Half an hour later, the first signs of change became visible in the environment: It began with a cluster of turquoise on the walls, then a vine on which the precious gems blossomed like flowers, and then he saw the river vanish through a towering, winged gate at the end of the Hall of Gates. Simon, Nefertari, and Horus followed the current, passed the gigantic set of gates flanked by two enormous onyx statues of Osiris, and came to a halt on the other side.

  An enormous valley opened up before them, a massive gorge that looked as though a giant had torn apart a perfectly fine stretch of earth with a mighty strike of an axe. Its sides were towering cliffs, grown with turquoise trees rattling jewelled leaves, leaning toward each other at the other side, forming a kind of chasm; its floor was littered with fragments of broken statues and bits of stone floors. Remnants of ruins that might, at some point, have been temples protruded from the waves of the blazing black and gold river submerging the dale, moving at the sluggish pace of liquid tar. As in the Hall of Gates, a dark gloom hung over the valley and it was very cold.

  “Magnificent,” Simon exclaimed stoutly, “simply superb!”

  “The Black River Dale,” said Nefertari with the air of someone explaining the sights to a tourist. “The Duat often mimics the world above, though it never quite gets it right...” She pointed at a cluster of turquoise trees on the walls, which were rattling their jewelled leaves. “This particular piece of underworld is a replica of the –“

  “Valley of Gates, yes,” Simon finished for her, having recognized the pyramid-shaped mountain behind the chasm, its peak spewing flames, tendrils of lava rolling down its sloping sides. “What's down there?” he asked, his gaze caught by what looked like a rock platform, protruding from the side of the cliff. It looked almost like –

  “The Black Harbour,” explained Nefertari, the Book of the Dead floating above her left palm again, a curtain of peculiar letters and symbols cascading down its luminescent surface. “Transit point into Necropolis. The Duat used to be a popular place for gatherings, and the Hall of Gates was, well, you've seen how it is, it's not very cosy, so they built the harbour as a means to access Necropolis – City of the Dead, though many of the old gods live there, so you could say it's a City of the Gods...” Nefertari contemplated this form a moment, then said, “Anyway, once we get there –“ she pointed at the piece of protruding rock, “– we'll be able to hire a boat and cross the chasm, and then we're halfway there.”

  Simon took there to mean Necropolis.

  He took another look at the fissure in the cliff before them. It seemed to have shrunk since the last time he had seen it. How were they ever supposed to pass through the tiny gap? Even from this distance, he could see the Black River swirl alarmingly fast in front of it, a whirlpool crashing violently against the cliff walls. A boat would have no chance against those waves … And there wasn't a pathway down to the harbour either, the whole of the valley's floor occupied by the deep, rubble-strewn river, creeping along its sides.

  “And how exactly are we going to get there?” Simon said apprehensively, hoping against hope his guides wouldn’t suggest swimming.

  “See there?” Nefertari said instead, pointing upward.

  Simon followed her outstretched pointer with his eyes: Close to the top of the right wall, hanging several hundred feet above the black river, was narrow pathway, snaking around the piece of rock behind which the harbour stuck out, half hidden by boulders, debris and rubble. A few smaller stone formations protruding from the walls like handles, as though someone had tried to secure the path and failed miserably. Simon could only guess where this was going, and he didn't particularly like it.

  “You don't say that will be our path?” said Simon weakly.

  “Oh yes, that's where we're going,” the supposed-Pharaoh replied, her eyes shining. “It will be brilliant, looking down from above, won't it?”

  Simon disagreed, strongly, the sight of the path (towering in heady heights above their heads) and the flimsy handholds (which looked as though he could pull them out with two fingers) nearly sending him into vertigo already. He wasn't going to admit that, though, so he said, his tone as sardonic as possible, “Are we here for the sights? You should have told me to bring my camera.”

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  “Your what?” said Horus, who seemed to have been preoccupied glowing for the past hour, unexpectedly.

  “A small apparatus, used to take pictures,” Simon explained. “You know – click, click –“

  “No, I don't,” Horus interrupted him flatly.

  It took them nearly twenty minutes to reach the path up on the wall. By the time they had reached the top, Simon and Nefertari were covered in sweat and freezing in the cliff's icy winds, their exposed fingers cracked with cold. Although Simon didn't like Horus too much, he was glad for once that the god was with them, for the chilly temperatures would have been sheer unbearable without the feverish heat of his body.

  One after the other, they trod along the narrow pathway and deeper into the valley, where it became darker and darker the closer they came to the harbour, visible now as a platform fuzzily illuminated by a row of lanterns, behind which they could make out the silhouettes of several small boats. Horus and the lanterns weren't the only source of light in the gloom, however. The river beyond them emitted a somewhat sinister, golden glow, too, and the boulders on either side were smouldering with ghostly blue veins, as though they were streaked with pure sapphire. Simon would have given anything for a camera right now. If he could show the rest of the world images of the underworld, the Duat, what afterlife was like, just where would he be? He would be celebrated like a god, even without Set's clever little plots and ploys.

  Down below, he could see the akh moving around along the watery ruins of statues and obelisks, staying on the chips and chunks of ancient buildings and structures, never treading water. And there were other creatures too, beasts of flesh and blood that looked like chimaeras and some sort of blueish glowing spirits with animal heads on human forms. Silence reigned inside the gorge, pressing onto Simon's ears, his gaze flitting around so as to not miss even the slightest movement down below.

  “There's so many of them,” he muttered, more to himself than anybody else. “Why don't they attack us? Aren't we... trespassing or something?” Horus snorted from the front of their chain.

  “They wouldn't do that,” said Nefertari. “They're not strong enough to kill deities, and anyway, they're not allowed.”

  “Not allowed?” repeated Simon.

  “Yep,” said Nefertari. “Ruler of the Duat makes the rules, Osiris.”

  Simon's brain gave a start.

  “You mean to tell me, if it wasn't for Osiris –“

  “Yep,” said Nefertari again, contemplating the back of Horus' untidy head from the corner of her eyes, “If not for Osiris, they'd be a lot more vicious. Osiris keeps the akh in, governs them, they're not allowed out of the underworld, can't leave without his say-so either, can't go and revenge themselves and things. What do you think would happen to the world above if they were? We'd be overrun with vengeful spirits.”

  “Good Lord,” Simon whispered. “What if Osiris changes his mind?”

  Horus twitched uncomfortably without turning around. Nefertari, still watching her divine companion, said darkly, “That would be terrible indeed … Don't worry, though, there's still Isis who has some influence...” she added kindly, seeing Simon's horrified expression.

  A minute later, they rounded the large portion of rock, and the platform beneath them came into sharper focus at the end of a spiralling set of stairs. Like the Hall of Gates, the Black Harbour was a construct black marble shot with golden veins, a crescent platform, with a long row of lanterns hanging from thin metal poles on its edge, anchor point for a fleet of four-man boats. The largest of them was an elaborately decorated vessel of brilliant gold and precious jewels, featuring a sun disc on its front.

  “Ra's own vessel,” said Nefertari proudly, her face glowing with anticipation as they descended toward the harbour. Once there, she and Horus made to untie the boat and climb inside, the latter holding it steady while Nefertari inserted the Book of the Dead into a socket at the front.

  “Is it wise to steal Ra's boat?” asked Simon warily from the outside.

  “What do you mean?” asked Nefertari, noticing his disapproving tone.“It's not like he needs it, he hasn't been around for centuries.”

  Simon threw a furtive look around the tranquil harbour. There was nobody and nothing around except for them, the platform and the boats entirely deserted, moving gently in the tide, thudding against each other occasionally and rather sadly. He couldn’t have said why, but it looked as though nobody had used the Black Harbour in a long time.

  “We grow ever so weary waiting for you,” drawled Horus.

  Simon clambered into the boat too, settling himself on a seat close to the front. At once it began to move, Nefertari, apparently using the Book of the Dead to steer, guiding it into the middle of the tarry stream. It was awfully cold on the river, too, as though the penetrating cold was freezing their souls rather than their bodies.