Pyramids

solitary drink. It doesn’t phone up old friends and sob at them. It doesn’t mope, or write long soulful poems about Life and how dreadful it is when seen from a bed-sitter. It doesn’t know what angst is .
    All a camel has got is a pair of industrial-strength lungs and a voice like a herd of donkeys being chainsawed.
    Teppic advanced through the blaring. You Bastard reared his head and turned it this way and that, triangulating. His eyes rolled madly as he did the camel trick of apparently looking at Teppic with his nostrils.
    He spat.
    He tried to spit.
    Teppic grabbed his halter and pulled on it.
    “Come on, you bastard,” he said. “There’s water. You can smell it. All you have to do is work out how to get there!”
    He turned to the assembled soldiers. They were staring at him with expressions of amazement, apart from those who hadn’t removed their helmets and who were staring at him with expressions of metallic ferocity.
    Teppic snatched a water skin from one of them, pulled out the stopper and tipped it onto the ground in front of the camel’s twitching nose.
    “There’s a river here,” he hissed. “You know where it is, all you’ve got to do is go there!”
    The soldiers looked around nervously. So did several Tsorteans, who had wandered up to see what was going on.
    You Bastard got to his feet, knees trembling, and started to spin around in a circle. Teppic clung on.
    …let d equal 4, thought You Bastard desperately. Let a.d equal 90. Let not-d equal 45…
    “I need a stick!” shouted Teppic, as he was whirled past the sergeant. “They never understand anything unless you hit them with a stick, it’s like punctuation to a camel!”
    “Is a sword any good?”
    “No!”
    The sergeant hesitated, and then passed Teppic his spear.
    He grabbed it point-end first, fought for balance, and then brought it smartly across the camel’s flank, raising a cloud of dust and hair.
    You Bastard stopped. His ears turned like radar aerials. He stared at the rock wall, rolling his eyes. Then, as Teppic grabbed a handful of hair and pulled himself up, the camel started to trot.
    …Think fractals …
    “’Ere, you’re going to run straight—” the sergeant began.
    There was silence. It went on for a long time.
    The sergeant shifted uneasily. Then he looked across the rocks to the Tsorteans, and caught the eye of their leader. With the unspoken understanding that is shared by centurions and sergeant-majors everywhere, they walked toward one another along the length of the rocks and stopped by the barely visible crack in the cliff.
    The Tsortean sergeant ran his hand over it.
    “You’d think there’d be some, you know, camel hairs or something,” he said.
    “Or blood,” said the Ephebian.
    “I reckon it’s one of them unexplainable phenomena.”
    “Oh. That’s all right, then.”
    The two men stared at the stone for a while.
    “Like a mirage,” said the Tsortean, helpfully.
    “One of them things, yes.”
    “I thought I heard a seagull, too.”
    “Daft, isn’t it. You don’t get them out here.”
    The Tsortean coughed politely, and stared back at his men. Then he leaned closer.
    “The rest of your people will be along directly, I expect,” he said.
    The Ephebian stepped a bit closer and when he spoke, it was out of the corner of his mouth while his eyes apparently remained fully occupied by looking at the rocks.
    “That’s right,” he said. “And yours too, may I ask?”
    “Yes. I expect we’ll have to massacre you if ours get here first.”
    “Likewise, I shouldn’t wonder. Still, can’t be helped.”
    “One of those things, really,” agreed the Tsortean.
    The other man nodded. “Funny old world, when you come to think about it.”
    “You’ve put your finger on it, all right.” The sergeant loosened his breastplate a bit, glad to be out of the sun. “Rations OK on your side?” he said.
    “Oh, you know. Mustn’t grumble.”
    “Like us, really.”
    “’Cos if you do grumble, they get even worse.”
    “Just like ours. Here, you haven’t got any figs on your side, have you? I could just do with a fig.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Just thought I’d ask.”
    “Got plenty of dates, if they’re any good to you.”
    “We’re OK on dates, thanks.”
    “Sorry.”
    The two men stood awhile, lost in their own thoughts. Then the Ephebian put on his helmet again, and the Tsortean adjusted his belt.
    “Right, then.”
    “Right, then.”
    They squared their shoulders, stuck