The next morning, Ben walked to the Red House to help clean up from the feast the night before. He still felt both sad and angry from watching his father get ready to leave for the brick-making yards. His father’s bruises and welts looked even worse than they had the night before, and he was stiff and sore.

Ben couldn’t escape the voices all around him as he walked the narrow streets, voices of people standing at the corners, voices drifting out from the open doors of houses.

“Moses and Aaron were waiting to meet us as we left the brickyards yesterday!” one huge black-bearded man said. “Can you believe it? After the trouble they caused?”

“What did you say to them?” an elderly man asked.

“It’s a wonder we didn’t lay hands on them and throw them out of Egypt,” the big man growled. “The man next to me said to Moses and his brother, ‘May the Lord look upon you and judge you! You have made us a stench to Pharaoh and his officials and have put a sword in their hands to kill us.’ ”

The other men in the group nodded their approval. “And what did Moses say?” the old man prodded.

“Ha! Moses? He said nothing. He looked frightened, as if he thought we might trounce him at any moment. We’ve placed our fate in the hands of the wrong man, I tell you. He’s no savior. And he has no power over Pharaoh, that much is clear. We were better off before Moses came back.”

“Come, Ben,” the master of the Red House said to him that morning, smiling, as Ben helped gather the dirty bowls and cups strewn about the courtyard by the guests at the feast. “I need you for something else.”

Ben followed his master into the house, where her ladyship held up some new white clothes. “For you, Ben,” she said, smiling.

“Thank you,” he stammered, embarrassed and happy and surprised. He touched the fine white cloth.

“Yes, I need you to look good this morning,” his lordship said. “You’re coming with me to court.”

Ben felt a rush of excitement. This wasn’t the first time he’d been to court with his master. In Pharaoh’s court, it was customary for important people to have their hands free and to have servants follow them carrying everything they needed. On those trips, Ben was awed and amazed to see so many important people together in one place, talking, hurrying, getting important things done. And sometimes he even saw Pharaoh himself.

“I’m hoping to get Pharaoh’s approval for plans I’ve been working on for months now,” his master continued. “You’re to carry this box.” He held up a carefully carved ivory box. “It contains a small gift for our esteemed ruler. In appreciation.”

A short time later, Ben followed two steps behind his master as they climbed the stairs to Pharaoh’s palace. Ben wore his sparkling new white clothes and carried the ivory box.

Pharaoh’s dwelling was a huge complex of buildings and courtyards and temples that stretched far in every direction. There were people scurrying everywhere, slaves cleaning, meals being served. But the most important business was always conducted in Pharaoh’s court, where Ben headed, following his master. Pharaoh’s massive throne sat at one end of the huge room. Groups of men stood around the edges of the room, awaiting their turn to present their cases —and their gifts —to Pharaoh.

As soon as Ben and his master entered the court, his lordship stopped so abruptly that Ben almost ran into the back of him. “What’s this?” he grumbled. Ben peeked around him to see. It was Moses! He was standing before Pharaoh, Aaron at his side.

“It’s that madman again,” Ben’s master said. “Well, that’s sure to put Pharaoh in a bad mood. Not a good day to press for my plans. We’ll wait. And I don’t like waiting. Pharaoh is sure to throw Moses into prison now. The man is a murderer, after all.”

Ben couldn’t hear what was being said between Aaron and Pharaoh. But when he saw Moses lift his staff high in front of him, he knew what was coming next. Moses dropped the staff, and it immediately changed into a large snake. The crowd stirred and murmured.

“So, he’s a magician too,” said Ben’s master. “Well, Pharaoh has magicians of his own.”

And, indeed, Pharaoh turned to his own two magicians, who stood always by his throne. They whispered between themselves for a short time and then came to stand before Moses. They too raised their staffs, and when they dropped them, those two staffs also changed into snakes!

Ben was so disappointed he almost felt sick. When he’d seen Moses’ staff turn into a snake back in the village that first night, he’d thought nothing but God’s power could cause such a miracle. But now here were heathen magicians who didn’t even know the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and they too could turn their staffs into snakes. Was his master right? Was Moses nothing but a magician?

But as Ben continued to watch, a strange thing happened. The snakes slithered slowly toward each other on the floor, tasting the cold stone with their tongues. Then they seemed to get angry, coiling and striking at each other, fighting, throwing loops of their bodies around each other. And Moses’ snake quickly won the fight. As the other snakes lay exhausted or injured, slowly writhing on the floor, Moses’ snake began to swallow them headfirst, one at a time!

“Well, enough of this,” his lordship said, turning and striding from the room. “We can hire our own magician to come to the house if we want to be entertained.”

The next morning, Ben pulled his grandmother’s cart cautiously nearer and nearer to the river. It was close to the bluff where the yearly floodwaters carved away the soil and revealed a rich band of heavy red clay. Staying as far away from the water as he could, he selected a part of the bluff along the river where the clay seemed dark and rich and free of pebbles and sticks.

It was this clay that his mother had sent him for. She needed it for making pottery.

Ben edged along the bluff, just a few feet from the river behind him, and began to gather handfuls of the moist, firm, heavy clay, then dropped them into the huge basket sitting in the cart.

Ben wished he were anywhere but here.

The other boys only tease me because they know I’m afraid of them, and this river —and everything else too. And the only way to make them stop bothering me is to stop being afraid.

As Ben had dressed and eaten that morning, he had thought and thought of ways to overcome his fears. But the only answer he came up with, over and over again, was the one that scared him most of all: To overcome his fears, he would have to face them squarely, head-on, and keep facing them until they stopped scaring him. To overcome his fear of bugs, he would have to find a bug and hold it until he was no longer afraid of it. To overcome his fear of dogs, he would have to find a dog, stand close to it, and pet it until he was no longer afraid of it. To overcome his fear of water —no, that would be too hard.

And yet there it is, Ben thought, right behind me. If I ever wanted to face my fear of water, this is the time. There’s nobody around to tease me if I panic. And there’s nobody around to save me either. Just me and the river. I can stand on the bank, face my fear head-on, pick up my foot, and —

Ben shuddered. And what? Who am I fooling? I could never step into the water. I could never face that . . .

But wait. A strange thought came to him. He could never face the river. But suppose he weren’t facing it? Suppose he backed into the water?

He giggled. It was such a silly thought. And anyone who saw him would laugh.

But there was no one here to see. He was alone.

He thought again of the teasing boys.

He stopped gathering clay. He looked away from the water. Could he do it? Could he put his feet into the water if he weren’t looking?

Ben gathered a few more handfuls of clay and pulled the cart away from the bluff. “Is that a frog? There, in the grass?” Ben asked himself, knowing there was no frog but needing to trick himself into coming closer to the water. “Maybe I’ll take a closer look.” He circled widely, walking sideways, until he was very near the river but with his back to it. “I can’t see anything —maybe I need a different angle.”

He took a small step backward. Then another.

Then he lifted his foot, sucked in a mouthful of air, squeezed his eyes shut —This time I’ll feel the river for sure! —and put his foot down. “Ahh!” he yelled abruptly and then shook his head. No water. He hadn’t backed into the river yet.

But it couldn’t be far. He took one more step backward, hunching his shoulders and hissing through his teeth, feeling with his big toe —lower, lower —and yes, there it was! His toe was in the water!

He froze in position, unsure what was going to happen. Would he panic and run? Would a crocodile leap out of the river and devour him? He waited through one long, slow breath, then another, then a third —and nothing happened. He was still alive; he hadn’t panicked. After all this time, he could do it! He wasn’t over his fear, not yet, but if he had taken the first step, he knew he could take the next one.

Could he actually look at the water? He had touched it —why shouldn’t he look at it too?

He would try it. He looked down from the sky toward the distant city on the horizon. Then down at the ground near his foot. Then back toward his toe that was dipped into the —

With a leap of terror, Ben hurtled away from the river, twisting about in the air to land on both feet facing the water.

The water that had now turned to blood.

Thick, red blood.