His words tailed off.
Dios was trembling, his body rocking slowly back and forth. His eyes stared at nothing. His hands gripped the mask almost hard enough to leave fingerprints in the gold, and his lips soundlessly shaped the words of the Ritual of the Second Hour, which had been said at this time for thousands of years.
'I think it's the shock,' said one of the priests. 'You know, he's always been so set in his ways.'
The others hastened to show that there was at least something they could advise on.
'Fetch him a glass of water.'
'Put a paper bag over his head.'
'Sacrifice a chicken under his nose.'
There was a high-pitched whistling noise, the distant crump of an explosion, and a long hissing. A few tendrils of steam curled into the room.
The priests rushed to the balcony, leaving Dios in his unnerving pool of trauma, and found that the crowds around the palace were staring at the sky.
'It would appear,' said the high priest of Cephut, God of Cutlery, who felt that he could take a more relaxed view of the immediate situation, 'that Thrrp has fumbled it and has fallen to a surprise tackle from Jeht, Boatman of the Solar Orb.'
There was a distant buzzing, as of several billion bluebottles taking off in a panic, and a huge dark shape passed over the palace.
'But,' said the high priest of Cephut, 'here comes Scrab again . . . yes, he's gaining height . . . Jeht hasn't seen him yet, he's progressing confidently towards the meridian, and here comes Sessifet, Goddess of the Afternoon! This is a surprise! What a surprise this is! A young goddess, yet to make her mark, but my word, what a lot of promise there, this is an astonishing bid, eunuchs and gentlemen, and . . yes . . . Scrab has fumbled it! He's fumbled it! . . .'
The shadows danced and spun on the stones of the balcony.
'. . . and . . . what's this? The elder gods are, there's no other word for it, they're co-operating against these brash newcomers! But plucky young Sessifet is hanging in there, she's exploiting the weakness. . . she's in! . . . and pulling away now, pulling away, Gil and Scrab appear to be fighting, she's got a clear sky and, yes, yes . . . yes! . . . it's noon! It's noon! It's noon!'
Silence. The priest was aware that everyone was staring at him.
Then someone said, 'Why are you shouting into that bulrush?'
'Sorry. Don't know what came over me there.'
The priestess of Sarduk, Goddess of Caves, snorted at him.
'Suppose one of them had dropped it?' she snapped.
'But . . . but . . .' He swallowed. 'It's not possible, is it? Not really? We all must have eaten something, or been out in the sun too long, or something. Because, I mean, everyone knows that the gods aren't . . . I mean, the sun is a big flaming ball of gas, isn't it, that goes around the whole world every day, and, and, and the gods... well, you know, there's a very real need in people to believe, don't get me wrong here-'
Koomi, even with his head buzzing with thoughts of perfidy, was quicker on the uptake than his colleagues.
'Get him, lads!' he shouted.
Four priests grabbed the luckless cutlery worshipper by his arms and legs and gave him a high-speed run across the stones to the edge of the balcony, over the parapet and into the mud-coloured waters of the Djel.
He surfaced, spluttering.
'What did you go and do that for?' he demanded. 'You all know I'm right. None of you really-'
The waters of the Djel opened a lazy jaw, and he vanished, just as the huge winged shape of Scrab buzzed threateningly over the palace and whirred off towards the mountains.
Koomi mopped his forehead.
'Bit of a close shave there,' he said. His colleagues nodded, staring at the fading ripples. Suddenly, Djeibeybi was no place for honest doubt. Honest doubt could get you seriously picked up and your arms and legs torn off.
'Er,.' said one of them. 'Cephut's going to be a bit upset, though, isn't he?'
'All hail Cephut,' they chorused. Just in case.