Pyramids

consideration he added, L O ! M ILEAGE .
    He was just brushing in G OOD R UNER when Teppic staggered in and leaned, panting, against the doorframe. Pools of water formed around his feet.
    “I’ve come for my camel,” he said.
    Krona sighed.
    “Last night you said you’d be back in an hour,” he said. “I’m going to have to charge you for a whole day’s livery, right? Plus I gave him a rub down and did his feet, the full service. That’ll be five ceres , OK emir?”
    “Ah.” Teppic patted his pocket.
    “Look,” he said. “I left home in a bit of a hurry, you see. I don’t seem to have any cash on me.”
    “Fair enough, emir.” Krona turned back to his board. “How do you spell Y EARS W ARENTY ?”
    “I will definitely have the money sent to you,” said Teppic.
    Krona gave him the withering smile of one who has seen it all—asses with bodywork re-haired, elephants with plaster tusks, camels with false humps glued on—and knows the festering depths of the human soul when it gets down to business.
    “Pull the other one, rajah,” he said. “It has got bells on.”
    Teppic fumbled in his tunic.
    “I could give you this valuable knife,” he said.
    Krona gave it a passing glance, and sniffed.
    “Sorry, emir. No can do. No pay, no camel.”
    “I could give it to you point first,” said Teppic desperately, knowing that the mere threat would get him expelled from the Guild. He was also aware that as a threat it wasn’t very good. Threats weren’t on the syllabus at the Guild school.
    Whereas Krona had, sitting on straw bales at the back of the stables, a couple of large men who were just beginning to take an interest in the proceedings. They looked like Alfonz’s older brothers.
    Every vehicle depot of any description anywhere in the multiverse has them. They’re never exactly grooms or mechanics or customers or staff. Their function is always unclear. They chew straws or smoke cigarettes in a surreptitious fashion. If there are such things as newspapers around, they read them, or at least look at the pictures.
    They started to watch Teppic closely. One of them picked up a couple of bricks and began to toss them up and down.
    “You’re a young lad, I can see that,” said Krona, kindly. “You’re just starting out in life, emir. You don’t want trouble.” He stepped forward.
    You Bastard’s huge shaggy head turned to look at him. In the depths of his brain columns of little numbers whirred upward again.
    “Look, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to have my camel back,” said Teppic. “It’s life and death!”
    Krona waved a hand at the two extraneous men.
    You Bastard kicked him. You Bastard had very concise ideas about people putting their hands in his mouth. Besides, he’d seen the bricks, and every camel knew what two bricks added up to. It was a good kick, toes well spread, powerful and deceptively slow. It picked Krona up and delivered him neatly into a steaming heap of Augean stable sweepings.
    Teppic ran, kicked away from the wall, grabbed You Bastard’s dusty coat and landed heavily on his neck.
    “I’m very sorry,” he said, to such of Krona as was visible. “I really will have some money sent to you.”
    You Bastard, at this point, was waltzing around and around in a circle. Krona’s companions stayed well back as feet like plates whirred through the air.
    Teppic leaned forward and hissed into one madly-waving ear.
    “We’re going home,” he said.

    They had chosen the first pyramid at random. The king peered at the cartouche on the door.
    “‘Blessed is Queen Far-re-ptah,’” read Dil dutifully, “‘Ruler of the Skies, Lord of the Djel, Master of—’”
    “Grandma Pooney,” said the king. “She’ll do.” He looked at their startled faces. “That’s what I used to call her when I was a little boy. I couldn’t pronounce Far-re-ptah, you see. Well, go on then. Stop gawking. Break the door down.”
    Gern hefted the hammer uncertainly.
    “It’s a pyramid, master,” he said, appealing to Dil. “You’re not supposed to open them.”
    “What do you suggest, lad? We stick a tableknife in the slot and wiggle it about?” said the king.
    “Do it, Gern,” said Dil. “It will be all right.”
    Gern shrugged, spat on his hands which were, in fact, quite damp enough with the sweat of terror, and swung.
    “Again,” said the king.
    The great slab boomed as the hammer hit it, but it was granite, and held. A few flakes of mortar floated down, and then the