They were settled below decks, Ahhotep having made his way down the rickety steps to a cramped storage room on Heshtat’s request. He had worn a smile when he arrived, but Heshtat knew this conversation was likely to enter more dangerous territory, and when he tried to return the gesture, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “I need to know why you’re here,” Heshtat began. He held up his hand to prevent the priest’s no doubt jovial and confused rejoinder, and continued on. “I know you owe favour to my queen. That was good enough to recruit you, and I am glad to have you with us, despite my next words. But we are about to enter dangerous territory, and my friends and I will live or die by your whims. I need to know your motivations for being here.”

  Ahhotep looked at him for a while. Time slipped by, measured in the gentle roll of the boat from one side then the other, and a dozen small waves passed by before the priest spoke.

  “You wish to know why I owe her? What she could possibly have given one such as me?” Ahhotep asked. He still sounded his usual self, but there was a sharpness hidden beneath it. The small room was lit by a single swaying lantern, and each roll of the boat caused their shadows to slide back and forth against the corked wood behind them. Ahhotep’s shadow was slightly out of sync with the motion.

  “No, whatever happened between you and my queen is immaterial. I know her position is weak, priest. I know you could have ignored the summons, have parlayed for a minor favour or paid it with but a drop of the copious wealth you no doubt have hidden within your temple. That she sent me to a temple of Sebek, and one hidden within the sands far from civilisation, is not lost on me. You are powerful, I know that, but it is not raw power that we need.”

  “True enough,” the old man said, green eyes glinting in the half-light. “But I know you lie. I know you wish to hear of what we shared, of what favour she offered me.”

  As he spoke, the priest began to change. It was subtle, but the effect was magnified with every word as the shadows lengthened and the light faltered.

  “You wonder, in the dark at night. Alone. You wonder what dark deeds she has countenanced. Has she killed innocents? Ordered the death of babes in their cribs? Consorted with darker forces still, perhaps? The Other is so close at hand, now that the gods’ protections are failing.”

  By the time Ahhotep had finished his speech, his face was more shadow than flesh, and all that remained in the light was the pointed tip of his chin and his glinting emerald eyes. His voice had dropped to a cold chill, and Heshtat knew in his bones that he was speaking to the shadow once more. That hateful little bastard.

  “I see your soul, Heshtat,” the creature that was sometimes the priest hissed. “You wish to know. You hunger for it. You call for it. I hear the mewling of your soul as you cry out for answers. ‘Can I trust her?’ you ask, like a child. ‘Does she still love me?’ you plead like a babe. Bleating and festering, with your pride and your fear and your pathetic weasel-words—”

  “You forget yourself, shadow,” Heshtat said firmly. He wasn’t surprised and afraid as he had been in the temple of Sebek where they’d first met. He wasn’t within the domain of a dread god any longer, and he had prepared for his conversation. For just such an eventuality, it turned out.

  His crooked and smoking soul screamed with the effort as he fed a trickle of essence along prefigured patterns, and suddenly, the room was light once more. Candles, placed at specific points in the room, flared to life. Such a working should have been trivial, but he had never been familiar with the ritual aspect of the Akh, even before he had broken his soul, so the effort was substantial. Still, his control had been near perfect at his peak, and the effort now was worth it.

  The shadow flared in the light, becoming more a thing of darkness than an absence of light. It clung to the priest’s robes, climbing over his back and covering his face like a liquid cloak.

  Heshtat leaned forwards, drawing a dagger and slicing a thin line across his palm. He held out his hand, squeezing a few drops of blood to the floor. It pitter-pattered, running across the floorboards to flow between the cracks as if it had a mind of its own before it was absorbed by the thin lines of crushed, crystallised faience that he’d drawn with prior to this conversation.

  The shadow writhed even as Heshtat spoke. “Did you think I would take no precautions after our last meeting, demon? Did you think I would not ask, or that I would not find answers? Perhaps it is your own arrogance that burns you, and not these lines I have drawn beneath your feet. Begone, spirit.”

  It hissed, like the bubbling of acid against stone, or the moment a campfire is drenched with water. “You could not banish a fly, broken man, let alone one such as me. Your Heart is weak. Feeble. Sleeping. I have supped on the soul of a master for years. My power will rival the Pharaohs soon, and a mortal thinks to offer threat?”

  “Spare me your empty words,” Heshtat said, voice growing hard. “We both know you have no power while the priest rules his body. Acrid words are all you offer, and I would hear no more of them. But listen close, demonling… A time will come soon when I have power to spare. Return to your place in the Other and try your tricks elsewhere, or I will pursue you through the veil myself and I shall kill you where you lie.”

  The shadow thing reared back against the wall as if to strike, but Heshtat leaned forwards further, offering up his throat. “You would not be the first horror I have slain, fiend, and you are far from the worst. Ask the spirits if they recognise my work, and leave this man in peace.”

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  No sound disturbed the silence save the slap of water against hull as the boat rolled once, then again. Heshtat never let his gaze move from the shadowy face before him, and eventually he was rewarded.

  “For now,” it hissed, and then the room burst back into full light as the lantern lost whatever dimming effect had been cast by the malicious spirit. Heshtat let out a breath and leaned back, putting the dagger away and dispelling the ghostly flames that had begun to dance along its edge, just in case the provisions he’d laid down earlier hadn’t been quite as effective as he’d pretended they were. It was a good thing too that his bluff hadn’t been called—the flames were already guttering as he dispelled them, and his soul was screaming in pain as the whisp of essence he had stolen from his amulet was siphoned away.

  Ahhotep let out a pained chuckle, rubbing his white skeletal hand across his chest.

  “You heard all of that?” Heshtat asked.

  The priest nodded. “Indeed, I was closer to the surface this time. And might I offer you my thanks? It is a hard thing to fight, and I hadn’t realised how poor my control was becoming outside of Sebek’s hall.”

  “Why haven’t you banished it yet?”

  “I have tried, believe me, young man! But he always comes back. That was but a part of a greater demon that has snared my soul. It is trapped beneath the bowels of Sebek’s hall, but I have been unable to shake myself free of its familiars. Each time I do, another blasted imp takes their place!” the priest huffed. “Your queen helped me ensnare it to begin with, hence the favour.”

  “I did not ask,” Heshtat said with a shake of his head.

  “No, but I know you were curious, and it partly answers your earlier question, does it not?”

  “Partly,” he replied.

  “I’m getting to that. Such is the patience of the young and foolish,” Ahhotep muttered to himself, pulling his deep cloak tighter around his frail shoulders. “You wish to know why I agreed? Principally because I owe your queen for help imprisoning that devil. He was preying on villages out at the edges of Idib province, and I have been warring against him for years now. Cleosiris gave resources and aid to me in that quest, and I would do the same to her. No questions asked.”

  Heshtat narrowed his eyes. “But that is not all.”

  The priest smiled, and while Heshtat knew the creature of shadow was lying dormant for now, the expression was still unnerving as he beheld the mottled, sagging skin of Ahhotep’s face along with his faintly glowing eyes.

  “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for, even if you are a fool. Yes, there’s more. You will need to transport the Eye back to Idib—Yes, I know of your mission, do not look so shocked. It is power, that Eye. Pure power. No bargain need be struck with a god, no trade of potential for empowerment. That is why your queen desires it. But she is not the only one who can use it.”

  Heshtat found himself reaching for the dagger again, even as the priest waved him off.

  “Come now, young man, calm yourself. Would I tell you now if I intended to steal it from you? More a fool than I thought!” he scoffed to himself. “No, I will even help you obscure its spiritual presence in the Other—a mythical artifact would draw all sorts of attention, especially now. But no matter what protections we put on it, that vessel will leak, and I intend to be there to draw off some of that power for myself.”

  “That power is not intended for you, old man,” Heshtat said in warning.

  “You are thinking of it like a mundane item. It is not. This is the seed of a god, Heshtat. The god of gods, Father Above All. This artifact has power enough to uplift an entire army of undying Pharaohs, if it wouldn’t destroy the world to do so. No, it will leak power in abundance and be none the worse for it. All I intend to do is stay close while you transport it—a week or two in its presence, and I will have the strength to remove the claws of that demon from my soul, and perhaps put an end to the true horror imprisoned beneath my temple as well.”

  Heshtat hummed to himself, watching the old priest wring his hands and fuss with his robes. He then pulled a face in disgust as Ahhotep set to cracking his knuckles, starting with the skeletal hand. Watching the finger bones separate as the man pulled on them, only to pop back together with a sharp crack, was deeply off-putting and Heshtat turned away.

  “Good enough for me,” Heshtat eventually said. “You’ll be able to keep our exit clear with Harsiese’s help? Neferu will be staying as well, though I expect her to require your protection more than be of aid. The camp will be crawling with high level adepts, and she is still just an awakened, despite her experience.”

  “Yes,” the priest confirmed, levering himself up. “I will do my best, and despite what you have seen, I am still the high priest of a sanctified temple. One of the Ennead, no less. I shall not make it easy for anyone who wishes us harm, and the Devourer has many ways to punish sin, mark my words.”

  “The shadow mentioned it had fed on the soul of a master… is that true?”

  The old priest sighed. “Yes, Akh is my specialty, and my expertise is deep. But the Intellect it is a fickle and volatile aspect, young man, more given to preparation than feats of great power in new places.”

  Heshtat smiled. “Then I will rest easy knowing you safeguard our escape. There is no need for false humility—I know what a master of a soul art can do.”

  “You have seen it for yourself, have you? You are an interesting young man, Heshtat. Perhaps I can earn your favour myself. I have a task that… but no, that is a discussion for later, I think.”

  Heshtat nodded and stood with him, brushing the remains of the broken vase he had used for the ritual trap under the benches to hide the evidence and making to leave the room.

  “Thank you, Heshtat,” the priest said, catching his arm softly. “I can see why she picked you for this, despite your doubts.” The words caught him by surprise, and it must have shown on his face, for the priest continued. “A demon-binding ritual is not an easy thing to recreate on the fly, and I have never seen anyone short of an acolyte power one successfully. For an unawakened mortal… You are more resourceful than I gave you credit for, it seems, and I am glad to be of help in this endeavour of ours with you leading us.”

  He found himself touched in spite of his best attempts at cynicism. “Thank you. I am familiar with the denizens of the Other, and was trained to face them from an early age.”

  “Ah yes, the Tomb Guard’s true enemies are often hidden, but no less real for it. Still, I suspect Harsiese would struggle to cow a demon with such aplomb as you just did, young man!” And with a hearty clap on the back, Ahhotep was leaving the cramped room and climbing up the stars to the top deck. “I feel I am overdue some fresh air and good cup of tea, I dare say.”

  Heshtat thought back to the grizzled Tomb Guard as he loomed over Senusret and cowed the strange Numidean with his monstrous aura. He thought the priest might be surprised, personally.