Pyramids

echoes came back, shunting back and forth along the dead avenues of the necropolis.
    “Again.”
    Gern’s biceps moved like turtles in grease.
    This time there was an answering boom, such as might be caused by a heavy lid crashing to the ground, far away.
    They stood in silence, listening to a slow shuffling noise from inside the pyramid.
    “Shall I hit it again, sire?” said Gern. They both waved him into silence.
    The shuffling grew closer.
    Then the stone moved. It stuck once or twice, but nevertheless it moved, slowly, pivoting on one side so that a crack of dark shadow appeared. Dil could just make out a darker shape in the blackness.
    “Yes?” it said.
    “It’s me, Grandma,” said the king.
    The shadow stood motionless.
    “What, young Pootle?” it said, suspiciously.
    The king avoided Dil’s face.
    “That’s right, Grandma. We’ve come to let you out.”
    “Who’re these men?” said the shadow petulantly. “I’ve got nothing, young man,” she said to Gern. “I don’t keep any money in the pyramid and you can put that weapon away, it doesn’t frighten me.”
    “They’re servants, Grandma,” said the king.
    “Have they got any identification?” muttered the old lady.
    “ I’m identifying them, Grandma. We’ve come to let you out.”
    “I was hammering hours ,” said the late queen, emerging into the sunlight. She looked exactly like the king, except that the mummy wrappings were grayer and dusty. “I had to go and have a lie down, come the finish. No one cares about you when you’re dead. Where’re we going?”
    “To let the others out,” said the king.
    “Damn good idea.” The old queen lurched into step behind him.
    “So this is the Netherworld, is it?” she said. “Not much of an improvement.” She elbowed Gern sharply. “You dead too, young man?”
    “No, ma’am,” said Gern, in the shaky brave tones of someone on a tightrope over the chasms of madness.
    “It’s not worth it. Be told.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    The king shuffled across the ancient pavings to the next pyramid.
    “I know this one,” said the queen. “It was here in my day. King Ashk-ur-men-tep. Third Empire. What’s the hammer for, young man?”
    “Please, ma’am, I have to hammer on the door, ma’am,” said Gern.
    “You don’t have to knock. He’s always in.”
    “My assistant means to smash the seals, ma’am,” said Dil, anxious to please.
    “Who’re you?” the queen demanded.
    “My name is Dil, O queen. Master embalmer.”
    “Oh, you are, are you? I’ve got some stitching wants seeing to.”
    “It will be an honor and a privilege, O queen,” said Dil.
    “Yes. It will,” she said, and turned creakily to Gern. “Hammer away, young man!” she said.
    Spurred by this, Gern brought the hammer around in a long, fast arc. It passed in front of Dil’s nose making a noise like a partridge and smashed the seal into pieces.
    What emerged, when the dust had settled, was not dressed in the height of fashion. The bandages were brown and moldering and, Dil noticed with professional concern, already beginning to go at the elbows. When it spoke, it was like the opening of ancient caskets.
    “I woket up,” it said. “And theyre was noe light. Is thys the Netherworld?”
    “It would appear not,” said the queen.
    “Thys is all ?’
    “Hardly worth the trouble of dying, was it?” said the queen.
    The ancient king nodded, but gently, as though he was afraid his head would fall off.
    “Somethyng,” he said, “must be done.”
    He turned to look at the Great Pyramid, and pointed with what had once been an arm.
    “Who slepes there?” he said.
    “It’s mine, actually,” said Teppicymon, lurching forward. “I don’t think we’ve met, I haven’t been interred as yet, my son built it for me. It was against my better judgment, believe me.”
    “It ys a dretful thyng,” said the ancient king. “I felt its building. Even in the sleep of deathe I felt it. It is big enough to interr the worlde.”
    “I wanted to be buried at sea,” said Teppicymon. “I hate pyramids.”
    “You do not,” said Ashk-ur-men-tep.
    “Excuse me, but I do,” said the king, politely.
    “But you do not. What you feel nowe is myld dislike. When you have lain in one for a thousand yeares,” said the ancient one, “ then you will begin to know the meaning of hate.”
    Teppicymon shuddered.
    “The sea,” he said. “That’s the place. You just dissolve away.”
    They set off toward the next