Franz Marc Tiger

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younger people with fresh ideas. You could tell them that they are outmoded. You could tell them all that.'
'They'll kill me!'
'Would they be that anxious for your eternal company, I wonder?'
'You're still rage.
He raised the staff, and the carved wooden snakes looked unusually alive in the flat light.
The gods of the Disc - and here is meant the great consensus gods, who really do exist in Dunmanifestin, their semi-detached Valhalla on the world's impossibly high central mountain, where they pass the time observing the petty antics of mortal men and organising petitions about how the influx of the Ice Giants has lowered property values in the celestial regions - the gods of Disc have always been fascinated by humanity's incredible high priest!' 'Why don't you talk to them?' said Dios. 'Don't forget to tell them that they are to be dragged kicking and screaming into the Century of the Cobra.' He handed Koomi the staff. 'Or whatever this century is called,' he added. Koomi felt the eyes of the assembled brethren and sistren upon him. He cleared his throat, adjusted his robe, and turned to face the mummies. They were chanting something, one word, over and over again. He couldn't quite make it out, but it seemed to have worked them up into a