Pyramids

going to have more than enough time for that.
    “I think it brings out the best in him, O commander of the heavens,” said the head sculptor.
    “ Makes me look like a constipated wax dolly .”
    Teppic cocked his head on one side.
    “Yes,” he said, uncertainly. “Yes. Er. Well done.”
    He half-turned to look through the doorway again.
    Dios nodded to the guards on either side of the passageway.
    “If you will excuse me, sire,” he said urbanely.
    “Hmm?”
    “The guards will continue their search.”
    “Right. Oh—”
    Dios bore down on Ptraci’s casket, flanked by guards. He gripped the lid, thrust it backward, and said, “Behold! What do we find?”
    Dil and Gern joined him. They looked inside.
    “Wood shavings,” said Dil.
    Gern sniffed. “They smell nice, though,” he said.
    Dios’s fingers drummed on the lid. Teppic had never seen him at a loss before. The man actually started tapping the sides of the case, apparently seeking any hidden panels.
    He closed the lid carefully and looked blankly at Teppic, who for the first time was very glad that the mask didn’t reveal his expression.
    “ She’s not in there ,” said the old king. “ She got out for a call of nature when the men went to have their breakfast .”
    She must have climbed out, Teppic told himself. So where is she now?
    Dios scanned the room carefully and then, after swinging slowly backward and forward like a compass needle, his eyes fixed on the king’s mummy case. It was big. It was roomy. There was a certain inevitability about it.
    He crossed the room in a couple of strides and heaved it open.
    “ Don’t bother to knock ,” the king grumbled. “ It’s not as if I’m going anywhere .”
    Teppic risked a look. The mummy of the king was quite alone.
    “Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Dios?” he said.
    “Yes, sire. We cannot be too careful, sire. Clearly they are not here, sire.”
    “You look as if you could do with a breath of fresh air,” said Teppic, upbraiding himself for doing this but doing it, nevertheless. Dios at a loss was an awe-inspiring sight, and slightly disconcerting; it made one instinctively fear for the stability of things.
    “Yes, sire. Thank you, sire.”
    “Have a sit down and someone will bring you a glass of water. And then we will go and inspect the pyramid.”
    Dios sat down.
    There was a terrible little splintering noise.
    “ He’s sat on the boat ,” said the king. “ First humorous thing I’ve ever seen him do .”

    The pyramid gave a new meaning to the word “massive.” It bent the landscape around it. It seemed to Teppic that its very weight was deforming the shape of things, stretching the kingdom like a lead ball on a rubber sheet.
    He knew that was a ridiculous idea. Big though the pyramid was, it was tiny compared to, say, a mountain.
    But big, very big, compared to anything else. Anyway, mountains were meant to be big, the fabric of the universe was used to the idea. The pyramid was a made thing, and much bigger than a made thing ought to be.
    It was also very cold. The black marble of its sides was shining white with frost in the roasting afternoon sun. He was foolish enough to touch it and left a layer of skin on the surface.
    “It’s freezing!”
    “It’s storing already, O breath of the river,” said Ptaclusp, who was sweating. “It’s the wossname, the boundary effect.”
    “I note that you have ceased work on the burial chambers,” said Dios.
    “The men…the temperature…boundary effects…a bit too much to risk…” muttered Ptaclusp. “Er.”
    Teppic looked from one to the other.
    “What’s the matter?” he said. “Are there problems?”
    “Er,” said Ptaclusp.
    “You’re way ahead of schedule. Marvelous work,” said Teppic. “You’ve put a tremendous amount of labor on the job.”
    “Er. Yes. Only.”
    There was silence except for the distant sounds of men at work, and the faint noise of the air sizzling where it touched the pyramid.
    “It’s bound to be all right when we get the capstone on,” the pyramid builder managed eventually. “Once it’s flaring properly, no problem. Er.”
    He indicated the electrum capstone. It was surprisingly small, only a foot or so across, and rested on a couple of trestles.
    “We should be able to put it on tomorrow,” said Ptaclusp. “Would your sire still be honoring us with the capping-out ceremony?” In his nervousness he gripped the hem of his robe and began to twist it.