Two redbrick pillars stood guard at the entrance. Stretched between them, a rusty iron gate held back the cemetery, making me feel like an uninvited guest. Thousands of dead bodies lay on the other side of the fence. Dead like I would be if I didn’t get to the knife before Horemheb. The cemetery had more obelisks than Horus had catnip toys. They were nowhere near as grand as the five—well, four, now that one had exploded—new ones around D.C., but these obelisks were ancient. They came from the days when people prepared for life after death. Like how pharaohs before me had built pyramids for their final resting places. In a way, I could see Isis’s point, preserving the old ways instead of giving over to the new. There was beauty in those old ways … except for the mummification part. Because the shabtis were miniature, they easily slipped through the iron bars. I scaled the fence and met them on the other side. “This way, Master.” Colonel Cody pointed toward a hill terraced with overgrown paths and covered in cracked grave markers.
