The Serpent's Shadow (The Kane Chronicles, Book Three) by Rick Riordan Page B

this situation. I could have even assumed the form of a kite (the bird of prey, not the kind with a string), although that wasn’t my favorite way to travel. Before I could decide on a plan of action, Leonid grabbed my hand.
    The direction of the wind changed. Suddenly we were gliding over the city in a controlled descent. We set down softly in the desert just outside the city limits near a cluster of ruins that I knew from experience hid an entrance to the First Nome.
    I looked at Leonid in amazement. “You summoned the power of Shu!”
    “Shu,” he said grimly. “Yes. Necessary. I do…forbidden.”
    I smiled with delight. “You clever boy! You learned the path of the gods on your own? I knew there was a reason I didn’t turn you into a banana slug.”
    Leonid’s eyes widened. “No banana slug! Please!”
    “It was a compliment, silly,” I said. “Forbidden is good! Sadie likes forbidden! Now, come on. You need to meet my uncle.”
    No doubt Carter would describe the underground city in excruciating detail, with exact measurements of each room, boring history on every statue and hieroglyph, and background notes on the construction of the magical headquarters of the House of Life.
    I will spare you that pain.
    It’s big. It’s full of magic. It’s underground.
    There. Sorted.
    At the bottom of the entry tunnel, we crossed a stone bridge over a chasm, where I was challenged by a ba . The glowing bird spirit (with the head of a famous Egyptian I probably should’ve known) asked me a question: What color are the eyes of Anubis?
    Brown. Duh. I suppose he was trying to trick me with an easy question.
    The ba let us pass into the city proper. I hadn’t visited in six months, and I was distressed to see how few magicians were about. The First Nome had never been crowded. Egyptian magic had withered over the centuries as fewer and fewer young initiates learned the arts. But now most shops in the central cavern were closed. At the market stalls, no one was haggling over the price of ankh s or scorpion venom. A bored-looking amulet salesman perked up as we approached, then slumped as we passed by.
    Our footsteps echoed in the silent tunnels. We crossed one of the subterranean rivers, then wound our way through the library quarter and the Chamber of Birds.
    (Carter says I should tell you why it’s called that. It’s a cave full of all sorts of birds. Again— duh . [Carter, why are you banging your head against the table?])
    I brought my Russian friend down a long corridor, past a sealed tunnel that had once led up to the Great Sphinx of Giza, and finally to the bronze doors of the Hall of Ages. It was my uncle’s hall now, so I strolled right in.
    Impressive place? Certainly. If you filled it with water, the hall would’ve been large enough for a pod of whales. Running down the middle, a long blue carpet glittered like the River Nile. Along either side marched rows of columns, and between them shimmered curtains of light displaying scenes from Egypt’s past—all sorts of horrible, wonderful, heart-wrenching events.
    I tried to avoid looking at them. I knew from experience that those images could be dangerously absorbing. Once I’d made the mistake of touching the lights, and the experience had almost turned my brain into oatmeal.
    The first section of light was gold—the Age of the Gods. Farther along, the Old Kingdom glowed silver, then the Middle Kingdom in coppery brown, and so on.
    Several times as we walked, I had to pull Leonid back from scenes that caught his eye. Honestly, I wasn’t much better.
    I got teary-eyed when I saw a vision of Bes entertaining the other gods by doing cartwheels in a loincloth. (I cried because I missed seeing him so full of life, I mean, though the sight of Bes in a loincloth is enough to make anyone’s eyes burn.)
    We passed the bronze curtain of light for the New Kingdom. I stopped abruptly. In the shifting mirage, a thin man in priestly robes held a wand and a knife over a