Pyramids

that.”
    Teppic felt he was called upon to comment at this point. “Gosh,” he said.
    Endos gave him an encouraging nod, and a smile that suggested that of all the things Endos could be doing in the world right at this minute there was nothing so basically riveting as listening to Teppic. It was something about his ears. They appeared to be a vast aural black hole, begging to be filled up with words. Teppic felt an overpowering urge to tell him all about his life and hopes and dreams…
    “I bet,” he said, “that they pay you an awful lot of money.”
    Endos gave him a heartening smile.
    “Have you listened to Copolymer tell his story lots of times?”
    Endos nodded and smiled, although there was a faint trace of pain right behind his eyes.
    “I expect,” said Teppic, “that your ears develop protective rough surfaces after a while?”
    Endos nodded. “Do go on,” he urged.
    Teppic glanced across at Pthagonal, who was moodily drawing right angles in his taramasalata.
    “I’d love to stay and listen to you listening to me all day,” he said. “But there’s a man over there I’d like to see.”
    “That’s amazing,” said Endos, making a short note and turning his attention to a conversation further along the table. A philosopher had averred that although truth was beauty, beauty was not necessarily truth, and a fight was breaking out. Endos listened carefully. *
    Teppic wandered along the table to where Pthagonal was sitting in unrelieved misery, and currently peering suspiciously over the crust of a pie.
    Teppic looked over his shoulder.
    “I think I saw something moving in there,” he said.
    “Ah,” said the geometrician, taking the cork out of an amphora with his teeth. “The mysterious young man in black from the lost kingdom.”
    “I was hoping you could help me find it again?” said Teppic. “I heard that you have some very unusual ideas in Ephebe.”
    “It had to happen,” said Pthagonal. He pulled a pair of dividers from the folds of his robe and measured the pie thoughtfully. “Is it a constant, do you think? It’s a depressing concept.”
    “Sorry?” said Teppic.
    “The diameter divides into the circumference, you know. It ought to be three times. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But does it? No. Three point one four one and lots of other figures. There’s no end to the buggers. Do you know how pissed off that makes me?”
    “I expect it makes you extremely pissed off,” said Teppic politely.
    “Right. It tells me that the Creator used the wrong kind of circles. It’s not even a proper number! I mean, three point five, you could respect. Or three point three. That’d look right .” He stared morosely at the pie.
    “Excuse me, you said something about it had to happen?”
    “What?” said Pthagonal, from the depths of his gloom. “Pie!” he added.
    “What had to happen?” Teppic prompted.
    “You can’t mess with geometry, friend. Pyramids? Dangerous things. Asking for trouble. I mean,” Pthagonal reached unsteadily for his wine cup, “how long did they think they could go on building bigger and bigger pyramids for? I mean, where did they think power comes from? I mean,” he hiccuped, “you’ve been in that place, haven’t you? Ever noticed how slow it all seems to be?”
    “Oh, yes,” said Teppic flatly.
    “That’s because the time is sucked up, see? Pyramids. So they have to flare it off. Flarelight, they call it. They think it looks pretty! It’s their time they’re burning off!”
    “All I know is the air feels as though it’s been boiled in a sock,” said Teppic. “And nothing actually changes, even if it doesn’t stay the same.”
    “Right,” said Pthagonal. “The reason being, it’s past time. They use up past time, over and over again. The pyramids take all the new time. And if you don’t let the pyramids flare, the power build up’ll—” he paused. “I suppose,” he went on, “that it’d escape along a wossname, a fracture. In space.”
    “I was there before the kingdom, er, went,” said Teppic. “I thought I saw the big pyramid move.”
    “There you are then. It’s probably moved the dimensions around by ninety degrees,” said Pthagonal, with the assurance of the truly drunk.
    “You mean, so length is height and height is width?”
    Pthagonal shook an unsteady finger.
    “Nonono,” he said. “So that length is height and height is breadth and breadth is width and width is—” he burped—“time. S’nother