“We don’t have to do this! No more of your people have to get hurt! I can return what was stolen! Let’s stop and talk!”

The cats didn’t stop coming, and I didn’t stop running or cutting them down as necessary. Oberon didn’t stop batting them away or snatching them out of the air and tossing them aside. That was all okay. The overture of diplomacy had been made. Bast was far too proud to answer right away.

It was a mess of gore and screams for a while, my knives flashing in the wan light of a gray cloudless dawn. Lights began to flick on in the buildings we passed, slumbering citizens awakened by cries of rage and death and offering up Arabic WTFs in the still, dry air of their apartments. And then the Nile beckoned, black waters lying still without sufficient sun to light the ripples of the current, the stench of oil and untold shit rising from its surface instead of the fresh breath of life it used to be in ancient days.

The juice ran out fifty meters from the riverbank and I slowed, lungs heaving and informing me in no uncertain terms that they hated me to dickfinity.

"Hey! Where did all the love go?" Oberon asked.

Keep going! We have to make it to the river!

"I feel like I have all the turbo capacity of a dachshund right now."

We can’t stop or we’re dead.

We had built up something of a lead on the horde, but they were closing fast and yowling victoriously now that they could see we had slowed. There were no more cats in front of us. They had all engaged us earlier, and now they were either pursuing us from behind or licking their wounds.

The tiny little bells grew louder. They were almost upon us and my body wanted nothing so much as a sensible jog, but I kept pushing. Thirty meters. Twenty.

There was a railing ahead that marked a ramp down to some private docks, where a few small pleasure craft were anchored. The docks were fairly long, so there were some shallows, which was good for me. The cats would be on me before I could get there, however, and that was bad.

The bells from hell were right behind me now. I switched the dagger in my left hand to my right, awkwardly holding on to both in one hand, and then slapped my left hand onto the back of my neck and held it there. I wasn’t swatting mosquitoes; I was trying to stay alive. Not two seconds after I did so, the cats began to jump onto my back and claw at my legs. The scabbard of Fragarach, strapped across my back, gave them some extra purchase on my torso. They made angry kitty noises and tore through my shirt, trailing blood underneath their claws, but they couldn’t sit on my shoulders and bite through to my spine with my hand protecting the back of my neck. They tried to chew through anyway, biting and scratching everything they could, while I twisted and stumbled forward in an effort to make the water. Oberon briefly interposed himself and gave me a wee bit of space to turn the corner on the ramp. I dove and rolled, being careful with the knives, but not being careful at all about delivering some punishment to the cats hanging on me. They fell off under the impact, breath knocked out of them. Oberon’s bulk as a rear guard prevented any more from jumping on me while I was down, and I got up, a bloody, exhausted mess, and staggered toward the docks.

Come on, buddy, I said, a dagger in each hand again. Into the river we go.

"Right behind you."

I couldn’t get a full breath. I was too slow. Three more cats jumped on my back and more ran under my feet as I tumbled into the Nile. The water stung and cooled my cuts at the same time. The cats clung tightly and tore more of my flesh away—entering the water hadn’t deterred them at all. More were jumping in; I heard and felt the splashes. I didn’t know where Oberon was.

And then my foot touched the silt of the riverbed, the tattoo on the sole automatically renewing my connection to the earth. The energy of the Nile welcomed me, and I welcomed it as it rushed to replenish my spent energy and provide even more for healing or whatever else I needed.

I exploded to the surface, and the turbulence of it—combined no doubt with the current—tore away the few cats that had followed me in. Where I was standing, the water was just beneath my rib cage. Oberon paddled nearby. Cats were leaping into the river after me, falling short, and then discovering that they couldn’t swim for shit—that is, they may have been able to keep their heads above water, but they weren’t going to give me much of a fight. I was protected by the hull of a boat on my left, but there was a dock to my right. A few of the smarter cats scampered down it and leapt at me from there, but now that I could face them and not have to worry about overwhelming numbers from every direction, I could bat them away into the Nile and let them deal with the problem of swimming.

Go back a bit to where you can stand with your head out of the water, I said to Oberon. As cats go by, dunk ’em.

"I can stand as it is," Oberon said, and proved it. His head and neck were safely above the water. "What about your back?"

Don’t worry, I’ve got this now. The few that were trying to swim my way were having a tough time fighting against the current. Those that made it to me couldn’t leap or get any leverage whatsoever, and a brief scratch or bonk on the head sent them floating downriver. The ones jumping off the dock at my face were slapped out of the air, and once they hit the water they didn’t trouble me again.

Cats filled the dock and the shore, and the noise was getting ridiculous. Despite the hour, people would soon come to investigate and take pictures with their cell phones. I didn’t want that.

“Bast!” I called over the din, speaking in Coptic. “I can return the book of your mysteries! I can give it back to you right now! It’s in excellent condition! We don’t need to do this! Please don’t make me harm any more of your people! Let’s talk!”

The cats all stopped moving at once, save for the ones already in the river. They simply sat wherever they were and stared at me. There wasn’t a noise except for a few splashes and the sound of Oberon panting.

Oberon, don’t do anything more. Let the cats go for now.

"Okay."

A low female voice rose from the docks. I didn’t see any cat move its mouth, but it came from one of them.

“Hrrr. Show me the book.”

My leather satchel was under the surface of the river, and I pulled it out now, putting the daggers inside.

“The book has been in the water?” the voice cried. “It’s useless!”

“No, no!” I said. “It’s protected. It’s in a waterproof wrapper. I will show you.” Pulling out the oilskin parcel with Nice Kitty! inside, I unbound the oilskin and stuffed it back into my satchel. I held Bast’s book of mysteries carefully by my fingertips, trying to demonstrate my great respect for it. I still didn’t know which cat was Bast—or if she was simply speaking through one of them—so I spoke to the cats on the dock in general.

“Unlike so many other old treasures, this book has resisted the ravages of time,” I said. “I have kept it sealed away from the air. Every word is still readable. Think of it, Bast! Given to the right people, this book could revive interest in you like nothing else! You would receive prayers again, grow powerful. Your influence could spread beyond Egypt, and you could enjoy the worship of millions!” This was unlikely and wishful thinking, but I knew it was thinking she would very much want to believe. As if to emphasize my point, the muezzin began to buzz throughout Cairo, calling all Muslims to prayer. Bast knew what that meant: Another god was getting the worship that used to be hers. I kept selling.

“These other gods have their holy books translated into every tongue, and now humans bow to them around the world. You could do the same with this. How many of the other Egyptian gods could manage this? None. In truth, Bast, I have done you a great service by preserving it so well.”

“Hrrr. Give it to me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

From the back rank of the cats, a slight shift of shadowy movement attracted my eye. It grew taller; it was a shorthaired black cat with yellow eyes and a small gold hoop earring high up on its left ear. It continued to grow and change until I was looking at a woman with a cat’s head. The woman had clothes on where the cat didn’t, and I thought that sort of trick could revolutionize fashion. She had one of those giant golden necklaces draped over her shoulders, like one sees in the art of the pyramids, but she didn’t have a headdress. From underneath the gold necklace fell a white linen dress, belted below her br**sts with a rich blue sash. Her arms, while bare of clothing, were covered in soft black fur and the occasional golden circlet; she had human fingers but very feline claws instead of fingernails on the ends of them. The muezzin finally stopped blaring and we could speak without shouting.

“Hrrr. You will give it to me now, human.”

“Call me Atticus. I’d like something in return.”

Bast’s eyes widened at my presumption. “Ridiculous! You stole it! Return it now and take your punishment!”

“No, that’s not how we’re doing this. Remember, I’m doing you a favor by returning it. You thought I was dead and your book lost forever until I showed up today.”

The yellow eyes now narrowed to mere slits. “You are not a normal human.”

I dipped my head in thanks. “It’s kind of you to say so.”

“Why are you in Egypt?”

“In one of life’s great ironies, someone has stolen a book from me. I have come to steal it back.” And prevent him from harming the earth, I didn’t say.

Bast’s cat face lost its suspicion and seemed amused. “Hrr! Hrr! Hrr! Was it an Egyptian book stolen by an Egyptian?”

“Yes.”

“Then there is no crime. It is justice! Do you know who stole it?”

“A man named Nkosi Elkhashab.”

Bast blinked. “You mean the crocodile priest?”

Crocodile priest? That would make him a follower of Sobek, the god of the Nile. Suddenly the nature of his magic was clear. Water softened and carved away the earth on a regular basis. No wonder my bindings had dissolved. No wonder his aura was muddy brown.

“Yes, that’s the guy. Do you know where he is?”

“Is this information what you wish in return for my book?” Bast said.

“No.” I shook my head. “I want your permission to travel Egypt freely and your word not to reveal my presence here in any way to any other being.”

“Hrrr.” This time when Bast smiled, it looked predatory. “That is acceptable to me. I walk away with my book, and you walk away to be destroyed by Sobek’s chosen.” She held out a gray hand, palm up, to receive the book.

“Let me hear you swear it first, please,” I said.

Bast hissed a little with impatience. “In return for the book in your hand, you may freely wander Egypt and not be bothered by any of my people. I will not reveal your presence here to anyone—”

I raised an eyebrow and cocked my head to signal she’d messed up. She knew it.

“—Very well, or to any god or animal. Now, give.”

Happily, I waded forward and gave her Nice Kitty! Bast would hand it to some human scholar with woeful personal security and I would steal it back and destroy all records they made. The world really didn’t need a reborn cat sex cult.

Bast flipped briefly through the book to make sure it didn’t contain cartoons or something. She purred in pleasure for a moment and then remembered I was watching.

She hissed in earnest this time, then said, “May Sobek devour you.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Well, may harmony find you, Bast, and I am sorry for any pain I’ve caused your people.”

She ignored me and walked away in the manner for which cats are renowned. She and the book faded into the gray light of dawn, and the horde of cats began to disperse in her wake.

"Yeah!" Oberon said as Bast faded from view. "One hound versus thousands of cats, and the hound wins!"

What about the Druid?

"Quiet, Atticus. I’m having a moment here. Basking in my own glory."

When you’re finished, let’s go find a place that will let us drip dry on their floor.

My shirt was shredded and my cuts hadn’t fully closed up yet. I refilled my bear charm with all the magic it could hold and then activated my healing. The ugliness would fade over time. My priority now had to be getting some local cash, a set of dry clothes, a temporary cell phone, and then some food and an Internet connection.

People began to appear on the streets after morning prayers, and I asked them for directions to the nearest bazaar. A few blocks’ walk to the north, the flash of a credit card, and some spirited haggling provided me with almost everything I needed. I got directions from there to an Internet café—such places were more ubiquitous then, in the years before the iPhone.

Once I got Oberon settled with some sausage and carefully camouflaged under my table, I logged in to my email and found a nice dossier on Nkosi Elkhashab waiting for me from Hal’s private investigators.

Hal had highlighted something for me: Elkhashab had been dirt poor until he’d joined the Ministry of Antiquities after college. He showed no signs of abnormal behavior until about a year into the job, when he suddenly began to buy real estate far above his income bracket and then lots of expensive goodies with which to line the walls. There was no indication he had another job, so the question on everyone’s mind—Egypt’s as well, for he’d been investigated—was, where did he get the money?

Elkhashab’s story was that he had been selling his “art” to wealthy collectors abroad. His art consisted of some uninspired splatter paintings—the efforts of a person who looked at Jackson Pollock’s work and said to himself, “I could do that.” But the Ministry of Antiquities suspected, and I had no doubt they were correct, that the purchase price included rare Egyptian treasures, and Elkhashab was smuggling those abroad via different channels to his wealthy “art collectors.” He was titling his pictures along the lines of “Small Bust of Sobek, Twelfth Dynasty,” so that the ministry would know precisely what he was slipping past their guard. They never caught him, but they did fire him on general principles.