Following Nefertari was like following a Search and Rescue dog. She kept zigzagging from one side of the tomb of Zawte to the other, all the while murmuring under her breath, feeling her way along the walls, foraging for Simon didn't know what. Above her left hand, which was filled with a kind of crackling, blue light, drifted a plain metal tablet as though it were suspended in some sort of invisible harness. Complex lines extended over the tablet's shining surface like a net, crisscrossing, spiralling, and breaking off in sharp angles, like the map of the London Underground, and there was definitely something modern, something futuristic about it.

  The Book of the Dead was not the only thing worth investigating: Flanking the entrance of the tomb stood two ornate pillars carved with hieroglyphs and mythological scenes. There were depictions of Isis and Osiris, who had been painted rather sloppily, so that they were wearing quite grotesque expressions not unlike those of mad people; Thoth, God of Balance, the divine healer, bent over an assortment of objects Simon supposed were scrolls, appearing quite lost in his studies; and a scene entitled the creation of Ra, where several tiny figures appeared to be putting together a majestic body lying on top of... A table? An altar?

  That isn't right, thought Simon, examining the image. Ra created himself...

  But there was too much to see to dwell on this one issue of an incorrect mural for very long. The tomb was so magnificent, in fact, that Simon could hardly bring himself to follow his companions deeper inside. It was as though his eyes were glued on the rich depictions and the murals, both of which were still intact in this era, not like the crumbling ruins he had seen in the twenty-first century. At least until Horus tore the torch out of his hand and darkness shrouded the walls.

  When Simon rejoined Nefertari's search (He still didn't know what for), he found that she had come to a halt at the back wall, still muttering to herself. He watched the Book of the Dead for a moment, glowing and flashing in different colours, his fingers itching to touch it, take it home to London to study it... A thing like that would be impossibly valuable in his time.

  “Heka, human. Magic, in your words,” said Horus' voice smugly from next to him.

  Nefertari's lips were moving in chant now, the Book of the Dead following her progress along the walls with more complex lines and symbols … Simon felt his jaw drop. Magic was nothing like he had imagined, and yet it was more wonderful than he could have ever dreamed.

  “Close your mouth,” said Horus.

  Not long after, Nefertari stopped in front of a stretch of wall with elaborate images of death scenes, the Book of the Dead over her palm flashing in a violently purple-hot light.

  “There it is!” she exclaimed.

  “There is what? What is – what?” Simon said, remembering this particularly stretch of wall, behind which lay the coffin and the mummified remains of Necamai, from his visits in the twenty-first century.

  “Don't tell me we're going to rob his grave,” Simon said apprehensively.

  “Don't be silly, Simon,” retorted Nefertari sweetly. “We're not archaeologists.”

  “Very funny,” said Simon dryly, rolling his eyes.

  There was some more murmuring, purple light, and then Nefertari stepped back from the wall. Looking over the girl's shoulder, Simon could see it rippling, shivering like a curtain in a breeze, then the stone melted away, leaving a round, human-sized hole, behind which there was nothing but darkness. A narrow, black staircase led down into the gloom, and a draught of cold, damp air wafted toward them from out of its depths.

  Simon shuddered. That wasn't a normal breeze, judging from its iciness, the place it had come from, and that tiny, tingling feeling in the back of his mind, that impulse, drawing him toward the entrance, enthralling him …

  “Now hold your dromedaries,” said Horus, clasping a hand onto Simon's shoulder, and coming out of the stupor Simon realized he had began to move toward the darkness unconsciously.

  He peered down into the gaping hole with renewed caution, his mouth very dry all of a sudden. Were they really desperate enough to go down into hell just to find an artefact? Could a throne and a crown, or even a whole country, possibly be important enough to risk their lives, their souls? And, assuming they even got that far, would Anubis tell the others that he, Simon, had one of the hourglass keys? That it had been with them from the beginning? That they had merely wasted their time, descending into the Duat to seek him? Even Nefertari's word wouldn't be enough to keep Horus from skinning him alive...

  “Any last words before we go? You might not ever get another chance,” Horus said at that moment, in a smug kind of tone, evidently enjoying himself.

  Simon didn't respond, still thinking, hard. What if he gave up his treasure, surrendered the hourglass to his companions now? There would be no more need to go down into the Duat, and if he was lucky, Nefertari and Horus would be mollified enough to help him on his journey back home…

  But could he really? This wasn't merely about the hourglass any more. Could he really forget the strange events that had happened? The vision, Set's request, Nefertari and Horus' conviction that Simon was somehow different, special. Did he not want answers to all those questions? And what if he returned without the hourglass, without anything to show for what he had done? What would he do next, where would he go? For the past few weeks, nothing had existed in his life but it, and before that, he had always had his grandfather … He would be nothing again compared to Perfect Morgan, who only had to smile to have his every wish come true …

  He looked at Nefertari, who was examining the Book of the Dead, then Horus, who was still smirking at him superiorly, perhaps mistaking his silence for fear and relishing in the idea...

  Simon's brain soldiered on: Surely, there was no question what the god would do if Simon's secret came to light... Horus would be livid, and so would Nefertari. Neither of them would want to help him back to the twenty-first century; it was much more likely that Horus would murder him indeed.

  But even if he, Simon, did not disclose the secret himself, what if Anubis did? Nefertari had been convinced Anubis had all the answers, so surely the god knew … Wouldn't it make much more sense for Simon to surrender now, while he still could? No. He could not afford to lose the hourglass, not when it was the only valuable thing he had left. He would protect it with all his might, find a way to coax Anubis into telling the others a lie... And then, once they left him alone, he would find his own way back home, without Nefertari and Horus' help. Having thus come to a conclusion, Simon pulled his sweater close and raised his head defiantly, staring right back at Horus.

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  “I'll go first, then,” Horus said, shrugging. Without waiting for a reply, he climbed through the hole and onto the opaque staircase beyond, his earrings jiggling, descending deeper and deeper, and, just as he was about to reach the middle, vanishing into thin air. Simon gasped, suddenly unsure about this endeavour once more.

  “What about Set?” he asked Nefertari, stalling the moment when he would be required to go down into the Duat too. Of course, he had not told either of them about the second apparition, but he couldn't help wondering how the god had tracked him, them so easily. “Isn't he going to look for us, follow us?”

  “Don't worry about that now,” said Nefertari. “Set's made himself some enemies down there, a lot of them I should say. He's not welcome in the Duat any more.”

  Simon swallowed, staring through the whole, seeing nothing but darkness.

  “After you,” said Nefertari brightly, gesticulating at the stone steps.

  Simon lined up against the wall, climbed through the hole, and stepped onto the staircase.

  Icy air hit his bare legs, accompanied by a horrible notion, something beyond feeling, more like knowledge, tingling in the back of his consciousness again... An awareness that he was being watched by a million people, who had all laid eyes upon him as soon as his shoes hit the topmost step. Abandoning all composure, Simon flew down the steps in wild flight, blind because he hadn't waited to let his eyes adapt to the gloom, unable to take the feeling, the knowledge, the certainty that he wasn't alone.

  And then he reached the end of the staircase, an abrupt fall into nothingness, a void at the end of the dark tunnel, and something immensely cold washed over him, as though he had tumbled into the Arctic ocean. Simon gasped, flailing his arms, fighting some invisible force pressing against his body, trying to carry him away –

  Sense caught up with terror a moment later. Rising up and looking around, Simon found himself up to the knees in an excruciatingly icy underground river, in the midst of a gigantic, draughty, dimly lit hall, which smelled like a damp cellar. Within seconds, he was chilled to the marrow. Horus, who stood on the riverside glowing in a brilliant, diamond-bright light like a shining beacon, snorted, then extended a merciful hand and hauled him out of the water. He began to dry immediately in the aura of heat emanating from the god, which caused wads of steam to puff out from his clothing.

  As they waited for Nefertari to arrive, Simon, staying in close proximity to Horus, letting his clothes dry in the god's heat, took a sweeping look around the dank hall. It was like a vast underground railway station, highly reminiscent of King's cross and definitely man-made, with sheer black walls streaked with gold veins thick as his thigh.

  On one side of the hall was the underground river, where specks of beautiful, opalescent light, reflections of Horus' glow, danced intriguingly across its shiny black surface, from which the riot of colour was thrown against the equally scintillating walls, which mirrored it again in turn. It was rather like standing inside of a massive, freezing kaleidoscope. On the other side, several staircases, crude with stone steps that appeared to have been hacked right out of the walls, led upward to a blueish shimmering metal archway on the topmost step. None of them was alike: Some stairs were narrow and straight like the one Simon and the others had used; others were broad, with steps tall enough for a giant; and again others zigzagged higher and higher upward in ninety degree angles, reaching for the faraway ceiling.

  From where Simon was standing he could see several steps that had been adorned with ornaments as well: A broad, flat staircase flanked by statues of the ibis-headed god, Thoth, to the right; and on the other end of the hall was one decorated with colourful shells and carvings, though it looked as though the portal of this particular one was out of order, for there was no swirling mist inside the archway. Had he needed to guess, Simon would have said this was some sort of divine travelling center, an impression not lessened by the fact that it was draughty like an airport hall, and the temperatures wintry.

  Nefertari appeared behind them with a splash and a shriek, her features scrunched up in displeasure as Horus lifted her out of the icy water and onto the riverside.

  “So where exactly are we?” asked Simon, his voice echoing eerily in the spacious surroundings. “Is this – are we there yet?”

  He couldn't see anything but the hall with its various exits and half expected a train to appear at the far end any moment, but it seemed like the right thing to ask. He didn't know where there was exactly anyhow.

  “Oh no,” said Nefertari, shaking water out of her sandals, her teeth clattering. “This is only the entrance hall, the Hall of Gates. All of the stairs lead to a different portal, a different tomb, like the one in Zawte, there's one in Khmun, in Giza, in Memphis...”

  Simon couldn't help feeling smug about this confirmation of his initial guess. He looked around the Hall of Gates again, recognising more statues, which he thought must be signposts and directions. A ghostly silence hung over the surroundings too, only broken by the occasional splashing of waves, the fine trickles of water running down the walls, and their breaths, forming frosty white puffs of air in front of their faces.

  Nefertari and Horus had started toward the far end of the hall in the meantime. Simon, who had no intention of being left behind in this spooky place, made to follow, but before he could so much as turn, a gust of wind even colder than the normal iciness of the hall ghosted over his shoulder. He whirled the spot, staring wildly around the environment. He could see the outline of something in the darkness – something vaguely human in shape... There was something wrong about the way the figure moved, gliding more than it walked, floating inches above the ground like a shadow... And just like a shadow it was both there and wasn't, a translucent, indistinct thing … Simon gasped audibly into the silence of the Hall of Gates.

  “What is it?” Horus turned sharply. Simon noticed that the god had drawn his weapon (though he couldn't explain where from, considering they weren't carrying anything).

  “I – I thought something touched my – there!” Simon yelped, pointing again as another of the translucent shadows became visible, drifting along the edge of the black river.

  “Just the spirits,” said Nefertari calmly. Next moment, she had seized him by the arm and was pulling him away gently.

  “Spirits?” repeated Simon, aghast. He whipped his head around again, straining his eyes to see through the dimness.

  “The akh, spirits of the dead,” Nefertari explained. “Best not touch them, though, they can drive people insane on contact.” Noticing his horrified look, she added hastily, “But don't worry, they're not going to hurt us, not as long as we show them the respect they are due. We'll be perfectly safe.” Even as she said it, one of the akh walked dangerously close on an invisible path crossing theirs, but before it touched her, the spirit melted away into the shadows it had come from smoothly and silently. How could she be so casual about this? As if this was something they did every day, nothing out of the ordinary...

  Looking around frantically, his gaze finding more and more akh as it went, he caught a glimpse of Horus, who was looking gloomier than ever and equally as tense as he had in Zawte... It seemed as though Simon was not alone in his distress, a realization that caused a reemergence of the second thought he had about not surrendering the Infinity Key. He had no idea how he might trick Anubis, and the thought of spending more time underground, with the akh, was terrifying. What if he touched one by mistake and went insane?

  He watched the akh closely as they went, expecting any second for them to pounce on him, but none of them did. They held their distance, coming just close enough for Simon to see sunken faces and clouded, dark eyes, melting away when their paths threatened to cross with the living. If anything, they seemed mildly curious of the little group passing through their midst, wandering through their realm. Simon took a deep breath, relaxing somewhat when the spirits continued to avoid them; it was no wonder he felt as though millions of eyes were watching him...

  “You could have told me about that before,” he said to Nefertari.

  “I could have,” the girl said, the corners of her lips twitching. “But I didn't see what difference it would make.” Simon grumbled at the implication. Of course she was right, he didn't have much choice but to go with them voluntarily, but that didn't mean he had to like being a prisoner.