Pyramids

dust, the block rose gently until it bobbed a few feet off the ground, held in check by mooring ropes.
    That was all there was to it. Teppic had expected some thunder, or at least a gout of flame. But already the workers were clustering around another block, and a couple of men were towing the first block down toward the site.
    “Very impressive,” he said sadly.
    “Indeed, sire,” said Dios. “And now, we must go back to the palace. It will soon be time for the Ceremony of the Third Hour.”
    “Yes, yes, all right,” snapped Teppic. “Very well done, Ptaclusp. Keep up the good work.”
    Ptaclusp bowed like a seesaw in flustered excitement and confusion.
    “Very good, your sire,” he said, and decided to go for the big one. “May I show your sire the latest plans?”
    “The king has approved the plans already,” said Dios. “And, excuse me if I am mistaken, but it seems that the pyramid is well under construction.”
    “Yes, yes, but,” said Ptaclusp, “it occurred to us, this avenue here, you see, overlooking the entrance, what a place, we thought, for a statue of for instance Hat the Vulture-Headed God of Unexpected Guests at practically cost—”
    Dios glanced at the sketches.
    “Are those supposed to be wings?” he said.
    “Not even cost, not even cost, tell you what I’ll do—” said Ptaclusp desperately.
    “Is that a nose?” said Dios.
    “More a beak, more a beak,” said Ptaclusp. “Look, O priest, how about—”
    “I think not,” said Dios. “No. I really think not.” He scanned the quarry for Teppic, groaned, thrust the sketches into the builder’s hands and started to run.
    Teppic had strolled down the path to the waiting chariots, looking wistfully at the bustle around him, and paused to watch a group of workers who were dressing a corner piece. They froze when they felt his gaze on them, and stood sheepishly watching him.
    “Well, well,” said Teppic, inspecting the stone, although all he knew about stonemasonry could have been chiseled on a sand grain. “What a splendid piece of rock.”
    He turned to the nearest man, whose mouth fell open.
    “You’re a stonemason, are you?” he said. “That must be a very interesting job.”
    The man’s eyes bulged. He dropped his chisel. “Erk,” he said.
    A hundred yards away Dios’s robes flapped around his legs as he pounded down the path. He grasped the hem and galloped along, sandals flapping.
    “What’s your name?” said Teppic. “Aaaargle,” said the man, terrified.
    “Well, jolly good,” said Teppic, and took his unresisting hand and shook it.
    “Sire!” Dios bellowed. “No!”
    And the mason spun away, holding his right hand by the wrist, fighting it, screaming…

    Teppic gripped the arms of the throne and glared at the high priest.
    “But it’s a gesture of fellowship, nothing more. Where I come from—”
    “ Where you come from, sire, is here! ” thundered Dios.
    “But, good grief, cutting it off? It’s too cruel!”
    Dios stepped forward. Now his voice was back to its normal oil-smooth tones.
    “Cruel, sire? But it will be done with precision and care, with drugs to take away the pain. He will certainly live.”
    “But why ?”
    “I did explain, sire. He cannot use the hand again without defiling it. He is a devout man and knows this very well. You see, sire, you are a god , sire.”
    “But you can touch me. So can the servants!”
    “I am a priest, sire,” said Dios gently. “And the servants have special dispensation.”
    Teppic bit his lip.
    “This is barbaric,” he said.
    Dios’s features did not move.
    “It will not be done,” Teppic said. “I am the king. I forbid it to be done, do you understand?”
    Dios bowed. Teppic recognized No. 49, Horrified Disdain.
    “Your wish will certainly be done, O fountain of all wisdom. Although, of course, the man himself may take matters into, if you will excuse me, his own hands.”
    “What do you mean?” snapped Teppic.
    “Sire, if his colleagues had not stopped him he would have done it himself. With a chisel, I understand.”
    Teppic stared at him and thought, I am a stranger in a familiar land.
    “I see,” he said eventually.
    He thought a little further.
    “Then the—operation is to be done with all care, and the man is to be given a pension afterward, d’you see?”
    “As you wish, sire.”
    “A proper one, too.”
    “Indeed, sire. A golden handshake, sire,” said Dios impassively.
    “And perhaps we can find him some