Pyramids (Discworld 7)

'If I've got to lie in it, it'll need some cushions.'

'I'll put some wood shavings in, look!' said Teppic. 'But hurry up! Please!'

'All right. But you will be back, won't you? Promise?'

'Yes, yes! I promise!'

He wedged a splinter of wood on the case to allow an airhole, heaved the lid back on and ran for it.

The ghost of the king watched him go.

The sun rose. As the golden light spilled down the fertile valley of the Djel the pyramid flares paled and became ghost dancers against the lightening sky. They were now accompanied by a noise. It had been there all the time, far too high-pitched for mortal ears, a sound now dropping down from the far ultrasonic

KKKkkkkkkhhheeee. . .

It screamed out of the sky, a thin rind of sound like a violin bow dragged across the raw surface of the brain.

kkkkheeeeeee. . .

Or a wet fingernail dragged over an exposed nerve, some said. You could set your watch by it, they would have said, if anyone knew what one was.

. . .keeee. . .

It went deeper and deeper as the sunlight washed over the stones, passing through cat scream to dog growl.

. . .ee. . . ee. . . ee.

The flares collapsed.

. . .ops.

'A fine morning, sire. I trust you slept well?'

Teppic waved a hand at Dios, but said nothing. The barber was working through the Ceremony of Going Forth Shaven.

The barber was trembling. Until recently he had been a one-handed, unemployed stonemason. Then the terrible high priest had summoned him and ordered him to be the king's barber, but it meant you had to touch the king but it was all right because it was all sorted out by the priests and nothing more had to be chopped off. On the whole, it was better than he had thought, and a great honour to be singlehandedly responsible for the king's beard, such as it was.

'You were not disturbed in any way?' said the high priest. His eyes scanned the room on a raster of suspicion; it was surprising that little lines of molten rock didn't drip off the walls.

'Verrr-'

'If you would but hold still, O never-dying one,' said the barber, in the pleading tone of voice employed by one who is assured of a guided tour of a crocodile's alimentary tract if he nicks an ear.

'You heard no strange noises, sire?' said Dios. He stepped back suddenly so that he could see behind the gilded peacock screen at the other end of the room.

'Norr.'

'Your majesty looks a little peaky this morning, sire,' said Dios. He sat down on the bench with the carved cheetahs on either end. Sitting down in the presence of the king, except on ceremonial occasions, was not something that was allowed. It did, however, mean that he could squint under Teppic's low bed.

Dios was rattled. Despite the aches and the lack of sleep, Teppic felt oddly elated. He wiped his chin.

'It's the bed,' he said. 'I think I have mentioned it. Mattresses, you know. They have feathers in them. If the concept is unfamiliar, ask the pirates of Khali. Half of them must be sleeping on goosefeather mattresses by now.'

'His majesty is pleased to joke,' said Dios.

Teppic knew he shouldn't push it any further, but he did so anyway.

'Something wrong, Dios?' he said.