Around him the spirits gathered ... but they were strangers.
“Imhotep,” he murmured, ignoring them. Why would he not come, the great soul, the hero of his heart?
One detached itself from the others and stood before him. He was not as Senmut imagined Imhotep to be.
Senmut began to feel ice-cold, as though all his blood were draining away. The vast dim figure was coming closer and closer. His eyes were greedy and cruel. They were not the eyes of Imhotep.
Senmut scrambled backwards, toppling the drums as he did so, and losing his own balance so that he was sprawled on the dusty floor with the giant shadow of the ghost-being towering above him.
The shaman began to beat his drums furiously, his voice rising above the sound, high and weird, part howl, part chant. While still beating the dru
