'What, you mean the fabric of time and space being put through the wringer?' said IIa.
The architect gave his brother a look of faint admiration. It was an unusual remark for an accountant. Then his face returned to its previous look of faint terror.
'No, not that,' he said.
'Well, the sound of the very air itself being subjected to horrible tortures?'
'Not that, either,' said IIb, vaguely annoyed. 'I mean the creaking noise.'
Three more pyramids struck their discharges, which fizzled through the roiling clouds overhead and poured into the black marble above them.
'Can't hear anything like that,' said IIa.
'I think it's coming from the pyramid.'
'Well, you can put your ear against it if you like, but I'm not going to.'
The scaffolding swayed in the storm as they eased their way up another ladder, the heavy capstone rocking between them.
'I said we shouldn't do it,' muttered the accountant, as the stone slid gently on to his toes. 'We shouldn't have built this.'
'Just shut up and lift your end, will you?'
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.'
'I am the king, damn it,' said Teppic. 'How could I kill myself?'
'We are not stupid,' said Dios. 'These men know the king does not skulk the palace at night, or consort with condemned criminals. All that remains for us to find out is how you disposed of the body.'
His eyes fixed on Teppic's face, and Teppic realised that the high priest was, indeed, truly mad. It was the rare kind of madness caused by being yourself for so long that habits of sanity have etched themselves into the brain. I wonder how old he really is? he thought.
'These assassins are cunning creatures,' said Dios. 'Have a care of him.'
There was a crash beside the priest. Ptraci had tried to throw a camel prod, and missed.
When everyone looked back Teppic had vanished. The guards beside him were busy collapsing slowly to the floor, groaning.
Dios smiled.
'Take the woman,' he snapped, and the captain darted forward and grabbed Ptraci, who hadn't made any attempt to run away. Dios bent down and picked up the prod.
'There are more guards outside,' he said. 'I'm sure you will realise that. It will be in your interests to step forward.'
'Why?' said Teppic, from the shadows. He fumbled in his boot for his blowpipe.
'You will then be thrown to the sacred crocodiles, by order of the king,' said Dios.
'Something to look forward to, eh?' said Teppic, feverishly screwing bits together.
'It would certainly be preferable to many alternatives,' said Dios.
In the darkness Teppic ran his fingers over the little coded knobs on the darts. Most of the really spectacular poisons would have evaporated or dissolved into harmlessness by now, but there were a number of lesser potions designed to give their clients nothing more than a good night's sleep. An assassin might have to work his way to an inhume past a number of alert bodyguards. It was considered impolite to inhume them as well.
'You could let us go,' said Teppic. 'I suspect that's what you want, isn't it? For me to go away and never come back? That suits me fine.'
Dios hesitated.
'You're supposed to say «And let the girl go»,' he said.
'Oh, yes. And that, too,' said Teppic.
'No. I would be failing in my duty to the king,' said Dios.
'For goodness sake, Dios, you know I am the king!'
'No. I have a very clear picture of the king. You are not the king,' said the priest.
Teppic peered over the edge of the camel stall. The camel peered over his shoulder.
And then the world went mad.
All right, madder.
