‘Everything changed,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to be king.’
‘You are the king,’ she said. ‘You can’t change things.’
‘I can. I can abdicate. It’s very simple. If I’m not really the king, then I can go whenever I please. If I am the king, then the king’s word is final and I can abdicate. If we can change sex by decree, we can certainly change station. They can find a relative to do the job. I must have dozens.’
‘The job? Anyway, you said there was only your auntie.’
Teppic frowned. Aunt Cleph-ptah-re was not, on reflection, the kind of monarch a kingdom needed if it was going to make a fresh start. She had a number of stoutly-held views on a variety of subjects, but most of them involved the flaying alive of people she disapproved of. This meant most people under the age of thirty-five, to start with.
‘Well, someone else, then,’ he said. ‘It shouldn’t be difficult, we’ve always seemed to have more nobles than really necessary. We’ll just have to find one who has the dream about the cows.’
‘Oh, the one where there’s fat cows and thin cows?’ said Ptraci.
‘Yes. It’s sort of ancestral.’
‘It’s a nuisance, I know that much. One of them’s always grinning and playing a wimblehorn.’
‘It looks like a trombone to me,’ said Teppic.
‘It’s a ceremonial wimblehorn, if you look closely,’ she said.
‘Well, I expect everyone sees it a bit differently. I don’t think it matters.’ He sighed, and watched the Unnamed unloading. It seemed to have more than the expected number of feather mattresses, and several of the people wandering bemusedly down the gangplank were holding toolboxes and lengths of pipe.
‘I think you’re going to find it difficult,’ said Ptraci. ‘You can’t say “All those who dream about cows please step forward”. It’d give the game away.’
‘I can’t just hang around until someone happens to mention it, can I? Be reasonable,’ he snapped. ‘How many people are likely to say, hey, I had this funny dream about cows last night? Apart from you, I mean.’
They stared at one another.
‘And she’s my sister?’ said Teppic.
The priests nodded. It was left to Koomi to put it into words. He’d just spent ten minutes going through the files with the Mistress of the Women.
‘Her mother was, er, your late father’s favourite,’ he said.
‘He took a great deal of interest in her upbringing, as you know, and, er, it would appear that . . . yes. She may be your aunt, of course. The concubines are never very good at paperwork. But most likely your sister.’
She looked at him with tear-filled eyes.
‘That doesn’t make any difference, does it?’ she whispered.
Teppic stared at his feet.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think it does, really.’ He looked up at her. ‘But you can be queen,’ he added. He glared at the priests. ‘Can’t she,’ he stated firmly.
The high priests looked at one another. Then they looked at Ptraci, who stood alone, her shoulders shaking. Small, palace trained, used to taking orders . . . They looked at Koomi.
‘She would be ideal,’ he said. There was a murmur of suddenly-confident agreement.
‘There you are then,’ said Teppic, consolingly.
She glared at him. He backed away.
‘So I’ll be off,’ he said, ‘I don’t need to pack anything, it’s all right.’
‘Just like that?’ she said. ‘Is that all? Isn’t there anything you’re going to say?’
He hesitated, halfway to the door. You could stay, he told himself. It wouldn’t work, though. It’d end up a terrible mess; you’d probably end up splitting the kingdom between you. Just because fate throws you together doesn’t mean fate’s got it right. Anyway, you’ve been forth.
‘Camels are more important than pyramids,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s something we should always remember.’
He ran for it while she was looking for something to throw.
The sun reached the peak of noon without beetles, and Koomi hovered by the throne like Hat, the Vulture-Headed God.
‘It will please your majesty to confirm my succession as high priest,’ he said.
‘What?’ Ptraci was sitting with her chin cupped in one hand. She waved the other hand at him. ‘Oh. Yes. All right. Fine.’
‘No trace has, alas, been found of Dios. We believe he was very close to the Great Pyramid when it . . . flared.’
Ptraci stared into space. ‘You carry on,’ she said. Koomi preened.
‘The formal coronation will take some time to arrange,’ he said, taking the golden mask. ‘However, your graciousness will be pleased to wear the mask of authority now, for there is much formal business to be concluded.’
She looked at the mask.
‘I’m not wearing that,’ she said flatly.
Koomi smiled. ‘Your majesty will be pleased to wear the mask of authority,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Ptraci.
Koomi’s smile crazed a little around the edges as he attempted to get to grips with this new concept. He was sure Dios had never had this trouble.
He got over the problem by sidling round it. Sidling had stood him in good stead all his life; he wasn’t going to desert it now. He put the mask down very carefully on a stool.
‘It is the First Hour,’ he said. ‘Your majesty will wish to conduct the Ritual of the Ibis, and then graciously grant an audience to the military commanders of the Tsortean and Ephebian armies. Both are seeking permission to cross the kingdom. Your majesty will forbid this. At the Second Hour, there will-‘
Ptraci sat drumming her fingers on the arms of the throne. Then she took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to have a bath,’ she said.
Koomi rocked back and forth a bit.
‘It is the First Hour,’ he repeated, unable to think of anything else. ‘Your majesty will wish to conduct-‘
‘Koomi?’
‘Yes, O noble queen?’
‘Shut up.’
‘The Ritual of the Ibis-‘ Koomi moaned.
‘I’m sure you’re capable of doing it yourself. You look like a man who does things himself, if ever I saw one,’ she added sourly.
‘The commanders of the Tsortean-‘
‘Tell them,’ Ptraci began, and then paused. ‘Tell them,’ she repeated, ‘that they may both cross. Not one or the other, you understand? Both.’
‘But-‘ Koomi ‘s understanding managed at last to catch up with his ears – ‘that means they’ll end up on opposite sides.’
‘Good. And after that you can order some camels. There’s a merchant in Ephebe with a good stock. Check their teeth first. Oh, and then you can ask the captain of the Unnamed to come and see me. He was explaining to me what a “free port” is.’
‘In your bath, O queen?’ said Koomi weakly. He couldn’t help noticing, now, how her voice was changing with each sentence as the veneer of upbringing burned away under the blowlamp of heredity.
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ she snapped. ‘And see about plumbing. Apparently pipes are the thing.’
‘For the asses’ milk?’ said Koomi, who was now totally lost in the desert.[32]
‘Shut up, Koomi.’
‘Yes, O queen,’ said Koomi, miserably.
He’d wanted changes. It was just that he’d wanted things to stay the same, as well.
The sun dropped to the horizon, entirely unaided. For some people, it was turning out to be quite a good day. The reddened light lit up the three male members of the Ptaclusp dynasty, as they pored over plans for-
‘It’s called a bridge,’ said IIb.
‘Is that like an aqueduct?’ said Ptaclusp.
‘In reverse, sort of thing,’ said IIb. ‘The water goes underneath, we go over the top.’
‘Oh. The k- the queen won’t like that,’ said Ptaclusp.
‘The royal family’s always been against chaining the holy river with dams and weirs and suchlike.’
IIb gave a triumphant grin. ‘She suggested it,’ he said. ‘And she graciously went on to say, could we see to it there’s places for people to stand and drop rocks on the crocodiles.’
‘She said that?’
‘Large pointy rocks, she said.’
‘My word,’ said Ptaclusp. He turned to his other son.
‘You sure you’re all right?’ he said.
‘Feeling fine, dad,’ said IIa.
‘No-‘ Ptaclusp groped ‘headaches or anything?’
‘Never felt better,’ said IIa.
‘Only you haven’t asked about the cost,’ said Ptaclusp. ‘I thought perhaps you were still feeling fl- ill.’
‘The queen has been pleased to ask me to have a look at the royal finances,’ said IIa. ‘She said priests can’t add up.’ His recent experiences had left him with no ill effects other than a profitable tendency to think at right angles to everyone else, and he sat wreathed in smiles while his mind constructed tariff rates, docking fees and a complex system of value added tax which would shortly give the merchant venturers of Ankh-Morpork a nasty shock.
Ptaclusp thought about all the miles of the virgin Djel, totally unbridged. And there was plenty of dressed stone around now, millions of tons of the stuff. And you never knew, perhaps on some of those bridges there’d be room for a statue or two. He had the very thing.