Mort - knowledge

Far below drums sounded in the scented, shadowy jungles and columns of curling mist rose from hidden rivers where nameless beasts lurked under the surface and waited for supper to walk past.

“There’s no more cheese, you’ll have to have the ham,” said Ysabell. “What’s that light over there?”

“The Light Dams,” said Mort. “We’re getting closer.” He pulled the hourglass out of his pocket and checked the level of the sand.

“But not close enough, dammit!”

The Light Dams lay like pools of light hubwards of their course, which is exactly what they were; some of the tribes constructed mirror walls in the desert mountains to collect the Disc sunlight, which is slow and slightly heavy. It was used as currency.

Binky glided over the campfires of the nomads and the silent marshes of the Tsort river. Ahead of them dark, familiar shapes began to reveal themselves in the moonlight.

“The Pyramids of Tsort by moonlight!” breathed Ysabell. “How romantic!”

MORTARED WITH THE BLOOD OF THOUSANDS OF SLAVES, observed Mort.

“Please don’t.”

“I’m sorry, but the practical fact of the matter is that these—”

“All right, all right, you’ve made your point,” said Ysabell irritably.

“It’s a lot of effort to go to to bury a dead king,” said Mort, as they circled above one of the smaller pyramids. “They fill them full of preservative, you know, so they’ll survive into the next world.”

“Does it work?”

“Not noticeably.” Mort leaned over Binky’s neck. “Torches down there,” he said. “Hang On.”

***

Mort p171