Pyramids - Terry Pratchett [84]
Copolymer woke up.
“You’ve got it wrong,” he said mildly. “The great war, that was because they stole our queen. What was her name now, face that launched a thousand camels, began with an A or a T or—”
“Did they?” shouted Antiphon. “The bastards!”
“I’m reasonably certain,” said Copolymer.
Teppic sagged, and turned to Endos the Listener. He was still eating his dinner, with the air of one who is determined to preserve his digestion.
“Endos?”
The Listener laid his knife and fork carefully on either side of his plate.
“Yes?”
“They’re really all mad, aren’t they?” said Teppic wearily.
“That’s extremely interesting,” said Endos. “Do go on.” He reached shyly into his toga and brought forth a scrap of parchment, which he pushed gently toward Teppic.
“What’s this?”
“My bill,” said Endos. “Five minutes Attentive Listening. Most of my gentlemen have monthly accounts, but I understand you’ll be leaving in the morning?”
Teppic gave up. He wandered away from the table and into the cold garden surrounding the citadel of Ephebe. White marble statues of ancient Ephebians doing heroic things with no clothes on protruded through the greenery and, here and there, there were statues of Ephebian gods. It was hard to tell the difference. Teppic knew that Dios had hard words to say about the Ephebians for having gods that looked just like people. If the gods looked just like everyone else, he used to say, how would people know how to treat them?
Teppic had rather liked the idea. According to legend the Ephebians’ gods were just like humans, except that they used their godhood to get up to things humans didn’t have the nerve to do. A favorite trick of Ephebian gods, he recalled, was turning into some animal in order to gain the favors of highly-placed Ephebian women. And one of them had reputedly turned himself into a golden shower in pursuit of his intended. All this raised interesting questions about everyday night life in sophisticated Ephebe.
He found Ptraci sitting on the grass under a poplar tree, feeding the tortoise. He gave it a suspicious look, in case it was a god trying it on. It did not look like a god. If it was a god, it was putting on an incredibly good act.
She was feeding it a lettuce leaf.
“Dear little ptortoise,” she said, and then looked up. “Oh, it’s you,” she said flatly.
“You didn’t miss much,” said Teppic, sagging onto the grass. “They’re a bunch of maniacs. When I left they were smashing the plates.”
“That’s ptraditional at the end of an Ephebian meal,” said Ptraci.
Teppic thought about this. “Why not before?” he said.
“And then they probably dance to the sound of the bourzuki,” Ptraci added. “I think it’s a sort of dog.”
Teppic sat with his head in his hands.
“I must say you speak Ephebian well,” he said.
“Pthank you.”
“Just a trace of an accent, though.”
“Languages is part of the training,” she said. “And my grandmother told me that a ptrace of foreign accent is more fascinating.”
“We learned the same thing,” said Teppic. “An assassin should always be slightly foreign, no matter where he is. I’m good at that part,” he added bitterly.
She began to massage his neck.
“I went down to the harbor,” she said. “There’s those things like big rafts, you know, camels of the sea—”
“Ships,” said Teppic.
“And they go everywhere. We could go anywhere we want. The world is our pthing with pearls in it, if we like.”
Teppic told her about Pthagonal’s theory. She didn’t seem surprised.
“Like an old pond where no new water comes in,” she observed. “So everyone goes around and around in the same old puddle. All the ptime you live has been lived already. It must be like other people’s bathwater.”
“I’m going to go back.”
Her fingers stopped their skilled kneading of his muscles.
“We could go anywhere,” she repeated. “We’ve got ptrades, we could sell that camel. You could show me that Ankh-Morpork place. It sounds interesting.”
Teppic wondered what effect Ankh-Morpork would have on the girl. Then he wondered what effect she would