Pyramids

murmured Ibid.
    Teppic looked down the length of the table, and then nudged Xeno beside him. “Who is everyone?” he said.
    “Well, Ibid you already know. And Copolymer. Over there, that’s Iesope, the greatest teller of fables in the world. And that’s Antiphon, the greatest writer of comic plays in the world.”
    “Where is Pthagonal?” said Teppic. Xeno pointed to the far end of the table, where a glum-looking, heavy-drinking man was trying to determine the angle between two bread rolls. “I’ll introduce you to him afterward,” he said.
    Teppic looked around at the bald heads and long white beards, which seemed to be a badge of office. If you had a bald head and a long white beard, they seemed to indicate, whatever lay between them must be bursting with wisdom. The only exception was Antiphon, who looked as though he was built of pork.
    They are great minds, he told himself. These are men who are trying to work out how the world fits together, not by magic, not by religion, but just by inserting their brains in whatever crack they can find and trying to lever it apart.
    Ibid rapped on the table for silence.
    “The Tyrant has called for war on Tsort,” he said. “Now, let us consider the place of war in the ideal republic,” he said. “We would require—”
    “Excuse me, could you just pass me the celery?” said Iesope. “Thank you.”
    “—the ideal republic, as I was saying, based on the fundamental laws that govern—”
    “And the salt. It’s just by your elbow.”
    “—the fundamental laws, that is, which govern all men. Now, it is without doubt true that war…could you stop that, please?”
    “It’s celery,” said Iesope, crunching cheerfully. “You can’t help it with celery.”
    Xeno peered suspiciously at what was on his fork.
    “Here, this is squid,” he said. “I didn’t ask for squid. Who ordered squid?”
    “—without doubt,” repeated Ibid, raising his voice, “without doubt, I put it to you—”
    “I think this is the lamb couscous,” said Antiphon.
    “Was yours the squid?”
    “I asked for marida and dolmades.”
    “ I ordered the lamb. Just pass it along, will you?”
    “I don’t remember anyone asking for all this garlic bread,” said Xeno.
    “Look, some of us are trying to float a philosophical concept here,” said Ibid sarcastically. “Don’t let us interrupt you, will you?”
    Someone threw a breadstick at him.
    Teppic looked at what was on his fork. Seafood was unknown in the kingdom, and what was on his fork had too many valves and suckers to be reassuring. He lifted a boiled vine leaf with extreme care, and was sure he saw something scuttle behind an olive.
    Ah. Something else to remember, then. The Ephebians made wine out of anything they could put in a bucket, and ate anything that couldn’t climb out of one.
    He pushed the food around on his plate. Some of it pushed back.
    And philosophers didn’t listen to one another. And they don’t stick to the point. This probably is mocracy at work.
    A bread roll bounced past him. Oh, and they get overexcited.
    He noticed a skinny little man sitting opposite him, chewing primly on some anonymous tentacle. Apart from Pthagonal the geometrician, who was now gloomily calculating the radius of his plate, he was the only person not speaking his mind at the top of his voice. Sometimes he’d make little notes on a piece of parchment and slip it into his toga.
    Teppic leaned across. Further down the table Iesope, encouraged by occasional olive stones and bread rolls, started a long fable about a fox, a turkey, a goose and a wolf, who had a wager to see who could stay longest underwater with heavy weights tied to their feet.
    “Excuse me,” said Teppic, raising his voice above the din. “Who are you?”
    The little man gave him a shy look. He had extremely large ears. In a certain light, he could have been mistaken for a very thin jug.
    “I’m Endos,” he said.
    “Why aren’t you philosophizing?”
    Endos sliced a strange mollusc.
    “I’m not a philosopher, actually,” he said.
    “Or a humorous playwright or something?” said Teppic.
    “I’m afraid not. I’m a Listener. Endos the Listener, I’m known as.”
    “That’s fascinating,” said Teppic automatically. “What does that involve?”
    “Listening.”
    “Just listening?”
    “That’s what they pay me for,” said Endos. “Sometimes I nod. Or smile. Or nod and smile at the same time. Encouragingly, you know. They like