Only Koomi stood a little aside from the others. He was thinking hard. Strange and original thoughts were crowding along rarely-trodden neural pathways, heading in unthinkable directions. He wanted to see where they led.
‘O Dios,’ murmured the high priest of Ket, the This-Headed God of Justice. ‘What is the king’s command? The gods are striding the land, and they are fighting and breaking houses, O Dios. Where is the king? What would he have us do?’
‘Yea,’ said the high priest of Scrab, the Pusher of the Ball of the Sun. He felt something more was expected of him. ‘And verily,’ he added. ‘Your lordship will have noticed that the sun is wobbling, because all the Gods of the Sun are fighting for it and-‘ he shuffled his feet – ‘the blessed Scrab made a strategic withdrawal and has, er, made an unscheduled landing on the town of Hort. A number of buildings broke his fall.’
‘And rightly so,’ said the high priest of Thrrp, the Charioteer of the Sun. ‘For, as all know, my master is the true god of the-‘
His words tailed off.
Dios was trembling, his body rocking slowly back and forth. His eyes stared at nothing. His hands gripped the mask almost hard enough to leave fingerprints in the gold, and his lips soundlessly shaped the words of the Ritual of the Second Hour, which had been said at this time for thousands of years.
‘I think it’s the shock,’ said one of the priests. ‘You know, he’s always been so set in his ways.’
The others hastened to show that there was at least something they could advise on.
‘Fetch him a glass of water.’
‘Put a paper bag over his head.’
‘Sacrifice a chicken under his nose.’
There was a high-pitched whistling noise, the distant crump of an explosion, and a long hissing. A few tendrils of steam curled into the room.
The priests rushed to the balcony, leaving Dios in his unnerving pool of trauma, and found that the crowds around the palace were staring at the sky.
‘It would appear,’ said the high priest of Cephut, God of Cutlery, who felt that he could take a more relaxed view of the immediate situation, ‘that Thrrp has fumbled it and has fallen to a surprise tackle from Jeht, Boatman of the Solar Orb.’
There was a distant buzzing, as of several billion bluebottles taking off in a panic, and a huge dark shape passed over the palace.
‘But,’ said the high priest of Cephut, ‘here comes Scrab again . . . yes, he’s gaining height . . . Jeht hasn’t seen him yet, he’s progressing confidently towards the meridian, and here comes Sessifet, Goddess of the Afternoon! This is a surprise! What a surprise this is! A young goddess, yet to make her mark, but my word, what a lot of promise there, this is an astonishing bid, eunuchs and gentlemen, and . . yes . . . Scrab has fumbled it! He’s fumbled it! . . .’
The shadows danced and spun on the stones of the balcony.
‘. . . and . . . what’s this? The elder gods are, there’s no other word for it, they’re co-operating against these brash newcomers! But plucky young Sessifet is hanging in there, she’s exploiting the weakness. . . she’s in! . . . and pulling away now, pulling away, Gil and Scrab appear to be fighting, she’s got a clear sky and, yes, yes . . . yes! . . . it’s noon! It’s noon! It’s noon!’
Silence. The priest was aware that everyone was staring at him.
Then someone said, ‘Why are you shouting into that bulrush?’
‘Sorry. Don’t know what came over me there.’
The priestess of Sarduk, Goddess of Caves, snorted at him.
‘Suppose one of them had dropped it?’ she snapped.
‘But . . . but . . .’ He swallowed. ‘It’s not possible, is it? Not really? We all must have eaten something, or been out in the sun too long, or something. Because, I mean, everyone knows that the gods aren’t . . . I mean, the sun is a big flaming ball of gas, isn’t it, that goes around the whole world every day, and, and, and the gods… well, you know, there’s a very real need in people to believe, don’t get me wrong here-‘
Koomi, even with his head buzzing with thoughts of perfidy, was quicker on the uptake than his colleagues.
‘Get him, lads!’ he shouted.
Four priests grabbed the luckless cutlery worshipper by his arms and legs and gave him a high-speed run across the stones to the edge of the balcony, over the parapet and into the mud-coloured waters of the Djel.
He surfaced, spluttering.
‘What did you go and do that for?’ he demanded. ‘You all know I’m right. None of you really-‘
The waters of the Djel opened a lazy jaw, and he vanished, just as the huge winged shape of Scrab buzzed threateningly over the palace and whirred off towards the mountains.
Koomi mopped his forehead.
‘Bit of a close shave there,’ he said. His colleagues nodded, staring at the fading ripples. Suddenly, Djeibeybi was no place for honest doubt. Honest doubt could get you seriously picked up and your arms and legs torn off.
‘Er,.’ said one of them. ‘Cephut’s going to be a bit upset, though, isn’t he?’
‘All hail Cephut,’ they chorused. Just in case.
‘Don’t see why,’ grumbled an elderly priest at the back of the crowd. ‘Bloody knife and fork artist.’
They grabbed him, still protesting, and hurled him into the river.
‘All hail-‘ They paused. ‘Who was he high priest of, anyway?’
‘Bunu, the Goat-headed God of Goats? Wasn’t he?’
‘All hail Bunu, probably,’ they chorused, as the sacred crocodiles homed in like submarines.
Koomi raised his hands, imploring. It is said that the hour brings forth the man. He was the kind of man that is brought forth by devious and unpleasant hours, and underneath his bald head certain conclusions were beginning to unfold, like things imprisoned for years inside stones. He wasn’t yet sure what they were, but they were broadly on the subject of gods, the new age, the need for a firm hand on the helm, and possibly the inserting of Dios into the nearest crocodile. The mere thought filled him with forbidden delight.
‘Brethren!’ he cried.
‘Excuse me,’ said the priestess of Sarduk.
‘And sistren-‘
‘Thank you.’
‘-let us rejoice!’ The assembled priests stood in total silence. This was a radical approach which had not hitherto occurred to them. And Koomi looked at their upturned faces and felt a thrill the like of which he had never experienced before. They were frightened out of their wits, and they were expecting him – him – to tell them what to do.
‘Yea!’ he said. ‘And, indeed, verily, the hour of the gods-‘
‘-and goddesses-‘
‘-yes, and goddesses, is at hand. Er.’
What next? What, when you got right down to it, was he going to tell them to do? And then he thought: it doesn’t matter. Provided I sound confident enough. Old Dios always drove them, he never tried to lead them. Without him they’re wandering around like sheep.
‘And, brethren – and sistren, of course – we must ask ourselves, we must ask ourselves, we, er, yes.’ His voice waxed again with new confidence. ‘Yes, we must ask ourselves why the gods are at hand. And without doubt it is because we have not been assiduous enough in our worship, we have, er, we have lusted after graven idols.’
The priests exchanged glances. Had they? How did you do it, actually?
‘And, yes, and what about sacrifices? Time was when a sacrifice was a sacrifice, not some messing around with a chicken and flowers.’
This caused some coughing in the audience.
‘Are we talking maidens here?’ said one of the priests uncertainly.
‘Ahem.’
‘And inexperienced young men too, certainly,’ he said quickly. Sarduk was one of the older goddesses, whose female worshippers got up to no good in sacred groves; the thought of her wandering around the landscape somewhere, bloody to the elbows, made the eyes water.
Koomi’s heart thumped. ‘Well, why not?’ he said. ‘Things were better then, weren’t they?’
‘But, er, I thought we stopped all that sort of thing. Population decline and so forth.’
There was a monstrous splash out in the river. Tzut, the Snake-Headed God of the Upper Djel, surfaced and regarded the assembled priesthood solemnly. Then Fhez, the Crocodile-Headed God of the Lower Djel, erupted beside him and made a spirited attempt at biting his head off. The two submerged in a column of spray and a minor tidal wave which slopped over the balcony.
‘Ah, but maybe the population declined because we stopped sacrificing virgins – of both sexes, of course,’ said Koomi, hurriedly. ‘Have you ever thought of it like that?’ They thought of it. Then they thought of it again.