'Oh, the one where there's fat cows and thin cows?' said Ptraci.
'Yes. It's sort of ancestral.'
'It's a nuisance, I know that much. One of them's always grinning and playing a wimblehorn.'
'It looks like a trombone to me,' said Teppic.
'It's a ceremonial wimblehorn, if you look closely,' she said.
'Well, I expect everyone sees it a bit differently. I don't think it matters.' He sighed, and watched the Unnamed unloading. It seemed to have more than the expected number of feather mattresses, and several of the people wandering bemusedly down the gangplank were holding toolboxes and lengths of pipe.
'I think you're going to find it difficult,' said Ptraci. 'You can't say “All those who dream about cows please step forward”. It'd give the game away.'
'I can't just hang around until someone happens to mention it, can I? Be reasonable,' he snapped. 'How many people are likely to say, hey, I had this funny dream about cows last night? Apart from you, I mean.'
They stared at one another.
'And she's my sister?' said Teppic.
The priests nodded. It was left to Koomi to put it into words. He'd just spent ten minutes going through the files with the Mistress of the Women.
'Her mother was, er, your late father's favourite,' he said.
'He took a great deal of interest in her upbringing, as you know, and, er, it would appear that . . . yes. She may be your aunt, of course. The concubines are never very good at paperwork. But most likely your sister.'
She looked at him with tear-filled eyes.
'That doesn't make any difference, does it?' she whispered.
Teppic stared at his feet.
'Yes,' he said. 'I think it does, really.' He looked up at her. 'But you can be queen,' he added. He glared at the priests. 'Can't she,' he stated firmly.
The high priests looked at one another. Then they looked at Ptraci, who stood alone, her shoulders shaking. Small, palace trained, used to taking orders . . . They looked at Koomi.
'She would be ideal,' he said. There was a murmur of suddenly-confident agreement.
'There you are then,' said Teppic, consolingly.
She glared at him. He backed away.
'So I'll be off,' he said, 'I don't need to pack anything, it's all right.'
'Just like that?' she said. 'Is that all? Isn't there anything you're going to say?'
He hesitated, halfway to the door. You could stay, he told himself. It wouldn't work, though. It'd end up a terrible mess; you'd probably end up splitting the kingdom between you. Just because fate throws you together doesn't mean fate's got it right. Anyway, you've been forth.
'Camels are more important than pyramids,' he said slowly. 'It's something we should always remember.'
He ran for it while she was looking for something to throw.
The sun reached the peak of noon without beetles, and Koomi hovered by the throne like Hat, the Vulture-Headed God.
'It will please your majesty to confirm my succession as high priest,' he said.
'What?' Ptraci was sitting with her chin cupped in one hand. She waved the other hand at him. 'Oh. Yes. All right. Fine.'
'No trace has, alas, been found of Dios. We believe he was very close to the Great Pyramid when it . . . flared.'