They came to a halt in front of the square, where the tents occupied most of the space, leaving none for their cavalcade to pass. Simon was pulled off the horse by a brutish thug, his ankles were tied with rough rope, forcing him to hop after the man as he was led into the din, where a variety of caustic smells assaulted his nose at once: Sweat and bad breath of the soldiers, the foul stink of the apophi, and the scent of burning incense from the sanctuary.

  Simon struggled irritably against the bindings and the soldier keeping a firm, bruising grip on his upper arm, neither of which was likely to give in, then was, after several minutes of this fruitless endeavour, reduced to glaring at Set, who was following them in a measured pace.

  “This is outrageous!” Simon snapped. “Remove these ties and let me go at once!”

  “Once I am assured you will not try and flee,” said Set, watching as the soldier fastened Simon's ties to a metal stake next to the entrance of a large, red tent, which was easily the most important-looking of the lot, not least because there were two apophi standing guard before it, in the front of the square. Presumably, this was where Set conducted his business.

  “I am not going to tell you a thing about... anything!” Simon spat angrily, fighting again. There was no doubt he felt less than amiable toward Nefertari and Horus at the moment, but he liked Set even less, and he would help the god just as little as he had aided them.

  Set ignored him, nodded to the soldier, who snapped to attention and left, and then made his way into the tent in front of them, still smiling maddeningly. As soon as the god was gone, Simon tried to pull free again, tugging at the rope, trying to pull it free from the stake, but it was futile.

  “IS – EVERYON – HERE – COMPLETELY – INSANE?!” he bellowed into the semidarkness of the war camp, but received no answer.

  He would have gone on in this vein for a while longer, but when he opened his mouth again, a generous amount of sand filled his already parched mouth, so he desisted, wishing they had made camp somewhere closer to the Nile, where he could at least get a drink.

  Nobody came for him for several minutes, in which he stood alone, scouring the environment for something sharp, a jagged piece of rock, or maybe a blade, neither of which he found. Angrier than before, he felt for the necklace, the Infinity Key, by wiggling his arms in front of his chest, and sighed with the tiniest hint of relief when he felt it bump against his skin. Avrak Walker would be turning in his grave if his grandson lost the only valuable object in his possession, no doubt. Apparently, however, nobody had taken the time to search him before they had abducted him, which he thought he ought to be grateful for, but couldn't get himself to be.

  And then Set reemerged from the tent, now wearing a black tunic and leather sandals. He approached Simon swiftly, cut the rope on his charge's wrists and ankles, then led the boy back into the large, red tent.

  Inside, Simon's suspicion about its function was confirmed: The interior was spacious and roomy, more like somebody's sitting room than the inside of a tent. The canvas walls were hung with maps of Egypt on which curving lines and arrows, which seemed to be tracking all sorts of different pieces of information, indicating, for instance, what looked like troop movements, Set's own course throughout Egypt, and various important locations. There was also a diwan on the right side, and a proper, four-legged, wooden table in the middle, just in front of the entrance. It looked like a place where warlords would discuss tactics.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Is this more to your – pleasure?” asked Set silkily, making a sweeping gesture with his right hand as he spoke, presumably indicating the emptiness of horrid creatures.

  Simon said nothing, but crossed his arms defiantly.

  “Well I must say, I am rather taken aback by your hostile silence. Or is it merely awe that holds your tongue?” Set went on.

  “You sure have a nerve,” spat Simon at that moment, his gaze flitting covertly over the entrance of the tent. Could he make it out of the camp if he tried to run? “You had the audacity to abduct me, and now you are complaining?”

  Set chuckled humourlessly.

  “Necessary precautions, my young friend, or we would have undoubtedly alarmed your charming friends to our presence.”

  “They're not my friends,” snapped Simon. And neither are you, he thought heatedly.

  “I see you haven't changed your mind, good.” Set's smile twisted wickedly. “I was hoping you wouldn't.”

  “I told you already – I'm not going to tell you anything about Nefertari, or your nephew,” Simon shot back mutinously.

  He didn't really think this was the reason for Set's interest in him, though, not any more. Had the god really wanted to attack Nefertari and Horus, he could have done it last night, already knowing where they were, which made Simon think there was, most likely, more to the situation.

  “We have others things to talk about, Simon,” said Set calmly, though his eyes were flashing scarlet again, as they had at the riverside when Simon had first mentioned his familial ties to Horus.

  “Like what?” said Simon flatly.

  Set didn't answer, but instead snipped his fingers once, a sound like the crack of bones breaking. The curtain in front of the entrance shot open at once and a thin man with a scarred, slender back and wearing a loincloth, materialized there so quickly he might just have teleported to the spot, carrying a food tray, which was loaded with all kinds of delicacies: Dried berries, bananas, candied pineapple, a variety of different nuts, seeds, and sugared almonds, goat milk, and slices of a sort of fine grained bread with raisins. Not a second later, another slave parted the curtain nimbly, bringing an assortment of sauces, pastes, sweet cream, tea, and dates.

  Simon couldn't stop his mouth from watering at the sight. It had been a long while since he had had a proper meal (Nefertari's semilethal brews could hardly be counted as such.).

  “You must be hungry,” said Set aptly, pointing Simon toward a chair.

  Simon looked around the tent, doing some quick thinking. Was this a trick to poison him? But then, why would Set have gone through all the trouble of kidnapping him from his kidnappers, if only to murder him? Besides, everything the god had said about his importance so far indicated otherwise, so what harm could there be in accepting a meal? Quickly convinced that his disposal would not happen immediately, and momentarily pacified by the thought of a sumptuous meal, Simon sat.

  Set flicked his fingers again, making the two slaves tremble and dart furtive looks at him.

  “General Set?” one of the men asked tremulously.

  “Leave us,” Set instructed in an imperial tone. “I will not require your services for now.”

  “Certainly, your highness, General Set.” The slave who had spoken bent his torso in an attempt at a bow, waved at the other to follow him, and they left the tent with a final flap of its canvas.