Marika hurried after him. “But, Jake, we can’t just let them murder Nefertiti’s father. They’re going to make it look like she did it.”
“Nefertiti got us thrown into the dungeons,” Jake said impatiently. “Why should we help her?”
Pindor answered, his voice deep and angry. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Bach’uuk gave a sharp approving nod.
As Jake reached the door, he stared at his friends. He suspected Pindor’s sudden and uncharacteristic interest in risking his neck had more to do with Nefertiti’s painted eyes and slender figure than with doing the right thing.
Jake tried reasoning with them. “If we hope to get out of this town, we have to reach the Crooked Nail. This is not our fight.”
“So when has that ever stopped you?” Kady asked.
Clearly Jake was outnumbered. He looked to the last, and newest, member of their group for help. But the old man simply scratched his beard, studying Jake as if this were a test.
And maybe it was.
Marika touched the back of Jake’s hand. “You know how it feels to lose people you love. Will you do nothing when the same loss befalls Nefertiti? No matter her willfulness, she’s still just a girl who’s scared for her father.”
Jake knew Marika was right. They all were. He glanced across the hall to the mural, to his mother’s face. The shock of seeing her had set his heart to pounding and fired his desire to reach Ankh Tawy. He could not lose this chance to find a clue to his parents’ fate.
Still, in the flickering torchlight, his mother’s blue eyes stared back at him. He remembered how they used to dance with delight or fill with love. At that moment, one certainty swayed him more than any argument. Jake knew how disappointed his mother would be if he stood by and did nothing.
He turned back to the others. “Okay, we’ll go warn Nefertiti.”
He pictured them barging into her bedroom, babbling about the murder plot. It would likely get them all dumped back into the dungeons. Such a fate would certainly make Dogo happy.
But even before that could happen, one question remained. “How do we find the royal chambers in this giant maze?”
The old man spoke up. “I will show you.”
He headed back to the door, ready to lead the way.
Kady asked the question they were all thinking. She eyed the man up and down, clearly not trusting him. “How come you know where the royal chambers are?”
He gave them all a wink. “Because Pharaoh Neferhotep, the illustrious Glory of Ra … is my brother.”
19
SWEET DREAMS
“My name is Shaduf,” the old man said as he led them through a maze of passageways, slowly winding higher and higher up toward the loftier levels of the pyramid. “Master Kree took me to the dungeons two summers ago. I’ve been his guest ever since.”
He rubbed the bandaged stump of his wrist, indicating how well Kree had accommodated his guest.
“Shaduf,” the old man mumbled into his beard. “I’ve not spoken that name aloud in many moons. It was forbidden, lest the other prisoners should learn the truth. All of Ka-Tor believes I was killed. To keep that secret, Kree cut the throats of anyone who heard my name down there. So I stopped using it.”
Jake’s group gathered into a tight knot around Shaduf, both to hear his story and to stick close together. Whenever they passed anyone, conversation stopped and they all sank deeper into their cloaks.
“Why did he imprison you?” Jake asked.
Shaduf barked out a sharp laugh, laced with a mad twitter. “He came to me two winters past. Wanted me to join the Blood of Ka, to help oust my brother from his throne. He knew my brother and I butted heads. I wanted to unite our people, to cut the slave rings from all necks. But Neferhotep was never one to stray from a path well trodden.”
“Still, you refused to go along with Kree’s plot,” Marika said.
“Of course. My brother and I may disagree, but I would never harm him. Besides, I have no interest in being pharaoh. All that pomp, all those tedious laws and rules. Best left to someone like my brother.” Shaduf looked at them, his voice sharper with fury. “That bloody son of a harpy knew I would not take over, knew he’d get to rule if my brother fell; but he couldn’t do it himself. Kree needed a royal ally, someone with the blood lineage, if he was to succeed.”
“You,” Jake said.
“And when I refused, he kidnapped me, faked my death, and has kept me prisoner ever since.”
“Why didn’t he just kill you?” Pindor asked.
“Do not be fooled by his cruelty. He’s a smart one. I think he kept me alive in case he needed another piece for his grand game. But he also knew I had knowledge that no one else did. I was once a hunter of lost alchemies, digging through scraps of our past. My interest centered on stones of strange power.”
“Crystals,” Marika said.
He glanced sharply at her. “That’s correct. Sometimes the Great Wind would blow small shards from the city into the desert sands. I’d dug up dozens, some as large as my thumbnail.” He held up his stumped wrist. “That is, when I still had a thumb.”
Marika looked away. “He did that to you?”
“He had many questions that needed answers.”
“About what?” Jake asked.
“About my brother, my nieces, but mostly about that strange stone carried by his witch, Heka. You saw it, didn’t you?” He stared hard at Jake. Madness danced at the edges of his eyes. “A crystal darker than any shadow, but afire with evil.”
Jake nodded. The old man was talking about the bloodstone atop the witch’s yellow wand. Somehow the Skull King must have gotten that foul crystal through the storm barrier to stretch his deadly reach.
Shaduf continued, “The witch came out of the desert one day with no past, no face, only that black stone. With it, she helped Kree forge the Blood of Ka. But like I said, Kree is smart. He wanted to know more about that crystal … and about the other stones I’ve studied. If there’s power to be had, he wants it. So he kept me living to answer his questions.” He lifted his stump again. “It cost me fingers to keep my secrets.”
That edge of insanity burned brighter with memory of the torture.
“But I knew I only had so many fingers and toes. Eventually I began to tell. How could I not?” For a moment, he mumbled under his breath as if scolding and arguing with himself. Then his words steadied. “So I pretended to go mad, raving, pulling out my hair. It got them to stop asking questions, but I fear I have feigned madness for too long. I think it might have stuck.”