E. Godz by Robert Asprin, Esther Friesner Page B

up.
    Ray Rah said a word that was more Anglo-Saxon than Ancient Egyptian. Then he
looked at Peez and blushed.
    "Sorry," he said. "That always happens. I don't usually wear the beard, you know—
spirit gum and false eyelash adhesive are way too weak to hold it, and anything stronger
is too darn strong for my skin—but seeing as how this was going to be our first visit from
a corporate representative, I thought it might be nice to do something special. Won't you
come into the inner chamber? The rest of the congregation are expecting you."
    Peez dutifully followed him, wending her way around the countless cats, as he
conducted her behind the painted curtain and through a little door. Some of the cats
attempted to come along, but Ray Rah was having none of it.
    "Shoo, O She-who-walks-in-beauty. You can't come in here, Thou-who-art-swifter-
than-gazelles. Scat, Eternal-glory-of-the-Lady-Bast! Scat, I say!"
    Of course the cats, being cats, shot through the door anyway, but as soon as they took
one good snort of the air quality on the far side, they turned tail and raced right back out
again.
    Peez wished she could have joined them. The inner chamber's atmosphere was so
thick with the smoke of burning incense (at least she thought that was the source of the
sickly-sweet aroma) that her eyes flooded with tears and she began to cough
uncontrollably.
    "Can I get you something, Ms. Godz?" The faithful Gary was at her elbow, his round
face barely visible through the roiling smoke. "Some water? Organic fruit nectars? A
beer?"
    "Whatever," Peez croaked. He vanished into the mist only to return almost
immediately with a gold goblet.
    "Beer," he said as she raised the cup to her lips. "We have a highly authentic
microbrewery on the premises that—"
    He got a faceful of microbrew when Peez spritzed out her first taste of Horus Lite.
"Dear gods, what was that stuff?" she gasped.
    From somewhere deep in the heart of the pungent clouds there came a giggle and
someone said: "That is what we like to call an acquired taste."
    Peez blinked her stinging eyes and little by little was able to distinguish solid shapes
amid the whorls of smoke. "I don't suppose there's a window in here?" she asked.
    "Yes," said the voice. "But we prefer not to—"
    "The Lady Peez has spoken!" Ray Rah thundered. "All power to the words of the
Lady Peez! So let it be written, so let it be done! Gary, open the window." There came
the sound of much scrabbling, a couple of bumps, a thud, several curses, Gary's mumbled
"'Scuse me, sorry," and at long last the squeak of a sash being raised. A cool breeze blew
into the room, banishing the worst of the haze and giving Peez a clear view of her
surroundings.
    Apart from the birdbath-sized incense burner in the center of the rug, the inner
chamber of Ray Rah's temple looked like nothing more than a frat house rumpus room.
There were several mismatched sofas and chairs, some wobbly-looking tables, a big
screen TV complete with DVD player, a middle-of-the-line stereo system and a wet bar.
    Peez decided to make the wet bar her number one priority. Striding across the room,
ignoring the twenty-odd people lounging around, she went right up to the bar and set
down her gold goblet with a mighty thump. "I don't call a practical joke an acquired
taste," she informed the woman behind the counter. "And I sure as hell don't call this
gunk beer."
    The woman, like Ray Rah and the rest, was wearing the pleated white linen garb
made famous by New Kingdom tomb paintings. She too wore a sparkling assortment of
gold jewelry, heavy on the lotus/ankh/eye-of-Horus motifs. However, instead of a wig
she had opted to cornrow her mousy brown hair and top the whole ensemble with a Cubs
cap.
    "Sorry to disillusion you, Princess, but that is beer," she said. "Authentic Ancient
Egyptian beer. I brewed it myself, after copious research and the proper sacrifices to the
gods. It may be a little sweeter than what you're used