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From inside the main pyramid came the sounds of a very large statue being dismantled.
The priests sat around thoughtfully. Occasionally one of them stood up and made a short speech.
It was clear that points were being made. For example, how the economics of the kingdom depended on a buoyant obsidian knife industry, how the enslaved neighbouring kingdoms had come to rely on the smack of firm government, and incidentally on the hack, slash and disembowelling of firm government as well, and on the terrible fate that awaited any people who didn't have gods. Godless people might get up to anything, they might turn against the fine old traditions of thrift and non-self-sacrifice that had made the kingdom what it was today, they might start wondering why, if they didn't have a god, they needed all these priests, anything.
The point was well put by Mazuma, the high priest, when he said: “[Squashed-figurewith-broken-nose, jaguar claw, three feathers, stylised spiny anteater].”
After a while a vote was taken.
By nightfall, the kingdom's leading stonemasons were at work on a new statue.
It was basically oblong, with lots of legs.
The Demon King drummed his fingers on his desk. It wasn't that he was unhappy about the fate of Quezovercoatl, who would now have to spend several centuries in one of the nether hells while he grew a new corporeal body. Serve him right, the ghastly little imp. Nor was it the broad trend of events on the pyramid. After all, the whole point of the wish business was to see to it that what the client got was exactly what he asked for and exactly what he didn't really want.
It was just that he didn't feel in control of things.
Which was of course ridiculous. If the best came to the best he could always materialise and sort things out personally. But he liked people to believe that all the bad things happening to them were just fate and destiny. It was one of the few things that cheered
him up.
He turned back to the mirror. After a while he had to adjust the temporal control.
One minute the breathless, humid jungles of Klatch, the next... “I thought we were going back to my room,” Eric complained. “I thought that, too,” said Rincewind, shouting to be heard over the rumbling. “Snap your fingers again, demon.” “Not on your life! There's plenty of places worse than this!” “But it's all hot and dark.” Rincewind had to concede that. It was also shaking and noisy. When his eyes grew used
to the blackness he could make out a few spots of light here and there, whose dim radiance suggested that they were inside something like a boat. There was a definite feel of carpentry about everything, and a powerful smell of wood shavings and glue. If it was a boat, then it was having an awfully painful launching down a spillway greased with rocks.
A jolt slung him heavily against a bulkhead. “I must say,” complained Eric, "if this is where the most beautiful woman lives I don't
think much of her choice of boodwah. You'd think she'd put a few cushions or something around the place.“ ”Boodwah?“ said Rincewind. ”She's bound to have one,“ said Eric smugly. ”I've read about 'em. She reclines on it.“ ”Tell me,“ said Rincewind, ”have you ever felt the need to have a cold bath and a brisk
run around the playing fields?“ ”Never."
“It could be worth a try.”
The rumbling stopped abruptly. There was a distant clanging noise, such as might be made by a pair of great big gates being shut. Rincewind thought he heard some voices fading into the distance, and a
chuckle. It wasn't a particularly pleasant chuckle, it was more of a snigger, and it boded no good for someone. Rincewind had a pretty good idea who. He'd stopped wondering how he'd come to be here, wherever it was. Malign forces, that
was probably it. At least nothing particularly dreadful was happening to him right now.
Probably it was only a matter of time. He groped around a bit until his fingers encountered what turned out to be, following an inspection by the light of the nearest knot-hole, a rope ladder. Further probing at one end of the hull, or whatever it was, brought him in contact with a small, round hatchway. It was bolted on the inside.
He crawled back to Eric. “There's a door,” he whispered. “Where does it go?” “It stays where it is, I think,” said Rincewind. “find out where it leads to, demon!” “Could be a bad idea,” said Rincewind cautiously. “Get on with it!” Rincewind crawled gloomily to the hatch and grasped the bolt. The hatch creaked open. Down below - quite a long way below - there were damp cobblestones, across which a
breeze was driving a few shards of morning mist. With a little sigh, Rincewind unrolled the ladder.
Two minutes later they were standing in the gloom of what appeared to be a large plaza.
A few buildings showed through the mist.
“Where are we?” said Eric. “Search me.” “You don't know?” “Not a clue,” said Rincewind. Eric glared at the mist-shrouded architecture. "Fat chance of finding the most beautiful
woman in the world in a dump like this," he said. It occurred to Rincewind to see what they had just climbed out of. He looked up. Above them - a long way above them - and supported on four massive legs, which ran
down to a huge wheeled platform, there was undoubtedly a huge wooden horse. More
correctly, the rear of a huge wooden horse. The builder could have put the exit hatch in a more dignified place, but for humorous reasons of his own had apparently decided not to.
