'Fastest animal on the face of the Disc, your common tortoise,' said Xeno, but he had the grace to look shifty.
'Logically, that is,' he added[25].
The tall man gave Teppic a nod.
'Take no notice of him, boy,' he said. 'He's just covering himself because of the accident last week.'
'The tortoise did beat the hare,' said Xeno sulkily.
'The hare was dead, Xeno,' said the tall man patiently.
'Because you shot it.'
'I was aiming at the tortoise. You know, trying to combine two experiments, cut down on expensive research time, make full use of available-' Xeno gestured with the bow, which now had another arrow in it.
'Excuse me,' said Teppic. 'Could you put it down a minute? Me and my friend have come a long way and it would be nice not to be shot at again.'
These two seem harmless, he thought, and almost believed it.
He whistled. On cue, Ptraci came around the dune, leading You Bastard. Teppic doubted the capability of her costume to hold any pockets whatsoever, but she seemed to have been able to repair her make-up, re-kohl her eyes and put up her hair. She undulated towards the group like a snake in a skid, determined to hit the strangers with the full force of her personality. She was also holding something in her other hand.
'She's found the tortoise!' said Xeno. 'Well done!'
The reptile shot back into its shell. Ptraci glared. She didn't have much in the world except herself, and didn't like to be hailed as a mere holder of testudinoids.
The tall man sighed. 'You know, Xeno,' he said, 'I can't help thinking you've got the wrong end of the stick with this whole tortoise-and-arrow business.'
The little man glared at him.
'The trouble with you, Ibid,' he said, 'is that you think you're the biggest bloody authority on everything.'
The Gods of the Old Kingdom were awakening.
Belief is a force. It's a weak force, by comparison with gravity; when it comes to moving mountains, gravity wins every time. But it still exists, and now that the Old Kingdom was enclosed upon itself, floating free of the rest of the universe, drifting away from the general consensus that is dignified by the name of reality, the power of belief was making itself felt.
For seven thousand years the people of Djelibeybi had believed in their gods.
Now their gods existed. They had, as it were, the complete Set.
And the people of the Old Kingdom were learning that, for example, Vut the Dog-Headed God of the Evening looks a lot better painted on a pot than he does when all seventy feet of him, growling and stinking, is lurching down the Street outside.
Dios sat in the throne room, the gold mask of the king on his knees, staring out across the sombre air. The cluster of lesser priests around the door finally plucked up the courage to approach him, in the same general frame of mind as you would approach a growling lion. No-one is more worried by the actual physical manifestation of a god than his priests; it's like having the auditors in unexpectedly.
Only Koomi stood a little aside from the others. He was thinking hard. Strange and original thoughts were crowding along rarely-trodden neural pathways, heading in unthinkable directions. He wanted to see where they led.
'O Dios,' murmured the high priest of Ket, the This-Headed God of Justice. 'What is the king's command? The gods are striding the land, and they are fighting and breaking houses, O Dios. Where is the king? What would he have us do?'
'Yea,' said the high priest of Scrab, the Pusher of the Ball of the Sun. He felt something more was expected of him. 'And verily,' he added. 'Your lordship will have noticed that the sun is wobbling, because all the Gods of the Sun are fighting for it and-' he shuffled his feet - 'the blessed Scrab made a strategic withdrawal and has, er, made an unscheduled landing on the town of Hort. A number of buildings broke his fall.'
'And rightly so,' said the high priest of Thrrp, the Charioteer of the Sun. 'For, as all know, my master is the true god of the-'
His words tailed off.
Dios was trembling, his body rocking slowly back and forth. His eyes stared at nothing. His hands gripped the mask almost hard enough to leave fingerprints in the gold, and his lips soundlessly shaped the words of the Ritual of the Second Hour, which had been said at this time for thousands of years.
'I think it's the shock,' said one of the priests. 'You know, he's always been so set in his ways.'
The others hastened to show that there was at least something they could advise on.