'That doesn't matter.'
'Doesn't matter?'
'No, because we'll just make Ankh our main branch office and pay our taxes in wherever the place is. All we need is an official address in, I don't know, the Avenue of the Pyramids or something. Take my tip and don't give in on anything until father gives you a seat on the board. You're royal, anyway, that's always impressive . .
Chidder chattered on. Teppic felt his clothes growing hotter. So this was it. You lost your kingdom, and then it was worth more because it was a tax haven, and you took a seat on the board, whatever that was, and that made it all right.
Ptraci defused the situation by grabbing Alfonz's arm as he was serving the pheasant.
'The Congress of The Friendly Dog and the Two Small Biscuits!' she exclaimed, examining the intricate tattoo. 'You hardly ever see that these days. Isn't it well done? You can even make out the yoghurt.'
Alfonz froze, and then blushed. Watching the glow spread across the great scarred head was like watching sunrise over a mountain range.
'What's the one on your other arm?'
Alfonz, who looked as though his past jobs had included being a battering ram, murmured something and, very shyly, showed her his forearm.
''S'not really suitable for ladies,' he whispered.
Ptraci brushed aside the wiry hair like a keen explorer, while Chidder stared at her with his mouth hanging open.
'Oh, I know that one,' she said dismissively. 'That's out of 130 Days of Pseudopolis. It's physically impossible.' She let go of the arm, and turned back to her meal. After a moment she looked up at Teppic and Chidder.
'Don't mind me,' she said brightly. 'Do go on.
'Alfonz, please go and put a proper shirt on,' said Chidder, hoarsely.
Alfonz backed away, staring at his arm.
'Er. What was I, er, saying?' said Chidder. 'Sorry. Lost the thread. Er. Have some more wine, Tep?'
Ptraci didn't just derail the train of thought, she ripped up the rails, burned the stations and melted the bridges for scrap. And so the dinner trailed off into beef pie, fresh peaches, crystallised sea urchins and desultory small talk about the good old days at the Guild. They had been three months ago. It seemed like a lifetime. Three months in the Old Kingdom was a lifetime.
After some time Ptraci yawned and went to her cabin, leaving the two of them alone with a fresh bottle of wine. Chidder watched her go in awed silence.
'Are there many like her back at your place?' he said.
'I don't know,' Teppic admitted. 'There could be. Usually they lie around the place peeling grapes or waving fans.'
'She's amazing. She'll take them by storm in Ankh, you know. With a figure like that and a mind like . . .' He hesitated. 'Is she . . . ? I mean, are you two . . .
'No,' said Teppic.
'She's very attractive.'
'Yes,' said Teppic.
'A sort of cross between a temple dancer and a bandsaw.' They took their glasses and went up on deck, where a few lights from the city paled against the brilliance of the stars. The water was flat calm, almost oily.
Teppic's head was beginning to spin slowly. The desert, the sun, two gloss coats of Ephebian retsina on his stomach lining and a bottle of wine were getting together to beat up his synapses.
'I mus' say,' he managed, leaning on the rail, 'you're doing all right for yourself.'
'It's okay,' said Chidder. 'Commerce is quite interesting. Building up markets, you know. The cut and thrust of competition in the privateering sector. You ought to come in with us, boy. It's where the future lies, my father says. Not with wizards and kings, but with enterprising people who can afford to hire them. No offence intended, you understand.'
'We're all that's left,' said Teppic to his wine glass. 'Out of the whole kingdom. Me, her, and a camel that smells like an old carpet. An ancient kingdom, lost.'
'Good job it wasn't a new one,' said Chidder. 'At least people got some wear out of it.'