At that moment, the falcon inflated its chest and ruffled its feathers indignantly, demanding his undivided attention. It hopped soundlessly toward him, and now he could see it had something in its beak. Like a ghost, it fluttered onto his shoulder soundlessly and opened its beak; something cold dropped into Simon's open hands, and he stared at the object for several dumbfounded seconds.

  It was a key, a small, rusty black key in the same fashion as his manacles.

  “Smart bird!” whispered Simon excitedly.

  The falcon tilted its head and looked at him as though to say: Are you completely mad? Then it pointed a sharp talon at the key in his hand and back at the shackles, rustling its feathers impatiently again.

  Simon didn't stop to think. He peered around the chariot and at the apophis standing guard over him, which had clearly noticed nothing. He couldn't see Set anywhere either; perhaps the god had retired into his tent. He held the key gingerly with two fingers and inserted it into the tiny lock with great difficulty then, twisting his wrist at an odd angle, worked it slowly, turning it in the socket. Two times he slipped and elicited an awfully loud, clicking noise from the metal as the key clattered down onto the shackles. Both times he froze, listening into the camp for sounds of recognition, footsteps, someone coming to get him, but continued relentlessly when nobody did. At last, the lock gave a satisfying click, and Simon, panting with effort and excitement, freed himself from the metal cuffs.

  What now? The chariot concealed him from the men and monsters around the campfire, and behind him was the greenbelt framing the riverside, and behind that he knew was the river itself. If only he could make it there undetected, he could find a place to hide, at least until a better plan sprung to his mind.

  He checked over his shoulder again, found no one was watching him still, and then dropped into the sand on all fours. He was about to crawl toward the bushes when the memory of something pulsing against his chest, a sensation teetering at the edge of his mind, stopped him; while it was barely there it was persistent, and he realized what it was almost at once.

  The Infinity Key.

  Simon swallowed, knowing immediately he couldn't leave without it, for it was an essential piece of his return to the twenty-first century. For a minute he thought, hard, heart beating loudly in his ears. The last time he had seen the hourglass it had flashed in dangerous red, as Set had carried it away with him, up the staircase in Zawte, not unlike a pet refusing to leave without its owner. But what were the chances Set had brought it with him, not knowing what it was, not knowing how important that piece of jewellery was?

  The seconds were ticking away fast, and then he couldn't wait any longer. Sooner or later, the apophis guard would turn around to check on him, or Set would come to taunt him again … All hell would break loose once they found out he had escaped...

  “Go on,” he whispered, despite his better judgement, to the waiting falcon. “I'll be right behind you.”

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  As though it had understood him, the bird ruffled its feathers with obvious annoyance, but ascended into the air quietly. Simon made shooing gestures until it was higher up than any arrow would fly, then he turned back toward Set's tent, which rose to his right; if the Infinity Key was here, it ought to be in there. Not taking a moment to consider how he would get inside, Simon crawled out from behind the chariot on his knees, making no sound on the cool sand beneath. A moment later, he had reached the shelter of a cluster of three palm trees separating the chariot from the tent. Another look over his shoulder told him that the apophis guard was still unmoving.

  Concealed behind the leaves, he let his gaze stray around the camp for a moment, counting the soldiers. At the fire on his other side, several guards were talking in raucous whispers and roasting what looked like some sort of desert bird on a stick. Again, he felt a pang of fear for his feathered friend, and another of hunger. He couldn't see Set anywhere, but his black mares were pawing the ground impatiently behind his tent; if he was quick, he could make it through to the tent without being seen.

  He could hear the Nile river gurgling behind him over the grunting voices of the mercenaries. As he listened, he meant to make out splashing noises, like feet wading through the riverbed. Was someone down there? Slaves getting water? Guards washing up? How long until they would be coming back to the camp and run right into him? He was risking quite a lot venturing into the mouth of the lion, but he couldn't stop now... He needed that Infinity Key to go back home.

  Taking another glance toward the soldiers to make sure they were occupied, Simon darted across the last stretch of sand toward the tent's side. Once there, he threw himself onto his belly next to the canvas and lay there trying to calm his heavy breathing and half expecting to hear shouts and footsteps, as they raced after him to apprehend him.

  But everything remained still, and after several seconds of waiting, he was sure nobody had seen him. His heart gave a jolt – he had almost made it. He crawled around the edge of the tent next, ears strained to hear any noise coming from inside. When everything remained calm, he lifted the canvas upward slightly and brought his face close to the ground to peer through the slit, intent on checking if someone was inside before he entered.

  He didn't get that far however. At the very moment he tilted his face to look inside, the sound of footsteps emerged from the riverside, a pair of light feet coming his way, and a small black shadow appeared in front of the lighter bushland. Seized by sudden mindless and hasty panic, Simon rolled himself underneath the canvas and into the tent. It was empty.

  Lying flat on his back, shaking with tension, he breathed in deeply again, his heart fluttering madly in his chest. He really wasn't made for adventures like this, he thought, as he looked around the elaborately decorated inside of the tent; in fact, he had half a mind to give himself up again already, to run into the midst of the soldiers with his hands over his head, just so he could get rid of the unbearable strain … But no... he mastered the impulse to capitulate, as his pulse calmed slightly.

  And now he could hear voices outside, echoing shrilly over the camp, and footfalls of armour-clad feet, trampling over the sand in a frenzy...

  “Find him!” screeched a voice filled with panic.

  There were loud hisses that sounded like a box of angry cats, as the apophi went to search through the camp.

  Simon barely heard them: His gaze had fallen onto the only source of light inside the tent: A bright blue glowing hourglass that hung in a harness adorned with two silver cobras from the ceiling right above him. He had never seen anything as detailed as those serpents; carefully crafted scales and emerald eyes that glittered in a vivid green; if they hadn't been unmoving, they would have seemed alive.