Pyramids

dimessnon, see? Four of the bastards. Time’s one of them. Ninety thingys to the other three. Degrees is what I mean. Only, only, it can’t exist in this world like that, so the place had to sort of pop outside for a bit, see? Otherwise you’d have people getting older by walking sideways.” He looked sadly into the depths of his cup. “And every birthday you’d age another mile,” he added.
    Teppic looked at him aghast.
    “That’s time and space for you,” Pthagonal went on. “You can twist them all over the place if you’re not careful. Three point one four one. What sort of a number d’you call that?”
    “It sounds horrible,” said Teppic.
    “Damn right. Somewhere,” Pthagonal was beginning to sway on his bench, “somewhere someone built a universe with a decent, respectable value of, of,” he peered blankly at the table, “of pie. Not some damn number that never comes to an end, what kind of—”
    “I meant, people getting older just by walking along!”
    “I dunno, though. You could have a stroll back to where you were eighteen. Or wander up and see what you are going to look like when you’re seventy. Traveling in width, though, that’d be the real trick.”
    Pthagonal smiled vacantly and then, very slowly, keeled over into his dinner, some of which moved out of the way. *
    Teppic became aware that the philosophic din around him had subsided a bit. He stared along the line until he spotted Ibid.
    “It won’t work,” said Ibid. “The Tyrant won’t listen to us. Nor will the people. Anyway—” he glanced at Antiphon—“we’re not all of one mind on the subject.”
    “Damn Tsorteans need teaching a lesson,” said Antiphon sternly. “Not room for two major powers on this continent. Damn bad sports, anyway, just because we stole their queen. Youthful high spirits, love will have its way—”
    Copolymer woke up.
    “You’ve got it wrong,” he said mildly. “The great war, that was because they stole our queen. What was her name now, face that launched a thousand camels, began with an A or a T or—”
    “Did they?” shouted Antiphon. “The bastards!”
    “I’m reasonably certain,” said Copolymer.
    Teppic sagged, and turned to Endos the Listener. He was still eating his dinner, with the air of one who is determined to preserve his digestion.
    “Endos?”
    The Listener laid his knife and fork carefully on either side of his plate.
    “Yes?”
    “They’re really all mad, aren’t they?” said Teppic wearily.
    “That’s extremely interesting,” said Endos. “Do go on.” He reached shyly into his toga and brought forth a scrap of parchment, which he pushed gently toward Teppic.
    “What’s this?”
    “My bill,” said Endos. “Five minutes Attentive Listening. Most of my gentlemen have monthly accounts, but I understand you’ll be leaving in the morning?”
    Teppic gave up. He wandered away from the table and into the cold garden surrounding the citadel of Ephebe. White marble statues of ancient Ephebians doing heroic things with no clothes on protruded through the greenery and, here and there, there were statues of Ephebian gods. It was hard to tell the difference. Teppic knew that Dios had hard words to say about the Ephebians for having gods that looked just like people. If the gods looked just like everyone else, he used to say, how would people know how to treat them?
    Teppic had rather liked the idea. According to legend the Ephebians’ gods were just like humans, except that they used their godhood to get up to things humans didn’t have the nerve to do. A favorite trick of Ephebian gods, he recalled, was turning into some animal in order to gain the favors of highly-placed Ephebian women. And one of them had reputedly turned himself into a golden shower in pursuit of his intended. All this raised interesting questions about everyday night life in sophisticated Ephebe.
    He found Ptraci sitting on the grass under a poplar tree, feeding the tortoise. He gave it a suspicious look, in case it was a god trying it on. It did not look like a god. If it was a god, it was putting on an incredibly good act.
    She was feeding it a lettuce leaf.
    “Dear little ptortoise,” she said, and then looked up. “Oh, it’s you,” she said flatly.
    “You didn’t miss much,” said Teppic, sagging onto the grass. “They’re a bunch of maniacs. When I left they were smashing the plates.”
    “That’s ptraditional at the end of an Ephebian meal,” said