I’m not sure how long I stared into the darkness, but after a good while a reddish smudge appeared in the distance, as if the sky were becoming lighter.
“Is that my imagination, or—”
“Our destination,” Bast said. “Strange, we really should’ve been challenged by now—”
The boat shuddered, and the water began to boil. A giant figure erupted from the river. I could see him only from the waist up, but he towered several meters over the boat. His body was humanoid—bare-chested and hairy with purplish skin. A rope belt was tied around his waist, festooned with leather pouches, severed demon heads, and other charming bits and bobs. His head was a strange combination of lion and human, with gold eyes and a black mane done in dreadlocks. His blood-splattered mouth was feline, with bristly whiskers and razor-sharp fangs. He roared, scaring Khufu right off the gangplank. The poor baboon did a flying leap into Carter’s arms, which knocked them both to the deck.
“You had to say something,” I told Bast weakly. “This a relative of yours, I hope?”
Bast shook her head. “I cannot help you with this, Sadie. You are the mortals. You must deal with the challenge.”
“Oh, thanks for that.”
“I am Shezmu!” the bloody lion man said.
I wanted to say, “Yes, you certainly are.” But I decided to keep my mouth shut.
He turned his golden eyes on Carter and tilted his head. His nostrils quivered. “I smell the blood of pharaohs. A tasty treat...or do you dare to name me?”
“N-name you?” Carter sputtered. “Do you mean your secret name?”
The demon laughed. He grabbed a nearby spire of rock, which crumpled like old plaster in his fist.
I looked desperately at Carter. “You don’t happen to have his secret name lying around somewhere?”
“It may be in The Book of the Dead,” Carter said. “I forgot to check.”
“Well?” I said.
“Keep him busy,” Carter replied, and scrambled off to the wheelhouse.
Keep a demon busy, I thought. Right. Maybe he fancies a game of tiddlywinks.
“Do you give up?” Shezmu bellowed.
“No!” I yelled. “No, we don’t give up. We will name you. Just...Gosh, you’re quite well muscled, aren’t you? Do you work out?”
I glanced at Bast, who nodded approval.
Shezmu rumbled with pride and flexed his mighty arms. Never fails with men, does it? Even if they’re twenty meters tall and lion-headed.
“I am Shezmu!” he bellowed.
“Yes, you might’ve mentioned that already,” I said. “I’m wondering, um, what sort of titles you’ve earned over the years, eh? Lord of this and that?”
“I am Osiris’s royal executioner!” he yelled, smashing a fist into the water and rocking our boat. “I am the Lord of Blood and Wine!”
“Brilliant,” I said, trying not to get sick. “Er, how are blood and wine connected, exactly?”
“Garrr!” He leaned forward and bared his fangs, which were not any prettier up close. His mane was matted with nasty bits of dead fish and river moss. “Lord Osiris lets me behead the wicked! I crush them in my wine press, and make wine for the dead!”
I made a mental note never to drink the wine of the dead.
You’re doing well. Isis’s voice gave me a start. She’d been quiet so long, I’d almost forgotten her. Ask him about his other duties.
“And what are your other duties...O powerful wine demon guy?”
“I am Lord of...” He flexed his muscles for maximum effect. “Perfume!”