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.
“My lord Osiris!” Disturber lost the bottom of his scroll again, which unraveled around his legs. “This is an outrage!”
“Sadie,” Dad said firmly, “please do not refer to the Devourer of Souls as Poochiekins.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, and let Ammit down.