Brooklyn House Magician's Manual, Page 2

  Moving on: a wooden staff. I suppose you inherited one of those, too? No? What, did it explode or turn into a snake and slither off or snap in half? Yeah, they do that. They also get lost by numbskull magicians who expect their shabti to chase them down. So, keep an eye on the one I’m giving you. It’s standard issue, unmarked, but once you start hurling spells with it, hieroglyphs of your magical strengths should appear.

  What else? Right, a magician’s kit for supplies. You’ve got a choice of this wooden box—the lid’s loose, lousy craftsmanship, I agree—or this leather satchel. What? Yeah, okay, smarty-pants, I know I said no leather. I can see I’ll have to walk you through this, so pay attention. Leather clothes prevent magic. Leather satchels keep magic contained. Otherwise, the magic oozes out of the items. Trust me: you do not want to be walking around with a bag of oozing magic. Makes isfet of your clothes.

  So, you want the box or—Don’t grab! I gotta fill your kit first! Sheesh. A ball of twine, a roll of papyrus, menhed—that’s a scribe’s palette with ink to you newbies—and your own shabti-making lump of wax. If you’re not sure what to shape your lump into, I highly recommend a nice-looking half lady. Wink, wink, ha, ha.

  Last thing: an ivory headrest. You put your neck here, where it curves and—Don’t give me that look. You’ll get used to it. Honest to Ra, if you don’t sleep with this every night, you’ll regret it.

  Okay, you’re all set. Good luck with the whole path-of-the-gods thing. Next!

  ME again. I sent out a request for others to write this entry, but…well, me again. Yeah, I binned that request. Sorry. (Not sorry.)—Sadie

  The Duat is a mysterious, multilayered realm of magic that flows just beneath our world. Magicians use the shallowest level for storing personal items. I put my khopesh and magician’s box in the Duat, too—you know, stuff I want to keep safe or might need in a hurry. I also store the djed amulet my dad gave me in a locker there. The amulet is a little carving that looks like a spine. It symbolizes stability and strength. We use it as a beacon to summon new trainees, so you must have seen it when you found this book.

  With proper training, you can use this Duat level to see another’s hidden magical aspect. In the regular world, the thing might look perfectly normal. Lower your vision into the Duat, though, and that thing could appear very different. For instance, a moose once chased me through an airport—except it wasn’t really a moose, it was a hideous monster. Sadie, who is better at peering into the Duat, can see Anubis, the god of death, superimposed on Walt. Two hot guys in one package. Not bad, huh?—Sadie. This top layer is also good for rapid travel, via boat, or ba—that’s the personality part of your soul—or purple-hued magic portal.

  The next Duat level down is the River of Night, the fabled waterway traveled by the sun god Ra on his nightly journey. The river passes some amazing sights. But steer clear until you’ve had a bit of magical training, because it also has some nasty surprises, like jagged rocks that can rip you apart, flame-filled water that can burn you to a crisp, and worst of all, a god named Shezmu who will squirt you in the face with nasty smelling perfume.

  Speaking of steering clear, avoid the deepest Duat levels. That’s where the Sea of Chaos and the abyss are. I barely escaped the sea with my sanity intact. As for the abyss, well, if you’re looking to vanish from existence, it’s the place to be. Or not to be. Honestly, why would anyone want to go there? That is the question.

  A DJED AMULET? NIIIIICE. I COULD USE ONE OF THOSE. USE IT UP REAL GOOD. AND MIGHT YOUR LOCKER ALSO HIDE THE ANCIENT SCROLL I’VE BEEN SEARCHING FOR? JUST GIVE ME THE COMBINATION, PAL, AND I’LL TAKE A PEEK.—SETNE

  I found this papyrus on board our boat, the Egyptian Queen. Apparently, before the double-ax-headed captain was bound in service to our family, he was a tour guide. Who knew?—Carter

  GOOD evening, and welcome to the Spirit of the Duat, the flagship of the River of Night cruise line. I am your demonic guide, Bloodstained Blade, and I will do my best to kill you during this trip—er, protect you during this trip, I mean. I will do my best to kill you at the end of the tour.

  Please note that those signed up for the guided ba experience of the Duat should now remove the protective ivory headrests from their beds and fall asleep. Failure to comply will result in missing the tour. No refunds.

  Our live-action adventure sets off from the First House dock precisely at sunset. We then travel through the rather boring Second and Third Houses to the Fourth House, where the Sunny Acres Assisted-Living Community is located. You’ll have exactly one visiting hour there. Say hello to Nurse Hippo, but just say no to any of her needles. If you do not return to the boat within sixty minutes, plan to spend the next twenty-three hours rubbing elbows with long-forgotten and always-forgetful deities.

  From Sunny Acres, we head into the always-entertaining Land of the Dead. (Well, entertaining for me, anyway, as this is where I often lose a passenger or two.) Take a dip in the Lake of Fire, have a snack with Osiris, the god of the underworld, and then see him at work in the Hall of Judgment, located on his island oasis. Again, visits at each place will be of limited duration. If you wish to stay longer than the time allotted, you must schedule a game of senet with Khonsu, the moon god. Have your ren ready.

  Once you’re back on board—or not—we’ll pick up our tour with the Fifth House. Then the Sixth. Then Seventh, Eighth, and…well, you get the point. Or perhaps the blade, if I’m sneaky enough. Our tour will conclude at the Twelfth House, where you will witness a glorious sunrise. Your last, if I have my way.

  Well, I see the crew lights are preparing for departure, so at this time we ask you to stow your magician’s boxes in a secure magical location and to listen carefully to the following safety guidelines:

  1. Keep hands, feet, heads, and other dangling appendages inside the vessel at all times. Sunglasses, hats, and fake beards should be removed prior to departure. Management is not responsible for lost items, limbs, or lives.

  2. The Duat is home to a wide variety of indigenous mythical creatures. Some are harmless. Others are quite harmful. We invite you to admire or fear these creatures from a safe distance. Flash photography and screaming are discouraged, as these activities disturb the demons.

  3. While we anticipate a smooth journey, chances are we’ll inadvertently spring at least one hidden trap. Or perhaps the trap will be sprung advertently. In the event of a deadly emergency, menheds with a chart of protective hieroglyphs will materialize before you. Paint the appropriate glyph on your own forehead first, then on those of any children traveling with you.

  Thank you for your attention to these matters. Now, without further ado, I invite you to sit back, relax, and prepare to enjoy your last night alive. I mean, prepare to enjoy the River of Night. And please remember to tip your tour guide on your way out so that you’ll be within easy striking distance.

  BSB! I hate that demon! I bet he’d lend a blade to our worst enemy in a heartbeat. I’m glad he’s still deep in the Duat.—Sadie

  BSB! I LOVE THAT DEMON! I BET HE’D LEND ME A BLADE AGAINST THE KANES IN AN IB-BEAT. WHICH IS WHY I’M GOING TO PAY HIM A LITTLE VISIT DEEP IN THE DUAT.

  —SETNE

  I’LL never forget Sadie’s and my first training lesson. It took place at the First Nome in Cairo—the main headquarters and original training grounds for magicians of the House of Life. That lesson included having our tongues painted with a foul-tasting hieroglyph that was supposed to help us enunciate spells clearly. I don’t know about Sadie, but I was too busy gagging to say anything other than blecch. Carter still sounds like he’s gagging when he tries to do spells, poor lamb.—Sadie

  Here at Brooklyn House, training takes a different path—the path of the gods, a unique connection forged between a magician and a god in which the magician channels the god’s magic to amplify his own abilities. We’ll help you learn to make that link, starting with some tips I got from an unusual source.

  I was lying on the sofa in the Great Room of Brooklyn House
one night, pondering how to explain the path of the gods for this book, when a hairy weight dropped on my chest.

  “Oof! Khufu!”

  “Agh!” Our baboon grunted an apology—at least I think it was an apology; he could have been reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy for all I know—then grabbed my hand and pulled me upstairs to our indoor basketball court. Scattered around the hardwood floor were four purple Los Angeles Lakers jerseys, like the one Khufu was wearing, and four green Boston Celtics shirts. A basketball sat in the center circle.

  “Agh.” Khufu shoved a sheet of papyrus into my hands, gestured toward the jerseys, and stared at me expectantly. I shrugged, not understanding. He made an exasperated face and stabbed a finger at the papyrus.

  The paper was covered in hieroglyphs. I knew it was a spell of some kind, but it took me a moment to decipher it. “Hang on. Khufu…will this spell bring those jerseys to life?”

  Khufu flashed me a yeah, duh look.

  I had firsthand experience with animated clothing, having ridden in a boat piloted by Uncle Amos’s enchanted trench coat. I could guess why Khufu wanted me to rouse the jerseys. See, I love basketball. I have a decent shot as long as I’m alone on the court. Put a defender on me, though, and I choke. Same with dribbling, passing, rebounding—pretty much all facets of the game, sadly. Stinking up the court was bad enough, but even worse were the sideways glances I got from Khufu and his basketball-playing baboon buddies.

  But now I had the chance to practice my moves without being sucker-punched by judgmental looks. “Okay, here goes nothing.”

  Nothing is pretty much what happened when I recited the spell. The shirts just swished across the floor like dust rags. I concentrated harder and read the spell again. Result! The jerseys rose up and hung in the air at player chest height. A black-and-white referee shirt appeared with a whistle floating where the official’s mouth would have been.

  “Agh.” Khufu tossed me a Boston jersey—number 33, last worn by Celtics great Larry Bird. Not my favorite team, but I respected Bird. I tugged it on, then followed Khufu to the center circle for the opening tip-off. The ref shirt wafted over and picked up the ball with its invisible hand.

  “Gotta love Egyptian magic,” I muttered.

  The ref gave a blast on the whistle and tossed the ball straight up. Khufu got the upper hand—er, paw—and flipped the ball toward his teammate.

  What followed was the weirdest game of hoops I’ve ever played. Weird and mortifying, because as always, I was awful. I dribbled off my foot. I clanged my jump shots and ricocheted my layups. I made lousy across-the-key passes that were picked off and reversed downcourt for thunderous Laker dunks.

  My highlight—or lowlight—moment came near halftime. As the Laker shirts zipped the ball around the key, I lunged to intercept a hard pass, tripped, and caught the ball with the side of my head. I was out before my face kissed the floor.

  “Not sure I want this guy wearing my jersey.”

  “Well, they can’t play shirts and skins, because no one has skin.”

  At the sound of voices, I groaned and opened my eyes.

  Two ba hovered over me. One had a Bird head—a Larry Bird head, that is. The other one’s head was Magic, as in Magic Johnson, superstar Laker and one of my all-time favorite players. In fact, I’d used his jersey number, 32, and those of two other Laker greats, Wilt Chamberlain, 13, and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, 33, as my Duat locker combination.

  I started to sit up, but the Bird ba held up a cautioning wing. “I wouldn’t do that. Not unless you want to pass out again.”

  I stayed down. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Came to give you some pointers, man,” Magic said.

  “Oh, okay.” I mean, what else was I going to say—Um, no thanks, I got plenty of game without your help?

  Magic settled onto the floor next to me. “First off, you’ve got to find a position that works with your natural abilities. You’re trying to be a center. No offense, but you don’t have the height. Don’t try point guard, either, because your ball-handling skills leave something to be desired right now. Try shooting guard, or maybe small or power forward.”

  “Work on your fundamentals,” Bird put in. “As a great man once said, ‘A winner is someone who recognizes his God-given talents, works his tail off to develop them into skills, and uses these skills to accomplish his goals.’” He preened. “It’s a famous quote. I’m sure you’ve heard it.”

  “No,” I admitted. “Who said it?”

  Bird frowned. “I did.”

  Magic nearly busted a gizzard laughing. “Love it! But Bird’s right. Practice your fundamentals until you can do them in your sleep. And make sure you have at least one go-to shot.”

  “Team chemistry is important, too,” Bird added. “If you don’t mesh with your teammates, you’ve lost before you’ve even hit the court.”

  “Position, fundamentals, go-to shot, team chemistry. Got it,” I replied.

  “One more tip.” Magic put a wing on my shoulder. “Relax. Go with the flow. Feel the game.”

  Bird nodded. “It’s the only way you’ll get in the zone.”

  “In the zone.” I nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to get there. Anything else?”

  “Agh,” Bird said.

  “Um, sorry, I didn’t quite get that,” I replied.

  Bird nudged Magic. “The kid’s waking up for real. Time for us to fly.” He flapped his wings and took off.

  “You trying to beat me to the basket? No chance!” Magic flew after him.

  “Wait! Come back!”

  I sat up too fast. My head swam, and down I went.

  “Agh!”

  I awoke to Khufu pressing a cold cloth to my forehead. He bared his teeth in a smile, patted my shoulder, and turned away, giving me an uncomfortably close look at his multicolored rump. I sat up gingerly, but the cloth must have been soaked in some magical concussion cure, because I felt great.

  Better than great, actually, because I’d solved the problem of explaining the path of the gods. So here it goes.

  The path of the gods starts with matching your personality, talents, and interests with a deity—just like finding a position that suits your abilities on the court. You practice channeling your deity’s magic to get better at controlling the flow of power—just as you practice the fundamentals in basketball. You find a go-to spell or magic specialty just like you find a go-to shot. Basketball teams need good chemistry; a god–magician team needs a sympathetic bond—a shared feeling, experience, or common goal—for the magical connection to be truly successful.

  And in both the path of the gods and basketball, you’ve got to relax and go with the flow. If you resist, you’ll never get into the magic zone.

  Oh, and for those of you wondering how the second half of the game went? Celtics over Lakers by one, thanks to a buzzer beater by yours truly.

  A sports analogy? Really? Well, I guess it works. Oh, and by the way—Khufu was recording the game. Your lowlight moment was the highlight of my night!—Sadie

  THE PATH OF THE GODS. YEAH, I THOUGHT ABOUT GOING DOWN THAT ROUTE WHEN I WAS ALIVE. TURNS OUT I DON’T LIKE SHARING POWER.

  BUT YOU LIKE SHARING, CARTER, AND THAT’S GOOD NEWS FOR ME. GOT MY HANDS ON YOUR DJED AMULET THANKS TO THOSE NUMBERS YOU SHARED. A LITTLE DISAPPOINTED THE BOOK OF THOTH WASN’T IN YOUR LOCKER, THOUGH. BUT I’LL FIND IT. SOONER OR LATER…I’LL FIND IT.—SETNE

  REGRETTABLY, we could not include all the Egyptian deities in this book. They number in the hundreds, maybe thousands, so the book would be a foot thick Or as we Brits would say, about thirty centimeters—Sadie and weigh a ton Or as we Brits would say, that’s an exaggeration—Sadie. So, we stuck with those deities we’ve met, battled, or shared brain space with. Our apologies to those we left out.

  And FYI, the god quizzes were my idea. A lousy idea, according to Sadie—“Bloody Isfet, Carter, we get enough tests at BAG!”—but the Brooklyn Academy for the Gifted won’t teach you this stuff, so I kept them in. Sa
die gave you the answers, anyway. Well, sort of. I’ve tried to correct her answers, but if you have questions, come see Zia or me.

  Interesting story: around about 1352 BCE, a pharaoh named Akhenaten tried to do away with the worship of all the gods except the sun god, whom he called Aten. That one-god religion only lasted as long as Akhenaten was alive, though. His successor, King Tut, switched back to the old ways.

  Circle the correct answer:

  1. Ra is a) the god of the sun; b) the first king of the gods; c) the god of creation; d) all of the above.

  2. Which of these names is not associated with Ra? a) Amun-Ra; b) Khepri; c) Elvis; d) Khnum.

  3. Which animals are sacred to Ra? a) baboon and ibis; b) vulture and crocodile; c) scarab and ram; d) platypus and rat.

  4. Ra’s preferred mode of travel is a) a limousine littered with fast-food trash; b) a boat manned by glowing spheres of light; c) a sun chariot; d) a farting camel.

  5. Ra’s mortal form is a) an impossibly old bald man with golden eyes; b) a rainbow-wigged clown; c) an enormous baboon; d) a loincloth-wearing blue-skinned giant.

  6. Ra’s avatar is a) a much larger but still impossibly old bald man with golden eyes; b) an incandescent light too bright to look at directly; c) a massive dung beetle; d) all of the above.

  7. Ra’s magical specialty is a) fire; b) flailing his flail; c) charm-making; d) gnawing on his crook.

  8. Ra nearly died once. How, where, and by whose hand? a) Colonel Mustard in the conservatory with the netjeri; b) Isis on the sun boat with snake venom; c) Apophis in the Duat with his fangs; d) It’s a trick question—Ra “dies” nearly every day at dawn.