Pyramids

out their chins, and marched away. A moment later they turned about smartly and, exchanging the merest flicker of an embarrassed grin, headed back to their own sides.

 
    Teppic had expected—
    —what?
    Possibly the splat of flesh hitting rock. Possibly, although this was on the very edge of expectation, the sight of the Old Kingdom spread out below him.
    He hadn’t expected chilly, damp mists.
    It is now known to science that there are many more dimensions than the classical four. Scientists say that these don’t normally impinge on the world because the extra dimensions are very small and curve in on themselves, and that since reality is fractal most of it is tucked inside itself. This means either that the universe is more full of wonders than we can hope to understand or, more probably, that scientists make things up as they go along.
    But the multiverse is full of little dimensionettes, playstreets of creation where creatures of the imagination can romp without being knocked down by serious actuality. Sometimes, as they drift through the holes in reality, they impinge back on this universe, when they give rise to myths, legends and charges of being Drunk and Disorderly.
    And it was into one of these that You Bastard, by a trivial miscalculation, had trotted.
    Legend had got it nearly right. The Sphinx did lurk on the borders of the kingdom. The legend just hadn’t been precise about what kind of borders it was talking about.
    The Sphinx is an unreal creature. It exists solely because it has been imagined. It is well known that in an infinite universe everything that can be imagined must exist somewhere, and since many of them are not things that ought to exist in a well-ordered space-time frame they get shoved into a side dimension. This may go some way to explaining the Sphinx’s chronic bad temper, although any creature created with the body of a lion, bosom of a woman and wings of an eagle has a serious identity crisis and doesn’t need much to make it angry.
    So it had devised the Riddle.
    Across various dimensions it had provided the Sphinx with considerable entertainment and innumerable meals.
    This was not known to Teppic as he led You Bastard through the swirling mists, but the bones he crunched underfoot gave him enough essential detail.
    A lot of people had died here. And it was reasonable to assume that the more recent ones had seen the remains of the earlier ones, and would therefore have proceeded stealthily. And that hadn’t worked.
    No sense in creeping along, then. Besides, some of the rocks that loomed out of the mists had a very distressing shape. This one here, for example, looked exactly like—
    “Halt,” said the Sphinx.
    There was no sound but the drip of the mist and the occasional sucking noise of You Bastard trying to extract moisture from the air.
    “You’re a sphinx,” said Teppic.
    “ The Sphinx ,” corrected the Sphinx.
    “Gosh. We’ve got any amount of statues to you at home.” Teppic looked up, and then further up. “I thought you’d be smaller,” he added.
    “Cower, mortal,” said the Sphinx. “For thou art in the presence of the wise and the terrible.” It blinked. “Any good, these statues?”
    “They don’t do you justice,” said Teppic, truthfully.
    “Do you really think so? People often get the nose wrong,” said the Sphinx. “My right profile is best, I’m told, and—” It dawned on the Sphinx that it was sidetracking itself. It coughed sternly.
    “Before you can pass me, O mortal,” it said, “you must answer my riddle.”
    “Why?” said Teppic.
    “What?” The Sphinx blinked at him. It hadn’t been designed for this sort of thing.
    “Why? Why? Because. Er. Because, hang on, yes, because I will bite your head off if you don’t. Yes, I think that’s it.”
    “Right,” said Teppic. “Let’s hear it, then.”
    The Sphinx cleared its throat with a noise like an empty lorry reversing in a quarry.
    “What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?” said the Sphinx smugly.
    Teppic considered this.
    “That’s a tough one,” he said, eventually.
    “The toughest,” said the Sphinx.
    “Um.”
    “You’ll never get it.”
    “Ah,” said Teppic.
    “Could you take your clothes off while you’re thinking? The threads play merry hell with my teeth.”
    “There isn’t some kind of animal that regrows legs that have been—”
    “Entirely the wrong track,” said the Sphinx, stretching