The Serpent's Shadow kc-3

by Rick Riordan

  Tawaret and I continued along the beach. We reached the dock where Ra’s sun boat had anchored the first time Carter and I had visited this place.

  Bes sat at the end of the pier in a comfy leather chair, which Tawaret must have brought down especially for him. He wore a fresh red-and-blue Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. His face was thinner than it had been last spring, but otherwise he looked unchanged—the same scraggly nest of black hair, the same bristly mane that passed for a beard, the same lovably grotesque face that reminded me of a pug dog’s.

  But Bes’s soul was gone. He stared vacantly at the lake, not reacting at all when I knelt next to him and gripped his furry hand.

  I remembered the first time he’d saved my life—picking me up in a limo full of rubbish, driving me to Waterloo Bridge, then scaring away two gods who had been chasing me. He had jumped out of the car wearing nothing but a Speedo and screamed, “Boo!”

  Yes, he’d been a true friend.

  “Dear Bes,” I said, “we’re going to try to help you.”

  I told him everything that had happened since my last visit. I knew he couldn’t hear me. Since his secret name had been stolen, his mind simply wasn’t there. But talking to him made me feel better.

  Tawaret sniffled. I knew she had loved Bes forever, though Bes hadn’t always returned her feelings. He couldn’t have had a better caretaker.

  “Oh, Sadie…” The hippo goddess wiped away a tear. “If you truly could help him, I—I’d do anything. But how is it possible?”

  “Shadows,” I said. “This bloke Setne…he found a way to use shadows for an execration spell. If the sheut is a backup copy of the soul, and if Setne’s magic could be used in reverse…”

  Tawaret’s eyes widened. “You believe you could use Bes’s shadow to bring him back?”

  “Yes.” I knew it sounded mad, but I had to believe. Saying it aloud to Tawaret, who cared about Bes even more than I did…well, I simply couldn’t let her down. Besides, if we could do this for Bes, then who knew? Perhaps we could use the same magic to get the sun god Ra back in fighting shape. First things first, however. I intended to keep my promise to the dwarf god.

  “Here’s the tricky bit,” I said. “I’m hoping you can help me locate Bes’s shadow. I don’t know much about gods and their sheuts and whatnot. I understand that you often hide them?”

  Tawaret shifted nervously, her feet creaking on the pier boards. “Um, yes…”

  “I’m hoping they’re a bit like secret names,” I forged on. “Since I can’t ask Bes where he keeps his shadow, I thought I’d ask the person who was closest to him. I thought you’d have the best chance of knowing.”

  Seeing a hippo blush is quite odd. It almost made Tawaret look delicate—in a massive sort of way.

  “I—I saw his shadow once,” she admitted. “During one of our best moments together. We were sitting on the temple wall in Saïs.”

  “Sorry?”

  “A city in the Nile Delta,” Tawaret explained. “The home of a friend of ours—the hunting goddess Neith. She liked to invite Bes and me on her hunting excursions. We would, ah, flush her prey for her.”

  I imagined Tawaret and Bes, two gods with super-ugly powers, plowing through the marshes hand in hand, yelling “Boo!” to scare up bevies of quail. I decided to keep that image to myself.

  “At any rate,” Tawaret continued, “one night after dinner, Bes and I were sitting alone on the walls of Neith’s temple, watching the moon rise over the Nile.”

  She gazed at the dwarf god with such adoring eyes, I couldn’t help but imagine myself on that temple wall, sharing a romantic evening with Anubis…no, Walt…no…Gah! My life was horrid.

  I sighed unhappily. “Go on, please.”

  “We talked about nothing in particular,” Tawaret remembered. “We held hands. That was all. But I felt so close to him. Just for a moment, I looked at the mud-brick wall next to us, and I saw Bes’s shadow in the torchlight. Normally gods don’t keep their shadows so close. He must’ve trusted me a great deal to reveal it. I asked him about it, and he laughed. He said, ‘This is a good place for my shadow. I think I’ll leave it here. That way it can always be happy, even when I’m not.’”

  The story was so sweet and sad, I could hardly bear it.

  Down the shore, the old god Fire-embracer shrieked something about pudding. Zia was standing in the surf, trying to keep the two gods apart as they splashed her with lava from both sides. Amazingly, it didn’t seem to bother her.

  I turned to Tawaret. “That night in Saïs—how long ago was it?”

  “A few thousand years.”

  My heart sank. “Any chance the shadow would still be there?”

  She shrugged helplessly. “Saïs was destroyed centuries ago. The temple is gone. Farmers pulled down the ancient buildings and used the mud bricks for fertilizer. Most of the land has reverted to marshes.”

  Blast. I’d never been a fan of Egyptian ruins. From time to time, I’d been tempted to pull down a few temples myself. But just this once, I wished the ruins had survived. I wanted to cuff those farmers.

  “Then there’s no hope?” I asked.

  “Oh, there’s always hope,” Tawaret said. “You could search the area, calling on Bes’s shadow. You’re his friend. It might appear to you if it’s still there. And if Neith is still in the area, she might be able to help. That is, if she doesn’t hunt you instead…”

  I decided not to dwell on that possibility. I had enough problems. “We’ll have to try. If we can find the shadow and puzzle out the proper spell—”

  “But, Sadie,” the goddess said, “you have so little time. You have to stop Apophis! How can you help Bes, too?”

  I looked at the dwarf god. Then I bent down and kissed his bumpy forehead. “I made a promise,” I said. “Besides, we’ll need him if we’re going to win.”

  Did I really believe that? I knew Bes couldn’t scare Apophis away simply by yelling “Boo!” no matter how ghastly he looked in his Speedo. In the sort of battle we were facing, I wasn’t sure one more god would even make a difference. And I was even less sure that this reverse shadow idea could work on Ra. But I had to try with Bes. If the world ended the day after tomorrow, I would not go to my death without first knowing I’d done everything I could to save my friend.

  Of all the goddesses I’d met, Tawaret was the most likely to understand my motives.

  She put her hands protectively on Bes’s shoulders. “In that case, Sadie Kane, I wish you luck—for Bes, and for all of us.”

  I left her on the dock, standing behind Bes as if the two gods were enjoying a romantic sunset together.

  On the beach, I rejoined Zia, who was brushing ashes out of her hair. Except for a few burn holes in her trousers, she looked perfectly fine.

  She gestured at Fire-embracer and Hot Foot, who were once again playing nice in the lava. “They’re not so bad,” Zia said. “They just needed some attention.”

  “Like pets,” I said. “Or my brother.”

  Zia actually smiled. “Did you find the information you need?”

  “I think so,” I said. “But first, we need to get to the Hall of Judgment. It’s almost time for Setne’s trial.”

  “How do we get there?” Zia asked. “Another doorway?”

  I stared across the Lake of Fire, pondering that problem. I remembered the Hall of Judgment being on an island somewhere on this lake, but Duat geography is a bit dodgy. For all I knew, the hall was on a totally different level of the Duat, or the lake was six billion miles wide. I didn’t fancy the idea of walking around the shore through unknown territory, or taking a swim. And I certainly didn’t feel like arguing with Isis again.

  Then I saw something across the fiery waves—the silhouette of a familiar steamboat approaching, twin smokestacks trailing luminous gold smoke and a paddle wheel churning through the lava.

  My brother—bless his heart—was absolutely mad.

  “Problem solved,” I told Zia. “Carter will give us
a ride.”

  S A D I E

  10. “Take Your Daughter to Work Day” Goes Horribly Wrong

  AS THEY APPROACHED THE DOCK, Carter and Walt waved at us from the bow of the Egyptian Queen. Next to them stood the captain, Bloodstained Blade, who looked quite dashing in his riverboat pilot’s uniform, except for the fact that his head was a blood-speckled double-sided ax.

  “That’s a demon,” Zia said nervously.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “Is it safe?”

  I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Of course not,” she muttered. “I’m traveling with the Kanes.”

  The crew of glowing orbs zipped around the boat, pulling lines and lowering the gangplank.

  Carter looked tired. He wore jeans and a rumpled shirt with specks of barbecue sauce on it. His hair was wet and flat on one side as if he’d fallen asleep in the shower.

  Walt looked much better—well, really, there was no contest. He wore his usual sleeveless shirt and workout pants, and managed a smile for me even though his posture made it obvious he was in pain. The shen charm on my necklace seemed to heat up, or perhaps that was just my body temperature rising.

  Zia and I climbed the gangplank. Bloodstained Blade bowed, which was quite unnerving, as his head could’ve sliced a watermelon in half.

  “Welcome aboard, Lady Kane.” His voice was a metallic hum from the edge of his frontal blade. “I am at your service.”

  “Thanks ever so,” I said. “Carter, may I speak with you?”

  I grabbed his ear and pulled him toward the deckhouse.

  “Ow!” he complained as I dragged him along. I suppose doing that in front of Zia wasn’t nice, but I thought I might as well give her pointers on how best to handle my brother.

  Walt and Zia followed us into the main dining room. As usual, the mahogany table was laden with platters of fresh food. The chandelier illuminated colorful wall murals of Egyptian gods, the gilded columns, and the ornately molded ceiling.

  I let go of Carter’s ear and snarled, “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Ow!” he yelled again. “What is your problem?”

  “My problem,” I said, lowering my voice, “is that you summoned this boat again and its demon captain, who Bast warned would slit our throats if he ever got the opportunity!”

  “He’s under a magic binding,” Carter argued. “He was fine last time.”

  “Last time Bast was with us,” I reminded him. “And if you think I trust a demon named Bloodstained Blade farther than I can—”

  “Guys,” Walt interrupted.

  Bloodstained Blade entered the dining room, dipping his ax head under the doorframe. “Lord and Lady Kane, the journey is short from here. We will arrive at the Hall of Judgment in approximately twenty minutes.”

  “Thanks, BSB,” Carter said as he rubbed his ear. “We’ll join you on deck soon.”

  “Very good,” said the demon. “What are your orders when we arrive?”

  I tensed, hoping Carter had thought ahead. Bast had warned us that demons needed very clear instructions to stay under control.

  “You’ll wait for us while we visit the Hall of Judgment,” Carter announced. “When we return, you’ll take us where we wish to go.”

  “As you say.” Bloodstained Blade’s tone had a hint of disappointment—or was that my imagination?

  After he left, Zia frowned. “Carter, in this case I agree with Sadie. How can you trust that creature? Where did you get this ship?”

  “It belonged to our parents,” Carter said.

  He and I shared a look, silently agreeing that was enough said. Our mum and dad had sailed this riverboat up the Thames to Cleopatra’s Needle the night Mum had died releasing Bast from the abyss. Afterward, Dad had sat in this very room, grieving, with only the cat goddess and the demon captain for company.

  Bloodstained Blade had accepted us as his new masters. He’d followed our orders before, but that was little comfort. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t like being on this ship.

  On the other hand, we needed to get to the Hall of Judgment. I was hungry and thirsty, and I supposed I could endure a twenty-minute voyage if it meant enjoying a chilled Ribena and a plate of tandoori chicken with naan.

  The four of us sat around the table. We ate while we compared stories. All in all, it was quite possibly the most awkward double date in history. We had no shortage of dire emergencies to talk about, but the tension in the room was as thick as Cairo smog.

  Carter hadn’t seen Zia in person for months. I could tell he was trying not to stare. Zia was clearly uncomfortable sitting so close to him. She kept leaning away, which no doubt hurt his feelings. Perhaps she was just worried about having another fireball-throwing episode. As for me, I was elated to be next to Walt, but at the same time, I was desperately worried about him. I couldn’t forget how he’d looked wrapped in glowing mummy linen, and I wondered what Anubis had wanted to tell me about Walt’s situation. Walt tried to hide it, but he was obviously in great pain. His hands trembled as he picked up his peanut butter sandwich.

  Carter told me about the pending evacuation of Brooklyn House, which Bast was overseeing. My heart nearly broke when I thought of little Shelby, wonderful silly Felix, shy Cleo, and all the rest going off to defend the First Nome against an impossible attack, but I knew Carter was right. There was no other choice.

  Carter kept hesitating, as if waiting for Walt to contribute information. Walt stayed silent. Clearly he was holding something back. Somehow or other, I’d have to get Walt alone and grill him for details.

  In return, I told Carter about our visit to the House of Rest. I shared my suspicions that Amos might be calling on Set for extra power. Zia didn’t contradict me, and the news didn’t sit well with my brother. After several minutes of swearing and pacing the room, he finally calmed down enough to say, “We can’t let that happen. He’ll be destroyed.”

  “I know,” I said. “But we can best help him by moving forward.”

  I didn’t mention Zia’s blackout in the nursing home. In Carter’s present state of mind, I thought that might be too much for him. But I did tell him what Tawaret had said about the possible location of Bes’s shadow.

  “The ruins of Saïs…” He frowned. “I think Dad mentioned that place. He said there wasn’t much left. But even if we could find the shadow, we don’t have time. We’ve got to stop Apophis.”

  “I made a promise,” I insisted. “Besides, we need Bes. Think of it as a trial run. Saving his shadow will give us a chance to practice this sort of magic before we try it on Apophis—um, in reverse, of course. It might even give us a way to revive Ra.”

  “But—”

  “She’s got a point,” Walt interrupted.

  I’m not sure who was more surprised—Carter, or me.

  “Even if we get Setne’s help,” Walt said, “trapping a shadow in a statue is going to be difficult. I’d feel better if we could try it on a friendly target first. I could show you how it’s done while—while I still have time.”

  “Walt,” I said, “please, don’t talk like that.”

  “When you face Apophis,” he continued, “you’ll have only one chance to get the spell right. It would be better to have some practice.”

  When you face Apophis. He said it so calmly, but his meaning was clear: he wouldn’t be around when that happened.

  Carter nudged his half-eaten pizza. “I just…I don’t see how we can do it all in time. I know this is a personal mission for you, Sadie, but—”

  “She has to,” Zia said gently. “Carter, you once went off on a personal mission in the middle of a crisis, didn’t you? That worked out.” She put her hand on Carter’s. “Sometimes you have to follow your heart.”

  Carter looked like he was trying to swallow a golf ball. Before he could say anything, the ship’s bell sounded.

  In the corner of the dining room, a loudspeaker crackled with Bloodstained Blade’s voice: “My lords and ladies, we have reached the Hall of
Judgment.”

  The black temple looked just as I remembered. We made our way up the steps from the dock and passed between rows of obsidian columns that marched into the gloom. Sinister-looking scenes of Underworld life glittered on the floor and in friezes circling the pillars—black designs on black stone. Despite the reed torches that burned every few meters, the air was so hazy with volcanic ash, I couldn’t see far in front of us.

  As we moved deeper into the temple, voices whispered around us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw groups of spirits drifting across the pavilion—ghostly shapes camouflaged in the smoky air. Some moved aimlessly—crying softly or tearing at their clothes in despair. Others carried armfuls of papyrus scrolls. These ghosts looked more solid and purposeful, as if they were waiting for something.

  “Petitioners,” Walt said. “They’ve brought their case files, hoping for an audience with Osiris. He was gone so long…there must be a real backlog of cases.”

  Walt’s step seemed lighter. His eyes looked more alert, his body less weighed down by pain. He was so close to death, I’d feared this trip to the Underworld might be hard for him, but if anything he seemed more at ease than the rest of us.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  Walt hesitated. “I’m not sure. It just seems…correct.”

  “And the ghosts without scrolls?”

  “Refugees,” he said. “They’re hoping this place will protect them.”

  I didn’t ask what from. I remembered the ghost at the Brooklyn Academy dance who’d been engulfed in black tendrils and dragged underground. I thought about the vision Carter had described—our mother huddled beneath a cliff somewhere in the Duat, resisting the pull of a dark force in the distance.

  “We need to hurry.” I started to forge ahead, but Zia grabbed my arm.

  “There,” she said. “Look.”

  The smoke parted. Twenty meters ahead stood a massive set of obsidian doors. In front of them, an animal the size of a greyhound sat on its haunches—an oversized jackal with thick black fur, fluffy pointed ears, and a face somewhere between a fox and a wolf. Its moon-colored eyes glittered in the darkness.