Free Downfall of the Gods by K. J. Parker

and where you can fry an egg on a rock. I was about to sprout wings and get the hell out of there when I happened to look down at my feet, and saw a nugget of gold the size of my thumb.
    Oh dear, I thought.
    It wasn’t the only one. My impact crater had revealed a phenomenally rich seam of gold-bearing quartz; one which, in the normal course of events, would have stayed safely hidden for more or less ever. Now, though—it was only a matter of time before some wretched mortal stumbled across it; another matter of time, probably weeks, before the dreary, lethal desert all around me was covered with shacks, shanties and the headstones of fools. I quickly conjured a freak rainstorm, which turned the crater into a lake, but I knew I was kidding myself. In a few days’ time the murderous heat of my uncle Actis would evaporate the water, leaving the deadly lure once more exposed. Unintended consequences, I thought. Hundreds, probably thousands of dead miners; billions of guldens’ worth of unsupported specie, fuelling inflation, destabilising economies, collapsing markets and ruining lives. Not my fault; I had no control over where I’d landed. Just one of those things.
    Or, if you happen to be a true believer; if a god falls to Earth, naturally you’d expect to find something rich and rare at ground zero. Everything the gods do, every trace they leave is wonderful and perfect; pure gold. It’s the greed and folly of men that causes all the trouble.
    T HIS RELATIVITY - TIME - DISCREPANCY THING is a total bitch. As far as I was concerned, I’d only been away long enough to fly to heaven and fall back down from it; twenty minutes plus three days. In Lord Archias’ timescale, however—
    “I’m here to see the prisoner,” I said.
    The warder looked at me. “What, 5677341 Archias?” I’d taken the precaution of dressing up as a dropdead-gorgeous honey blonde, a type that seems to appeal to prison guards everywhere. “Yes, if that’s all right.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m his wife,” I said sweetly.
    Stunned silence, of a level of profundity I can’t remember having experienced since the world was very, very young. “You’re kidding. You, married to him?”
    I nodded. “I’ve come to pay his fines and his debts and get him released.”
    The guard rolled his eyes. “This way,” he said.
    Archias was sitting on the floor—no comfy stone benches in provincial jails—staring down at his feet. He looked up when the door opened. His face creased as though with pain.
    “Oh for God’s sake,” he said.
    “Hello.”
    Mute anguish filled his eyes. “I thought,” he said, “I honestly thought, after all this time, I’d finally got rid of you.”
    “Three days?”
    He glowered at me. “You what? It’s been six months. Six happy, happy—”
    “How long have you been in here?”
    “Five months.”
    “How long are you in for?”
    “Twenty years. But I didn’t mind. Really, I didn’t mind one bit.”
    “What did you do?”
    “Huh? Oh, I stole a loaf of bread, because I was penniless and starving. But so what, no big deal. I was free of you, that was all that mattered.”
    Twenty years in solitary for stealing a loaf. That’s what right-and-wrong leads to. “Well,” I said, “it’s all right, I’ll have you out of here in no time and then we can carry on with the quest. So that’s all right.”
    Oh, the infinite weariness as he rose to his feet. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “You can’t want to stay in here.”
    “Can’t I?”
    “Don’t be such an ungrateful pig.”
    I left him and went to pay his fine—twenty years, for stealing a loaf, or a forty-kreuzer fine; justice. I found the governor. Paying was embarrassing, because the smallest coin I had on me was a one-gulden, and nobody had any change. They had to send a runner to the wine-shop. No, really, I protested, keep the change. The governor looked at me darkly; we aren’t allowed to do that. Then spend it on the welfare of the prisoners. He