Pyramids Read Free Page A

dislike of pyramids; in Djelibeybi that was like disliking breathing. But he’d promised that Pteppic could go to school outside the kingdom. She’d been insistent about that. “People never learn anything in this place,” she’d said. “They only remember things.”
    If only she’d remembered about not swimming in the river…
    He watched two of the servants load Teppic’s trunk onto the back of the coach, and for the first time either of them could remember laid a paternal hand on his son’s shoulder.
    In fact he was at a loss for something to say. We’ve never really had time to get to know one another, he thought. There’s so much I could have given him. A few bloody good hidings wouldn’t have come amiss.
    “Um,” he said. “Well, my boy.”
    “Yes, father?”
    “This is, er, the first time you’ve been away from home by yourself—”
    “No, father. I spent last summer with Lord Fhem-ptahem, you remember.”
    “Oh, did you?” The pharaoh recalled the palace had seemed quieter at the time. He’d put it down to the new tapestries.
    “Anyway,” he said, “you’re a young man, nearly thirteen—”
    “Twelve, father,” said Teppic patiently.
    “Are you sure?”
    “It was my birthday last month, father. You bought me a warming pan.”
    “Did I? How singular. Did I say why?”
    “No, father.” Teppic looked up at his father’s mild, puzzled features. “It was a very good warming pan,” he added reassuringly. “I like it a lot.”
    “Oh. Good. Er.” His majesty patted his son’s shoulder again, in a vague way, like a man drumming his fingers on his desk while trying to think. An idea appeared to occur to him.
    The servants had finished strapping the trunk onto the roof of the coach and the driver was patiently holding open the door.
    “When a young man sets out in the world,” said his majesty uncertainly, “there are, well, it’s very important that he remembers…The point is, that it is a very big world after all, with all sorts…And of course, especially so in the city, where there are many additional…” He paused, waving one hand vaguely in the air.
    Teppic took it gently.
    “It’s quite all right, father,” he said. “Dios the high priest explained to me about taking regular baths, and not going blind.”
    His father blinked at him.
    “You’re not going blind?” he said.
    “Apparently not, father.”
    “Oh. Well. Jolly good,” said the king. “Jolly, jolly good. That is good news.”
    “I think I had better be going, father. Otherwise I shall miss the tide.”
    His majesty nodded, and patted his pockets.
    “There was something…” he muttered, and then tracked it down, and slipped a small leather bag into Teppic’s pocket. He tried the shoulder routine again.
    “A little something,” he murmured. “Don’t tell your aunt. Oh, you can’t, anyway. She’s gone for a lie-down. It’s all been rather too much for her.”
    All that remained then was for Teppic to go and sacrifice a chicken at the statue of Khuft, the founder of Djelibeybi, so that his ancestor’s guiding hand would steer his footsteps in the world. It was only a small chicken, though, and when Khuft had finished with it the king had it for lunch.
    Djelibeybi really was a small, self-centered kingdom. Even its plagues were half-hearted. All self-respecting river kingdoms have vast supernatural plagues, but the best the Old Kingdom had been able to achieve in the last hundred years was the Plague of Frog. *

    That evening, when they were well outside the delta of the Djel and heading across the Circle Sea to Ankh-Morpork, Teppic remembered the bag and examined its contents. With love, but also with his normal approach to things, his father had presented him with a cork, half a tin of saddle-soap, a small bronze coin of uncertain denomination, and an extremely elderly sardine.

    It is a well-known fact that when one is about to die the senses immediately become excruciatingly sharp and it has