Jerry smiled too. “Yeah, he does. That’s Bes. The protector. Dwarves and pygmies were very popular in Egyptian history. I guess it’s only right that they had one of their own as the buffoon of the gods.”
“Are you calling me a buffoon?” The bandy-legged little man who had stepped out from next to the stele picked Jerry up without any sign of effort. He seemed to find doing so a source of humor. “Who are you, mortal, to be wandering around taking my name in vain?”
Up close and—ah, active—Bes’ dwarfish stature didn’t seem cute any longer. The Egyptian god was a very robust dwarf, who almost exuded bestial vigor. His head was big and vaguely lion-shaped, his eyes huge, his cheeks prominent. His chin was hairy. And a truly enormous tongue hung from his wide-open mouth.
“Sorry,” squeaked Jerry. “No offense intended!”
* * *
The little guy must have found a short leopard somewhere, thought Liz. Otherwise his leopard-skin cloak would have been too long for him. Mind you, he was pretty wide, as if to make up for his lack of stature. He was nearly as wide as he was high, but he didn’t look too broad because he had an enormous head. He wore a topknot, with a bunch of ostrich plumes set in it. Most of the ancient Egyptians in this Mythworld were either fastidiously bearded or clean-shaven. Bes was neither of these. A veritable mane of thick, curly hair framed his broad, grinning face.
He set Jerry down. Jerry appeared none the worse for the experience. “Bes. You are Bes, aren’t you?”
The dwarf-god cut a little caper, and clumsily executed a cartwheel. “That is my name, yes.”
“Well, sorry to disturb you, Bes,” said Jerry. “We were just told to look for this stele, and I was telling the others about you. Sorry about that. Here’s our passage, guys.”
“Are you going down there?” asked Bes.
“Yes. We need to see someone.”
“Ah. I’ll come along for the walk,” said Bes.
* * *
The party wound its way through the narrow corridors, down flight after flight of stairs. There were various branches but only one set of corridors was lit. Little calcite lamps burned in regularly spaced embrasures. It was still dim between the painted walls, which were covered in hieroglyphs and murals. Rather unpleasant murals. Not what you’d have thought a fertility and travelers’ god would have liked, but then, Jerry didn’t want to stop and try and read the hieroglyphic story.
“Did Anubis tell you we could blasted walk home this way?” demanded Liz.
“Indeed,” grumbled Henri, “my feet they are quite worn out.”
Mac spoke quietly. “Have you noticed the lamps behind us are going out?”
Liz scowled. “We’ll never find our way out without lights.”
“Damn,” muttered Lamont. “I forgot my handy little Maglite in my other trousers.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Ooh. My head hurts.”
“You expect us to believe that?” said Jerry.
“What? That my head hurts?”
“No. That you have other trousers . . .”
They stepped through a blocky stone lintel-and-post threshold and into a dim chamber. Scattered lamps still burned in sconces. But it was downright gloomy. Jerry wasn’t even that surprised to hear the huge stone slab grate into place behind them, blocking off the passage. Something moved in the shadows on the far side of the chamber. Something big. No, wrong word—something immense. Amemait. Amemait the devourer.
The monster opened its gray-green, scaly crocodile snout, full of evil yellow snaggled teeth.
Halstrom’s Ka gave a panicky squeak and ran. The crocodile jaws of the devourer snatched it . . . And bit air several times. “Where did it go?” growled Amemait. “It just disappeared. You lot had better be more substantial.”
“Or what are you going to do about it, fishbreath?” Bes stalked forward, his hands on his hips.
“Bes!” Amemait spat. “What are you doing here? They were supposed to be alone.”
“I saw these innocents walking into your lair. So I came along for the fight.” Too late, Jerry understood the significance of the protective stele including the arch-defender against dangerous wild beasts at the entrance. It wasn’t a signpost. It was supposed to prevent Amemait from wandering.
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