Pyramids (Discworld 7)

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 modems.'

'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.

rfaced from this pool of thought to hear his sons still arguing.

If this was his posterity, he'd take his chances with 600-ton limestone blocks. At least they were quiet.

'Shut up, the pair of you,' he said.

They stopped, and sat down, grumbling.

'I've made up my mind,' he said.