He was sitting on a cushion in front of a low table.

  A modern table, thought Simon with delight. He turned around to look at the room, and found in his field of vision a neat bed, a rickety old wardrobe leaning against one wall, and a window that looked out at Giza in the other. He recognized it immediately as his room in Ahmed's Hostel. Ahmed's Hostel was the guest house he had stayed in during his most recent time in Cairo. It was run by his grandfather's old friend Ahmed, a small, balding man with an amiable smile and a moustache.

  Now this was peculiar. Why would he be back there? Simon had only stayed there in the first place because it was cheap, and because his grandfather had always preferred the lodgings there while travelling through Egypt with his two grandsons.

  Something brought his attention back to the table, a rustle of paper, the clicking of metal against wood. His fingers were unnaturally thin and delicate, their grip on the piece of paper unsteady.

  A knock at the door made him start, realizing as he did so that it wasn't just his hands but, in fact, his whole body that felt strange, somehow alien. He stood, and was surprised to find that he was oddly short, as though he had shrunk overnight. Strands of soft brown hair (which wasn't even the shade of his hair, and not curly either) fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away to find his cheeks wet. Was he crying?

  “Coming,” he said, in a voice that wasn't his though it was terribly familiar.

  “Your sister is here, Mister,” said another voice he recognized through the door.

  He didn't have a sister, what on Earth was Ahmed talking about?

  “Thank you, Amenhotep,” he said in response, still in that kind, gentle tone so different from his normal speech. He ran a hand over his eyes again as he went to open the door, perhaps to hide the tears, which were both angry and helpless, because there was nothing he could do...

  He opened the door to find two people standing outside on the landing: A middle-aged, curvy woman with chin-length black hair, wearing a sand-coloured bush-hat; and an older man with suntanned skin, retreating black hair and a moustache. The woman, he knew, went by the name Dr. Pierce, and was the leader of his excavation team; the man was Ahmed – or Amenhotep, whatever the name of the wretched man was – the owner of the hostel. He could only guess why the man thought Dr. Pierce was his sister.

  “Morgan,” said the woman in a rather deep, throaty voice, “it's time to leave. There's nothing here.”

  He nodded, then turned his gaze back toward the table, on which there lay two cut-outs from a newspaper.

  “LOST WITHOUT A TRACE: JUNIOR RESEARCHER VANISHES IN GIZA” read one headline.

  He took the other piece of paper, which was smudged from the frequency with which it had been perused, from the table. A set of bold letters on this piece announced, “JUNIOR RESEARCHER DISCOVERS HIDDEN CHAMBER IN GIZA”

  There was a picture of Morgan beneath the headline, standing in the secret chamber of the Great Pyramid with a rather awkward smile –

  “NO!” roared Simon in horror, but no sound came from his lips. His brain was reeling, struggling, tearing, fighting the images … He did not want to see any more. He could not stand it … He heard someone screaming as he fought the vision, trying to force himself out of the illusion, forcing himself to remember where he really was – kneeling on the stone floor of the Hall of Two Truths. Agonizingly slowly, the surroundings were coming back to him, light and warmth replaced by gloom and the frosty air of the Duat, black walls shifting into view on either side, the sill with its blue-burning flames, the coffin on which the Scales of Justice had stood not long ago, the portal at the other end of the room...

  His eyes snapped open and at the same moment became aware that he was the one yelling. Closing his mouth firmly, he raised his head a few inches, taking in the surroundings: He was lying on the cold floor of the Hall of Two Truths, in front of the Throne of Nine Bows, shivering, with his glasses hanging lopsidedly from his nose and breathing hard as though he had been running. Anubis was watching him quite impassively from the other side of the room, and it felt as though he was, quite literally, in hell.

  “I don't believe it,” Simon croaked finally. “It's a lie.”

  He couldn't take it. There it was, the truth, and he didn't – couldn't – believe it. It was wrong in so many ways he couldn't even begin to list – never mind explaining – them all: He had always known this would happen, feared it would, and now that it had – why was it so difficult to believe?

  He could feel the last bit of sanity he had been holding on to for the past few days slip away. It was impossible … Morgan would not have done something like this, claiming his, Simon's, achievements for his own… it could not be true, it simply couldn't. Simon's brain felt as though it was going to burst any second, a gaping hole was burning in his chest, he was about to rip apart at the seams...

  Momentarily he tried to stop his teeming and seething thoughts from frolicking around, an endeavour not unlike trying to stop a speeding train single-handedly, then, abandoning this futile task, he jumped to his feet, barely conscious of what he was doing.

  “It's a lie!” Simon shouted again.

  He turned on his heel and ran at the portal, the shimmering mist inside the archway, careless as to where it would take him, the second question Anubis had promised forgotten... All he wanted was to get away, as far away as possible, to get back home and confront his cousin for the calamity the boy had supposedly committed...

  He barely registered the jerking of his stomach as the swirling vortex took him, or the impact of landing on his hands and knees in a sandy cove, in the midst of the tomb of King Necamai.

  There were the others: Nefertari and Horus, waiting for him … Apparently, both of them were good people at heart, or surely Anubis would have kept their soul … He did not care … He did not want to speak to them … He wanted to go home, right now …

  Nefertari was at his side in an instant, her eyes wide and alert as she looked at his white face.

  “You look like Death itself! What happened? Did you – did you ask about the Infinity Key?”

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  Horus, who was leaning idly against one of the tombstones, looked up at the noise of Simon's entrance, but his gaze darkened immediately at the sight.

  “He didn't,” the god said.

  “What?” Nefertari whipped around, staring at him, then back to Simon, whom she regarded with a horrified expression. “You did, didn't you?” she said, sounding desperate and frantic, her eyes searching his face hopefully, pleading with him in a way her pride would have never allowed her to do aloud, unwilling, for the first time, to believe the words of her divine companion...

  Simon was unable to do anything but shake his head: There was no point lying, especially when he knew where the Infinity Key was in the first place. And there could be no more hesitating either: He was going to find a way to escape, tonight, and then he would return home to Morgan, the traitor...

  “You didn't,” Nefertari whispered.

  Simon could see the hope evaporating from her features, and with it the faith, the belief in him, which he hadn't recognized up until now … He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to see her disappointment, the barely confined anger underneath that he had wasted their last chance, the desperation that his denial had caused, certain that his brain was going to explode if just one more thought was added to the mess...

  And it wasn't his fault that their plan had backfired... He hadn't asked to be kidnapped, dragged around ancient Egypt, and made to offer his soul in exchange for answers … His temper was rising now too, fuelled by the hurt he felt for Morgan's betrayal; the fury and guilt toward Nefertari, who had trusted him, believed in him, who was looking at him now, appalled; the repugnance for Horus, who had tried to kill him, who had hated him from the start...

  “Told you he wouldn't,” said Horus superiorly at that moment, and it was the last straw.

  “OF COURSE I WOULDN'T!” Simon exploded, and Nefertari jerked away from him, staring wildly. “AFTER YOU KIDNAPPED ME, DRAGGED ME DOWN TO HELL AND BACK, SACRIFICED ME TO PAY A TOLL –“ His voice was getting higher and higher, his throat searing with rawness, and he took a deep breath to keep screaming.

  “Almost,” said Horus flatly, supremely unconcerned by his outburst, and Nefertari shot him a furious glare.

  “THAT IS NOT THE POINT,” bellowed Simon, pushing his slipping glasses back up his nose. “YOU USED ME! AGAINST MY WILL!” He took several feverish gulps of warm, humid air, and it did nothing to soothe the burning in his throat. “WHAT CAN I SAY?” He roared hoarsely, but was forced to continue in a quieter voice from then on. “What can I say about you, the mighty Horus? Or should I say divine whipping boy? Oh yes, everyone with eyes can see how she –“ he pointed at Nefertari, who was still staring at him, “– pushes you around, how you don't even have an own opinion! Powerful deity indeed!”

  Horus' arms had unravelled, he was looking livid, his features distorted into a grimace of fury, close to attacking as Simon knew... Nefertari stepped forward, between them, in an attempt to prevent the situation from escalating.

  “Simon –“

  But Simon wasn't done yet.

  “And you, high and mighty Pharaoh –“ He laughed shakily, high-pitchedly, completely out of control, remembering at that moment the most important teaching his grandfather had ever taught him: When darkness falls, we don't just accept it. We fight. He hadn't understood it that time, but now he did – or at least he thought he did.

  “You're going to give up now, just because everything doesn't go your way immediately? That is cowardice.” He knew he was playing with fire, but there was no space left in him for caution. “And I don't have time for cowards,” he finished dramatically, turned around, and tore away from them and into the surrounding necropolis.

  Simon threw himself into the shadow of a large, obelisk, overgrown with ivy, out of sight of the others, still fuming. He could hear slivers of Nefertari and Horus' conversation nearby, but he had little desire to join them, and the sentiment seemed to be mutual. Despite his burst of temper, the accusations he had thrown at their heads, neither of them tried to approach (or murder) him as he sat, fingers clenched to fists, chest heaving.

  Calming down, he tried not to think about Nefertari or Horus, her shocked face, and the way he had ruined everything for them. He had his own problems, he didn't need theirs as well, and he hadn't asked to come with them, or for her faith in him, in the first place. It wasn't his fault if they were back on ground zero.

  He ignored the repeated twinging of his stomach, steering his thoughts into a new direction: Morgan. He had always known his cousin was trying to sabotage him, to hoodwink and mislead him, so where did the terrible notion that he had been betrayed come from? Why was his brain refusing to believe the vision, the magnitude of the crime, when he had known all along what Morgan was? Why couldn't he accept the act of disloyalty, the breach of faith, for what it was?

  Simon pulled himself together again: All those things could not matter at the moment. He needed to think, had to plan his getaway, now, for he could no longer linger, knowing but not comprehending or believing, the events that had unfolded back in his time.

  The most sensible, the most logical course of action was, perhaps, to wait until nightfall, which was but a few hours away (as he could tell by the angle of the sun, hanging lowly over the horizon), then stay awake until the other two were asleep, slip out of the camp, and make his way back to Zawte. Once he was there, there was a chance he could find a caravan, a travelling trader, journeying to Memphis, Cairo, or anywhere else in the vicinity, whom he could join.

  Of course, sneaking out would not be an easy exercise, considering Nefertari and Horus' divine, superhuman senses and reflexes, but he could not think of any other solution. He couldn't even come up with a means of distraction, or any other way of disguise. It would have to be pure luck again that got him out and away safely.

  “… can't go back and try again... ” he heard Nefertari say at that moment. “Anubis wouldn't allow us inside another time, we'd be insane to attempt…”

  “I know that!” Horus shot back mutinously. “There is nothing else we could do! If it wasn't for the human –“

  Nefertari growled, but her retort was lost when a sound of footsteps, cracking and rolling rubble, the shifting of earth under heavy boots, erupted in the silence behind Simon. He whirled around, squinting into the semidarkness, trying to prise shadow from shadow, inanimate from animate elements, certain that he had heard something – somebody – coming his way...

  There, half-hidden by tombstones, leafy vines, and debris, stood a figure, watchful and silent, tall and thin as the surrounding marble and stone structures, a dark, demonic smirk just visible where light conquered shadow.

  “What do you want?” Simon said irritably.

  Set was the last person he wanted to see at that moment. It wasn't difficult to guess the god's purpose of course, but he was in no mood for any more tricks or schemes. He was going home, no matter what more lies the god had to offer.

  “You know what I desire,” whispered Set, crunching pieces of rock under his soles as he detached himself from the shadows and approached.

  “I thought I had a choice,” Simon hissed.

  “I have changed my mind.” Set's smile became more pronounced, but far from enhancing his taut features it made his expression hungrier, darker, reminiscent of the leer of an ancient beast. “You are too important, you cannot be simply forgotten...”

  “Well tough,” said Simon, rolling his eyes and trying to wish the god away, “because I'm not going with you.”

  “Afraid you don't have a choice,” Set replied softly. His demonic smile was the last thing Simon saw before something substantial collided with the back of his head forcefully and he was dragged into darkness once more.