Teppic cut Dios off in mid-intone.

'Having listened to both sides of the case,' he said firmly, the mask giving it a slight boom, 'and, being impressed by the argument and counter-argument, it seems to us only just that the beast in question should be slaughtered without delay and shared with all fairness between both plaintiff and defendant.'

He sat back. They'll call me Teppic the Wise, he thought. The common people go for this sort of thing.

The farmers gave him a long blank stare. Then, as if they were both mounted on turntables, they turned and looked to where Dios was sitting in his place on the steps in a group of lesser priests.

Dios stood up, smoothed his plain robe, and extended the staff.

'Harken to the interpreted wisdom of His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King,' he said. 'It is our divine judgement that the beast in dispute is the property of Rhumusphut. It is our divine judgement that the beast be sacrificed upon the altar of the Concourse of Gods in thanks for the attention of Our Divine Self. It is our further judgement that both Rhumusphut and Ktoffle work a further three days in the fields of the King in payment for this judgement.'

Dios raised his head until he was looking along his fearsome nose right into Teppic's mask. He raised both hands.

'Mighty is the wisdom of His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King!'

The farmers bobbed in terrified gratitude and backed out of the presence, framed between the guards.

'Dios,' said Teppic, levelly.

'Sire?'

'Just attend upon me a moment, please?'

'Sire?' repeated Dios, materialising by the throne.

'I could not help noticing, Dios, excuse me if I am wrong, a certain flourish in the translation there.'

The priest looked surprised.

'Indeed no, sire. I was most precise in relaying your decision, saving only to refine the detail in accordance with precedent and tradition.'

'How was that? The damn creature really belonged to both of them!'

'But Rhumusphut is known to be punctilious in his devotions, sire, seeking every opportunity to laud and magnify the gods, whereas Ktoffle has been known to harbour foolish thoughts.'

'What's that got to do with justice?'

'Everything, sire,' said Dios smoothly.

'But now neither of them has the ox!'

'Quite so, sire. But Ktoffle does not have it because he does not deserve it, while Rhumusphut, by his sacrifice, has ensured himself greater stature in the netherworld.'

'And you'll eat beef tonight, I suppose,' said Teppic. It was like a blow; Teppic might as well have picked up the throne and hit the priest with it. Dios took a step backward, aghast, his eyes two brief pools of pain. When he spoke, there was a raw edge to his voice.

'I do not eat meat, sire,' he said. 'It dilutes and tarnishes the soul. May I summon the next case, sire?'

Teppic nodded. 'Very well.'

The next case was a dispute over the rent of a hundred square yards of riverside land. Teppic listened carefully. Good growing land was at a premium in Djeli, since the pyramids took up so much of it. It was a serious matter.

It was especially serious because the land's tenant was by all accounts hard-working and conscientious, while its actual owner was clearly rich and objectionable[19]. Unfortunately, however one chose to stack the facts, he was also in the right.

Teppic thought deeply, and then squinted at Dios. The priest nodded at him.

'It seems to me-' said Teppic, as fast as possible but not fast enough.

'Harken to the judgement of His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King!'

'It seems to me - to us,' Teppic repeated, 'that, taking all matters in consideration beyond those of mere mortal artifice, the true and just outcome in this matter-' He paused. This, he thought, isn't how a good king speaks.

'The landlord has been weighed in the balance and found wanting,' he boomed through the mask's mouth slit. 'We find for the tenant.'

As one man the court turned to Dios, who held a whispered consultation with the other priests and then stood up.

'Hear now the interpreted word of His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King! Ptorne the farmer will at once pay 18 toons in back rent to Prince Imtebos! Prince Imbetos will at once pay 12 toons into the temple offerings of the gods of the river! Long live the king! Bring on the next case!'

Teppic beckoned to Dios again.

'Is there any point in me being here?' he demanded in an overheated whisper.

'Please be calm, sire. If you were not here, how would the people know that justice had been done?'

'But you twist everything I say!'

'No, sire. Sire, you give the judgement of the man. I interpret the judgement of the king.'

'I see,' said Teppic grimly. 'Well, from now on-'

There was a commotion outside the hall. Clearly there was a prisoner outside who was less than confident in the king's justice, and the king didn't blame him. He wasn't at all happy about it, either.

It turned out to be a dark-haired girl, struggling in the arms of two guards and giving them the kind of blows with fist and heel that a man would blush to give. She wasn't wearing the right kind of costume for the job, either. It would be barely adequate for lying around peeling grapes in.

She saw Teppic and, to his secret delight, flashed him a glance of pure hatred. After an afternoon of being treated like a mentally-deficient statue it was a pleasure to find someone prepared to take an interest in him.

He didn't know what she had done, but judging by the thumps she was landing on the guards it was a pretty good bet that she had done it to the very limits of her ability.

Dios bent down to the level of the mask's ear holes.

'Her name is Ptraci,' he said. 'A handmaiden of your father. She has refused to take the potion.'

'What potion?' said Teppic.

'It is customary for a dead king to take servants with him into the netherworld, sire.'

Teppic nodded gloomily. It was a jealously-guarded privilege, the only way a penniless servant could ensure immortality. He remembered grandfather's funeral, and the discreet clamour of the old man's personal servants. It had made father depressed for days.

'Yes, but it's not compulsory,' he said.

'Yes, sire. It is not compulsory.'

'Father had plenty of servants.'

'I gather she was his favourite, sire.'

'What exactly has she done wrong, then?'

Dios sighed, as one might if one were explaining things to an extremely backward child.

'She has refused to take the potion, sire.'

'Sorry. I thought you said it wasn't compulsory, Dios.'

'Yes, sire. It is not, sire. It is entirely voluntary. It is an act of free will. And she has refused it, sire.'

'Ah. One of those situations,' said Teppic. Djelibeybi was built on those sort of situations. Trying to understand them could drive you mad. If one of his ancestors had decreed that night was day, people would go around groping in the light.

He leaned forward.

'Step forward, young lady,' he said.

She looked at Dios.

'His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII-'

'Do we have to go all through that every time?'

'Yes, sire - Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, bids you declare your guilt!'

The girl shook herself out of the guards' grip and faced Teppic, trembling with terror.

'He told me he didn't want to be buried in a pyramid,' she said. 'He said the idea of those millions of tons of rock on top of him gave him nightmares. I don't want to die yet!'

'You refuse to gladly take the poison?' said Dios.

'Yes!'

'But, child,' said Dios, 'then the king will have you put to death anyway. Surely it is better to go honourably, to a worthy life in the netherworld?'

'I don't want to be a servant in the netherworld!'

There was a groan of horror from the assembled priests. Dios nodded.

'Then the Eater of Souls will take you,' he said. 'Sire, we look to your judgement.'

Teppic realised he was staring at the girl. There was something hauntingly familiar about her which he couldn't quite put his finger on. 'Let her go,' he said.

'His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, has spoken! Tomorrow at dawn you will be cast to the crocodiles of the river. Great is the wisdom of the king!'

Ptraci turned and glared at Teppic. He said nothing. He did not dare, for fear of what it might become.

She went away quietly, which was worse than sobbing or shouting.

'That is the last case, sire,' said Dios.

'I will retire to my quarters,' said Teppic coldly. 'I have much to think about.'

'Therefore I will have dinner sent in,' said the priest. 'It will be roast chicken.'

'I hate chicken.'

Dios smiled. 'No, sire. On Wednesdays the king always enjoys chicken, sire.'

The pyramids flared. The light they cast on the landscape was curiously subdued, grainy, almost grey, but over the capstone of each tomb a zigzag flame crackled towards the sky.

A faint click of metal and stone sprang Ptraci from a fitful doze into extreme wakefulness. She stood up very carefully and crept towards the window.

Unlike proper cell windows, which should be large and airy and requiring only the removal of a few inconvenient iron bars to ensure the escape of any captives, this window was a slit six inches wide. Seven thousand years had taught the kings along the Djel that cells should be designed to keep prisoners in. The only way they could get out through this slit was in bits.

But there was a shadow against the pyramid light, and a voice said, 'Psst.'

She flattened herself against the wall and tried to reach up to the slit.

'Who are you?'

'I'm here to help you. Oh damn. Do they call this a window? Look, I'm lowering a rope.'

A thick silken cord, knotted at intervals, dropped past her shoulder. She stared at it for a second or two, and then kicked off her curly-toed shoes and climbed up it.

The face on the other side of the slit was half-concealed by a black hood, but she could just make out a worried expression.

'Don't despair,' it said.

'I wasn't despairing. I was trying to get some sleep.'

'Oh. Pardon me, I'm sure. I'll just go away and leave you, shall I?'

'But in the morning I shall wake up and then I'll despair. What are you standing on, demon?'

'Do you know what a crampon is?'

'No.'

'Well, it's two of them.'

They stared at each other in silence.

'Okay,' said the face at last. 'I'll have to go around and come in through the door. Don't go away.' And with that it vanished upwards.