‘They’ll catch us,’ she said.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘And then the king will have us thrown to the crocodiles.’
‘Oh no, I don’t think-‘ Teppic paused. It was an intriguing idea.
‘He might,’ he ventured. ‘It’s very hard to be sure about anything.’
‘So what shall we do now?’
Teppic stared across the river, where the pyramids were ablaze. The Great Pyramid was still under construction, by flarelight; a swarm of blocks, dwarfed by distance, hovered near its tip. The amount of labour Ptaclusp was putting on the job was amazing.
What a flare that will give, he thought. It’ll be seen all the way to Ankh.
‘Horrible things, aren’t they,’ said Ptraci, behind him.
‘Do you think so?’
‘They’re creepy. The old king hated them, you know. He said they nailed the Kingdom to the past.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘No. He just hated them. He was a nice old boy. Very kind. Not like this new one.’ She blew her nose and replaced her handkerchief in its scarcely adequate space in her sequinned bra.
‘Er, what exactly did you have to do? As a handmaiden, I mean?’ said Teppic, scanning the rooftop panorama to hide his embarrassment.
She giggled. ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘Talk to him, mainly. Or just listen. He could really talk, but he always said no-one ever really listened to what he said.’
‘Yes,’ said Teppic, with feeling. ‘And that was all, was it?’
She stared at him, and then giggled again. ‘Oh, that? No, he was very kind. I wouldn’t of minded, you understand, I had all the proper training. Bit of a disappointment, really. The women of my family have served under the kings for centuries, you know.’
‘Oh yes?’ he managed.
‘I don’t know whether you’ve ever seen a book, it’s called The Shuttered-‘
‘-Palace,’ said Teppic automatically.
‘I thought a gentleman like you’d know about it,’ said Ptraci, nudging him. ‘It’s a sort of textbook. Well, my great-great-grandmother posed for a lot of the pictures. Not recently,’ she added, in case he hadn’t fully understood, ‘I mean, that would be a bit off-putting, she’s been dead for twenty-five years. When she was younger. I look a lot like her, everyone says.’
‘Urk,’ agreed Teppic.
‘She was famous. She could put her feet behind her head, you know. So can I. I’ve got my Grade Three.’
‘Urk?’
‘The old king told me once that the gods gave people a sense of humour to make up for giving them sex. I think he was a bit upset at the time.’
‘Urk.’ Only the whites of Teppic’s eyes were showing.
‘You don’t say much, do you?’
The breeze of the night was blowing her perfume towards him. Ptraci used scent like a battering ram.
‘We’ve got to find somewhere to hide you,’ he said, concentrating on each word. ‘Haven’t you got any parents or anything?’ He tried to ignore the fact that in the shadowless flarelight she appeared to glow, and didn’t have much success.
‘Well, my mother still works in the palace somewhere,’ said Ptraci. ‘But I don’t think she’d be very sympathetic.’
‘We’ve got to get you away from here,’ said Teppic fervently. ‘If you can hide somewhere today, I can steal some horses or a boat or something. Then you could go to Tsort or Ephebe or somewhere.’
‘Foreign, you mean? I don’t think I’d like that,’ said Ptraci.
‘Compared to the netherworld?’
‘Well. Put like that, of course . . .’ She took his arm. ‘Why did you rescue me?’
‘Er? Because being alive is better than being dead, I think.’
‘I’ve read up to number 46, Congress of the Five Auspicious Ants,’ said Ptraci. ‘If you’ve got some yoghurt, we could-‘
‘No! I mean, no. Not here. Not now. There must be people looking for us, it’s nearly dawn.’
‘There’s no need to yelp like that! I was just trying to be kind.’
‘Yes. Good. Thank you.’ Teppic broke away and peered desperately over a parapet into one of the palace’s numerous light wells.
‘This leads to the embalmers’ workshops,’ he said. ‘There must be plenty of places to hide down here.’ He unwound the cord again.
Various rooms led off the well. Teppic found one lined with benches and floored with wood shavings; a doorway led through to another room stacked with mummy cases, each one surmounted by the same golden dolly face he’d come to know and loathe. He tapped on a few, and raised the lid of the nearest.
‘No-one at home,’ he said. ‘You can have a nice rest in here. I can leave the lid open a bit so you can get some air.’
‘You can’t think I’d risk that? Supposing you didn’t come back!’
‘I’ll be back tonight,’ said Teppic. ‘And – and I’ll see if I can drop some food and water in some time today. She stood on tiptoe, her ankle bangles jingling all the way down Teppic’s libido. He glanced down involuntarily and saw that every toenail was painted. He remembered Cheesewright telling them behind the stables one lunch-hour that girls who painted their toenails were . . . well, he couldn’t quite remember now, but it had seemed pretty unbelievable at the time.
‘It looks very hard,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘If I’ve got to lie in it, it’ll need some cushions.’
‘I’ll put some wood shavings in, look!’ said Teppic. ‘But hurry up! Please!’
‘All right. But you will be back, won’t you? Promise?’
‘Yes, yes! I promise!’
He wedged a splinter of wood on the case to allow an airhole, heaved the lid back on and ran for it.
The ghost of the king watched him go.
The sun rose. As the golden light spilled down the fertile valley of the Djel the pyramid flares paled and became ghost dancers against the lightening sky. They were now accompanied by a noise. It had been there all the time, far too high-pitched for mortal ears, a sound now dropping down from the far ultrasonic
KKKkkkkkkhhheeee. . .
It screamed out of the sky, a thin rind of sound like a violin bow dragged across the raw surface of the brain.
kkkkheeeeeee. . .
Or a wet fingernail dragged over an exposed nerve, some said. You could set your watch by it, they would have said, if anyone knew what one was.
. . .keeee. . .
It went deeper and deeper as the sunlight washed over the stones, passing through cat scream to dog growl.
. . .ee. . . ee. . . ee.
The flares collapsed.
. . .ops.
‘A fine morning, sire. I trust you slept well?’
Teppic waved a hand at Dios, but said nothing. The barber was working through the Ceremony of Going Forth Shaven.
The barber was trembling. Until recently he had been a one-handed, unemployed stonemason. Then the terrible high priest had summoned him and ordered him to be the king’s barber, but it meant you had to touch the king but it was all right because it was all sorted out by the priests and nothing more had to be chopped off. On the whole, it was better than he had thought, and a great honour to be singlehandedly responsible for the king’s beard, such as it was.
‘You were not disturbed in any way?’ said the high priest. His eyes scanned the room on a raster of suspicion; it was surprising that little lines of molten rock didn’t drip off the walls.
‘Verrr-‘
‘If you would but hold still, O never-dying one,’ said the barber, in the pleading tone of voice employed by one who is assured of a guided tour of a crocodile’s alimentary tract if he nicks an ear.
‘You heard no strange noises, sire?’ said Dios. He stepped back suddenly so that he could see behind the gilded peacock screen at the other end of the room.
‘Norr.’
‘Your majesty looks a little peaky this morning, sire,’ said Dios. He sat down on the bench with the carved cheetahs on either end. Sitting down in the presence of the king, except on ceremonial occasions, was not something that was allowed. It did, however, mean that he could squint under Teppic’s low bed.
Dios was rattled. Despite the aches and the lack of sleep, Teppic felt oddly elated. He wiped his chin.
‘It’s the bed,’ he said. ‘I think I have mentioned it. Mattresses, you know. They have feathers in them. If the concept is unfamiliar, ask the pirates of Khali. Half of them must be sleeping on goosefeather mattresses by now.’
‘His majesty is pleased to joke,’ said Dios.
Teppic knew he shouldn’t push it any further, but he did so anyway.
‘Something wrong, Dios?’ he said.
‘A miscreant broke into the palace last night. The girl Ptraci is missing.’
‘That is very disturbing.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘Probably a suitor or a swain or something.’
Dios’s face was like stone. ‘Possibly, sire.
‘The sacred crocodiles will be going hungry, then.’ But not for long, Teppic thought. Walk to the end of any of the little jetties down by the bank, let your shadow fall on the river, and the mud-yellow water would become, by magic, mud-yellow bodies. They looked like large, sodden logs, the main difference being that logs don’t open at one end and bite your legs off. The sacred crocodiles of the Djel were the kingdom’s garbage disposal, river patrol and occasional morgue.