Someone was standing next to him. Well, they could make themselves useful …
‘Could you just put your finger here,’ he said, without glancing around. ‘Just for a minute, until the glue sets.’
There seemed to be a sudden drop in temperature. He looked up into a smiling golden mask. Over its shoulder Dios’s face was shading, in Grinjer’s expert opinion, from No. 13 (Pale Flesh) to No. 37 (Sunset Purple, Gloss).
‘Oh,’ he said.
‘It’s very good,’ said Teppic. ‘What is it?’
Grinjer blinked at him. Then he blinked at the boat.
‘It’s an eighty-foot Khali-fashion river trireme with fishtail spear deck and ramming prow,’ he said automatically.
He got the impression that more was expected of him. He cast around for something suitable.
‘It’s got more than five hundred bits,’ he added. ‘Every plank on the deck is individually cut, look.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Teppic. ‘Well, I won’t hold you up. Carry on the good work.’
‘The sail really unfurls,’ said Grinjer. ‘See, if you pull this thread, the—’
The mask had moved. Dios was there instead. He gave Grinjer a short glare which indicated that more would be heard about this later on, and hurried after the king. So did the ghost of Teppicymon XXVII.
Teppic’s eyes swivelled behind the mask. There was the open doorway into the room of caskets. He could just make out the one containing Ptraci; the wedge of wood was still under the lid.
‘Our father, however, is over here. Sire,’ said Dios. He could move as silently as a ghost.
‘Oh. Yes.’ Teppic hesitated and then crossed to the big case on its trestles. He stared down at it for some time. The gilded face on the lid looked like every other mask.
‘A very good likeness, sire,’ prompted Dios.
‘Ye-ess,’ said Teppic. ‘I suppose so. He definitely looks happier. I suppose.’
‘Hallo, my boy,’ said the king. He knew that no one could hear him, but he felt happier talking to them all the same. It was better then talking to himself. He was going to have more than enough time for that.
‘I think it brings out the best in him, O commander of the heavens,’ said the head sculptor.
‘Makes me look like a constipated wax dolly.’
Teppic cocked his head on one side.
‘Yes,’ he said, uncertainly. ‘Yes. Er. Well done.’
He half-turned to look through the doorway again.
Dios nodded to the guards on either side of the passageway.
‘If you will excuse me, sire,’ he said urbanely.
‘Hmm?’
‘The guards will continue their search.’
‘Right. Oh—’
Dios bore down on Ptraci’s casket, flanked by guards. He gripped the lid, thrust it backwards, and said, ‘Behold! What do we find?’
Dil and Gern joined him. They looked inside.
‘Wood shavings,’ said Dil.
Gern sniffled. ‘They smell nice, though,’ he said.
Dios’s fingers drummed on the lid. Teppic had never seen him at a loss before. The man actually started tapping the sides of the case, apparently seeking any hidden panels.
He closed the lid carefully and looked blankly at Teppic, who for the first time was very glad that the mask didn’t reveal his expression.
‘She’s not in there,’ said the old king. ‘She got out for a call of nature when the men went to have their breakfast.’
She must have climbed out, Teppic told himself. So where is she now?
Dios scanned the room carefully and then, after swinging slowly backwards and forwards like a compass needle, his eyes fixed on the king’s mummy case. It was big. It was roomy. There was a certain inevitability about it.
He crossed the room in a couple of strides and heaved it open.
‘Don’t bother to knock,’ the king grumbled. ‘It’s not as if I’m going anywhere.’
Teppic risked a look. The mummy of the king was quite alone.
‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Dios?’ he said.
‘Yes, sire. We cannot be too careful, sire. Clearly they are not here, sire.’
‘You look as if you could do with a breath of fresh air,’ said Teppic, upbraiding himself for doing this but doing it, nevertheless. Dios at a loss was an awe-inspiring sight, and slightly disconcerting; it made one instinctively fear for the stability of things.
‘Yes, sire. Thank you, sire.’
‘Have a sit down and someone will bring you a glass of water. And then we will go and inspect the pyramid.’
Dios sat down.
There was a terrible little splintering noise.
‘He’s sat on the boat,’ said the king. ‘First humorous thing I’ve ever seen him do.’
The pyramid gave a new meaning to the word ‘massive’. It bent the landscape around it. It seemed to Teppic that its very weight was deforming the shape of things, stretching the kingdom like a lead ball on a rubber sheet.{31}
He knew that was a ridiculous idea. Big though the pyramid was, it was tiny compared to, say, a mountain.
But big, very big, compared to anything else. Anyway, mountains were meant to be big, the fabric of the universe was used to the idea. The pyramid was a made thing, and much bigger than a made thing ought to be.
It was also very cold. The black marble of its sides was shining white with frost in the roasting afternoon sun. He was foolish enough to touch it and left a layer of skin on the surface.
‘It’s freezing!’
‘It’s storing already, O breath of the river,’ said Ptaclusp, who was sweating. ‘It’s the wossname, the boundary effect.’
‘I note that you have ceased work on the burial chambers,’ said Dios.
‘The men … the temperature … boundary effects … a bit too much to risk …’ muttered Ptaclusp. ‘Er.’
Teppic looked from one to the other.
‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Are there problems?’
‘Er,’ said Ptaclusp.
‘You’re way ahead of schedule. Marvellous work,’ said Teppic. ‘You’ve put a tremendous amount of labour on the job.’
‘Er. Yes. Only.’
There was silence except for the distant sounds of men at work, and the faint noise of the air sizzling where it touched the pyramid.
‘It’s bound to be all right when we get the capstone on,’ the pyramid builder managed eventually. ‘Once it’s flaring properly, no problem. Er.’
He indicated the electrum capstone. It was surprisingly small, only a foot or so across, and rested on a couple of trestles.
‘We should be able to put in on tomorrow,’ said Ptaclusp. ‘Would your sire still be honouring us with the capping-out ceremony?’ In his nervousness he gripped the hem of his robe and began to twist it. ‘There’s drinks,’ he stuttered. ‘And a silver trowel that you can take away with you. Everyone shouts hurrah and throws their hats in the air.’
‘Certainly,’ said Dios. ‘It will be an honour.’
‘And for us too, your sire,’ said Ptaclusp loyally.
‘I meant for you,’ said the high priest. He turned to the wide courtyard between the base of the pyramid and the river, which was lined with statues and stelae commemorating King Teppicymon’s mighty deeds[18], and pointed.
18
The carvers had to use quite a lot of imagination. The late king had had many fine attributes, but doing mighty deeds wasn’t among them. The score was: Number of enemies ground as dust under his chariot wheels = 0. Number of thrones crushed beneath his sandalled feet = 0. Number of times world bestrode like colossus = 0. On the other hand: Reigns of terror = 0. Number of times own throne crushed beneath enemy sandals = 0. Faces of poor ground = 0. Expensive crusades embarked upon = 0. His life had, basically, been a no-score win.