Pyramids

by Terry Pratchett

Page 39

 

  The ancestors dropped away, sliding back down the pyramid as fast as they had climbed it, leaving Teppic alone on a few square feet of rock.

  A couple of stars came out.

  He saw white shapes below as the ancestors hurried away on some private errand of their own, lurching at a surprising speed towards the broad band of the river.

  The gods abandoned their interest in Dios, this strange little human with the stick and the cracked voice. The nearest god, a crocodile-headed thing, jerked on to the plaza before the pyramid, squinted up at Teppic, and reached out towards him. Teppic fumbled for a knife, wondering what sort was appropriate for gods .

  And, along the Djel, the pyramids began to flare their meagre store of hoarded time.

  Priests and ancestors fled as the ground began to shake. Even the gods looked bewildered.

  IIb snatched his fathers arm and dragged him away.

  Come on! he yelled into his ear. We cant be around here when it goes off! Otherwise youll be put to bed on a coathanger!

  Around them several other pyramids struck their flares, thin and reedy affairs that were barely visible in the afterglow.

  Dad! I said weve got to go!

  Ptaclusp was dragged backwards across the flagstones, still staring at the hulking outline of the Great Pyramid.

  Theres someone still there, look, he said, and pointed to a figure alone on the plaza.

  IIb peered into the gloom.

  Its only Dios, the high priest, he said. I expect hes got some plan in mind, best not to meddle in the affairs of priests, now will you come on.

  The crocodile-headed god turned its snout back and forth, trying to focus on Teppic without the advantage of binocular vision. This close, its body was slightly transparent, as though someone had sketched in all the lines and got bored before it was time to do the shading. It trod on a small tomb, crushing it to powder.

  A hand like a cluster of canoes with claws on hovered over Teppic. The pyramid trembled and the stone under his feet felt warm, but it resolutely forbore from any signs of wanting to flare.

  The hand descended. Teppic sank on one knee and, out of desperation, raised the knife over his head in both hands.

  The light glinted for a moment off the tip of the blade and then the Great Pyramid flared.

  It did it in absolute silence to begin with, sending up a spire of eye-torturing flame that turned the whole kingdom into a criss-cross of black shadow and white light, a flame that might have turned any watchers not just into a pillar of salt but into a complete condiment set of their choice. It exploded like an unwound dandelion, silent as starlight, searing as a supernova.

  Only after it had been bathing the necropolis in its impossible brilliance for several seconds did the sound come, and it was sound that winds itself up through the bones, creeps into every cell of the body, and tries with some success to turn them inside out. It was too loud to be called noise. There is sound so loud that it prevents itself from being heard, and this was that kind of sound.

  Eventually it condescended to drop out of the cosmic scale and became, simply, the loudest noise anyone hearing it had ever experienced.

  The noise stopped, filling the air with the dark metallic clang of sudden silence. The light went out, lancing the night with blue and purple afterimages. It was not the silence and darkness of conclusion but of pause, like the moment of equilibrium when a thrown ball runs out of acceleration but has yet to have gravity drawn to its attention and, for a brief moment, thinks that the worst is over.

  This time it was heralded by a shrill whistling out of the clear sky and a swirl in the air that became a glow, became a flame, became a flare that sizzled downwards into the pyramid, punching into the mass of black marble. Fingers of lightning crackled out and grounded on the lesser tombs around it, so that serpents of white fire burned their way from pyramid to pyramid across the necropolis and the air filled with the stink of burning stone.

  In the middle of the firestorm the Great Pyramid appeared to lift up a few inches, on a beam of incandescence, and turn through ninety degrees. This was almost certainly the special type of optical illusion which can take place even though noone is actually looking at it.

  And then, with deceptive slowness and considerable dignity, it exploded.

  It was almost too crass a word. What it did was this: it came apart ponderously into building-sized chunks which drifted gently away from one another, flying serenely out and over the necropolis. Several of them struck other pyramids, badly damaging them in a lazy, unselfconscious way, and then bounded on in silence until they ploughed to a halt behind a small mountain of rubble.

  Only then did the boom come. It went on for quite along time.

  Grey dust rolled over the kingdom.

  Ptaclusp dragged himself upright and groped ahead, gingerly, until he walked into someone. He shuddered when he thought about the kind of people hed seen walking around lately, but thought didnt come easily because something appeared to have hit him on the head recently .

  Is that you, lad? he ventured.

  Is that you, dad?

  Yes, said Ptaclusp.

  Its me, dad.

  Im glad its you, son.

  Can you see anything?

  No. Its all mist and fog.

  Thank the gods for that, I thought it was me.

  It is you, isnt it? You said.

  Yes, dad.

  Is your brother all right?

  Ive got him safe in my pocket, dad.

  Good. So long as nothings happened to him.

  They inched forward, clambering over lumps of masonry they could barely see.

  Something exploded, dad, said IIb, slowly. I think it was the pyramid.

  Ptaclusp rubbed the top of his head, where two tons of flying rock had come within a sixteenth of an inch of fitting him for one of his own pyramids. It was that dodgy cement we bought from Merco the Ephebian, I expect-

  I think this was a bit worse than a moody lintel, dad, said IIb. In fact, I think it was a lot worse.

  It looked a bit wossname, a bit on the sandy side-

  I think you should find somewhere to sit down, dad, said IIb, as kindly as possible. Heres Two-Ay. Hang on to him.

  He crept on alone, climbing over a slab of what felt very suspiciously like black marble. What he wanted, he decided, was a priest. They had to be useful for something, and this seemed the sort of time one might need one. For solace, or possibly, he felt obscurely, to beat their head in with a rock.

  What he found instead was someone on their hands and knees, coughing. IIb helped him - it was definitely a him, hed been briefly afraid it might be an it - and sat him on another lump of, yes, almost certainly marble.

  Are you a priest? he said, fumbling in the rubble.

  Im Dil. Chief embalmer, the figure muttered.

  Ptaclusp IIb, paracosmic archi- IIb began and then, suspecting that architects were not going to be too popular around here for a while, quickly corrected himself. Im an engineer, he said. Are you all right?

  Dont know. What happened?

  I think the pyramid exploded, IIb volunteered.

  Are we dead?

  I shouldnt think so. Youre walking and talking, after all.

  Dil shivered. Thats no guideline, take it from me. Whats an engineer?

  Oh, a builder of aqueducts, said IIb quickly. Theyre the coming thing, you know.

  Dil stood up, a little shakily.

  I, he said, need a drink. Lets find the river.

  They found Teppic first.

  He was clinging to a small, truncated pyramid section that had made a moderate-sized crater when it landed.

  I know him, said IIb. Hes the lad who was on top of the pyramid. Thats ridiculous, how could he survive that?

  Whys there all corn sprouting out of it, too? wondered Dil.

  I mean, perhaps theres some kind of effect if youre right in the centre of the flare,
or something, said IIb, thinking aloud. A sort of calm area or something, like in the middle of a whirlpool- He reached instinctively for his wax tablet, and then stopped himself. Man was never intended to understand things he meddled with. Is he dead? he said. Dont look at me, said Dil, stepping back. Hed been running through his mind the alternative occupations now open to him. Upholstery sounded attractive. At least chairs didnt get up and walk after youd stuffed them. IIb bent over the body.

  Look what hes got in his hand, he said, gently bending back the fingers. Its a piece of melted metal. Whats he got that for?

  Teppic dreamed.

  He saw seven fat cows and seven thin cows, and one of them was riding a bicycle.

  He saw some camels, singing, and the song straightened out the wrinkles in reality.

  He saw a finger Write on the wall of a pyramid: Going forth is easy. Going back requires (cont. on next wall) . . .

  He walked around the pyramid, where the finger continued: An effort of will, because it is much harder. Thank you.

  Teppic considered this, and it occurred to him that there was one thing left to do which he had not done. Hed never known how to before, but now he could see that it was just numbers, arranged in a special way. Everything that was magical was just a way of describing the world in words it couldnt ignore.

  He gave a grunt of effort.

  There was a brief moment of speed. Dil and IIb looked around as long shafts of light sparkled through the mists and dust, turning the landscape into old gold.

  And the sun came up.

  The sergeant cautiously opened the hatch in the horses belly. When the expected flurry of spears did not materialise he ordered Autocue to let out the rope ladder, climbed down it, and looked across the chill morning desert.

  The new recruit followed him down and stood, hopping from one sandal to another, on sand that was nearly freezing now and would be frying by lunchtime.

  There, said the sergeant, pointing, see the Tsortean lines, lad?

  Looks like a row of wooden horses to me, sergeant, said Autocue. The one on the ends on rockers.

  Thatll be the officers. Huh. Those Tsorteans must think were simple. The sergeant stamped some life into his legs, took a few breaths of fresh air, and walked back to the ladder.

  Come on, lad, he said.

  Whyve we got to go back up there?

  The sergeant paused, his foot on a rope rung.

  Use some common, laddie. Theyre not going to come and take our horses if they see us hanging around outside, are they? Stands to reason.

  You sure theyre going to come, then? said Autocue. The sergeant frowned at him.

  Look, soldier, he said, anyone bloody stupid enough to think were going to drag a lot of horses full of soldiers back to our city is certainly daft enough to drag ours all the way back to theirs. QED.

  QED, sarge?

  It means get back up the bloody ladder, lad.

  Autocue saluted. Permission to be excused first, sarge?

  Excused what?

  Excused, sarge, said Autocue, a shade desperately. I mean, its a bit cramped in the horse, sarge, if you know what I mean.

  Youre going to have to learn a bit of will power if you want to stay in the horse soldiers, boy. You know that?

  Yes, sarge, said Autocue miserably.

  Youve got one minute.

  Thanks, sarge.

  When the hatch closed above him Autocue sidled over to one of the horses massive legs and put it to a use for which it wasnt originally intended.

  And it was while he was staring vaguely ahead, lost in that Zen-like contemplation which occurs at moments like this, that there was a faint pop in the air and an entire river valley opened up in front of him.

  Its not the sort of thing that ought to happen to a thoughtful lad. Especially one who has to wash his own uniform.