The Serpent's Shadow (Kane Chronicles #3)(49)

On a deeper level of reality, however, he appeared as Osiris, god of the dead. He was dressed as a pharaoh in sandals, an embroidered linen kilt, and rows of gold and coral neckbands on his bare chest. His skin was the color of a summer sky. Across his lap lay a crook and flail—the symbols of Egyptian kingship.

As strange as it was seeing my father with blue skin and a skirt, I was so happy to be near him again, I quite forgot about the court proceedings.

“Dad!” I ran toward him.

(Carter says I was foolish, but Dad was the king of the court, wasn’t he? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to run up to say hello?)

I was halfway across when the snake demons crossed their pole arms and blocked my path.

“It’s all right,” Dad said, looking a bit startled. “Let her through.”

I flew into his arms, knocking the crook and flail out of his lap.

He hugged me warmly, chuckling with affection. For a moment I felt like a little girl again, safe in his embrace. Then he held me at arm’s length, and I could see how weary he was. He had bags under his eyes. His face was gaunt. Even the powerful blue aura of Osiris, which normally surrounded him like the corona of a star, flickered weakly.

“Sadie, my love,” he said in a strained voice. “Why have you come? I’m working.”

I tried not to feel hurt. “But, Dad, this is important!”

Carter, Walt, and Zia approached the dais. My father’s expression turned grim.

“I see,” he said. “First let me finish this trial. Children, stand here on my right. And please, don’t interrupt.”

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.