Pyramids

'And, brethren — and sistren, of course — we must ask ourselves, we must ask ourselves, we, er, yes.' His voice waxed again with new confidence. 'Yes, we must ask ourselves why the gods are at hand. And without doubt it is because we have not been assiduous enough in our worship, we have, er, we have lusted after graven idols.'

The priests exchanged glances. Had they? How did you do it, actually?

'And, yes, and what about sacrifices? Time was when a sacrifice was a sacrifice, not some messing around with a chicken and flowers.'

This caused some coughing in the audience.

'Are we talking maidens here?' said one of the priests uncertainly.

'Ahem.'

'And inexperienced young men too, certainly,' he said quickly. Sarduk was one of the older goddesses, whose female worshippers got up to no good in sacred groves; the thought of her wandering around the landscape somewhere, bloody to the elbows, made the eyes water.

Koomi's heart thumped. 'Well, why not?' he said. 'Things were better then, weren't they?'

'But, er, I thought we stopped all that sort of thing. Population decline and so forth.'

There was a monstrous splash out in the river. Tzut, the Snake-Headed God of the Upper Djel, surfaced and regarded the assembled priesthood solemnly. Then Fhez, the Crocodile-Headed God of the Lower Djel, erupted beside him and made a spirited attempt at biting his head off. The two submerged in a column of spray and a minor tidal wave which slopped over the balcony.

'Ah, but maybe the population declined because we stopped sacrificing virgins — of both sexes, of course,' said Koomi, hurriedly. 'Have you ever thought of it like that?' They thought of it. Then they thought of it again.

'I don't think the king would approve-' said one of the priests cautiously.

'The king?' shouted Koomi. 'Where is the king? Show me the king! Ask Dios where the king is!'

There was a thud by his feet. He looked down in horror as the gold mask bounced, and rolled towards the priests. They scattered hurriedly, like skittles.

Dios strode out into the light of the disputed sun, his face grey with fury.

'The king is dead,' he said.

Koomi swayed under the sheer pressure of anger, but rallied magnificently.

'Then his successor-' he began.

'There is no successor,' said Dios. He stared up at the sky. Few people can look directly at the sun, but under the venom of Dios's gaze the sun itself might have flinched and looked away. Dios's eyes sighted down that fearsome nose like twin range finders.

To the air in general he said: 'Coming here as if they own the place. How dare they?'

Koomi's mouth dropped open. He started to protest, and a kilowatt stare silenced him.

Koomi sought support from the crowd of priests, who were busily inspecting their nails or staring intently into the middle distance. The message was clear. He was on his own. Although, if by some chance he won the battle of wills, he'd be surrounded by people assuring him that they had been behind him all along.

'Anyway, they do own the place,' he mumbled.

'What?'

'They, er, they do own the place, Dios,' Koomi repeated. His temper gave out. 'They're the sodding gods, Dios!'

'They're our gods,' Dios hissed. 'We're not their people. They're my gods and they will learn to do as they are instructed!'

Koomi gave up the frontal assault. You couldn't outstare that sapphire stare, you couldn't stand the war-axe nose and, most of all, no man could be expected to dent the surface of Dios's terrifying righteousness.

'But-' he managed.

Dios waved him into silence with a trembling hand.

'They've no right! ' he said. 'I did not give any orders! They have no right!'

'Then what are you going to do?' said Koomi.

Dios's hands opened and closed fitfully. He felt like a royalist might feel — a good royalist, a royalist who cut out pictures of all the Royals and stuck them in a scrapbook, a royalist who wouldn't hear a word said about them, they did such a good job and they can't answer back — if suddenly all the Royals turned up in his living room and started rearranging the furniture. He longed for the necropolis, and the cool silence among his old friends, and a quick sleep after which he'd be able to think so much more clearly . . .

Koomi's heart leapt. Dios's discomfort was a crack which, with due care and attention, could take a wedge. But you couldn't use a hammer. Head on, Dios could outfight the world.

The old man was shaking again. 'I do not presume to tell them how to run affairs in the Hereunder,' he said. 'They shall not presume to instruct me in how to run my kingdom.'

Koomi salted this treasonable statement away for further study and patted him gently on the back.

'You're right, of course,' he said. Dios's eyes swivelled.

'I am?' he said, suspiciously.