‘Dios,’ said Teppic, levelly.
‘Sire?’
‘Just attend upon me a moment, please?’
‘Sire?’ repeated Dios, materializing 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[17]. 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 Imtebos 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 my 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 realized 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!’
17
Younger assassins, who are usually very poor, have very clear ideas about the morality of wealth until they become older assassins, who are usually very rich, when they begin to take the view that injustice has its good points.