Pyramids

of the rest of the universe, drifting away from the general consensus that is dignified by the name of reality, the power of belief was making itself felt.
    For seven thousand years the people of Djelibeybi had believed in their gods.
    Now their gods existed. They had, as it were, the complete Set.
    And the people of the Old Kingdom were learning that, for example, Vut the Dog-Headed God of the Evening looks a lot better painted on a pot than he does when all seventy feet of him, growling and stinking, is lurching down the street outside.
    Dios sat in the throne room, the gold mask of the king on his knees, staring out across the somber air. The cluster of lesser priests around the door finally plucked up the courage to approach him, in the same general frame of mind as you would approach a growling lion. No one is more worried by the actual physical manifestation of a god than his priests; it’s like having the auditors in unexpectedly.
    Only Koomi stood a little aside from the others. He was thinking hard. Strange and original thoughts were crowding along rarely-trodden neural pathways, heading in unthinkable directions. He wanted to see where they led.
    “O Dios,” murmured the high priest of Ket, the Ibis-Headed God of Justice. “What is the king’s command? The gods are striding the land, and they are fighting and breaking houses, O Dios. Where is the king? What would he have us do?”
    “Yea,” said the high priest of Scrab, the Pusher of the Ball of the Sun. He felt something more was expected of him. “And verily,” he added, “Your lordship will have noticed that the sun is wobbling, because all the Gods of the Sun are fighting for it and—” he shuffled his feet—“the blessed Scrab made a strategic withdrawal and has, er, made an unscheduled landing on the town of Hort. A number of buildings broke his fall.”
    “And rightly so,” said the high priest of Thrrp, the Charioteer of the Sun. “For, as all know, my master is the true god of the—”
    His words tailed off.
    Dios was trembling, his body rocking slowly back and forth. His eyes stared at nothing. His hands gripped the mask almost hard enough to leave fingerprints in the gold, and his lips soundlessly shaped the words of the Ritual of the Second Hour, which had been said at this time for thousands of years.
    “I think it’s the shock,” said one of the priests. “You know, he’s always been so set in his ways.”
    The others hastened to show that there was at least something they could advise on.
    “Fetch him a glass of water.”
    “Put a paper bag over his head.”
    “Sacrifice a chicken under his nose.”
    There was a high-pitched whistling noise, the distant crump of an explosion, and a long hissing. A few tendrils of steam curled into the room.
    The priests rushed to the balcony, leaving Dios in his unnerving pool of trauma, and found that the crowds around the palace were staring at the sky.
    “It would appear,” said the high priest of Cephut, God of Cutlery, who felt that he could take a more relaxed view of the immediate situation, “that Thrrp has fumbled it and has fallen to a surprise tackle from Jeht, Boatman of the Solar Orb.”
    There was a distant buzzing, as of several billion blue-bottles taking off in a panic, and a huge dark shape passed over the palace.
    “But,” said the high priest of Cephut, “here comes Scrab again…yes, he’s gaining height…Jeht hasn’t seen him yet, he’s progressing confidently toward the meridian…and here comes Sessifet, Goddess of the Afternoon! This is a surprise! What a surprise this is! A young goddess, yet to make her mark, but my word, what a lot of promise there, this is an astonishing bid, eunuchs and gentlemen, and…yes…Scrab has fumbled it! He’s fumbled it!…”
    The shadows danced and spun on the stones of the balcony.
    “…and…what’s this? The elder gods are, there’s no other word for it, they’re cooperating against these brash newcomers! But plucky young Sessifet is hanging in there, she’s exploiting the weakness…she’s in!…and pulling away now, pulling away, Gil and Scrab appear to be fighting, she’s got a clear sky and, yes, yes…yes!…it’s noon! It’s noon! It’s noon !”
    Silence. The priest was aware that everyone was staring at him.
    Then someone said, “Why are you shouting into that bulrush?”
    “Sorry. Don’t know what came over me there.”
    The priestess of Sarduk, Goddess of Caves, snorted at