All those demons who had wings-a small percentage, but still a good forty or fifty-had launched themselves towards us, filling the air like a swarm of angry wasps.
“Fly to the pyramid,” Amos said. “I’ll distract the demons.”
The pyramid’s entrance, a simple doorway between two columns at the base of the structure, was not far from us. It was guarded by a few demons, but most of Set’s forces were running towards our boat, screaming and throwing rocks (which tended to fall back down and hit them, but no one says demons are bright).
“They’re too many,” I argued. “Amos, they’ll kill you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said grimly. “Seal the entrance behind you.”
He pushed me over the side, giving me no choice but to turn into a kite. Carter in falcon form was already spiraling towards the entrance, and I could hear Zia’s vulture flapping its great wings behind us.
I heard Amos yell, “For Brooklyn!”
It was an odd battle cry. I glanced back, and the boat burst into flames. It began drifting away from the pyramid and down towards the army of monsters. Fireballs shot from the boat in all directions as pieces of the hull crumbled away. I didn’t have time to marvel at Amos’s magic, or worry what had happened to him. He distracted many of the demons with his pyrotechnics, but some noticed us.
Carter and I landed just inside the pyramid’s entrance and returned to human form. Zia tumbled in next to us and turned her vulture back into an amulet. The demons were only a few steps behind-a dozen massive blokes with the heads of insects, dragons, and assorted Swiss Army knife attachments.
Carter thrust out his hand. A giant shimmering fist appeared and mimicked his move-pushing right between Zia and me and slamming the doors shut. Carter closed his eyes in concentration, and a burning golden symbol etched itself across the doors like a seal: the Eye of Horus. The lines glowed faintly as demons hammered against the barrier, trying to get in.
“It won’t hold them long,” Carter said.
I was duly impressed, though of course I didn’t say that. Looking at the sealed doors, all I could think about was Amos, out there on a burning boat, surrounded by an evil army.
“Amos knew what he was doing,” Carter said, though he didn’t sound very convinced. “He’s probably fine.”
“Come on,” Zia prodded us. “No time for second guessing.”
The tunnel was narrow, red, and humid, so I felt like I was crawling through an artery of some enormous beast. We made our way down single file, as the tunnel sloped at about forty degrees-which would’ve made a lovely waterslide but wasn’t so good for stepping carefully. The walls were decorated with intricate carvings, like most Egyptian walls we’d seen, but Carter obviously didn’t like them. He kept stopping, scowling at the pictures.
“What?” I demanded, after the fifth or sixth time.
“These aren’t normal tomb drawings,” he said. “No afterlife pictures, no pictures of the gods.”
Zia nodded. “This pyramid is not a tomb. It is a platform, a body to contain the power of Set. All these pictures are to increase chaos, and make it reign forever.”
As we kept walking, I paid more attention to the carvings, and I saw what Zia meant. The pictures showed horrible monsters, scenes of war, cities such as Paris and London in flames, full-color portraits of Set and the Set animal tearing into modern armies-scenes so gruesome, no Egyptian would ever commit them to stone. The farther we went, the weirder and more vivid the pictures became, and the queasier I felt.
Finally we reached the heart of the pyramid.
Where the burial chamber should’ve been in a regular pyramid, Set had designed a throne room for himself. It was about the size of a tennis court, but around the edges, the floor dropped off into a deep trench like a moat. Far, far below, red liquid bubbled. Blood? Lava? Evil ketchup? None of the possibilities were good.
The trench looked easy enough to jump, but I wasn’t anxious to do so because inside the room, the entire floor was carved with red hieroglyphs-all spells invoking the power of Isfet, chaos. Far above in the center of the ceiling, a single square hole let in blood-red light. Otherwise, there seemed to be no exits. Along either wall crouched four obsidian statues of the Set animal, their faces turned towards us with pearl teeth bared and emerald eyes glittering.
But the worst part was the throne itself. It was a horrid misshapen thing, like a red stalagmite that had grown haphazardly from centuries of dripping sediment. And it had formed itself around a gold coffin-Dad’s coffin-which was buried in the throne’s base, with just enough of it sticking out to form a kind of footrest.
“How do we get him out?” I said, my voice trembling.
Next to me, Carter caught his breath. “Amos?”
I followed his gaze up to the glowing red vent in the middle of the ceiling. A pair of legs dangled from the opening. Then Amos dropped down, opening his cloak like a parachute so that he floated to the floor. His clothes were still smoking, his hair dusted with ash. He pointed his staff towards the ceiling and spoke a command. The shaft he’d come through rumbled, spilling dust and rubble, and the light was abruptly cut off.
Amos dusted off his clothes and smiled at us. “That should hold them for a while.”
“How did you do that?” I asked.
He gestured for us to join him in the room.
Carter jumped the trench without hesitation. I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t going to let him go without me, so I hopped the trench too. Immediately I felt even queasier than before, as if the room were tilting, throwing my senses off balance.
Zia came over last, eyeing Amos carefully.
“You should not be alive,” she said.
Amos chuckled. “Oh, I’ve heard that before. Now, let’s get to business.”
“Yes.” I stared at the throne. “How do we get the coffin out?”
“Cut it?” Carter drew his sword, but Amos held up his hand.
“No, children. That’s not the business I mean. I’ve made sure no one will interrupt us. Now it’s time we talked.”
A cold tingle started up my spine. “Talked?”
Suddenly Amos fell to his knees and began to convulse. I ran towards him, but he looked up at me, his face racked with pain. His eyes were molten red.
“Run!” he groaned.
He collapsed, and red steam issued from his body.
“We have to go!” Zia grabbed my arm. “Now!”
But I watched, frozen in horror, as the steam rose from Amos’s unconscious form and drifted towards the throne, slowly taking the shape of a seated man-a red warrior in fiery armor, with an iron staff in his hand and the head of a canine monster.
“Oh, dear,” Set laughed. “I suppose Zia gets to say ‘I told you so.’”
C A R T E R
37. Leroy Gets His Revenge
MAYBE I’M A SLOW LEARNER, OKAY?
Because it wasn’t until that moment, facing the god Set in the middle of his throne room, in the heart of an evil pyramid, with an army of demons outside and the world about to explode, that I thought, Coming here was a really bad idea.
Set rose from his throne. He was red skinned and muscular, with fiery armor and a black iron staff. His head shifted from bestial to human. One moment he had the hungry stare and slavering jaws of my old friend Leroy, the monster from the D.C. airport. The next he had sandy hair and a handsome but harsh face, with intelligent eyes that sparkled with humor and a cruel, crooked smile. He kicked our uncle out of the way and Amos groaned, which at least meant he was alive.
I was clenching my sword so tight, the blade trembled.
