My dad’s attendant stamped his foot. “My lord, this is most irregular!”
He was an odd-looking fellow—an elderly blue Egyptian man with a huge scroll in his arms. Too solid to be a ghost, too blue to be human, he was almost as decrepit as Ra, wearing nothing but a loincloth, sandals, and an ill-fitting wig. I suppose that glossy black wedge of fake hair was meant to look manly in an Ancient Egyptian sort of way, but along with the kohl eyeliner and the rouge on his cheeks, the old boy looked like a grotesque Cleopatra impersonator.
The roll of papyrus he held was simply enormous. Years ago, I’d gone to synagogue with my friend Liz, and the Torah they kept there was tiny in comparison.
“It’s all right, Disturber,” my father told him. “We may continue now.”
“But, my lord—” The old man (was his name really Disturber?) became so agitated he lost control of his scroll. The bottom dropped out and unraveled, bouncing down the steps like a papyrus carpet.
“Oh, bother, bother, bother!” Disturber struggled to reel in his document.
My father suppressed a smile. He turned back to the ghost in the pinstriped suit, who was still kneeling at the scales. “My apologies, Robert Windham. You may finish your testimony.”
The ghost bowed and scraped. “Y-yes, Lord Osiris.”
He referred to his notes and began rattling off a list of crimes he wasn’t guilty of—murder, theft, and selling cattle under false pretenses.
I turned to Walt and whispered, “He’s a modern chap, isn’t he? What’s he doing in Osiris’s court?”
I was a bit troubled to find that Walt once again had an answer.
“The afterlife looks different to every soul,” he said, “depending on what they believe. For that guy, Egypt must’ve made a strong impression. Maybe he read the stories when he was young.”
“And if someone doesn’t believe in any afterlife?” I asked.
Walt gave me a sad look. “Then that’s what they experience.”
On the other side of the dais, the blue god Disturber hissed at us to be quiet. Why is it when adults try to silence kids, they always make more noise than the noise they’re trying to stop?
The ghost of Robert Windham seemed to be winding down his testimony. “I haven’t given false witness against my neighbors. Um, sorry, I can’t read this last line—”
“Fish!” Disturber yelped crossly. “Have you stolen any fish from the holy lakes?”
“I lived in Kansas,” the ghost said. “So…no.”
My father rose from his throne. “Very well. Let his heart be weighed.”
One of the snake demons produced a linen parcel the size of a child’s fist.
Next to me, Carter inhaled sharply. “His heart is in there?”
“Shh!” Disturber said so loudly his wig almost fell off. “Bring forth the Destroyer of Souls!”
On the far wall of the chamber, a doggy door burst open. Ammit ran into the room in great excitement. The poor dear wasn’t very coordinated. His miniature lion chest and forearms were sleek and agile, but his back half was a stubby and much-less-agile hippo bum. He kept sliding sideways, swerving into pillars, and knocking over braziers. Each time he crashed, he shook his lion’s mane and crocodile snout and yipped happily.
(Carter is scolding me, as always. He says Ammit is female. I’ll admit I can’t prove it either way, but I’ve always thought of Ammit as a boy monster. He’s much too hyper to be otherwise, and the way he marks his territory…but never mind.)
“There’s my baby!” I cried, quite carried away. “There’s my Poochiekins!”
Ammit ran at me and leaped into my arms, nuzzling me with his rough snout.
“My lord Osiris!” Disturber lost the bottom of his scroll again, which unraveled around his legs. “This is an outrage!”
“Sadie,” Dad said firmly, “please do not refer to the Devourer of Souls as Poochiekins.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, and let Ammit down.
One of the snake demons set Robert Windham’s heart on the scales of justice. I’d seen many pictures of Anubis performing this duty, and I wished he were here now. Anubis would’ve been much more interesting to watch than some snake demon.
On the opposite scale, the Feather of Truth appeared. (Don’t get me started on the Feather of Truth.)
The scales wavered. The two saucers stopped, just about even. The pinstriped ghost sobbed with relief. Ammit whimpered disappointedly.
“Most impressive,” my father said. “Robert Windham, you have been found sufficiently virtuous, despite the fact you were an investment banker.”
“Red Cross donations, baby!” the ghost yelled.
“Yes, well,” Dad said dryly, “you may proceed to the afterlife.”
A door opened to the left of the dais. The snake demons hauled Robert Windham to his feet.
“Thank you!” he yelled, as the demons escorted him out. “And if you need any financial advice, Lord Osiris, I still believe in the long term viability of the market—”
The door shut behind him.
Disturber sniffed indignantly. “Horrible man.”
My father shrugged. “A modern soul who appreciated the ancient ways of Egypt. He couldn’t have been all bad.” Dad turned to us. “Children, this is Disturber, one of my advisors and gods of judgment.”
“Sorry?” I pretended not to have heard. “Did you say he’s disturbed?”
“Disturber is my name!” the god shouted angrily. “I judge those who are guilty of losing their temper!”
“Yes.” Despite my father’s weariness, his eyes sparkled with amusement. “That was Disturber’s traditional duty, although now that he’s my last minister, he helps me with all my cases. There used to be forty-two judgment gods for different crimes, you see, but—”
“Like Hot Foot and Fire-embracer,” Zia said.
Disturber gasped. “How do you know of them?”
“We saw them,” Zia said. “In the Fourth House of the Night.”
“You—saw—” Disturber almost dropped his scroll altogether. “Lord Osiris, we must save them immediately! My brethren—”
“We will discuss it,” Dad promised. “First, I want to hear what brings my children to the Duat.”
We took turns explaining: the rebel magicians and their secret alliance with Apophis, their impending attack on the First Nome, and our hope to find a new sort of execration spell that might stop Apophis for good.
Some of our news surprised and troubled our father—like the fact that many magicians had fled the First Nome, leaving it so poorly defended that we’d sent our initiates from Brooklyn House to help, and that Amos was flirting with the powers of Set.
“No,” Dad said. “No, he can’t! These magicians who’ve abandoned him—inexcusable! The House of Life must rally to the Chief Lector.” He began to rise. “I should go to my brother—”
“My lord,” Disturber said, “you are not a magician anymore. You are Osiris.”
Dad grimaced, but he eased back into his throne. “Yes. Yes, of course. Please, children, continue.”
Some of our news Dad already knew. His shoulders slumped when we mentioned the spirits of the dead who were disappearing, and the vision of our mum lost somewhere in the deep Duat, fighting against the pull of a dark force that Carter and I were certain was the shadow of Apophis.
“I have searched for your mother everywhere,” Dad said despondently. “This force that is taking the spirits—whether it’s the serpent’s shadow or something else—I cannot stop it. I can’t even find it. Your mother…”
His expression turned brittle as ice. I understood what he was feeling. For years he had lived with guilt because he couldn’t prevent our mum’s death. Now she was in danger again, and even though he was the lord of the dead, he felt helpless to save her.
“We can find her,” I promised. “All of this is connected, Dad. We have a plan.”
Carter and I explained about the sheut, and how it might be used for a king-sized execration spell.
My father sat forward. His eyes narrowed. “Anubis told you this? He revealed the nature of the sheut to a mortal?”