Pyramids (Discworld 7)

'On the contrary. Seventy per cent of his income last year was from undeclared trading in the following commodities-' Teppic's eyes stared into nothingness - 'From illegal transport of gullanes and leuchars, nine per cent. From night-running of untaxed-'

'Well, thirty per cent honest,' Chidder admitted, 'which is a lot more honest than most. You'd better tell me how you know. Extremely quickly.'

'I - don't know,' said Teppic. 'When I was . . . asleep, it seemed I knew everything. Everything about everything. I think my father is dead.'

'Oh,' said Chidder. 'Gosh, I'm sorry.'

'Oh, no. It's not like that. It's what he would have wanted. I think he was rather looking forward to it. In our family, death is when you really start to, you know, enjoy life. I expect he's rather enjoying it.'

In fact the pharaoh was sitting on a spare slab in the ceremonial preparation room watching his own soft bits being carefully removed from his body and put into the special Canopic jars.

This is not a sight often seen by people - at least, not by people in a position to take a thoughtful interest.

He was rather upset. Although he was no longer officially inhabiting his body he was still attached to it by some sort of occult bond, and it is hard to be very happy at seeing two artisans up to the elbows in bits of you.

The jokes aren't funny, either. Not when you are, as it were, the butt.

'Look, master Dil,' said Gern, a plump, red-faced young man who the king had learned was the new apprentice. uk... hght... watch this, watch this.. . hgk.. your name in lights. Get it? Your name in lights, see?'

'Just put them in the jar, boy,' said Dil wearily. 'And while we're on the subject I didn't think much of the Gottle of Geer routine, either.'

'Sorry, master.'

'And pass me over a number three brain hook while you're up that end, will you?'

'Coming right up, master,' said Gern.

'And don't jog me. This is a fiddly bit.'

'Sure thing.'

The king craned nearer.

Gern rummaged around at his end of the job and then gave a long, low whistle.

'Will you look at the colour of this!' he said. 'You wouldn't think so, would you? Is it something they eat, master?'

Dil sighed. 'Just put it in the pot, Gern.'

'Right you are, master. Master?'

'Yes, lad?'

'Which bit's got the god in it, master?'

Dil squinted up the king's nostril, trying to concentrate. 'That gets sorted out before he comes down here,' he said patiently.

'I wondered,' said Gern, 'because there's not a jar for it, see.'

'No. There wouldn't be. It'd have to be a rather strange jar, Gern.'

Gern looked a bit disappointed. 'Oh,' he said, 'so he's just ordinary, then, is he?'

'In a strictly organic sense,' said Dil, his voice slightly muffled.

'Our mum said he was all right as a king,' said Gern. 'What do you think?'

Dil paused with a jar in his hand, and seemed to give the conversation some thought for the first time.