Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

“Er. We have just—” what the hell was the word for ‘rescued’? “—saved these pieces of your husband from the water.”

Alas. The large and frightening-looking gods did not look as if they were impressed, or even particularly believing. But at least they had stopped moving forward.

Desperately, Jerry continued searching for the words. “Look, we saw Set . . . ah, pull apart Osiris. We came to save the parts.”

Silence.

Jerry tried again, pointing at the grisly remnants. “See! The wrappings are still wet. And we have saved his phallus from the crabs.”

Isis seemed simultaneously pleased and angry. She glared at Liz. “Insolent woman! What are you doing with my brother-husband’s phallus?”

Jerry didn’t bother to translate. The way Isis snatched the thing away from Liz was pretty self-explanatory. Fortunately, the stubborn South African biologist did not argue about it.

Jackal-headed Anubis advanced, growling. “What do you want us to do with these defilers, Isis?”

A part of Jerry’s mind said: How interesting. Graecophone name-forms. Another part said: Help! For heaven’s sake get someone else who can talk to these monsters.

Trying a spell under these circumstances was probably not the cleverest thing he’d ever done, but he was pretty well out of other ideas. Short of screaming “run!”—which Cruz wasn’t going to be doing for a while.

He tried a phrase.

Nothing happened.

“What are you saying?” whispered Liz.

“It’s supposed to be a spell,” said Jerry miserably.

“A spell?” She repeated the Coptic words. “For what?”

The sound of her distinctive voice fumbling at the incantation caused Jerry to stiffen, startled and hopeful at the same time. Especially when low-pitched and stressed, Liz’s voice was accented. Slightly guttural. And she had a habit of drawling a bit. The pitch and preciseness of wording, Jerry suddenly remembered, were supposed to be nearly as important as the invocation of secret sacred names.

“Er. I think you have the voice for it,” he said.

“You’ve got a rainbow in your mouth! On your tongue!” she exclaimed.

“So have you,” said Jerry, embarrassed. “I was trying for the tongue of many peoples. It looks like I got the tongue of many colors . . . ”

But at least it had stopped the advancing Anubis. “Wizards!” The jackal-headed god stepped back a pace. “Your business, Thoth.”

Thoth eyed them with beady ibis eyes. “KarrrK?”

Whatever that meant, it wasn’t “welcome home, dearly beloved.” Jerry knew that Thoth, the grand vizier to Osiris, was a stickler for absolute precision. He probably didn’t approve of their word-mangling.

“My vocabulary is a bit limited,” he whispered to Liz. “Try this.” He hissed a few words. “And don’t suppress that accent of yours.” He added another phrase full of as many names as he could recall.

Liz took a deep breath and orated.

She was nearly knocked off her feet by the large wooden platter of results. Sliced as well as whole . . .

“Let’s guess,” she said through clenched teeth. “You got me to ask for the gift of tongues.”

“Try this instead.” Hurriedly, Jerry rattled off another phrase.

This time the effect was even more startling and unexpected. However, it did enhance communication.

Having baboon barks issue from your mouth doesn’t usually do that, true. But Jerry knew that in ancient Egyptian parlance, speaking the tongue of animals was considered a particular virtue. And Thoth was known to assume the form of the wise dog-headed ape.

* * *

Being addressed in his native tongue was a good move for Thoth, that most precise of Egyptian gods. He was also known as the master of truth. And as such, addressed in his own language, he was able to ascertain that, far from being villains, the foreigners were actually the heroes of the piece. He soon established that they had indeed rescued Osiris’ remains from the water and the crabs. He also found out that having done so was likely to cost Cruz his leg, and possibly his life.

The Egyptian gods offered help, and a form of speech easier on the vocal chords.

“Please!” barked Liz.

* * *

“Keep the pressure on. There’s some arterial bleeding,” said McKenna.

Isis loomed over him. Then pushed him away. “You look too much like Set for you to be trusted.”