“The Sphinx?” Jake remembered the great winged beast on the mural, breathing out destruction. “I don’t know. It might just be legend. Egyptians worship the Sphinx. There’s a great statue of one still existing in my time.”

“What sort of beast is it?” Marika asked.

“Usually it has the head of a person attached to the body of some beast. Often a lion. Sometimes a clawed snake. In some pictures and statues, it has wings. Other times not.”

Pindor looked sick and sank to the bed.

“And it’s not just Egyptians who have legends of such beasts,” Jake continued. “Stories come from all around the world, but the most famous is from Greece.”

Pindor sneered. “Greeks. Always think they know everything.”

“What’s the story?” Marika asked.

“According to Greek myths, there was a monstrous Sphinx guarding the city of Thebes.”

Marika nodded. “Like the one guarding Ankh Tawy.”

“That’s right. The Sphinx would ask a traveler a riddle before allowing the stranger into the city. If you got it wrong, she would strangle you and eat you.”

“Oh, great …” Pindor moaned.

Marika waved him silent. “What was the riddle?”

“That changes depending on the story.” Jake took a moment to remember the most common version. “‘What creature walks on four legs in the morning, two at midday, and three in the evening … and the more legs it has the weaker it is?’”

He stared around to see if anyone could solve the riddle. He was about to give away the answer when Bach’uuk pointed to Jake. “You! Or us. We crawl when we’re babes, walk on two legs in the middle of our ages, and use a staff or crutch—a third leg—when we get old.”

“You got it!” Jake said. “And the more legs you have—as a baby or an old man—the weaker you are.”

Marika clapped her hands, delighted. “Tell us another one.”

He knew there was another riddle tied to that myth. He had to rack his brain. “Okay. ‘There are two sisters. One gave birth to the other, and the other gave birth to the first. Who are they?’”

Pindor crossed his arms. “I don’t know, but that’s just sick.”

Jake glanced to Bach’uuk. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but finally he shrugged, giving up.

“It’s night and day,” he said.

Marika smiled. “Day leads to night, and night leads to day.”

Pindor still wasn’t happy. “That’s cheating.”

Bach’uuk didn’t look any happier. In fact, he looked worried.

“What’s wrong?” Jake asked.

“Those riddles,” he said. “They both speak of the passing of time.”

Jake stood straighter. Bach’uuk was right. Time was the crux of everything: the mysterious crystals were called timestones, his mother could be trapped in the past, and now the riddles of the Sphinx. He sensed something important behind this realization.

But before he could ponder it, the ship suddenly rolled and threw them all toward the door. Shouts and horns blared from up top.

Jake helped Marika back to her feet—only to be thrown in the opposite direction.