The Black River became wilder as they approached the narrow fissure in the cliff ahead, a gap barely wide enough to fit their small boat. Simon gulped: If they didn't pass exactly in the middle, they would undoubtedly be crushed between the turbulent, whirlpooling tide and the rough, unyielding face of the cliff. For a moment, he watched the oily-shimmering black waves throw themselves against the rough walls with force, as though they were intent on pushing its sides further apart.

  At the front of the vessel, Nefertari's lips were pressed together, her features white and bloodless, her eyes narrowed against the dimness and in concentration, as she guided the boat meticulously toward the fissure.

  And then the boat was caught in the maelstrom before the chasm, pulled mercilessly toward the cliff's sides, where it would be smashed … Maybe stealing Ra's vessel hadn't been such a good idea at all...

  Fountains of cold water crashed over the deck, spraying the boat's passengers with a rain of icy coldness, drenching them to the bone … The boat began to tilt … Nefertari shrieked, Simon dug his fingernails into the wet rigging as the vicious current tore them left one minute and right the next, intent on ripping them apart before they even reached the jagged edge of the rock … They weren't going to make it...

  “Aaaaaaaaaaargh!” A blur of gold, bronze and white flew past him, barely visible in the spraying foam.

  Acting on an instinct he had not known he had, Simon flung himself face down onto the deck, desperately fishing for a piece of Nefertari to hold on to …His fingers closed around her slippery wrists a second before she was flung overboard. And then they both began to slip, Simon loosing his footing on the wet deck, Nefertari barely hanging on, dangling over the waves, the sheer force of their combined weight pulling them toward the dark water...

  Simon's knees impacted painfully with a row of seats but he dug them into the cavity between them and the boat's frame nonetheless, feeling as though his joints were going to pop out of their sockets and second. At the same time, Nefertari's wrists were threatening to slip from his grasp, her body thrown this way and that by the deluge, and he forced his fingers closed again, just as something warm and soft began to spread over her arms … fur. Ignoring the appalled voice in his head, which was screaming to let the abomination go, let it drown, let it be crushed against the cliff, Simon held on to Nefertari as though his life depended on it too. He wouldn't let her slide to her death in the waves, furry monster or not.

  “Hold still!” he gasped, as another surge of cold washed over him, making his straining arms shiver, the hair on them stand on end.

  “Simon!“ Nefertari's eyes were wide open, fur was spreading on her cheeks, too, something sharp dug into the backs of his hands. He looked down to see her fingers had become sandy paws from which protruded long claws, biting into his skin as she clung on.

  “Yikes!” exclaimed Simon.

  “I can't control it,” yelled Nefertari, her eyes wide. “It always happens when –“

  But Simon never found out when. At that moment, the boat shook again, riding up on a wave, closing in toward the chasm, as if it were attempting to squeeze Nefertari between it and the cliff walls...

  “Hang on! Be quiet! I'm trying to think!” Simon shouted, gritting his teeth as another wave of icy water washed over them, making him shiver, his brain working on high speed. Where was Horus? Why wasn't he helping? He turned his head to find the god stand, statuesquely, at the other end of the boat, looking at them in horror, his face white.

  “DO SOMETHING!” Simon bellowed, his fingers cramping painfully from effort and cold. But Horus didn't move, didn't even twitch.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” roared Simon, completely nonplussed.

  Didn't the god realize that his precious Pharaoh was about an inch away from being sqaushed against the wall? There was no time for any more antics! But Horus was still rigid, and another idea came to mind. What if he couldn't move? His face was distorted as though he were in pain, his arms were trembling as though he were straining against some sort of invisible bindings …

  A flash of blue flame ignited above the front of the boat.

  Simon's head whipped around to the figure that had burst out of thin air: It was translucent and blue-glowing, with the muscular body of a man and the head of a jackal, and holding what looked like a spear and ended in a great, guillotine-like axe.

  Momentarily diverted, Simon's clam fingers nearly lost purchase on Nefertari's wrist. She plunged one inch deeper into the waves, gasped, spitting out copious amounts of river, her claws digging into his skin, bringing him back to his senses.

  “Let them pass,” Horus said at that moment, with apparent effort, rubbing his temples with a shaking hand he had been able to tear free of the spell. “The person you are threatening is Nefertari Aten-Atlanta, the light of Egypt, last descendant of the great father, Ra.”

  Ra does not police the shadows, said a voice in Simon's head. He was sure the others had heard it as well. And the politics of the world above are of little interest to us.

  “Then let her pass on my authority, son of Osiris and Isis, lord of the Duat and his consort,” Horus snarled, his muscles bulging as he fought against whatever was detaining him.

  The ghostly figure seemed to consider this, then turned around and looked straight at Simon.

  What about this one?

  Horus hesitated, his eyes meeting Simon's almost apologetically.

  “He is of no importance.”

  “WHAT?!” shrieked Simon.

  “NO!” yelled Nefertari, but then another wave cascaded over her, and she was forced to shut her mouth tight.

  It was already too late. The spirit had turned toward him, its body no longer blue but dark, its eyes smouldering like sinister rubies.

  Then his soul shall be ours, it said.

  Before Simon could react, it swooped down on him with its spear extended and drove the weapon right at his chest. At the same time as his fingers loosened, the invisible restraints confining Horus broke, and the god moved forward like a flash, catching Nefertari and swinging her cold, shivering form back into the boat.

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  “Are you well, Pharaoh?” he said breathlessly.

  “I am, but...“ She turned back, her eyes finding the human boy, lying where he had fallen across several seats.

  Something strange had happened to Simon: The moment the spear had been about to touch his chest, the hourglass pendant had given a mighty pulse on his chest, and a layer of eye-watering white light engulfed the spear, then the spirit, igniting them, breaking them into incandescent pieces.

  An image flit across his vision: A blindingly bright beacon on a hill next to a tower of jagged spires that looked like a bizarre, crystalline flower rising into a vibrant, blue sky, surrounded by artificial rings of water like a pier, in the midst of a white city, the ocean washing against the pearly white shore beneath.

  It lasted for less than a second, then he could feel hands on his body as the others turned him around to see if he was dead. Anger washed through him. The image of the white city burnt onto his retinas, Simon forced himself out of the vision, taking shuddering gulps of cold, Duatian air. Nefertari jumped away from him with a shriek.

  “We thought you were dead!” There was relief in her voice, but Simon ignored her.

  Around them, the river was calm and smooth again, carrying them steadily toward the volcano at the other end of the gorge. Against all odds, they had made it through the chasm.

  “Well I'm not,” said Simon, surprised by the iciness of his own voice. His gaze swivelled around to Horus, who would have cold-bloodedly sacrificed him to Who-Knew-What. Horus responded his glare with careless nonchalance, a mildly curious expression that made his blood boil. Shoving away Nefertari's hand, extended to help him up, he rose to his feet and glared right at Horus.

  “No thanks to you.”

  “The Pharaoh's life is of the highest importance,” Horus replied impassively, shrugging. “My choice will always be the same.”

  Simon felt so angry he couldn't even find hurtful enough words to express it. This was the third time he had barely escaped death at the hands of his captors, his kidnappers, and he was growing rather tired of the constant danger to his person. Was there no one who cared about him? What right did Horus have to decree his, Simon's, fate? He was tired of being a prisoner, tired of always being the second choice for everybody, whether it was Perfect Morgan at home or Precious Nefertari in ancient Egypt.

  “Come to think of it,“ Horus' arrogant voice swept away his thoughts bluntly, his tone one of clinical interest, “why are you not dead?”

  “How should I know?” Simon snapped at the god, hatred like he had never known thundering through his head. “And you – why didn't you do anything? Standing there like – like –“

  But none of the phrases thundering through his head seemed bad enough to explain the rage inside of him.

  “He couldn't have,” Nefertari said quietly. Now that she was back inside the boat and the imminent threat to her life gone, the traces of the beast inside of her were gone. “The Duat has its own rules … They could have put us all into lockdown if they'd wanted to.”

  Simon scowled at her. He didn't want to hear her explanations, her excuses, for nothing could redeem Horus' behaviour. He turned away from them before either could say any more, his blood still seething, thinking about his most recent vision instead: The white city, enclosed by pearly beach and waves, under a perfectly blue sky, had been familiar, though he was certain it wasn't in any of his textbooks or anywhere he had visited before. But then, where could he have seen it?

  Nefertari and Horus were holding a whispered exchange in the front of the boat, but Simon didn't care: Although his anger was subsiding slowly, ebbing away into the back of his mind, like particles of muck onto the ground of a lake, he wasn't going to forget how Horus hadn't hesitated, even for a second, before offering his soul to the spirit. Now more than ever he was convinced that he would never give up his Infinity Key, that he would find a way to fool Anubis no matter what...

  Why hadn't he just agreed to go with Set? In the light of recent events, it was difficult to believe in all the stories Nefertari and Horus had told him about the god's misdeeds: Oases drying out throughout Egypt, forcing the survivors of the drought into the bigger cities and under the rule of Apep; Oppositions and riots quelled by force, their initiators and supporters disappearing without a trace; and the murder of Set's own brother, Osiris …

  Well, thought Simon, if Osiris was anything like his son, Horus, he could sympathize...

  Set had treated him with respect, complimented him and his powers, promised to educate him in the magical arts... And hadn't the god also sent him a vision in an attempt to please him?

  Once again the image of Morgan's forlorn face rose before his mind's eye. Set had thought it would make him happy, so could it be that he had simply misunderstood the vision before? Was Morgan's misery supposed to be the thing he wanted to see the most? It would make sense, in a way. Simon had spent most his life competing with Morgan, and there was little he craved more than beating the boy at something … And yet the thought of Morgan being unhappy gave him no joy.

  Visualising himself on his way home as a mighty magician, with pockets full of loot, Simon wished he had agreed with Set's proposal after all, succeeding only partly in pacifying his protesting mind with the thought that Nefertari and Horus would have been kept alive had they come quietly. As it was, however, he was stuck in hell with the one person he could stand even less than his cousin and a collection of troubling visions, all because of an idiotic sense of loyalty to two people who couldn't care less about him.

  Simon had not known what they were looking for, but when the narrow landing and behind it a large, winged, black stone gate like a dark, yawning mouth, leading straight into the volcano, came into view, he knew they had finally reached their destination. Accompanied by the sizzling noises and scent of lava descending into the Black River, they clambered onto the shore, tethered the boat against the pier, then made their way toward the gaping gate of the mountain.

  Necropolis' entrance opened before them. The path leading toward it was paved with enormous, black, square stone plates, each of which inscribed with golden hieroglyphs and more unknown symbols, the row of pillars on either side were gold and carved with sculptures and mural reliefs. Another set of onyx effigies depicting Osiris stood sentinel on either side of the gate itself, their jewel eyes glinting as though there was life in them.

  Reverently they passed through, their gazes swivelling from one side to the other in both admiration and vigilance, the Book of the Dead, again drifting above Nefertari's hand, throwing misshapen shadows against the walls of the room behind.

  They were standing in a vast underground temple: Dominating the view was a colossal, broad, stone staircase, suspended in midair except for numerous, transparent glass bridges, zigzagging in ninety degree angles, winding downward into a dark gloom, different layers of the Duat branching off on all sides and in varying heights like ribs from a spine. Around the twisting spine, the walls were covered in further hieroglyphs, unfamiliar symbols, mythological scenery, and torches in brackets, which fluttered like frantic dancers in a ghostly draught coming from beyond, making the hair rise in the back of their necks. The dark void between the wall and the staircase was absolute, a black pit that could have gone down for eternity or ended after a short fall. Simon wasn't likely to attempt finding out.

  One by one they made their way onto the invisible bridge, identifiable only by the purple flashes of light speeding down its equally unseen banisters in random intervals, reminiscent of the luminescent cilia of certain kinds of jellyfish. Through the glass they could see deep into the opaque void underneath their feet, an unsettling sight as though they were falling through nothingness.

  On the staircase the steps were broad enough to allow them to descend side by side, the Book of the Dead and Horus' spear (which he seemed to have produced from out of thin air – Simon couldn't remember him carrying a weapon when they had started out) illuminating the way. Down here the air was rent with an unearthly, freakish kind of drone, its source indiscernible, and the flickering light of the torches played tricks on their eyes. After what seemed like hours, they finally came to a halt at the bottom of the staircase, border of the deepest layer of the Duat, looking into an enormous vault. There, the environment was thrumming as though it were charged, the air itself live with the hum of a million akh passing on the plaza in front of them.

  “Welcome to Necropolis,” said Nefertari quietly.