Pyramids

like a boudoir that had collided with a highly suspicious type of theater.
    In fact, you needed an assassin’s eyes for hidden detail to notice how innocently the gaudiness concealed the sleekness of the hull and the fact, even when you added the cabin space and the holds together, that there still seemed to be a lot of capacity unaccounted for. The water around what Ptraci called the pointed end was strangely rippled, but it would be totally ridiculous to suspect such an obvious merchantman of having a concealed ramming spike underwater, or that a mere five minutes’ work with an ax would turn this wallowing Alcázar into something that could run away from nearly everything else afloat and make the few that could catch up seriously regret it.
    “Very impressive,” said Teppic.
    “It’s all show, really,” said Chidder.
    “Yes. I can see that.”
    “I mean, we’re poor traders.”
    Teppic nodded. “The usual phrase is ‘poor but honest traders,’” he said.
    Chidder smiled a merchant’s smile. “Oh, I think we’ll stick on ‘poor’ at the moment. How the hell are you, anyway? Last we heard you were going off to be king of some place no one’s ever heard of. And who is this lovely young lady?”
    “Her na—” Teppic began.
    “Ptraci,” said Ptraci.
    “She’s a han—-” Teppic began.
    “She must surely be a royal princess,” said Chidder smoothly. “And it would give me the greatest pleasure if she, if indeed both of you, would dine with me tonight. Humble sailor’s fare, I’m afraid, but we muddle along, we muddle along.”
    “Not Ephebian, is it?” said Teppic.
    “Ship’s biscuit, salt beef, that sort of thing,” said Chidder, without taking his eyes off Ptraci. They hadn’t left her since she came on board.
    Then he laughed. It was the old familiar Chidder laugh, not exactly without humor, but clearly well under the control of its owner’s higher brain centers.
    “What an astonishing coincidence,” he said. “And us due to sail at dawn, too. Can I offer you a change of clothing? You both look somewhat, er, travel-stained.”
    “Rough sailor clothing, I expect,” said Teppic. “As befits a humble merchant, correct me if I’m wrong?”
    In fact Teppic was shown to a small cabin as exquisitely and carefully furnished as a jeweled egg, where there was laid upon the bed as fine an assortment of clothing as could be found anywhere on the Circle Sea. True, it all appeared secondhand, but carefully laundered and expertly stitched so that the sword cuts hardly showed at all. He gazed thoughtfully at the hooks on the wall, and the faint patching on the wood which hinted that various things had once been hung there and hastily removed.
    He stepped out into the narrow corridor, and met Ptraci. She’d chosen a red court dress such as had been the fashion in Ankh-Morpork ten years previously, with puffed sleeves and vast concealed underpinnings and ruffs the size of millstones.
    Teppic learned something new, which was that attractive women dressed in a few strips of gauze and a few yards of silk can actually look far more desirable when fully clad from neck to ankle. She gave an experimental twirl.
    “There are any amount of things like this in there,” she said. “Is this how women dress in Ankh-Morpork? It’s like wearing a house. It doesn’t half make you sweaty.”
    “Look, about Chidder,” said Teppic urgently. “I mean, he’s a good fellow and everything, but—”
    “He’s very kind, isn’t he,” she agreed.
    “Well. Yes. He is,” Teppic admitted, hopelessly. “He’s an old friend.”
    “That’s nice.”
    One of the crew materialized at the end of the corridor and bowed them into the state cabin, his air of old retainer-ship marred only by the criss-cross pattern of scars on his head and some tattoos that made the pictures in The Shuttered Palace look like illustrations in a DIY shelving manual. The things he could make them do by flexing his biceps could keep entire dockside taverns fascinated for hours, and he was not aware that the worst moment of his entire life was only a few minutes away.
    “This is all very pleasant,” said Chidder, pouring some wine. He nodded at the tattooed man. “You may serve the soup, Alfonz,” he added.
    “Look, Chiddy, you’re not a pirate, are you?” said Teppic, desperately.
    “Is that what’s been worrying you?” Chidder grinned his lazy grin.
    It wasn’t everything that Teppic had been worrying about, but it