Pyramids

if we could just hold this as well…”
    “What is it?”
    “The Honeycomb of Increase, sire. Very important.”
    Teppic juggled it into position.
    “I expect you’ve seen a lot of changes,” he said politely.
    A look of pain passed over the old priest’s face, but quickly, as if it was in a hurry to get away. “No, sire,” he said smoothly, “I have been very fortunate.”
    “Oh. What’s this?”
    “The Sheaf of Plenty, sire. Extremely significant, very symbolic.”
    “If you could just tuck it under my arm, then…Have you ever heard of plumbing, Dios?”
    The priest snapped his fingers at one of the attendants. “No, sire,” he said, and leaned forward. “This is the Asp of Wisdom. I’ll just tuck it in here, shall I?”
    “It’s like buckets, but not as, um, smelly.”
    “Sounds dreadful, sire. The smell keeps bad influences away, I have always understood. This, sire, is the Gourd of the Waters of the Heavens. If we could just raise our chin…”
    “This is all necessary, is it?” said Teppic indistinctly.
    “It is traditional, sire. If we could just rearrange things a little, sire…here is the Three-Pronged Spear of the Waters of the Earth; I think we will be able to get this finger around it. We shall have to see about our marriage, sire.”
    “I’m not sure we would be compatible, Dios.”
    The high priest smiled with his mouth. “Sire is pleased to jest, sire,” he said urbanely. “However, it is essential that you marry.”
    “I am afraid all the girls I know are in Ankh-Morpork,” said Teppic airily, knowing in his heart that this broad statement referred to Mrs. Collar, who had been his bedder in the sixth form, and one of the serving wenches who’d taken a shine to him and always gave him extra gravy. (But…and his blood pounded at the memory…there had been the annual Assassins’ Ball and, because the young assassins were trained to move freely in society and were expected to dance well, and because well-cut black silk and long legs attracted a certain type of older woman, they’d whirled the night away through baubons, galliards and slow-stepping pavonines, until the air thickened with musk and hunger. Chidder, whose simple open face and easygoing manner were a winner every time, came back to bed very late for days afterward and tended to fall asleep during lessons…)
    “Quite unsuitable, sire. We would require a consort well-versed in the observances. Of course, our aunt is available, sire.”
    There was a clatter. Dios sighed, and motioned the attendants to pick things up.
    “If we could just begin again, sire? This is the Cabbage of Vegetative Increase—”
    “Sorry,” said Teppic, “I didn’t hear you say I should marry my aunt, did I?”
    “You did, sire. Interfamilial marriage is a proud tradition of our lineage,” said Dios.
    “But my aunt is my aunt ”
    Dios rolled his eyes. He’d advised the late king repeatedly about the education of his son, but the man was stubborn, stubborn. Now he’d have to do it on the fly. The gods were testing him, he decided. It took decades to make a monarch, and he had weeks to do it in.
    “Yes, sire,” he said patiently. “Of course. And she is also your uncle, your cousin and your father.”
    “Hold on. My father—”
    The priest raised his hand soothingly. “A technicality,” he said. “Your great-great-grandmother once declared she is king as a matter of political expediency and I don’t believe the edict is ever rescinded.”
    “But she was a woman, though?”
    Dios looked shocked. “Oh no, sire. She is a man. She herself declared this.”
    “But look, a chap’s aunt—”
    “Quite so, sire. I quite understand.”
    “Well, thank you,” said Teppic.
    “It is a great shame that we have no sisters.”
    “Sisters!”
    “It does not do to water the divine blood, sire. The sun might not like it. Now this , sire, is the Scapula of Hygiene. Where would you like it put?”

    King Teppicymon XXVII was watching himself being stuffed. It was just as well he didn’t feel hunger these days. Certainly he would never want to eat chicken again.
    “Very nice stitching there, master.”
    “Just keep your finger still, Gern.”
    “My mother does stitching like that. She’s got a pinny with stitching like that, has our mum,” said Gern conversationally.
    “Keep it still, I said.”
    “It’s got all ducks and hens on it,” Gern supplied helpfully.
    Dil concentrated on the job in hand. It was good