The king groaned.
Ptaclusp groaned.
It had been better in his father’s day. You just needed a bloody great heap of log rollers and twenty years, which was useful because it kept everyone out of trouble during Inundation, when all the fields were flooded. Now you just needed a bright lad with a piece of chalk and the right incantations.
Mind you, it was impressive, if you liked that kind of thing.
Ptaclusp IIb walked around the great stone block, tidying an equation here, highlighting a hermetic inscription there. He glanced up and gave his father a brief nod.
Ptaclusp hurried back to the king, who was standing with his retinue on the cliff overlooking the quarry, the sun gleaming off the mask. A royal visit, on top of everything else …
‘We’re ready, if it please you, O arc of the sky,’ he said, breaking into a sweat, hoping against hope that …
Oh gods. The king was going to Put Him at his Ease again.
He looked imploringly at the high priest, who with the merest twitch of his features indicated that there was nothing he proposed to do about it. This was too much, he wasn’t the only one to object to this, Dil the master embalmer had been subjected to half an hour of having to Talk about his Family only yesterday, it was wrong, people expected the king to stay in the palace, it was too …
The king ambled towards him in a nonchalant way designed to make the master builder feel he was among friends. Oh no, Ptaclusp thought, he’s going to Remember my Name.
‘I must say you’ve done a tremendous amount in nine weeks, it’s a very good start. Er. It’s Ptaclusp, isn’t it?’ said the king.
Ptaclusp swallowed. There was no help for it now.
‘Yes, O hand upon the waters,’ he said, ‘O fount of—’
‘I think “your majesty” or “sire” will do,’ said Teppic.
Ptaclusp panicked and glanced fearfully at Dios, who winced but nodded again.
‘The king wishes you to address him—’ a look of pain crossed his face — ‘informally. In the fashion of the barba — of foreign lands.’
‘You must consider yourself a very fortunate man to have such talented and hard-working sons,’ said Teppic, staring down at the busy panorama of the quarry.
‘I … will, O … sire,’ mumbled Ptaclusp, interpreting this as an order. Why couldn’t kings order people around like in the old days? You knew where you were then, they didn’t go round being charming and treating you as some sort of equal, as if you could make the sun rise too.
‘It must be a fascinating trade,’ Teppic went on.
‘As your sire wishes, sire,’ said Ptaclusp. ‘If your majesty would just give the word—’
‘And how exactly does all this work?’
‘Your sire?’ said Ptaclusp, horrified.
‘You make the blocks fly, do you?’
‘Yes, O sire.’
‘That is very interesting. How do you do it?’
Ptaclusp nearly bit through his lip. Betray Craft secrets? He was horrified. Against all expectation, Dios came to his aid.
‘By means of certain secret signs and sigils, sire,’ he said, ‘into the origin of which it is not wise to inquire. It is the wisdom of—’ he paused ‘—the moderns.’
‘So much quicker than all that heaving stuff around, I expect,’ said Teppic.
‘It had a certain glory, sire,’ said Dios. ‘Now, if I may suggest …?’
‘Oh. Yes. Press on, by all means.’
Ptaclusp wiped his forehead, and ran to the edge of the quarry.
He waved a cloth.
All things are defined by names. Change the name, and you change the thing.{27} Of course there is a lot more to it than that, but paracosmically that is what it boils down to …
Ptaclusp IIb tapped the stone lightly with his staff.
The air above it wavered in the heat and then, shedding a little dust, the block rose gently until it bobbed a few feet off the ground, held in check by mooring ropes.
That was all there was to it. Teppic had expected some thunder, or at least a gout of flame. But already the workers were clustering around another block, and a couple of men were towing the first block down towards the site.
‘Very impressive,’ he said sadly.
‘Indeed, sire,’ said Dios. ‘And now, we must go back to the palace. It will soon be time for the Ceremony of the Third Hour.’
‘Yes, yes, all right,’ snapped Teppic. ‘Very well done, Ptaclusp. Keep up the good work.’
Ptaclusp bowed like a seesaw in flustered excitement and confusion.
‘Very good, your sire,’ he said, and decided to go for the big one. ‘May I show your sire the latest plans?’
‘The king has approved the plans already,’ said Dios. ‘And, excuse me if I am mistaken, but it seems that the pyramid is well under construction.’
‘Yes, yes, but,’ said Ptaclusp, ‘it occurred to us, this avenue here, you see, overlooking the entrance, what a place, we thought, for a statue of for instance Hat the Vulture-Headed God of Unexpected Guests at practically cost—’
Dios glanced at the sketches.
‘Are those supposed to be wings?’ he said.
‘Not even cost, not even cost, tell you what I’ll do—’ said Ptaclusp desperately.
‘Is that a nose?’ said Dios.
‘More a beak, more a beak,’ said Ptaclusp. ‘Look, O priest, how about—’
‘I think not,’ said Dios. ‘No. I really think not.’ He scanned the quarry for Teppic, groaned, thrust the sketches into the builder’s hands and started to run.
Teppic had strolled down the path to the waiting chariots, looking wistfully at the bustle around him, and paused to watch a group of workers who were dressing a corner piece. They froze when they felt his gaze on them, and stood sheepishly watching him.
‘Well, well,’ said Teppic, inspecting the stone, although all he knew about stonemasonry could have been chiselled on a sand grain. ‘What a splendid piece of rock.’
He turned to the nearest man, whose mouth fell open.
‘You’re a stonemason, are you?’ he said. ‘That must be a very interesting job.’
The man’s eyes bulged. He dropped his chisel. ‘Erk,’ he said.
A hundred yards away Dios’s robes flapped around his legs as he pounded down the path. He grasped the hem and galloped along, sandals flapping.
‘What’s your name?’ said Teppic.
‘Aaaargle,’ said the man, terrified.
‘Well, jolly good,’ said Teppic, and took his unresisting hand and shook it.
‘Sire!’ Dios bellowed. ‘No!’
And the mason spun away, holding his right hand by the wrist, fighting it, screaming …
Teppic gripped the arms of the throne and glared at the high priest.
‘But it’s a gesture of fellowship, nothing more. Where I come from—’
‘Where you come from, sire, is here!’ thundered Dios.
‘But, good grief, cutting it off? It’s too cruel!’
Dios stepped forward. Now his voice was back to its normal oil-smooth tones.
‘Cruel, sire? But it will be done with precision and care, and drugs to take away the pain. He will certainly live.’
‘But why?’
‘I did explain, sire. He cannot use the hand again without defiling it. He is a devout man and knows this very well. You see, sire, you are a god, sire.’
‘But you can touch me. So can the servants!’