The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles 1)

I wondered what was bothering Bast, but the axe dude was waiting for orders, and the flecks of dried blood on his blades told me I’d better not keep him in suspense.

“We need to visit the Hall of Judgment,” I told him. “Take us to the Land of the Dead.”

Bloodstained Blade hummed thoughtfully. “I will make the arrangements, Lord Kane, but it will take time.”

“We don’t have a lot of that.” I turned to Sadie. “It’s...what, the evening of the twenty-seventh?”

She nodded in agreement. “Day after tomorrow, at sunrise, Set completes his pyramid and destroys the world unless we stop him. So, yes, Captain Very Large Blade, or whatever it is, I’d say we’re in a bit of a rush.”

“We will, of course, do our best,” said Bloodstained Blade, though his voice sounded a little, well, sharp. “The crew will prepare your staterooms. Will you dine while you wait?”

I looked at the table laden with food and realized how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten since we were in the Washington Monument. “Yeah. Um, thanks, BSB.”

The captain bowed again, which made him look a little too much like a guillotine. Then he left us to our dinner.

At first, I was too busy eating to talk. I inhaled a roast beef sandwich, a couple of pieces of cherry pie with ice cream, and three glasses of ginger ale before I finally came up for air.

Sadie didn’t eat as much. Then again she’d had lunch on the plane. She settled for a cheese-and-cucumber sandwich and one of those weird British drinks she likes—a Ribena. Khufu carefully picked out everything that ended with -o—Doritos, Oreos, and some chunks of meat. Buffalo? Armadillo? I was scared to even guess.

The balls of fire floated attentively around the room, refilling our goblets and clearing away our plates as we finished.

After so many days spent running for our lives, it felt good to just sit at a dinner table and relax. The captain’s informing us that he couldn’t transport us instantly to the Land of the Dead was the best news I’d had in a long time.

“Agh!” Khufu wiped his mouth and grabbed one of the balls of fire. He fashioned it into a glowing basketball and snorted at me.

For once I was pretty sure what he’d said in Baboon. It wasn’t an invitation. It meant something like: “I’m going to play basketball by myself now. I will not invite you because your lack of skill would make me throw up.”

“No problem, man,” I said, though my face felt hot with embarrassment. “Have fun.”

Khufu snorted again, then loped off with the ball under his arm. I wondered if he’d find a court somewhere on board.

At the far end of the table, Bast pushed her plate away. She’d hardly touched her tuna Friskies.

“Not hungry?” I asked.

“Hmm? Oh...I suppose not.” She turned her goblet listlessly. She was wearing an expression I didn’t associate with cats: guilt.

Sadie and I locked eyes. We had a brief, silent exchange, something like:

You ask her.

No, you.

Of course Sadie’s better at giving dirty looks, so I lost the contest.

“Bast?” I said. “What did the captain want you to tell us?”

She hesitated. “Oh, that? You shouldn’t listen to demons. Bloodstained Blade is bound by magic to serve, but if he ever got loose, he’d use that axe on all of us, believe me.”

“You’re changing the subject,” I said.

Bast traced her finger across the table, drawing hieroglyphs in the condensation ring from her goblet. “The truth? I haven’t been on board since the night your mother died. Your parents had docked this boat on the Thames. After the...accident, your father brought me here. This is where we made our deal.”

I realized she meant right here, at this table. My father had sat here in despair after Mom’s death—with no one to console him except the cat goddess, an axe demon, and a bunch of floating lights.

I studied Bast’s face in the dim light. I thought about the painting we’d found at Graceland. Even in human form, Bast looked so much like that cat—a cat drawn by some artist thousands of years ago.

“It wasn’t just a chaos monster, was it?” I asked.