Sun Thief. Jamie Buxton

all the rest of them. It’s not me that’s doing it; the shapes of the animals press up against my fingers from inside the mud. The gods are in the animals and the animals are in the mud and that is where they’re hiding.

      No time to think about that now. Here comes my mother, swooping down on me, her head pecking the air like a chicken.

      ‘Time for you to stop daydreaming and fetch your little sister. Can’t you see how late it is? What are you thinking?’

      She glances at the Quiet Gentleman out of the corner of her eye and simpers: ‘What is it with the young of today? They’re like chalk and cheese, him and my daughter. She’s as good as gold, but he’s –’ and her voice takes on an all too familiar rasp ‘– he’s like a moonstruck cow. A burden ever since we took him in. Go, child. And be back before sunset or there’ll be a clip round the ear waiting for you.’

      She points up at the sun, which is where it always is at this time of day, and nips my earlobe between her finger and thumb. What I’m thinking is that I was told to fetch my sister from her aunt’s house tomorrow morning, but someone’s changed their mind and forgot to let me know.

      ‘But it’s too late,’ I protest. ‘I’ll never be able to get there and back in time.’

      ‘Then hurry! And don’t go taking any short cuts through you know where.’

      ‘But . . .’

      ‘GO!’

      Imi, Imi, Imi. My little sister. My parents’ daughter, their real child, as they never stop reminding me. I’m big enough to admit that Imi’s great, even if she is my kid sister. But sometimes, sometimes, I think that if she wasn’t so perfect, I might seem a little less bad.

      I scrape the mud off my potter’s wheel, prop it against the wall and leave.

      The aunt doesn’t live far away, just the other side of the pyramids, but between our home and hers is you know where – a place that scares the loincloth off me.

      It’s like a town, this place. It has streets. It has squares. It has houses, and the rich stay in the big ones and the poor stay in the small ones. But there’s one VERY BIG difference between this town and the one I live in: everyone in it is dead.

      I know, I know. Dying is not really dying. This life is a preparation for the next one which is far, far better and you go there surrounded by all your favourite possessions and pets and food and drink and blah blah blah . . .

      But here’s the catch. To keep your spirit alive, your relatives have to say your name and bring food to your tomb, and just to check, your spirit flies back from the underworld like a bird every evening. The houses of the dead sometimes even have a little perch above the front door for the soul to rest on.

      But what happens to souls that have been forgotten, whose relatives don’t turn up with biscuits and milk? I’ll tell you. They become wandering ghouls. Not just hungry ghosts but hungry, angry ghosts.

      Now, because I actually have eyes in my head and a tiny little bit of reasoning power, I know for A FACT that grieving relatives have pretty much given up visiting these houses of the dead. Result? An AWFUL LOT of whispering ghouls and MORE and MORE every day.

      Here I am, walking past the wall that surrounds the City of the Dead. Now I’m passing its main gate and I look in – and wish I hadn’t. The houses of the dead are spilling darkness. It fills the streets and alleyways and in the darkness are the ghouls.

      My friends, it’s a good place to avoid.

      The aunt is rich. She has a two-roomed house with a bread oven out the back and a slave who does just about everything for her. My little sister Imi goes there to learn manners, weaving, hair-braiding – all a girl needs to hook a good husband.

      When I get to the house, Imi’s hair is neatly braided and she’s showing off a new tunic and a brightly coloured belt. She jumps up when she sees me and throws her arms around me. I give her a little ram I made earlier and she runs into the house to say goodbye and thank you to her aunt.

      Who comes out into the street in order to be rude to me.

      ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ she says.

      ‘Of course it’s him,’ Imi says. ‘Who else would it be?’ She doesn’t say it sarcastically. She doesn’t understand sarcasm.

      ‘Never you mind. He’s late.’

      I open my mouth to protest, but decide it’s not worth it.

      ‘Look, he brought me a sheep!’ Imi holds up the little ram. The aunt snatches it and holds it out at arm’s length, squinting the way old people do.

      ‘Blasphemy,’ she says. ‘I should grind it to dust. The Aten is the one true god and the blessed one has eaten all the old gods.’

      ‘So if he’s eaten them, how could this be a god?’ I ask innocently. ‘It’s just an animal.’

      The aunt looks at me suspiciously, but hands the clay model back to Imi.

      ‘Right, Imi, time to head off,’ I say.

      Please note, the aunt has not asked me if I want a drink of cool, refreshing water or a place to rest before setting out on the long journey home.

      ‘You’ll have to hurry if you want to get back before dark,’ is all she says.

      ‘Yes, Aunt.’

      She hates it when I call her aunt. Auntauntauntauntaunt.

      ‘And don’t just stand there gawping.’

      ‘Yes, Aunt.’

      ‘Off you go then.’

      ‘Yes, Auntie.’

      ‘What did you call me?’

      ‘Auntie, Aunt.’ I get the scowl I was waiting for and off we go. Imi is skipping along and holding a bunch of weeds that she manages to make look like a posy of flowers. I’m walking quickly because I don’t want to be seen running after my little sister, but don’t want her to get too far ahead either. And everything’s fine until we get to the City of the Dead. Then Imi stops right at the gate and looks through it.

      ‘Come on,’ I say, walking past very deliberately. ‘It’s getting late.’

      It’s true. The sun’s already disappearing behind the pyramids and bats are fluttering between the houses of the dead, black scraps patted by an invisible wind.

      ‘Let’s go that way.’ Imi points down the street that leads straight into the heart of the shadowy city. ‘It’s much faster. You go down there and turn left and then there’s a hole in the wall and you’re home.’

      ‘It may be quicker, but it’s too dangerous,’ I say. ‘We’ll get lost and then we won’t get home at all. And you know you’re not allowed.’

      ‘It’s not dark yet,’ Imi says, holding the ram up so he’s pointing in the direction she wants to go.

      ‘It will be soon.’

      ‘Are you scared?’ she asks.

      She’s not teasing me, I know, but it still niggles. ‘NO!’ I snap.

      ‘Silly. Come on!’

      ‘I’m not . . . no, IMI! COME BACK!’

      Because she’s running through the gate and straight into the City of the Dead.