.

  ‘But imagine also what good could be achieved if Osiris walked among us, using his powers to enrich the soil of the Nile Valley so it was more bountiful than ever before, offering the people proof of a life after death. Or Hathor, whose power of renewal could conjure hope from despair, and ensure trade would return to all our cities and bring riches that could forever bind the two kingdoms together.’

  ‘Wonderful things or terrible things, depending on who had the power of summoning,’ Piay said.

  Taita nodded. ‘These spells were too great even for a man like Imhotep, and he took the decision to hide them away until a time when wise men might rise up who could wield them with care, so the accounts say.’

  ‘A wise man like you,’ Piay said.

  ‘Thank you.’ Taita smiled at the compliment, for he was not without vanity. ‘Now come with me,’ he said, reverting to his sombre tone of voice. ‘There is something you must see.’

  W

  rapped in a cloak against the growing chill of the night, Taita strode out of the camp into the heart of the necropolis, where the rich and the powerful began their journey into the afterlife. Piay, Myssa and Hannu hurried behind, following the swaying glow of the flaming torch that Taita held high to light the way between the tombs and monuments on either side.

  When they reached the oldest part of the necropolis, Piay immediately caught sight of the shattered remains of an ancient obelisk that had crashed across the path. He recalled what the scribe had said in the square about the strange portents that had afflicted the land.

  ‘I did not know the ground had shaken here,’ Piay said, noticing for the first time the dry dust that hung in the air.

  ‘It did not,’ Taita replied.

  ‘Then what brought the obelisk down?’

  His master did not reply. Piay felt a prickle of terror run down his spine. Then Taita said, ‘Mark how the obelisk is lying. It is pointing in a particular direction. Now follow that direction.’

  They reached a line of graves, on the very edge of the necropolis. Taita paused before a gaping hole, where one of the graves had fallen in. Piay peered inside, but it was too dark to see the bottom.

  ‘In the city tonight, they were saying that the graves were giving up their dead,’ he said timorously, stepping back from the edge.

  ‘Yeah, and now here’s the proof,’ Hannu added.

  ‘I heard those same reports,’ Taita said. ‘So I came here this evening, before I met you at the palace. And this is what I found.’ He offered the torch to Piay. ‘Now drop into the grave and tell me what you see.’

  ‘Into the grave?’ Piay grasped the torch with hesitance. ‘The remains—’

  ‘There are no remains. The grave has always been empty. Now, obey my command. Go in.’

  Piay moistened his lips, then scrabbled over the side and dropped a short distance to the shattered rubble that lined the floor of the grave. He swept the torch back and forth and caught sight of a niche carved into the stonework.

  ‘What do you see?’ Taita asked.

  ‘A hole cut into one side . . .’ Piay leaned in as the shadows vanished. A stone block with a pyramidal head had been set in the niche. He described it, adding, ‘There is something carved on it.’

  As Piay tried to comprehend what he was seeing, Taita’s voice floated down.

  ‘At the top of the block, just beneath the pyramid, look for a square and a compass.’

  Piay traced his fingertip along the lines etched into the limestone.

  ‘Yes, it’s here.’

  ‘That is the mark of the Master Builder . . . the Great Architect . . . Imhotep himself,’ Taita said.

  Piay furrowed his brow. ‘But we were only talking about him a short while ago – and now we find this. That’s quite a coincidence . . .’

  He heard Hannu, up above, say, ‘And the way the obelisk led us right here. What are the chances of that?’

  ‘It was no matter of luck,’ Taita replied. ‘Everything was meant to be exactly as it is, at exactly this moment.’

  ‘How can that be?’ Piay heard Myssa say.

  ‘If Imhotep could see across the years, as the old stories say, could he not have left this here as a sign – a message to be discovered this night?’ Taita asked. ‘A message, perhaps, for us.’

  Myssa gasped. ‘Imhotep could see that clearly?’

  ‘I believe so.’ Taita turned his attention back to the grave and called down to Piay, ‘What do you find beneath the square and the compass?’

  Piay brought the torch closer. ‘Two figures. Men. One taller than the other. And there is writing . . .’