There was a clatter. Dios sighed, and motioned the attendants to pick things up.
'If we could just begin again, sire? This is the Cabbage of Vegetative Increase-'
'Sorry,' said Teppic, 'I didn't hear you say I should marry my aunt, did I?'
'You did, sire. Interfamilial marriage is a proud tradition of our lineage,' said Dios.
'But my aunt is my aunt!'
Dios rolled his eyes. He'd advised the late king repeatedly about the education of his son, but the man was stubborn, stubborn. Now he'd have to do it on the fly. The gods were testing him, he decided. It took decades to make a monarch, and he had weeks to do it in.
'Yes, sire,' he said patiently. 'Of course. And she is also your uncle, your cousin and your father.'
'Hold on. My father-'
The priest raised his hand soothingly. 'A technicality,' he said. 'Your great-great-grandmother once declared she is king as a matter of political expediency and I don't believe the edict is ever rescinded.'
'But she was a woman, though?'
Dios looked shocked. 'Oh no, sire. She is a man. She herself declared this.'
'But look, a chap's aunt-'
'Quite so, sire. I quite understand.'
'Well, thank you,' said Teppic.
'It is a great shame that we have no sisters.'
'Sisters!'
'It does not do to water the divine blood, sire. The sun might not like it. Now this, sire, is the Scapula of Hygiene. Where would you like it put?'
King Teppicymon XXVII was watching himself being stuffed. It was just as well he didn't feel hunger these days. Certainly he would never want to eat chicken again.
'Very nice stitching there, master.'
'Just keep your finger still, Gern.'
'My mother does stitching like that. She's got a pinny with stitching like that, has our mum,' said Gern conversationally.
'Keep it still, I said.'
'It's got all ducks and hens on it,' Gern supplied helpfully. Dil concentrated on the job in hand. It was good workmanship, he was prepared to admit. The Guild of Embalmers and Allied Trades had awarded him medals for it.
iped his hands on a rag, and sighed. Possibly thirty-five years in the funeral business, which had given him a steady hand, a philosophic manner and a keen interest in vegetarianism, had also granted him powers of hearing beyond the ordinary. Because he was almost persuaded that, right beside his ear, someone else sighed too.
The king wandered sadly over to the other side of the room, and stared at the dull liquid of the preparation vat.
Funny, that. When he was alive it had all seemed so sensible, so obvious. Now he was dead it looked a huge waste of effort.
It was beginning to annoy him. He watched Dil and his apprentice tidy up, burn some ceremonial resins, lift him - it - up, carry it respectfully across the room and slide it gently into the oily embrace of the preservative. Teppicymon XXVII gazed into the murky depths at his own body lying sadly on the bottom, like the last pickled gherkin in the jar.
He raised his eyes to the sacks in the corner. They were full of straw. He didn't need telling what was going to be done with it.
The boat didn't glide. It insinuated itself through the water, dancing across the waves on the tips of the twelve oars, spreading like an oil slick, gliding like a bird. It was man black and shaped like a shark.
There was no drummer to beat the rhythm. The boat didn't want the weight. Anyway, he'd have needed the full kit, including snares.