HOSPITALS. CLASSROOMS. Now I'll add to my list of least-favorite places: old people's homes.
That may sound odd, as I lived with my grandparents. I suppose their flat counts as an old people's home. But I mean institutions. Nursing homes. Those are the worst. They smell like an unholy mixture of canteen food, cleaning supplies, and pensioners. The inmates (sorry, patients) always look so miserable. And the homes have absurdly happy names, like Sunny Acres. Please.
We stepped through the limestone gateway into a large open hall-the Egyptian version of assisted living. Rows of colorfully painted columns were studded with iron sconces holding blazing torches. Potted palms and flowering hibiscus plants were placed here and there in a failed attempt to make the place feel cheerful. Large windows looked out on the Lake of Fire, which I suppose was a nice view if you enjoyed brimstone. The walls were painted with scenes of the Egyptian afterlife, along with jolly hieroglyphic mottos like IMMORTALITY WITH SECURITY and LIFE STARTS AT 3000!
Glowing servant lights and clay shabti in white medical uniforms bustled about, carrying trays of medication and pushing wheelchairs. The patients, however, didn't bustle much. A dozen withered figures in linen hospital gowns sat around the room, staring vacantly into space. A few wandered the room, pushing wheelie poles with IV bags. All wore bracelets with their names in hieroglyphs.
Some looked human, but many had animal heads. An old man with the head of a crane rocked back and forth in a metal folding chair, pecking at a game of senet on the coffee table. An old woman with a grizzled lioness's head scooted herself around in a wheelchair, mumbling, "Meow, meow." A shriveled blue-skinned man not much taller than Bes hugged one of the limestone columns and cried softly, as if he were afraid the column might try to leave him.
In other words, the scene was thoroughly depressing.
"What is this place?" I asked. "Are those all gods?"
Carter seemed just as mystified as I was. Bes looked like he was about to crawl out of his skin.
"Never actually been here," he admitted. "Heard rumors, but..." He swallowed as if he'd just eaten a spoonful of peanut butter. "Come on. Let's ask at the nurses' station."
The desk was a crescent of granite with a row of telephones (though I couldn't imagine who they'd call from the Duat), a computer, lots of clipboards, and a platter-size stone disk with a triangular fin-a sundial, which seemed strange, as there was no sun.
Behind the counter, a short, heavy woman stood with her back to us, checking a whiteboard with names and medication times. Her glossy black hair was plaited down her back like an extra-large beaver's tail, and her nurse's cap barely fit on her wide head.
We were halfway to the desk when Bes froze. "It's her."
"Who?" Carter asked.
"This is bad." Bes turned pale. "I should've known.... Curse it! You'll have to go without me."
I looked more closely at the nurse, who still had her back to us. She did seem a bit imposing, with massive beefy arms, a neck thicker than my waist, and oddly tinted purplish skin. But I couldn't understand why she bothered Bes so much.
I turned to ask him, but Bes had ducked behind the nearest potted plant. It wasn't big enough to hide him, and certainly didn't camouflage his Hawaiian shirt.
"Bes, stop it," I said.
"Shhh! I'm invisible!"
Carter sighed. "We don't have time for this. Come on, Sadie."
He led the way to the nurses' station.
"Excuse us," he called across the desk.
The nurse turned, and I yelped. I tried to contain my shock, but it was difficult, as the woman was a hippopotamus.
