His heart, bloody, dark red, and still pulsing appeared on the second pan of the scales of justice.

  At first, there was nothing but darkness, and everything was completely still. Simon could tell he was alone in the silent gloom, and he also knew that he was wide awake, sitting – or standing, it was hard to tell, because it didn't seem as though he had a body – and waiting for something, though he knew not what.

  And then, all of his senses burst open to a stream of colourful, bright images and a torrent of sound.

  Simon was gazing down upon the white city again, complete with the surrounding waves, the sandy shore, the beacon in its center, and the crystal tower. He could see the beacon more clearly now: It was an hourglass, scintillating as it coiled around and around itself, radiating the purest light he had ever seen. It was divine.

  Then the beacon vanished.

  Next, he saw himself as a young child in the arms of a woman he didn't know. She was beautiful, though, dark brown hair and vividly blue eyes, her face decorated with intricate tattoos and precious gems. His mind spun, and she was still there, kissing his forehead before she handed him away into rough, callused hands. Why was she doing that? He liked her, he didn't want to go to the other...

  The image changed again, and the woman was gone now. Instead, there was Avrak Walker, teaching him how to read, how to tie his shoes, how to hold a book without creasing and wrinkling the pages. And now there was Morgan, peering tremulously out from behind their grandfather's legs, his freckly face pink and his eyes wide.

  Next, they were sitting side by side, and Morgan was listening intently to his speeches about how he was going to be the greatest archaeologist the world had ever seen, as though there was nothing in the world that could ever be more fascinating than his older cousin's daydreams. Simon felt a rush of warmth for the boy. It felt good to be with him.

  The image twirled again.

  They were older now, eight and ten perhaps, standing in front of Avrak Walker, gazing shamefully upon a highly valuable and accidentally smashed vase at their grandfather's feet. Simon's arms were crossed, and Morgan looked close to tears.

  “I'm sorry,” said Morgan then. Why did he do that? It was him, Simon, who had broken the relic, running down the corridor with his nose stuck to a piece of old text he was translating, and yet his past self stood silent. He had almost forgotten that occasion, and now that he saw it again it made him uneasy. He should have said something, not let Morgan take all the blame when he was innocent...

  Once again the film in his head changed direction.

  Their graduation from school, together, even though Morgan was two years younger. Morgan was there too, clapping with all the others as Simon's name was called from the front. Simon didn't want him there, that interfering little prat, he had wanted this moment to be his own, and anyway, his cousin was too young to begin university … It was infuriating.

  The warmth from before was fading rapidly. The next image was one of him, standing in the wide corridor of a familiar, old house, outside a dimly lit room. It was night, and he was listening to his grandfather and cousin converse quietly. They thought he was asleep, but he had sneaked out of bed to catch them at it. As he watched, enviously, a terrible, ugly consumed his mind: I just want him gone.

  And then he was gone, and Simon was sitting in the old room, which was his grandfather's study, alone, pouring over a pile of heavy tomes. His grandfather was gone – not only from the room – and he had to focus his energies into studying, because it was the only thing he could do to distract his mind from the guilt.

  The images were fading now, sinking back into the depths of his mind, and, before his eyes had opened fully, he had already forgotten them again.

  Simon's cheeks were wet, though he couldn't remember why. Had he been crying? He rubbed over his eyes under his glasses, trying to recall what had happened in the past few minutes, trying to force meaning from the blank slate that was his mind...

  Then his gaze fell onto the form of a man, or a beast, or both, standing a short way away, and a fragment of sense emerged: He was in the Hall of Two Truths. Nefertari and Horus had brought him there, though they weren't in the hall any more, and the reason for that particular journey was beyond his hazy brain at the moment. The scales of truth had vanished from their perch on top of the sarcophagus, as had the monster from the shackles. A metal archway, a time portal, filled with blueish spiralling fog, had appeared next to the throne of nine bows instead. Did that mean he had survived? Had the others?

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  “What happened?” Simon croaked. Why am I here again?

  Anubis was contemplating him almost thoughtfully, as though the god couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

  You came to me with questions, Simon Walker, said Anubis slowly. Simon sighed heavily: When had he stopped wondering how people he had never met in his life knew his name? Two of which I will answer for you.

  Memories hurtled back into his mind at that, almost painfully fast: The Duat, the choice they had been given, his own heart thrown onto the scales of justice. He hastily clasped his palm over his chest, feeling for the steady rhythm and finding it, beating strongly, firmly inside his ribcage. Simon sighed with relief, but, at that moment, the meaning of Anubis' last words sunk in.

  “What? Me?” He stared at the god. “Why me? I'm –“

  Not a good person, he had wanted to say, but instead he forced his lips shut. If Anubis had determined that he was the most pure, or innocent, or whatever it was, out of the three of them, who was he, Simon, to argue?

  Your mind may be clouded with greed and hatred, Anubis had interpreted his silence correctly, but they do not conceal your deepest wishes and desire.

  “I wish you would stop talking in riddles,” said Simon.

  His face was still raw with the tears, which had frozen on his cheeks, cracking open his skin. Something big must have happened while he had been out, and yet he couldn't remember anything but waking up in a state of depression. Was time travelling always this complicated? Did it even matter? He had survived the attempted theft of his soul two times now, outrun a very angry deity and a bunch of other, insane creatures, all of it without so much as a scratch. And, on top of those rather flattering achievements, he could have any two questions answered by an Egyptian god. No, Simon decided, it really wasn't important why the winds were so obviously in his favour.

  On the other hand, the whole realization of what that meant was almost too much: Nefertari and Horus still didn't know where the Infinity Key was, which meant they would, therefore, also remain clueless of the fact that it had been with them for a while now. And it also meant that he, Simon, could ask about all those things nobody else had ever been able to answer, such as the questions what happened after death, if there was a solution to world hunger, if mankind would ever settle on another planet, or if there were alien conglomerations strewn throughout the universe...

  But all of those queries seemed so small and unimportant compared to everything he wanted to know for himself. And yet, having made up his mind thus, nothing popped into his mind, leaving him to stare blankly at the opposite wall of the Hall of Two Truths, where the plasmic substance was swirling idly in the archway. It wasn't just that he hadn't, even for the tiniest span of time, considered what he would ask on the off chance that he was chosen, completely certain that he would fail. The sheer magnitude of the conflicting emotions now crashing over him was overwhelming, making his brain unresponsive and his thoughts gooey.

  He knew what Nefertari would want him to ask, about the whereabouts of her precious key, but he knew the answer to that already, and, after the events on the boat, he felt even less inclined to do anything she and her lapdog wanted than after the initial kidnapping.

  He could ask Anubis how to get back home, but that felt like a waste. He already knew, or thought he did, about the Infinity Key, the time portal, and how to use it. He only needed to return to Giza to make the transition happen.

  How about magic, heka, then? Could he be a mighty sorcerer, like Set had promised? But then, where was he going to start? Surely, the whole magic thing was too enormous to formulate into only two questions?

  Still staring at the wall, the lightheaded, euphoric enthusiasm he had felt barely a minute earlier was gone. After all he had endured in the past few days, gambling his soul, nearly dying twice, never mind the rest of the horrors, the apophi, chimaeras, and the dangerous era in which he had found himself, Simon Walker had no question.

  But the moment he wanted to say so, something else popped into his mind, a painfully familiar, painfully miserable face.

  “I want to know what happened at home,” Simon muttered, following the impulse. “What happened back in my time, after I disappeared?”

  He stopped himself short from asking if anyone missed him after all, if Morgan did. He wasn't that desperate yet, and he didn't think he could bear hearing the answer if it was negative.

  A long moment of silence fell, in which he began to think he had asked for something impossible, but then it happened. It was as easy as falling asleep, the darkness taking over his mind in less than a split second, lulling him into an enchanted dream far worse than he had ever imagined his worst nightmares could be.