Pyramids (Discworld 7)

'Yes, sire - Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, bids you declare your guilt!'

The girl shook herself out of the guards' grip and faced Teppic, trembling with terror.

'He told me he didn't want to be buried in a pyramid,' she said. 'He said the idea of those millions of tons of rock on top of him gave him nightmares. I don't want to die yet!'

'You refuse to gladly take the poison?' said Dios.

'Yes!'

'But, child,' said Dios, 'then the king will have you put to death anyway. Surely it is better to go honourably, to a worthy life in the netherworld?'

'I don't want to be a servant in the netherworld!'

There was a groan of horror from the assembled priests. Dios nodded.

'Then the Eater of Souls will take you,' he said. 'Sire, we look to your judgement.'

Teppic realised he was staring at the girl. There was something hauntingly familiar about her which he couldn't quite put his finger on. 'Let her go,' he said.

'His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, has spoken! Tomorrow at dawn you will be cast to the crocodiles of the river. Great is the wisdom of the king!'

Ptraci turned and glared at Teppic. He said nothing. He did not dare, for fear of what it might become.

She went away quietly, which was worse than sobbing or shouting.

'That is the last case, sire,' said Dios.

'I will retire to my quarters,' said Teppic coldly. 'I have much to think about.'

'Therefore I will have dinner sent in,' said the priest. 'It will be roast chicken.'

'I hate chicken.'

Dios smiled. 'No, sire. On Wednesdays the king always enjoys chicken, sire.'

The pyramids flared. The light they cast on the landscape was curiously subdued, grainy, almost grey, but over the capstone of each tomb a zigzag flame crackled towards the sky.

A faint click of metal and stone sprang Ptraci from a fitful doze into extreme wakefulness. She stood up very carefully and crept towards the window.

Unlike proper cell windows, which should be large and airy and requiring only the removal of a few inconvenient iron bars to ensure the escape of any captives, this window was a slit six inches wide. Seven thousand years had taught the kings along the Djel that cells should be designed to keep prisoners in. The only way they could get out through this slit was in bits.

But there was a shadow against the pyramid light, and a voice said, 'Psst.'

She flattened herself against the wall and tried to reach up to the slit.

'Who are you?'

'I'm here to help you. Oh damn. Do they call this a window? Look, I'm lowering a rope.'

A thick silken cord, knotted at intervals, dropped past her shoulder. She stared at it for a second or two, and then kicked off her curly-toed shoes and climbed up it.

The face on the other side of the slit was half-concealed by a black hood, but she could just make out a worried expression.

'Don't despair,' it said.

'I wasn't despairing. I was trying to get some sleep.'

'Oh. Pardon me, I'm sure. I'll just go away and leave you, shall I?'