Free Day of the Djinn Warriors by P. B. Kerr Page B

be someone to gently explain to the spirit what had happened to them. Of course, these days people have no idea where to go when they die. Certainly, they wouldn’t dream of coming to theMetropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the Temple of Dendur. But you two ghosts seem to know what you are, what you’re doing, and where you want to go.”
    “Sure, it’s no use carrying an umbrella if you’ve holes in your shoes,” said Mr. Rakshasas. “We know where we are, Leo, and we’re not the kind to complain about it. You must take the little potato with the big potato.”
    The three of them were sitting on a bus heading down to Grand Central Station to catch a train up the Hudson River. John had noticed that none of the other passengers paid them any attention. Like they weren’t there at all.
Like they were ghosts
. Leo was right about that. Apart from that, John thought the spirit world seemed much like the physical one. Except that everything was in black and white. Even the living appeared to be black and white on this side of a temple portal. But he was beginning to think that entering the ethereal world, as Nimrod called it, through the temple had been a waste of time.
    John leaned toward Mr. Rakshasas and whispered, “If it’s just a question of getting on a bus and a train, then surely we could have done this by ourselves. I know the way to Bannermann’s Island. Why did we need to go to that temple, and why do we need Leo?”
    “For one thing,” said Mr. Rakshasas, “we can see ourselves now, when we couldn’t before, which is useful. And we’ll be able to see Faustina, which will be useful, too. Being invisible is a great disadvantage when you’re trying to have a chat with someone.”
    “Yes, I hadn’t thought of that,” whispered John.
    “Here’s another,” continued Mr. Rakshasas. “A Ka servant is like any other tour guide in that he knows one or two things that we don’t. Such as which of these people we’re looking at is dead and which of them are properly alive. And of these folk who are dead, he knows those who are to be trusted and those who are not. Sure, there’s many a wolf that’s tried to pass himself off as an old granny. Which is another way of saying that he’s a bit more than just a guide, John. He has power in this world which we do not.”
    “You mean he’s like a bodyguard?”
    “Since neither of us has a body right now,” said Mr. Rakshasas, “that’s not quite it. He’s more like a guardian angel. Except that he’s not an angel, of course. I’m not entirely sure how it works. Let’s just hope we don’t find out the hard way.”
    John agreed. Being little more than a ghost himself, he was beginning to think a ghost was something he could probably deal with; but what Mr. Rakshasas had called
“something else,”
well, that
was
something else.
    At Grand Central they boarded the same train to Newburgh Bay that John and Philippa had traveled on the first time they’d been to Bannermann’s Island, just a few weeks before. It was getting dark by the time they arrived at the Newburgh Bay Boating Club, where John had told Leo they could probably borrow a canoe to get to Bannermann’s Island. And while Leo went to look for a canoe, John and Mr. Rakshasas wandered over to the old boathouse. Fromthe outside it looked exactly the same, but the old boatman who lived there seemed younger than John remembered. Younger but somehow sadder, too. As if some calamity had befallen him. What was more, John had the distinct feeling that the boatman could see them, although he knew that was hardly possible. Living people could only see ghosts in what were exceptional circumstances.
    They watched the boatman from outside the open kitchen door for a moment as he made himself some tea. Then, muttering to himself, he went through the door and into the living room, slamming the door noisily behind him. John wanted to see if he still had Dybbuk’s friend’s cat, Hendrix, and so, not