The Throne of Fire

I ran to Carter’s side. He was shivering, his eyes rolled back in his head. Two puncture wounds in his coat were smoking.

“Kane,” the young Russian said with a tone of awe.

I snatched up a splinter of wood and held it for him to see. “Your boss Menshikov did this. He’s working for Apophis. Menshikov: Apophis. Now, GET OUT!”

The magician may not have understood my words, but he got the message. He turned and ran.

I cradled Carter’s head. I couldn’t carry him by myself, but I had to get him out of here. We were in enemy territory. I needed to find Bes.

I struggled to get him to his feet. Then someone took Carter’s other arm and helped us up. I found Set grinning at me, still in his ridiculous red disco suit, dusted with malachite rubble. Menshikov’s broken white sunglasses were propped on his head.

“You,” I said, too filled with loathing to issue a proper death threat.

“Me,” Set agreed cheerily. “Let’s get your brother out of here, shall we? Vladimir is not in a good mood.”

The Nevsky Prospekt would’ve been a lovely place to shop if it hadn’t been the wee hours of the morning during a snowstorm, and if I hadn’t been carrying my poisoned, comatose brother. The street had wide pavements, perfect for strolling, lined with a dazzling assortment of high-end boutiques, cafés, churches, and mansions. With all the signs in Russian, I didn’t see how I was going to find the chocolate shop. I couldn’t spot Bes’s black Mercedes anywhere.

Set volunteered to carry Carter, but I wasn’t about to let the god of chaos take full charge of my brother, so we dragged him between us. Set chatted amiably about tjesu heru poison: “Completely incurable! Fatal in about twelve hours. It’s amazing stuff!” And his tussle with Menshikov: “Six vases broken over his head, and he still survives! I envy his thick skull.” And my prospects of living long enough to find Bes: “Oh, you’re toast, my dear! A dozen senior magicians were rallying to Menshikov when I made my, er, strategic retreat. They’ll be after you shortly. I could’ve destroyed them all, of course, but I couldn’t risk Vladimir using my secret name again. Maybe he’ll get amnesia and forget it. Then if you die—that would be both problems solved. Oh, I’m sorry, I suppose that sounded insensitive. Come along!”

Carter’s head lolled. His breathing sounded almost as bad as Vlad the Inhaler’s.

Now, please don’t think I was dense. Of course I remembered the wax mini-Carter figurine Jaz had given me. I recognized that this was just the sort of emergency where it might come in handy. How Jaz had predicted Carter would need healing, I had no idea. But it was possible the figurine could draw the poison out of him, despite what Set said about it being incurable. What does a god of evil know about healing, anyway?

There were problems, however. First, I knew very little about healing magic. I needed time to figure out the proper casting, and since I had only one wax statue, I couldn’t afford to get it wrong. Second, I couldn’t very well do that while being chased by Menshikov and his squad of magical Russian goons, nor did I want to let my guard down with Set anywhere near me. I didn’t know why he’d decided to be helpful all of a sudden, but the sooner I could lose him, the better. I needed to find Bes and retreat to somewhere safe—if there was such a place.

Set kept chatting about all the exciting ways the magicians might kill me once they caught up. Finally I spotted a bridge up ahead over a frozen canal. Parked in the middle was the black Mercedes. Bes leaned against the hood, eating pieces off a chocolate chessboard. Next to him sat a large plastic bag—hopefully with more chocolate for me.

I yelled to him, but he was so engrossed in eating chocolate (which I suppose I could understand) that he didn’t notice us until we were a few meters away. Then he looked up and saw Set.

I started to say, “Bes, don’t—”

Too late. Like a skunk, the dwarf god activated his default defense. His eyes bulged out. His mouth opened impossibly wide. He yelled “BOO!” so loudly, my hair parted, and icicles rained down from the bridge’s streetlamps.

Set didn’t look the least bit fazed.

“Hello, Bes,” he said. “Really, you’re not so scary with chocolate smeared on your face.”

Bes glared at me. “What’s he doing here?”

“Not my idea!” I promised. I gave him the abbreviated story of our encounter with Menshikov.

“And so Carter’s been hurt,” I summed up, which seemed rather obvious. “We have to get him out of here.”

“But first,” Set interrupted, pointing at the Chocolate Museum bag next to Bes, “I can’t stand surprises. What’s in there? A gift for me?”

Bes frowned. “Sadie wanted a souvenir. I brought her Lenin’s head.”

Set slapped his thigh with delight. “Bes, how evil! There’s hope for you yet.”

“Not his real head,” Bes said. “It’s chocolate.”

“Oh…shame. Can I have part of your chessboard, then? I simply love eating pawns.”

“Get out of here, Set!” Bes said.

“Well, I could do that, but since our friends are on their way, I thought perhaps we should make a deal.”

Set snapped his fingers, and a globe of red light appeared in front of him. In it, the holographic images of six men in security uniforms piled into two white sports cars. Their headlights blazed to life. The cars swerved across a parking lot, then passed straight through a stone wall as if it were made of smoke.

“I’d say you have about two minutes.” Set smiled, and the globe of light faded. “You remember Menshikov’s minions, Bes. Are you sure you want to meet them again?”

The dwarf god’s face darkened. He crushed a white chocolate chess piece in his hand. “You lying, scheming, murdering—”

“Stop!” I said.

Carter groaned in his poisoned daze. Either he was getting heavier, or I was getting tired of holding him up.

“We don’t have time to argue,” I said. “Set, are you offering to stop the magicians?”

He laughed. “No, no. I’m still hoping they’ll kill you, you see. But I was going to offer you the location of the last scroll in the Book of Ra. That is what you’re after, isn’t it?”

I assumed he was lying. He usually was—but if he was serious…

I looked at Bes. “Is it possible he knows the location?”

Bes grunted. “More than possible. The priests of Ra gave him the scroll for safekeeping.”

“Why on earth would they do that?”

Set tried to look modest. “Come now, Sadie. I was a loyal lieutenant of Ra. If you were Ra, and you didn’t want to be bothered by any old magician trying to wake you, wouldn’t you trust the key to your location with your most fearsome servant?”

He had a point. “Where’s the scroll, then?”

“Not so fast. I’ll give you the location if you give me back my secret name.”

“Not likely!”

“It’s quite simple. Just say ‘I give you back your name.’ You’ll forget the proper way to say it—”

“And then I’ll have no power over you! You’ll kill me!”

“You’d have my word that I won’t.”

“Right. That’s worth a lot. What if I used your secret name to force you to tell me?”

Set shrugged. “With a few days to research the correct spell, you might manage that. Unfortunately…” He cupped his ear to his hand. In the distance, tires squealed—two cars, traveling fast, getting closer. “You don’t have a few days.”

Bes cursed in Egyptian. “Don’t do it, girl. He can’t be trusted.”

“Can we find the scroll without him?”

“Well…maybe. Probably not. No.”

The headlights of two cars swerved onto the Nevsky Prospekt, roughly half a mile away. We were out of time. I had to get Carter away from here, but if Set really was our only way of finding the scroll, I couldn’t just let him go.