"A few days? We've been here for weeks!"
Anubis shoved Halstrom. "Go on, mortal soul. Greet the judges. You must then answer to each and every one. Then your soul must be weighed against the feather of Maat."
"What did he say?" whined the Army psychologist.
* * *
Halstrom had done his rounds of all the judges. Talking to him as he walked, Jerry learned that back in Chicago the pyramid just kept on expanding. It had expanded enormously just after the trial of the neutron device. Halstrom hadn't been supposed to know about it, but the story had leaked out. They were in the process of being evacuated further back when he'd been snatched.
The alien pyramid was still snatching, still growing. So far, to the point where Halstrom found himself among the peasants in the pyramid construction team, pulling huge limestone blocks up a ramp lubricated with fresh Nile mud.
Nearly a thousand people had vanished, in toto. Most of them came back dead within a few hours. The research team had already worked out that the victims had been gone for longer than just the elapsed time.
The last judge hiccupped. "Who won the Super Bowl in 1999?" "she" demanded.
* * *
The feather was an enormous one. And it was made of gold. Amemait the devourer—part hippopotamus, part lion, part crocodile—was already licking his lips in anticipation when Halstrom got onto the scale.
Thoth verified the weight. "Hmm. These many hours of playing `Free Cell' at work, O foreign magician, you say that it is a religious observance? One of great respect to the hierarchical position of the black and the red Kings? Religious observances are permitted during working time. We can give him some credit for that."
"Oh, definitely," said Jerry, hoping that he wouldn't have to answer for his own deeds soon.
Thoth moved the adjustment chain. The two pans balanced.
"Let the deceased depart victorious," intoned Osiris.
"What happens to me now?" asked the justified Captain Halstrom's Ka.
Mac had listened to Jerry's briefing on the journey up the Nile. "Don't worry, Captain Shrink. You'll get to do lots of nice physical outdoor field labor in Osiris' kingdom. Raising crops, digging ditches, good healthy outdoor work. And if you're feeling lazy you can send in the watchamacallems. Doc?"
"Ushabtis," said Jerry.
"Yep. Them." Mac stretched. "You send them out as your substitute. They're like little doll-things that you put a spell on and they do all your work. Sorta like Egyptian afterlife grunts. It'll be a piece of cake. Just think of yourself as an REMF, which oughta come naturally enough."
Halstrom looked confused. "Where do I get them?"
Jerry gave a wry smile. "They're supposed to be buried with you. Egyptian belief is the opposite of `you can't take it with you when you go.' "
Halstrom looked even more confused. "Er. My body disappeared. The embalmers were a bit taken aback . . . "
Just then Lamont wove his way up to them. He seemed to have sobered up considerably. "Listen, guys. If we can slip out for a minute, Anubis cornered me when I went out. He says he's organized a meeting with Min, or something like that, who is Pan back in Greece. Apparently he can get us back, possibly even home. Travelers are his domain. We're supposed to go and meet him in his temple."
The Army psychologist's shade looked in need of counseling. "Can I come with you? I really don't like an outdoor lifestyle. I've always lived in the city. Don't leave me here," he begged, looking as if he'd start shedding ghostly tears at a moment's notice.
Jerry shrugged. "I've no idea whether that will be allowed. But you're welcome to tag along as far as we're concerned. You've been judged. You're free to go. Of course you may not be popular with Osiris. I gather it's been a while since he's had any new labor."
Liz had come up. "This Min—who is she?"
"He," corrected Jerry. "He's a very ancient god. He was called the `Lord of Foreign Lands.' And as our `sorceress from Nubia' just told us, the god of travelers as well as fertility. It sounds hopeful, doesn't it?"
Liz nodded. "So what does this one look like? Does he have the head of a goat? Heaven knows how their digestive systems worked. Or is this the head of a politician on a human body?"
Jerry swallowed. "Human. With two tall feathers sticking up from the headdress. And er . . . Well, you'll know him when you see him," he said uncomfortably.
"Well, not being female, he can't be another one of these topless waitresses," said Liz. "It's discrimination, that's what it is."
Jerry blushed. "No, it isn't. He's your equal-opportunity male flasher."
Lamont gave a very unladylike shout of laughter. "He's not the one from gallery three, is he? The one that was removed because of the complaints back in the fifties?"
Jerry nodded. "The same."
Lamont chuckled. "Nearly fifty years later that section of papyrus is legend. They say that most of the complaints came from men who felt pitifully inadequate . . . "
"Ha. That describes most of them," said Liz to Medea. "Come on. My curiosity is killing me. Anyone know where we're going?"
"It's supposed to be pretty unmistakable," said Lamont. "There's a stele with snakes and crocodiles and an ugly sort of dwarf on it, under the portico next to the cliff. Then according to Jackal-face, we just follow the lights." He stumbled. "Damn it! How do you walk in this stupid thing?"
"Take smaller steps," Liz advised the swaying Lamont.
He tried and tripped over his feet. "Why the hell did I ever let you get me into this thing?"
McKenna grinned. "Because you didn't have a lot of choice, that's why. Look—that must be the whatsit. Stele. The dwarf is pretty unmistakable. He looks cheerful enough."
Jerry smiled too. "Yeah, he does. That's Bes. The protector. Dwarves and pygmies were very popular in Egyptian history. I guess it's only right that they had one of their own as the buffoon of the gods."
"Are you calling me a buffoon?" The bandy-legged little man who had stepped out from next to the stele picked Jerry up without any sign of effort. He seemed to find doing so a source of humor. "Who are you, mortal, to be wandering around taking my name in vain?"
Up close and—ah, active—Bes' dwarfish stature didn't seem cute any longer. The Egyptian god was a very robust dwarf, who almost exuded bestial vigor. His head was big and vaguely lion-shaped, his eyes huge, his cheeks prominent. His chin was hairy. And a truly enormous tongue hung from his wide-open mouth.
"Sorry," squeaked Jerry. "No offense intended!"
* * *
The little guy must have found a short leopard somewhere, thought Liz. Otherwise his leopard-skin cloak would have been too long for him. Mind you, he was pretty wide, as if to make up for his lack of stature. He was nearly as wide as he was high, but he didn't look too broad because he had an enormous head. He wore a topknot, with a bunch of ostrich plumes set in it. Most of the ancient Egyptians in this Mythworld were either fastidiously bearded or clean-shaven. Bes was neither of these. A veritable mane of thick, curly hair framed his broad, grinning face.
He set Jerry down. Jerry appeared none the worse for the experience. "Bes. You are Bes, aren't you?"
The dwarf-god cut a little caper, and clumsily executed a cartwheel. "That is my name, yes."
"Well, sorry to disturb you, Bes," said Jerry. "We were just told to look for this stele, and I was telling the others about you. Sorry about that. Here's our passage, guys."
"Are you going down there?" asked Bes.
"Yes. We need to see someone."
"Ah. I'll come along for the walk," said Bes.
* * *
The party wound its way through the narrow corridors, down flight after flight of stairs. There were various branches but only one set of corridors was lit. Little calcite lamps burned in regularly spaced embrasures. It was still dim between the painted walls, which were covered in hieroglyphs and murals. Rather unpleasant murals. Not what you'd have thought a fertility and travelers' god would have liked, but then, Jerry didn't want t
o stop and try and read the hieroglyphic story.
"Did Anubis tell you we could blasted walk home this way?" demanded Liz.
"Indeed," grumbled Henri, "my feet they are quite worn out."
Mac spoke quietly. "Have you noticed the lamps behind us are going out?"
Liz scowled. "We'll never find our way out without lights."
"Damn," muttered Lamont. "I forgot my handy little Maglite in my other trousers." He pressed a hand to his forehead. "Ooh. My head hurts."
"You expect us to believe that?" said Jerry.
"What? That my head hurts?"
"No. That you have other trousers . . ."
They stepped through a blocky stone lintel-and-post threshold and into a dim chamber. Scattered lamps still burned in sconces. But it was downright gloomy. Jerry wasn't even that surprised to hear the huge stone slab grate into place behind them, blocking off the passage. Something moved in the shadows on the far side of the chamber. Something big. No, wrong word—something immense. Amemait. Amemait the devourer.
The monster opened its gray-green, scaly crocodile snout, full of evil yellow snaggled teeth.
Halstrom's Ka gave a panicky squeak and ran. The crocodile jaws of the devourer snatched it . . . And bit air several times. "Where did it go?" growled Amemait. "It just disappeared. You lot had better be more substantial."
"Or what are you going to do about it, fishbreath?" Bes stalked forward, his hands on his hips.
"Bes!" Amemait spat. "What are you doing here? They were supposed to be alone."
"I saw these innocents walking into your lair. So I came along for the fight." Too late, Jerry understood the significance of the protective stele including the arch-defender against dangerous wild beasts at the entrance. It wasn't a signpost. It was supposed to prevent Amemait from wandering.
"I'll eat you too, dwarf." Amemait's voice was chill. From the corner of his eye, Jerry saw Liz start fumbling hastily in her bag.
Bes chuckled. "I daresay you'll try."
"Ha. The New Order doesn't want you. Your time is over, Bes! I will devour soul after soul after soul in the new rule. Already Sekmet readies herself to drink the blood of men. The Krim does not want that feeble do-gooder Osiris and that empty-headed wife of his. I've been promised Maat for my pleasure too."
Bes shrugged. "I should have known you'd accept the lures of that thing. But you've still got me to deal with, snaggletooth."
"That will be easy enough, midget." Amemait opened his huge crocodile jaw and began to advance. But it was obvious that, despite the big talk, the devourer was more than a little wary of the small, potbellied, bandy dwarf.
Jerry whispered to Liz: "Try this . . . "
Hastily Liz repeated the cantrip.
"Amon cause thy nostrils to clog,
"By Bichon, Suramp and the god of the North.
"By Net, thy throat be dry.
"The serpent Apep coil and roil in that stomach
"Whose secret name is gastroenteritis
"Hapi and his servants Ecoli, Streptococcus and . . ."
* * *
Amemait snorted, belched, and retreated. Bes peered into the darkness after him. "He'll be back, loaded with amulets of protection against spells. Well, foreigners. We will have to act together. The greatest danger lies in the jaws and that tail."
"I've got a bit of practical experience with this," said Liz. "If Amemait's is a typical crocodile jaw, the opening muscles are weak. The strength lies in the muscles that close. Prizing the jaws open is nearly impossible. But I've held a small croc's mouth shut with one hand. If we can get it closed, we should be able to keep it closed."
Bes changed his grin to a wry one, briefly. "There are the lion's claws and the strength of the hippopotamus too. His hide is too thick for spears, or for my dagger. His eyes and the inside of his mouth are the only vulnerable spots."
"I think I can blind him." Liz held up what she'd apparently been rummaging for: an atomizer. "At least temporarily. The base of my cologne seems to have stayed as high-proof alcohol. It's not stuff you want to get in your eyes."
Cruz raised his nunchaku. "How thick is its skull? If I can get close enough . . . "
Bes grinned broadly. "A man after my own heart! You shall have your try. I will seize the mouth as this fine bully woman sprays its eyes. The rest of you must seize the legs. You can pound its brain with that flail of yours. Hist. Here the monster comes!"
* * *
It was a miracle that the monster could move at all. The legs clanked with amulets. There must have been a hundred to each leg. The coarse mane now billowed onto a collar of strips of faïence, emerald and turquoise which would have stopped a spear thrust, never mind a spell. The slit-pupil eyes gleamed golden . . . Until Liz sprayed alcohol-based perfume into them. Amemait gave a furious spitting roar and clawed at his eyes. Bes, choosing his moment, grabbed the snout. Flung himself around it, arms and legs.
Jerry nearly missed his dive at the amulet-behung foreleg. Then he thanked heaven for the brass bracelets, for providing handholds. Amemait was incredibly strong. Mac clung to the hind leg along with Medea. Henri made a slightly more substantial anchor on the other foreleg and Liz had joined Lamont on the other hindleg. Jerry knew he was the weak link. He just wasn't heavy enough. He barely managed to restrain the claws from Bes, wrapped like a grinning monkey around the jaw. The sound of Cruz's hammer blows with the nunchaku was like thunder. But Amemait with pure hippo strength was managing to head for the wall. The monster obviously intended to rub them off, like ticks against a branch.
* * *
The one stave of the nunchaku splintered with the blow. Fuck! Stupid thing worked better in theory than in practice. Wouldn't the monster go down? He was going to be trapped against the wall in a minute. Out of the corner of his eye Anibal saw a leg, with Doc clinging like a leech, rake backward and brush a claw tip across Medea. He dropped the splintered nunchaku and seized an enormous calcite lamp from a wall sconce. It must have weighed easily a hundred and fifty pounds. Adrenaline-loaded, he snatched it cleanly above his head and brought it down, pointed corner first, on Amemait's skull.
Even a hippo-thickness braincase was not proof against that. Amemait's head dropped. "Get out from under!" yelled Cruz, trying to suit the action to the word. The monster fell against the wall, trapping and crushing him along with several of the others.
Then Cruz got to see just how strong the dwarf really was. Bes had leaped clear, and now hauled the monster away from the wall. Actually the wall had undoubtedly saved Henri, Lamont and Liz's lives. If Amemait had simply fallen on them, they would have been squashed. As it was, they had time to squirm clear. Just.
"Phew." Cruz felt his ribs, after carefully inspecting the claw slash on Medea. "Thanks . . . mister. What did you say your name was? Bes. I wouldn't want to wrassle with you."
Bes grinned his wide red-mouthed grin. "Fun!" He chuckled. "I like to fight. I don't like what . . . "
A chanting was coming down the passage from whence Amemait had come. Bes stood, as if turned to stone. His eyes burned.
* * *
A column of bald-headed priests in their white robes came down the passage. Behind them came more spearmen. The long passage was full of them.
"Greetings, foreigners. We have come to rescue you."
"You're a bit late," said Jerry weakly. And he saw Mac fall over. Too late, Jerry realized he was falling also. He should have picked up on the spell-chant earlier.
They were bound and gagged and carried out, leaving Bes standing stonelike, staring angrily.
They were loaded like so many sacks of potatoes onto the waiting donkeys, and carried away into the twilight. Away, and out across the desert. One of the guards mentioned a name in low-voiced conversation with the others. Sebek. Then there was silence for a long time except for the clop of hooves and the distant howling of a jackal.
34
Old crocs never die.
They just smell that way.
The la
ke lay like a sheet of silver in the predawn. Not a whisper of a breeze dared to ripple the glassy water. On the far side, Jerry could make out the dark square bulk of the temple of Sebek.
Crocodilopolis, the Greeks had called it. The domain of Sebek, the crocodile-headed god. Jerry's mind worked overtime all of that long night, coming up with new and highly innovative spells to use on the crocodile-god and his followers, particularly the ones who had trussed him up like this. He set aside an especially nasty one for the donkeys.
But the gagging was singularly effective. And all the spells needed to be spoken.
He soon had some more curses for the bald-shaved son of a bitch that tipped him off the donkey into the mud, and then dragged him to the small felucca and tossed him facedown onto the ribs of the boat.
At least on the other side they were carried. Before being tossed into a stone cell.
* * *
For her part, Liz spent all night determinedly chewing away at the foul-tasting rag. By the time the three of them were tossed into the stone-doored cell, the linen was nearly ready to call it quits. It was too dim here to see who'd been tossed in with her, but the high-slit window would give more light later. In the meanwhile, she chewed.
One of the others—Medea, as it turned out—rolled in a clumsy fashion across the floor to her. The third bound figure just groaned. Medea spat out her gag. She'd obviously spent the night chewing too. The sorceress squirmed her way down to the thick, coarse ropes that bound Liz. Medea was going to take a lot of stopping. Liz chewed on determinedly. Eventually the linen strip gave in.
Pah. By the taste she guessed at old mummy wrappings.
"Let's go and see who else they put in here," said Liz, as soon as she could talk.
The third prisoner was Lamont. Even in the dim light it was obvious he'd been beaten, as well as trussed up.
"Shit. Why did they hit him?" Liz was furious.
"They said she was a Cushite sorceress," replied Medea.
Liz strained at her bonds. "We need to get our hands free and give him some first aid. Do you think he's okay?"
Lamont nodded weakly.