They passed a brightly lit store. It illuminated the interior of the cab in bright yellow-white light, and Sophie also realized that what she’d first taken for dirty and stained patches on the king’s bundled clothes were odd symbols and lines of script written onto the cloth in what appeared to be black felt-tip marker. Squinting, she recognized what looked like cuneiform and Egyptian hieroglyphics, and what she had first assumed were tears or pulls in the fabric were long thick jagged stitches that looked almost like early writing. She was sure she had seen ancient clay tablets in her parents’ study with similar scratches on them.

Sophie was conscious that the old man was looking at her and her brother, bright blue eyes flickering from her face to Josh’s and back again, frown lines on his forehead and on either side of his nose deepening as he concentrated. And even before he spoke, she knew what he was going to say.

“I know you.”

Sophie glanced at her brother. The Horned God had said exactly the same words. Josh caught the look, squeezed his lips tightly shut and shook his head slightly; it was a signal they’d used many times when they were growing up. He was telling her to say nothing. “Where did we meet?” he asked.

Gilgamesh put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. He brought his palms together, fingers straight, and then pressed the two index fingers against the cleft beneath his nose and stared at them. “We met a long time ago,” he said finally, “when I was young, young, young.” Then his blue eyes clouded. “No, that’s not right. I saw you fight and fall…” His voice caught and suddenly his eyes shone with tears. His voice turned raw with pain. “I saw you both die.”

Sophie and Josh looked at one another, startled, but Flamel moved in the shadows, forestalling their questions. “The king’s memory is often faulty,” he said quickly. “Do not believe everything he says.” He made it sound like a warning.

“You saw us die?” Sophie asked, ignoring Flamel. Gilgamesh’s words had awakened gossamer threads of memories, but even as she tried to focus on them, they slipped away and faded.

“The skies bled tears of fire. Oceans boiled and the earth was rent asunder…,” Gilgamesh said in a lost whisper.

“When was this?” Josh asked quickly, eager for more information.

“In that time before time, the time before history.”

“Nothing the king says can be taken as accurate,” Flamel said coldly, voice loud in the suddenly silent cab. His French accent had thickened, as it did when he was under pressure. “I’m not sure the human brain is designed to hold and store something like ten millennia’s worth of knowledge. His Majesty often gets confused.”