Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

“Liz?” called Jerry.

“Unggh.”

Jerry beat Bes pushing through the reed blossom and lotus petal mass. Liz had not had the benefit of sphinx-assisted braking. She’d gone all the way down to the soft deltaic mud underneath. Jerry hauled her upright.

“Auuuh!” The mud-and-petal-covered woman caught her breath. “Gently. I think that arm is broken.”

Then Throttler came down and covered them all in lotus-blossom petals again. After he burrowed them out, Jerry half-carried Liz to the small tree-covered islet.

He bit his lip. Snapped two branches. Ripped the remains of his shirt into shreds. “I’m going to have to hurt you, Liz. I’m really sorry. I’ve got to splint that arm.”

She looked at him, her eyes moist in the moonlight. “You crazy fool. It hurts like hell but I’m still alive, thanks to you. Do your worst.”

“Crazy fool are the right words,” snorted Throttler incredulously, “but not strong enough. He jumped after you. Did you know that?”

Liz nodded. “I saw. I’d call him ‘my hero’ except”—her cheeks dimpled, despite the pain—”he is. Ow!”

A while later, after the strapping had been done, Jerry asked, “How come you aren’t dead, Bes?”

The dwarf grinned. “In Ur-Egypt?” He looked around. “It’s nice to be back, but I really fancy this world of yours. Cruz was telling me that they have these dwarf-tossing contests . . . ”

“Well,” said Liz, her good arm over Jerry’s shoulder. “I hate to say it, but I think we must get back to Olympus. They may need us, and I certainly could use some of Mac’s so-called brandy.”

PART X

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree . . .

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge,

“Kubla Khan”

49

Put no faith in promises.

Cash only.

By the time the sphinx had ferried them back to Olympus, rosy-fingered dawn was already painting the mountain. Their return was eagerly awaited.

“I thought you’d bought a farm that time, Liz!” said Mac. Then, grinning: “Sir.”

Liz smiled weakly, pointing to her arm. “Close. But they wanted an arm and a leg for the farm. Jerry would only let them have one arm.”

She reached out with the other hand and took Jerry by the arm and pulled him closer. “Our Jerry’s something of a hero. If you can call saving me being heroic, that is. Between him, Throttler and Bes, they kept me alive.”

“And you got rid of Selene so all of us stayed alive,” said Jerry quietly, but firmly. “Now, Mac, come and look at this arm. I did my best, but I’d appreciate it if you checked it out.”

Mac’s grin widened. “So long as you don’t want me to shave all over first.”

* * *

The gods and goddesses of Olympus woke to a new regime. One that didn’t want to be there. Prometheus had dragged the beds of the Olympians into the central square.

Oh. And also a net bag with two very unhappy occupants.

The sight of the Olympians sweating away in the bright sunlight greeted Medea’s two children, when they arrived from Ortherys. With all the kindness and generosity of youth, they started bouncing on the beds and their occupants. It’s a very effective antisoporific.

Prometheus quelled the groanings and querulous “what’s-going-ons?” with a bellow. “Quiet!”

There was silence, except from the net bag. “Throw a bucket of cold water over them,” said Medea to her older son.

Typhoeus allowed Zeus to sit upright. Prometheus cleared his throat. “All right, all of you. Zeus has some explaining to do.”

“And Mother is very displeased with all of you,” growled Typhoeus. “Very displeased indeed. Especially with you, Hera. As Zeus’ wife, Mother expects you to keep him on the straight and narrow.”

“He beats me if I try,” Hera whined.

Typhoeus snorted. “I’m staying on here. Mother says I’m to sort him out.”

“I foresee a new silver age for Olympus,” said Jerry to Liz, sotto voce.

“What’s that?”

“According to Hesiod, a time when men obeyed their mothers all their lives. It is interpreted by scholars as an age of matriarchal rule.” Jerry grinned. “I think they got it wrong. I think it was a time when Typhoeus said: Mommy says.”