Despite his claimed dislike for the flesh of creatures, Imhotep cooked the fish to perfection, its flesh firm and succulent, bubbling in its own juices. Sethi ate, ravenous, folding the pieces of greasy flesh into the flatbread Imhotep warmed on a stone over the cooking fire. Horus ate with less gusto, taking more of the bread than the fish, instead sharing in Imhotep's bowl of cooked lentils, dressed with roasted garlic cloves and fried leek.

Imhotep reached for the wine jug. Sethi put his hand on the jug's handle, stopping him.

"No. I am the least among us by far," he said, lifting the jug and filling Horus's cup, then Imhotep's. The dregs he poured into his own. "To think I would one day dine with Lord Horus and Lord Imhotep. Never in my wildest imagination could I have dreamed of such a thing. And yet, here we are."

Imhotep nodded, slow, his eyes glittering, sharp in the firelight, warm with approval. "Indeed. Here we are." He met Horus's eyes. "Commander Sethi asked how I was able to find you. Shall I answer his question now?"

Horus lifted his cup and tilted his head, languid, regal, no longer a captain, but a fallen god.

"Almost fourteen hundred years ago," Imhotep began, resting his weight on his elbow, his neck ornaments rattling, quiet, as he moved to cradle his wine cup in his hand, "I was already an old man. Thinking my life would soon end, I retired to search for knowledge left behind by the gods. Deep within Thamud's desert, I came upon a maze of caves. For a week I explored them, mapping them, sensing the faint presence of ancient power coming from its heart. In the cave's deepest bowels I discovered a false barrier--masked to look like the rest of the cave's walls--beating with the unmistakeable thrum of ancient energy. It took almost a year of study to understand how to open the barrier. But when I did," he paused to sip his wine, a quiet smile on his lips, "that was the day I truly learned what it meant to live. Within, elegant symbols lined the walls, roof, even the floor, written in symbols unlike any I had ever seen. I spent a month living on the minimum of sleep and food, in a half-hallucinatory state, trying to understand the symbols which I sensed held the key to all life." Imhotep shrugged, and drank deep. He sighed. "But no avail, the writings remained elusive, tantalizing, tormenting me. Then, one night while caught in a dream, Thoth came to me. In total silence he handed me a green tablet made of precious stone and walked away. The tablet held the key to link his writings with ours."

Sethi leaned forward, hanging on to Imhotep's words. This was what he had searched for all his life--truth, knowledge, meaning, understanding--the words of the gods. He had never been content to accept the scraps dropped from the tables of the priests--those teachings reformed, reshaped, remade into something other. A truth, perhaps, but not the truth.

Imhotep set his cup aside. "However, my pursuit of arcane knowledge came at a terrible price," he muttered, his eyes meeting Sethi's, filled with knowing. "The knowledge of the gods was far, far more than my feeble, mortal mind could comprehend. Afterward, I wandered the desert for thirty days, maddened by the things I had learned." He poked a stick at the dying embers of the fire, stirring it back to life. "When I returned from my madness, I realized I was no longer an old man." He chuckled, and shook his head. "I was young again--no more than eighteen--healthy and strong." He glanced at Sethi once more. "You can imagine what I did then."

"You went to the pharaoh and told him of this sacred place of knowledge and renewal?" Sethi asked.

Imhotep burst out laughing, his sudden, unexpected amusement rolling around the room in cascading waves. Sethi found himself smiling, though he didn't know why. Even the corners of Horus's lips quirked.

"Ah, you are the serious, dutiful one, aren't you?" Imhotep muttered, wiping the moisture from his eyes. "No, of course not. I got myself to the nearest whorehouse and mounted every woman I could find." He stood and went to the table. Catching the edge of it, he leaned over, succumbing to a fresh fit of laughter. "Go to the pharaoh!" he cackled. "Oh how different history would have been. Ramesses is a lamb compared to Djeser, what a tyrant that man was. Just imagine him ruling Egypt for the last fourteen hundred years. Thirty was quite enough." He stopped smiling, abrupt, sobered by his words.

"No. I didn't tell him," he said collecting a covered clay bowl from the table. He pulled the lid off and carried it back, setting it down in front of Horus. Within, a rosy nest of ripe plums, their purple-hued flesh tight and plump in the flickering lamplight. "In fact," Imhotep continued, "I never went back. I wandered to the edges of the world; to the north, the south, and the west, only to discover endless seas with violent, crashing waves bounding each coastline. I even travelled all the way to the shores of the far east."

"And?" Sethi prompted, waiting until Horus helped himself to a plum before he took one and bit into it, its taut skin giving way to juicy, sweet flesh, sun-warmed and grainy. A little juice dribbled down his chin, he caught it with his fingers, and licked it away, unwilling to waste any of its honey-sweet nectar.

"And," Imhotep answered, "it was nothing like I could have imagined. An opulent, decadent, verdant world, drowning in superstition and ritual, its towns and cities dotted along the banks of a great river." He paused, his eyes unfocusing for several heartbeats before he blinked and continued: "They had such strange, complicated beliefs in their gods and the afterlife, much more so than ours, and, even more strange, they worshiped their ancestors, making offerings to them, venerating them. Very beautiful ceremonies. They were quite interested in me--Laowai they called me--and what knowledge I could share. Some of it I later learned they incorporated into their belief systems. But," he shrugged, resigned, "though their society was as elegant and cultured as Egypt's, and I would have liked to stay--I never once tired of the sound of rain against the roof--I couldn't remain in their court for more than twenty-odd years, else they would realize I did not age the same as other men." He took a plum, and eyed it, pensive. "Though I would have rather stayed with the woman I loved, I left, and travelled onward through their lands until I reached the great boundary of another endless sea. By then more than six hundred years had passed. Having tired of my explorations, I felt homesick, so I turned around and made my way back. It took a long time."

He fell silent. Despite a dozen questions burning in his breast, Sethi held his tongue, sensing Imhotep traveled inner paths long turned to dust. Across the fire, Horus watched Imhotep; his eyes veiled, unreadable. Imhotep bit into his dessert, chewing, his gaze distant, his presence lost to them.

"I still miss her," he sighed as he sucked the last of the plum's flesh from its pit. "Qi Shin must be dead now for almost eight hundred years." He tossed the pit into the fire, morose. "Every night I still think of her, forever lost to me. At first I thought my long life a blessing. But a man can live too long. My arrogance in seeking knowledge not meant for men has taught me too much of anything is not a blessing as I once believed, but a curse."

"And yet you aided us," Horus said, quiet, guiding the conversation back to its original point.

"Ha, I didn't have a choice," Imhotep muttered, rubbing his hand over his bald pate. He looked away, defensive.

"Meaning?" Sethi asked.

"The last time I sensed such power was when I was in the cave with Thoth's writings," Imhotep admitted. "Anyway, here I was," he gestured around the cave, "minding my own business, having a most pleasant nap. Something woke me, thudding like the beat of a heart. It called to me. I couldn't have resisted if I wanted to. I went because I hoped it might be Thoth, returning to remove this curse so I could die."

"And?" Horus asked, soft.

"Well," Imhotep shifted, uneasy, and glanced at Horus. "It wasn't Thoth. It was a massacre in a ravine. Bodies everywhere. You two were huddled in a heap under two shields." He sniffed and fiddled with his bracelets, lining them up into straight rows. "Both of you were unconscious and dying fast." He jerked his head toward Sethi. "Him with four arrows sticking out of him, and you with none, but impaled in all the same places. Well. I couldn't just leave you there to die, in that heat, with the flies, and the vultures--not with the power around you the same as what I felt in Thoth's cave. It seemed a sacrilege to leave you to your fate. Also, I was curious."

"And has your curiosity been satisfied?" Sethi asked after a long silence, broken only by the quiet shudder of the fuel collapsing in the fire pit.

"No," Imhotep replied, terse. "On the contrary, as the days have passed, I have found myself becoming even more curious. Something tells me a great adventure lies before you, and since I really have nothing better to do, I would like to join you. After all, I have learned a few things over the last millennium--things which might come in handy."

Sethi looked at Horus. The once-god nodded, slow. "I think," he said, "you finding us is exactly what the Creator wanted."

"Is that a yes, then?" Imhotep asked.

"It's a yes," Horus replied, wincing as he leaned forward to take another plum. "Although I think it would be best if we rested a few more days before we return to our women in Pi-Ramesses. In the meantime, you can aid us by carrying messages to my consort. Baalat can pass Sethi's message to Istara. She needs to know Sethi has not fallen." He lifted the plum to his lips, and met Sethi's eyes. "I just hope it is not already too late."