Discworld – Pyramids (Terry Pratchett)

The setting sun also shone on Dil and Gern, although in this case it was by a roundabout route through the lightwell of the palace kitchens. They'd ended up there for no very obvious reason. It was just that it was so depressing in the embalming room, all alone.

The kitchen staff worked around them, recognising the air of impenetrable gloom that surrounded the two embalmers. It was never a very sociable job at the best of times and embalmers didn't make friends easily. Anyway, there was a coronation feast to prepare.

They sat amid the bustle, observing the future over a jug of beer.

'I expect,' said Gern, 'that Gwlenda can have a word with her dad.'

'That's it, boy,' said Dil wearily. 'There's a future there. People will always want garlic.'

'Bloody boring stuff, garlic,' said Gern, with unusual ferocity. 'And you don't get to meet people. That's what I liked about our job. Always new faces.'

'No more pyramids,' said Dil, without rancour. 'That's what she said. You've done a good job, Master Dil, she said, but I'm going to drag this country kicking and screaming into the Century of the Fruitbat.'

'Cobra,' said Gern.

'What?'

'It's the Century of the Cobra. Not the Fruitbat.'

'Whatever,' said Dil irritably. He stared miserably into his mug. That was the trouble now, he reflected. You had to start remembering what century it was.

He glared at a tray of canapes. That was the thing these days. Everyone fiddling about .

He picked up an olive and turned it over and over in his fingers.

'Can't say I'd feel the same about the old job, mind,' said Gern, draining the jug, 'but I bet you were proud, master - Dil, I mean. You know, when all your stitching held up like that.'

Dil, his eyes not leaving the olive, reached dreamily down to his belt and grasped one of his smaller knives for intricate jobs.

'I said, you must have felt very sorry it was all over,' said Gern.

Dil swivelled around to get more light, and breathed heavily as he concentrated.

'Still, you'll get over it,' said Gern. 'The important thing is not to let it prey on your mind-'

'Put this stone somewhere,' said Dil.

'Sorry?'

'Put this stone somewhere,' said Dil.

Gern shrugged, and took it out of his fingers.

'Right,' said Dil, his voice suddenly vibrant with purpose.

'Now pass me a piece of red pepper .