Sting of the Scorpion by Carole Wilkinson Page A

fell, a bronze blur. Ramose flinched, expecting the sceptre to crash down on his head, but to his surprise, it didn’t. It fell on the guard, knocking him back into the river.
    “Come quickly,” the vizier said. “You don’t have much time. The new pharaoh is about to be proclaimed.”
    Ramose didn’t move. He stared at the crocodile-faced vizier. Why was his enemy helping him?
    “Come, Highness.” Ramose felt the vizier’s insect fingers clutch at his arm. Ramose hesitated, unable to believe that the man he had feared all his life was now on his side. Then he remembered the oracle’s words—trust the crocodile. Karoya pushed him from behind.
    “Hurry, Ramose.”
    Ramose ran, spurred on by the vizier in front and Karoya behind. Three palace guards marched towards them at one stage, but the vizier ordered them to search the river for the missing slaves. Ramose’s head was spinning. There had to be another explanation for this. It had to be a trap. It wasn’t possible that the vizier was helping him.
    They reached the hall. Tuthmosis was seated on the throne. He now had a deep collar made of gold and turquoise resting on his shoulders. His arms were crossed over his chest. In one hand he held the royal crook, in the other the flail. The falcon-headed priest placed the white crown on his head. The Seth-beast priest placed the red crown on top of it. Together they formed the double crown of all Egypt. Ramose opened his mouth to shout out an objection. At that moment a ray of sunlight shot down from one of the high windows. The light illuminated the dust and incense smoke in its path, turning them into beautiful golden specks and swirls. The golden ray fell on Tuthmosis’s head.
    “Hail Tuthmosis,” said the high priest. “King of Upper Egypt, King of Lower Egypt, Chosen of Ra, Beloved of Amun, strong in truth, protector of Egypt, subduer of her enemies.”
    Everyone in the hall responded. “Hail Tuthmosis.”
    Ramose walked up towards the platform. Like everyone else, his eyes were on Tuthmosis. The boy seemed to have grown in the short time Ramose had been out of the hall. The sunlight reflected on the gold of the crook and the flail and the snakehead on the double crown. It turned Tuthmosis’s skin to gold as well. He no longer looked frightened.
    Ramose realised he was too late. The gods had selected their pharaoh. It was stupid of him to think that he could have influenced the will of the gods. He kept walking until he was at the foot of the platform. Priests started forward to grab him. Tuthmosis stood up.
    “Leave him alone,” he said. Even his voice was stronger.
    The priests obeyed their pharaoh and let Ramose approach the platform. Tuthmosis held out the crook to Ramose, offering it to him. Ramose walked up the two steps.
    “Hail Tuthmosis,” he said so that everyone could hear him. “Pharaoh of all Egypt.”
    He knelt at his brother’s feet. The oracle’s final words echoed in his mind—bow down before the frog.
    “You are Pharaoh, Pegget,” Ramose said in a quieter voice so that only his brother could hear him. “It is the will of the gods. I am here to serve you.”
    “Are you sure, Ramose?” asked Tuthmosis. “Is this what you want?”
    Ramose nodded.
    “But what will become of you? What will you do?”
    “Might I suggest, Highness, that Prince Ramose be proclaimed as your adviser?”
    Ramose and Tuthmosis turned. It was the vizier, who had slipped back into his position on the platform. There was a murmur of surprise in the hall as people realised who Ramose was.
    Both boys nodded.
    “Swear him in immediately, Vizier Wersu,” said Tuthmosis.
    The high priest opened his mouth to object.
    “High Priest,” said Tuthmosis in his new commanding voice. “Say a prayer to bless my adviser.”
    The high priest bowed in obedience. The vizier muttered a few important sounding words. The high priest said a blessing. Tuthmosis raised Ramose to his feet.
    “Hail Ramose, Fan-bearer on the