And so, one rocking ladder after another, the brothers Ptaclusp eased their bickering way up the flanks of the Great Pyramid, while the lesser tombs along the Djel fired one after another, and the sky streamed with lines of sizzling time.
It was around about this point that the greatest mathematician in the world, lying in cosy flatulence in his stall below the palace, stopped chewing the cud and realised that something very wrong was happening to numbers. All the numbers.
The camel looked along its nose at Teppic. Its expression made it clear that of all the riders in all the world it would least like to ride it, he was right at the top of the list. However, camels look like that at everyone. Camels have a very democratic approach to the human race. They hate every member of it, without making any distinctions for rank or creed.
This one appeared to be chewing soap.
Teppic looked distractedly down the shadowy length of the royal stables, which had once contained a hundred camels. He'd have given the world for a horse, and a moderately-sized continent for a pony. But the stables now held only a handful of rotting war chariots, relics of past glories, an elderly elephant whose presence was a bit of a mystery, and this camel. It looked an extremely inefficient animal. It was going threadbare at the knees.
'Well, this is it,' he said to Ptraci. 'I don't dare try the river during the night. I could try and get you over the border.'
'Is that saddle on right?' said Ptraci. 'It looks awfully funny.'
'It's on an awfully odd creature,' said Teppic. 'How do we climb on to it?'
'I've seen the camel drivers at work,' she replied. 'I think they just hit them very hard with a big stick.'
The camel knelt down and gave her a smug look.
Teppic shrugged, pulled open the doors to the outside world, and stared into the faces of five guards.
He backed away. They advanced. Three of them were holding the heavy Djel bows, which could propel an arrow through a door or turn a charging hippo into three tons of mobile kebab. The guards had never had to fire them at a fellow human, but looked as though they were prepared to entertain the idea.
The guard captain tapped one of the men on the shoulder, and said, 'Go and inform the high priest.'
He glared at Teppic.
'Throw down all your weapons,' he said.
'What, all of them?'
'Yes. All of them.'
'It might take some time,' said Teppic cautiously.
'And keep your hands where I can see them,' the captain added.
'We could be up against a real impasse here,' Teppic ventured. He looked from one guard to another. He knew a variety of methods of unarmed combat, but they all rather relied on the opponent not being about to fire an arrow straight through you as soon as you moved. But he could probably dive sideways, and once he had the cover of the camel stalls he could bide his time
And that would leave Ptraci exposed. Besides, he could hardly go around fighting his own guards. That wasn't acceptable behaviour, even for a king.
There was a movement behind the guards and Dios drifted into view, as silent and inevitable as an eclipse of the moon. He was holding a lighted torch, which reflected wild highlights on his bald head.
'Ah,' he said. 'The miscreants are captured. Well done.' He nodded to the captain. 'Throw them to the crocodiles.'
'Dios?' said Teppic, as two of the guards lowered their bows and bore down on him.
'Did you speak?'
'You know who I am, man. Don't be silly.'
The high priest raised the torch.
'You have the advantage of me, boy,' he said. 'Metaphorically speaking.'
'This is not funny,' said Teppic. 'I order you to tell them who I am.'
'As you wish. This assassin,' said Dios, and the voice had the cut and sear of a thermic lance, 'has killed the king.'