Pyramids (Discworld 7)

Chidder wandered into one of the heraldic wooden hippopotami[10] that lined the seaward edge of the bridge, bounced off and flopped over the parapet.

'Feel sick,' he announced.

'Feel free,' said Arthur, 'that's what the river's for.'

Teppic sighed. He was attached to rivers, which he felt were designed to have water lilies on top and crocodiles underneath, and the Ankh always depressed him because if you put a water lily in it, it would dissolve. It drained the huge silty plains all the way to the Ramtop mountains, and by the time it had passed through Ankh-Morpork, pop. One million, it could only be called a liquid because it moved faster than the land around it; actually being sick in it would probably make it, on average, marginally cleaner.

He stared down at the thin trickle that oozed between the central pillars, and then raised his gaze to the grey horizon.

'Sun's coming up,' he announced.

'Don't remember eating that,' muttered Chidder.

Teppic stepped back, and a knife ripped past his nose and buried itself in the buttocks of the hippo next to him.

Five figures stepped out of the mists. The three assassins instinctively drew together.

'You come near me, you'll really regret it,' moaned Chidder, clutching his stomach. 'The cleaning bill will be horrible.'

'Well now, what have we here?' said the leading thief. This is the sort of thing that gets said in these circumstances.

'Thieves' Guild, are you?' said Arthur.

'No,' said the leader, 'we're the small and unrepresentative minority that gets the rest a bad name. Give us your valuables and weapons, please. This won't make any difference to the outcome, you understand. It's just that corpse robbing is unpleasant and degrading.'

'We could rush them,' said Teppic, uncertainly.

'Don't look at me,' said Arthur, 'I couldn't find my arse with an atlas.'

'You'll really be sorry when I'm sick,' said Chidder. Teppic was aware of the throwing knives stuffed up either sleeve, and that the chances of him being able to get hold of one in time still to be alive to throw it were likely to be very small.

At times like this religious solace is very important. He turned and looked towards the sun, just as it withdrew from the cloudbanks of the dawn.

There was a tiny dot in the centre of it.

The late King Teppicymon XXVII opened his eyes.

hadn't been any doubt about Arthur passing. He'd been given extra tuition and was allowed to use really complicated poisons. He was probably going to stay on for post-graduate work.

They waited until the gongs of the city struck two. Clock work was not a precise technology in Ankh-Morpork, and many of the city's variuos communities had their own ideas of what constituted an hour in any case, so the chimes went on bouncing around the rooftops for five minutes.

When it was obvious that the city's consensus was in favour of it being well past two the three of them stopped looking silently at their shoes.

'Well, that's it,' said Chidder.

'Poor old Cheesewright,' said Arthur. 'It's tragic, when you think about it.'

'Yes, he owed me fourpence,' agreed Chidder. 'Come on. I've arranged something for us.'

King Teppicymon XXVII got out of bed and clapped his hands over his ears to shut out the roar of the sea. It was strong tonight.

It was always louder when he was feeling out of sorts. He needed something to distract himself. He could send for Ptraci, his favourite handmaiden. She was special. Her singing always cheered him up. Life seemed so much brighter when she stopped.

Or there was the sunrise. That was always comforting. It was pleasant to sit wrapped in a blanket on the topmost roof of the palace, watching the mists lift from the river as the golden flood poured over the land. You got that warm, contented feeling of another job well done. Even if you didn't actually know how you'd done it . . .

He got up, shuffled on his slippers, and padded out of his bedroom and down the wide corridor that led to the huge spiral stairs and the roof. A few rushlights illuminated the statues of the other local gods, painting the walls with shifting shadow pictures of things dog-headed, fish-bodied, spider-armed. He'd known them since childhood. His juvenile nightmares would have been quite formless without them.

The sea. He'd only seen it once, when he was a boy. He couldn't recall a lot about it, except the size. And the noise. And the seagulls.