The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles #1)(46)

Osiris’s eyes gleamed. Apparently he wasn’t the god of brains, because he seemed completely taken in by the box’s beauty. All the other gods looked at him expectantly, and I could see what he was thinking: if he fit in the box, what a brilliant birthday present. Even Set, his wicked brother, would have to admit that he was the rightful king of the gods.

Only Isis seemed troubled. She laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “My lord, do not. Set does not bring presents.”

“I am offended!” Set sounded genuinely hurt. “Can I not celebrate my brother’s birthday? Are we so estranged that I cannot even apologize to the king?”

Osiris smiled at Isis. “My dear, it is only a game. Fear nothing.”

He rose from his throne. The gods applauded as he approached the box.

“All hail Osiris!” Set cried.

The king of the gods lowered himself into the box, and when he glanced in my direction, just for a moment, he had my father’s face.

No! I thought again. Don’t do it!

But Osiris lay down. The coffin fit him exactly.

A cheer went up from the gods, but before Osiris could rise, Set clapped his hands. A golden lid materialized above the box and slammed down on top of it.

Osiris shouted in rage, but his cries were muffled.

Golden latches fastened around the lid. The other gods surged forward to intervene—even the boy in black I’d seen earlier reappeared—but Set was faster. He stamped his foot so hard, the stone floor trembled. The gods toppled over each other like dominoes. The wolf-men drew their spears, and the gods scrambled away in terror.

Set said a magic word, and a boiling cauldron appeared out of thin air. It poured its contents over the coffin—molten lead, coating the box, sealing it shut, probably heating the interior to a thousand degrees.

“Villain!” Isis wailed. She advanced on Set and began to speak a spell, but Set held up his hand. Isis rose from the floor, clawing at her mouth, her lips pressed as if an invisible force were suffocating her.

“Not today, lovely Isis,” Set purred. “Today, I am king. And your child shall never be born!”

Suddenly, another goddess—a slender woman in a blue dress—charged out of the crowd. “Husband, no!”

She tackled Set, who momentarily lost his concentration. Isis fell to the floor, gasping. The other goddess yelled, “Flee!”

Isis turned and ran.

Set rose. I thought he would hit the goddess in blue, but he only snarled. “Foolish wife! Whose side are you on?”

He stamped his foot again, and the golden coffin sank into the floor.

Set raced after Isis. At the edge of the palace, Isis turned into a small bird of prey and soared into the air. Set sprouted demon’s wings and launched himself in pursuit.

Then suddenly I was the bird. I was Isis, flying desperately over the Nile. I could sense Set behind me—closing. Closing.

You must escape, the voice of Isis said in my mind. Avenge Osiris. Crown Horus king!

Just when I thought my heart would burst, I felt a hand on my shoulder. The images evaporated.

The old master, Iskandar, stood next to me, his face pinched with concern. Glowing hieroglyphs danced round him.

“Forgive the interruption,” he said in perfect English. “But you were almost dead.”

That’s when my knees turned to water, and I lost consciousness.

When I awoke, I was curled at Iskandar’s feet on the steps below the empty throne. We were alone in the hall, which was mostly dark except for the light from the hieroglyphs that always seemed to glow around him.

“Welcome back,” he said. “You’re lucky you survived.”

I wasn’t so sure. My head felt like it had been boiled in oil.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Look at the images? And yet you did. Your ba left your body and entered the past. Hadn’t you been warned?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “But...I was drawn to the pictures.”

“Mmm.” Iskandar stared into space, as if remembering something from long ago. “They are hard to resist.”

“You speak perfect English,” I noticed.

Iskandar smiled. “How do you know I’m speaking English? Perhaps you are speaking Greek.”

I hoped he was kidding, but I couldn’t tell. He seemed so frail and warm, and yet...it was like sitting next to a nuclear reactor. I had a feeling he was full of more danger than I wanted to know.

“You’re not really that old, are you?” I asked. “I mean, old enough to remember Ptolemaic times?”

“I am exactly that old, my dear. I was born in the reign of Cleopatra VII.”

“Oh, please.”

“I assure you, it’s true. It was my sorrow to behold the last days of Egypt, before that foolhardy queen lost our kingdom to the Romans. I was the last magician to be trained before the House went underground. Many of our most powerful secrets were lost, including the spells my master used to extend my life. Magicians these days still live long—sometimes centuries—but I have been alive for two millennia.”

“So you’re immortal?”

His chuckle turned into a racking cough. He doubled over and cupped his hands over his mouth. I wanted to help, but I wasn’t sure how. The glowing hieroglyphs flickered and dimmed around him.