Pyramids (Discworld 7)

'I shouldn't think so. You're walking and talking, after all.'

Dil shivered. 'That's no guideline, take it from me. What's an engineer?'

'Oh, a builder of aqueducts,' said IIb quickly. 'They're the coming thing, you know.'

Dil stood up, a little shakily.

'I,' he said, 'need a drink. Let's find the river.'

They found Teppic first.

He was clinging to a small, truncated pyramid section that had made a moderate-sized crater when it landed.

'I know him,' said IIb. 'He's the lad who was on top of the pyramid. That's ridiculous, how could he survive that?'

'Why's there all corn sprouting out of it, too?' wondered Dil.

'I mean, perhaps there's some kind of effect if you're right in the centre of the flare, or something,' said IIb, thinking aloud. 'A sort of calm area or something, like in the middle of a whirlpool-' He reached instinctively for his wax tablet, and then stopped himself. Man was never intended to understand things he meddled with. 'Is he dead?' he said. 'Don't look at me,' said Dil, stepping back. He'd been running through his mind the alternative occupations now open to him. Upholstery sounded attractive. At least chairs didn't get up and walk after you'd stuffed them. IIb bent over the body.

'Look what he's got in his hand,' he said, gently bending back the fingers. 'It's a piece of melted metal. What's he got that for?'

Teppic dreamed.

He saw seven fat cows and seven thin cows, and one of them was riding a bicycle.

He saw some camels, singing, and the song straightened out the wrinkles in reality.

He saw a finger Write on the wall of a pyramid: Going forth is easy. Going back requires (cont. on next wall) . . .

He walked around the pyramid, where the finger continued: An effort of will, because it is much harder. Thank you.

Teppic considered this, and it occurred to him that there was one thing left to do which he had not done. He'd never known how to before, but now he could see that it was just numbers, arranged in a special way. Everything that was magical was just a way of describing the world in words it couldn't ignore.

He gave a grunt of effort.

There was a brief moment of speed. Dil and IIb looked around as long shafts of light sparkled through the mists and dust, turning the landscape into old gold.

And the sun came up.

The sergeant cautiously opened the hatch in the horse's belly. When the expected flurry of spears did not materialise he ordered Autocue to let out the rope ladder, climbed down it, and looked across the chill morning desert.

The new recruit followed him down and stood, hopping from one sandal to another, on sand that was nearly freezing now and would be frying by lunchtime.

'There,' said the sergeant, pointing, 'see the Tsortean lines, lad?'

'Looks like a row of wooden horses to me, sergeant,' said Autocue. 'The one on the end's on rockers.'

'That'll be the officers. Huh. Those Tsorteans must think we're simple.' The sergeant stamped some life into his legs, took a few breaths of fresh air, and walked back to the ladder.

'Come on, lad,' he said.

'Why've we got to go back up there?'

The sergeant paused, his foot on a rope rung.

'Use some common, laddie. They're not going to come and take our horses if they see us hanging around outside, are they? Stands to reason.'

'You sure they're going to come, then?' said Autocue. The sergeant frowned at him.