“So after all, you do like me,” Horus said hoarsely somewhere along the way, scrutinizing Simon (who desisted the urge to roll his eyes with difficulty) through one eye.

  Horus had been taunting him most of the way, with the odd break, in which the god raged about revenge and dishonour; or about how the pantheon had been created and sworn to protect the Pharaoh, and how his uncle, Set, was a treacherous pig. At one point, he even went so far to suggest they go back right away and finish Set off, but was stopped by a cascade of golden blood from his eye, which dribbled into his mouth and sent him coughing and spluttering for the next few minutes.

  “Your injury must be quite severe, if you are showing signs of delirium,” replied Simon in a sharp but dignified voice.

  “I had a choice, you know,” rasped Horus, who was grinning somewhat impertinently although it obviously caused him pain, “create a shield or save your life.”

  “Don't think you taking an arrow for me changes anything,” said Simon shortly. “I still haven't forgotten your trying to sacrifice me.”

  “My, my,” said Horus with a shrug, “A misunderstanding...”

  “Misunderstanding how you tried to –“ Simon began indignantly, but Nefertari shot him a glare that told him plainly he was not to argue with Horus until the god had recovered if he wanted to remain in possession of all his limbs, so he shut his mouth quickly.

  Horus' lips twitched upward in a smug smile that made Simon want to drop him right then and there, no matter the consequences for his extremities. The injury couldn't be that bad if Horus could still be the most arrogant prick on the planet.

  However, as the hours advanced, it became harder for Horus to pretend he wasn't as badly hurt as the generous amounts of blood issuing from his eye might suggest. Neither Simon nor Nefertari, who kept casting anxious glances at the sky deity, were fooled, however, and it wasn't just the blood that told them something was amiss. Horus skin, usually white-hot burning, had cooled considerably, lower even than an acceptable temperature for a living human body, and the god kept shivering in random intervals, though he tried valiantly to conceal it with would-be bored yawns.

  And then, another hour later, the wound ceased to bleed, and instead began to spill cold white light, as though moonlight were leaking out from behind the eyeball. It got so bad that Nefertari ripped the hood of her tunic into strips and wrapped them tightly around the injury.

  “I still don't understand why you had to save me in the first place,” said Simon, panting. It wasn't just that Horus was heavier than a normal teenage boy; it was like carrying an elephant made of steel. Nefertari explained at some point it had something to do with him being a god and all the divine power that was stored in the body. Simon didn't ask how something like magic could possibly weight an approximate ton.

  Thoth lived in a pyramid on the riverside on the outskirts of Khmun. The god of wisdom himself was a towering figure with broad shoulders, the physique of an athlete, and umber skin. His chin was square and powerful, his nose prominent and straight, and he was bald except for a short, black plait in the back of his head.

  He was already waiting for them when they arrived, his scholarly robes billowing behind him, as he greeted them in his deep, rather lethargic voice.

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  “I thought I would see you soon,” he said, gazing at Simon and Nefertari almost impassively. Then he took one look at Horus and beckoned them inside.

  They carried Horus inside the pyramid, though the wounded god made impatient noises of being able to walk on his own. Nefertari, however, ignored him. It was obvious that she wasn't going to take any chances.

  The inside of the pyramid was part library and, judging by the amount of peculiar devices, none of which Simon could name, part laboratory. Every inch of it was filled with scrolls of parchment and metal tablets full of information, many of which towered as high as the sloping ceiling. Their titles, scribbled on the outside, hinted on a great variety of different subjects, from alchemy to construction (though the blueprints and instructions looked very complex and difficult). In the center of the enormous library, on a smooth stone floor that was a mosaic of a sun-disk, was a low, metal examination table the size of a double bed, cluttered almost as badly as Nefertari's sleeping place in the temple of Nephthys. There were pots and bowls filled with multicolour powder; crystal ink jars with black and red ink; flask that held gooey, bubbling potions; dried herbs; ointments; an assortment of silvery objects Simon couldn't name, but which looked almost modern; and, spread over most of the table, spilling to the floor, and stretching along the walls, were endless and complicated-looking calculations and formulas. A thin plate showing an arch-like structure, complete with markings and explanations in a rune language Simon didn't know, but which seemed familiar the longer he stared at them, hung on the wall behind the table. This was, quite obviously, the workplace of a (perhaps slightly obsessed) scientist.

  On Thoth's orders, Nefertari cleared some space on the examination table and they laid Horus down on its cool surface, where the god of the sky shuddered slightly, his eyes closed and his skin somewhat greenish from what could only be exhaustion.

  “It was wise you brought him here,” said Thoth, as he unwrapped the makeshift bandage around Horus' eye swiftly, his expression detached and clinically neutral. “His life energy has already begun to leak.”

  Sure enough, white light was still leaking from the puncture left by Set's arrow.

  “Will you be able to help him?” asked Nefertari anxiously.

  “Don't worry yourself, descendant,” said Thoth, not unkindly, though there wasn't any more emotion in his voice than usually. “I've seen and healed worse.”

  She bowed her magnificent head to him, laid what Simon recognized as the broken halves of Set's arrow onto the table next to Horus, then touched Simon's elbow as an indication to follow her outside. They went back down to the bank of the Nile, where they sat face to face on rocks inside the stream, letting the water cool their feet.

  “So,” said Simon lamely after a few moments, rubbing his hands together to try and prise off the golden blood that stuck to his palms like honey. “Horus will be all right?”

  There were other things he wanted to ask, for instance about Nefertari's transformation, but he felt it would be tactless considering what had just happened. That, and he had a shrewd idea when it happened...

  “Of course,” said Nefertari confidently. “It's barely a scratch. Besides, Thoth knows what he's doing. He's been the pantheon's only healer for ages.” Then, she mumbled something indistinguishable about balance in the forces of good and evil.

  Shortly after they had left the house, they could hear sounds from inside. A powerful vibration came from the open door, as though someone had switched on a MRI machine; its humming was heavy in the warm, damp air, a low pulse that was like ointment in Simon's ears, resonating with his body, which began to tingle under its influence; it mended his damaged right shoulder-blade, an injury he had almost forgotten until it began to prickle, knit together cuts and gashes, eased his sunburn, and smoothed out the calluses on his skin.

  Simon's left side began to twinge painfully too, and for a moment he thought the curse was going to disappear. He peeled back the sleeve of his shirt with excitement when Nefertari closed her eyes, but as he watched, it soon became clear that the powerful spell wasn't strong enough to erase the patch of black flakes there; it flared angrily instead, as though the curse were fighting the healing frequency. Thinking that later he would ask Thoth if there was a remedy, and not wanting Nefertari to see it, Simon pulled the sleeve back over his wrist with a tiny sigh.