'Are you all right?' said IIb. 'Dad, are you all right?'
'Was that one of your time loops?' said Ptaclusp dreamily. What an idea! No-one would ever beat them on a contract ever again, they'd win bonuses for completion and it didn't matter how long it took!
'No! Dad, we ought-'
'But you're sure you can work out where these loops will occur, are you?'
'Yes, I expect so, but-'
'Good.' Ptaclusp was trembling with excitement. Maybe they'd have to pay the men more, but it would be worth it, and IIa would be bound to think up some sort of scheme, finance was nearly as good as magic. The lads would have to accept it. After all, they'd complained about working with free men, they'd complained about working with Howondanians, they'd complained about working with everyone except proper paid-up Guild members. So they could hardly complain about working with themselves. IIb stepped back, and gripped the abacus for reassurance. 'Dad,' he said cautiously, 'what are you thinking about?' Ptaclusp beamed at him. 'Doppelgangs,' he said.
Politics was more interesting. Teppic felt that here, at least, he could make a contribution.
Djelibeybi was old. It was respected. But it was also small and in the sword-edged sense, which was what seemed to matter these days, had no power. It wasn't always thus, as Dios told it. Once it had ruled the world by sheer force of nobility, hardly needing the standing army of twenty-five thousand men it had in those high days.
Now it wielded a more subtle power as a narrow state between the huge and thrusting empires of Tsort and Ephebe, each one both a threat and a shield. For more than a thousand years the kings along the Djel had, with extreme diplomacy, exquisite manners and the footwork of a centipede on adrenaline, kept the peace along the whole widdershins side of the continent. Merely having existed for seven thousand years can be a formidable weapon, if you use it properly.
'You mean we're neutral ground?' said Teppic.
'Tsort is a desert culture like us,' said Dios, steepling his hands. 'We have helped to shape it over the years. As for Ephebe-' He sniffed. 'They have some very strange beliefs.'
'How do you mean?'
'They believe the world is run by geometry, sire. All lines and angles and numbers. That sort of thing, sire-' Dios frowned - 'can lead to some very unsound ideas.'
'Ah,' said Teppic, resolving to learn more about unsound ideas as soon as possible. 'So we're secretly on the side of Tsort, yes?'
'No. It is important that Ephebe remains strong.'
'But we've more in common with Tsort?'
'So we allow them to believe, sire.'
'But they are a desert culture?'
Dios smiled. 'I am afraid they don't take pyramids seriously, sire.'
Teppic considered all this.
'So whose side are we really on?'
'Our own, sire. There is always a way. Always remember, sire, that your family was on its third dynasty before our neighbours had worked out, sire, how babies are made.'
The Tsort delegation did indeed appear to have studied Djeli culture assiduously, almost frantically. It was also clear that they hadn't begun to understand it; they'd merely borrowed as many bits as seemed useful and then put them together in subtly wrong ways. For example, to a man they employed the Three-Turning-Walk, as portrayed on friezes, and only used by the Djeli court on certain occasions. Occasional grimaces crossed their faces as their vertebrae protested.
They were also wearing the Khruspids of Morning and the bangles of Going Forth, as well as the kilt of Yet with, and no wonder even the maidens on fan duty were hiding their smiles, matching greaves![18]
Even Teppic had to cough hurriedly. But then, he thought, they don't know any better. They're like children.
And this thought was followed by another one which added, These children could wipe us off the map in one hour.
Hot on the synapses of the other two came a third thought, which said: It's only clothes, for goodness sake, you're beginning to take it all seriously.
The group from Ephebe were more sensibly dressed in white togas. They had a certain sameness about them, as if somewhere in the country there was a little press that stamped out small bald men with curly white beards.
The two parties halted before the throne, and bowed.
'Halo,' said Teppic.