Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

Whatever the reason, they were lighter and more effective in their pursuit. And in their effort to elude these faster pursuers, Liz, Medea and Lamont found themselves eventually boxed in. Cornered by both groups, when they finally fled out onto the flat roof.

They backed into the far corner. Only the bickering between the two groups had so far prevented either side’s success. Now Lamont, Liz and Medea faced stark choices. Up. Down. Or capture . . .

Short of flapping their arms very, very fast, “up” was a nonavailable course. “Capture” was, as far as Lamont was concerned, no option either. The pursuing houris had betrayed Lamont’s sex to the amulet-laden eunuchs. The Harem guards, clearly enough, were planning to recruit him to their ranks.

That left down. Into the lake. Well, it wasn’t more than thirty-five feet. Which is awfully high, until you are faced with such choices.

A drum throbbed in the distance. The sun beat down on the rooftop.

The eunuch guards made no attempt to cut them off from the wall. Nobody would ever dream of leaping over that low balustrade and down into the lake of crocodiles. The eunuchs and the houris watched incredulously as the three hopped up onto the wall.

Medea looked down into the clear water. “I can’t swim,” she said quietly.

Liz took a firm grip on Medea’s tunic. “You concentrate on holding your breath when you hit the water, and don’t panic. I’ll do the rest.”

“Come down from there, you fool fake sorceress!” bellowed the porky chief eunuch-guard. “Before you kill yourself!”

“Why shouldn’t I beat you to it?” Lamont swayed on the narrow wall. “I am not a fake sorcerer! Beware lest I call a rain of scorpions and nightsoil on your head. I call on my protective genii Malarky and Prostaglandin to smite you down. May . . . ” he needed some names, desperately. He only picked them up to pun with . . . “May Tauret trample your entrails. I summons Bes, may he tear your head off, and push it up your posterior. May Apep spit in your eye . . . ”

The porky guard poked his spear at him. The watching houris squealed as Lamont flailed wildly and toppled with a yell off the wall.

“Let’s go!” barked Liz. “I don’t know how well Lamont swims in a dress.”

* * *

Being fed to the crocodiles was bad enough, thought Jerry, but did they have to turn them all into raisins first? It was hot and windless. His head was throbbing.

It seemed unreasonable to die with a headache. Wasn’t being eaten alive bad enough? Jerry realized that he was somewhat lightheaded. He was at the stage of feeling as if this life belonged to someone else. Then he realized that the throbbing wasn’t actually inside his head. It was someone playing a drum. Slowly and steadily. The offertory poles were being lowered towards the water. The crocodiles were nearly solid under them.

It’s at times like these that most brains go on strike. Jerry’s brain simply got angry. It wasn’t prepared to have its vehicle eaten just yet. There were things it still wanted to think about. It spat out an order: Subvocalize. They’re gods, dammit.

Jerry did his best. The gag peeled away.

“I call on the Bes, the defender against noxious creatures.

“I banish you, Creatures of Sebek, by your true name Crocodylus niloticus.”

He hoped that was right. He’d gotten it from Liz, the day before, as they’d made their way up the Myth-Nile. It was as close to a “true name” as anyone could come up with.

“Begone! Thrice I tell you.

“Begone. Begone. Begone.

“By Harmakhis, I call on the genii of the east to lambaste and lithify you.

“I call on the genii of the south to pulverize

“and send down plagues of pyretic pustules . . . ”

A team of priests was furiously swinging the offertory pole inward. A flung javelin narrowly missed his cheek. Jerry looked down. No crocs . . .

“I call on Osiris, by the names Bennu, Djed, Mendes and Onuphis.

“Make this rope as frail as corn before the sickle.