'You just said that,' said IIb.

'Said what?'

'About the fresco painter. Just a moment ago.

'No, I didn't. You couldn't have been listening,' said Placlusp.

'Could have sworn you did. Anyway, this is worse than that business,' said his son. 'And it's probably going to happen again.'

'We can expect more like it?'

'Yes,' said IIb. 'We shouldn't get negative nodes, but it looks as though we will. We can expect fast flows and reverse flows and probably even short loops. I'm afraid we can expect all kinds of temporal anomalies. We'd better get the men off.'

'I suppose you couldn't work out a way we could get them to work in fast time and pay them for slow time?' said Ptaclusp. 'It's just a thought. Your brother's bound to suggest it.'

'No! Keep everyone off! We'll get the blocks in and cap it first!'

'All right, all right. I was just thinking out loud. As if we didn't have enough problems . . .'

Ptaclusp waded into the cluster of workers around the centre. Here, at least, there was silence. Dead silence.

'All right, all right,' he said. 'What's going . . . oh.' Ptaclusp IIb peered over his father's shoulder, and stuck his wrist in his mouth.

The thing was wrinkled. It was ancient. It clearly had once been a living thing. It lay on the slab like a very obscene prune.

'It was my lunch,' said the chief plasterer. 'It was my bloody lunch. I was really looking forward to that apple.' Ptaclusp hesitated. This all seemed very familiar. He'd had this feeling before. An overwhelming sensation of reja vu[17]. He met the horrified gaze of his son. Together, dreading what they might see, they turned around slowly. They saw themselves standing behind themselves, bickering over something IIb was swearing that he had already heard.

He has, too, Ptaclusp realised in dread. That's me over there. I look a lot different from the outside. And it's me over here, too. As well. Also.

It's a loop. Just like in the river, a tiny whirlpool, only it's in the flow of time. And I've just gone round it twice.

The other Ptaclusp looked up at him.

There was a long, agonising moment of temporal strain, a noise like a mouse blowing bubblegum, and the loop broke, and the figure faded.

'I know what's causing it,' muttered IIb indistinctly, because of his wrist. 'I know the pyramid isn't complete, but it will be, so the effects are sort of echoing backwards, dad, we ought to stop right now, it's too big, I was wrong-

'Shut up. Can you work out where the nodes will form?' said Ptaclusp. 'And come away over here, all the lads are staring. Pull yourself together, son.'

IIb instinctively put his hand to his belt abacus.

'Well, yes, probably,' he said. 'It's just a function of mass distribution and-'

'Right,' said the builder firmly. 'Start doing it. And then get all the foremen to come and see me.'

There was a glint like mica in Ptaclusp's eye. His jaw was squared like a block of granite. Maybe it's the pyramid that's got me thinking like this, he said, I'm thinking fast, I know it.

'And get your brother up here, too,' he added.

It is the pyramid effect. I'm remembering an idea I'm going to have.

Best not to think too hard about that. Be practical.

He stared around at the half-completed site. The gods knew we couldn't do it in time, he said. Now we don't have to. We can take as long as we like!

'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.

'His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, bids you welcome and commands you to take wine with him,' said Dios, clapping his hands for a butler.

'Oh yes,' said Teppic. 'Do sit down, won't you?'

'His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, commands you to be seated,' said Dios.

Teppic racked his brains for a suitable speech. He'd heard plenty in Ankh-Morpork. They were probably the same the whole world over.

'I'm sure we shall get on-'

'His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, bids you harken!' Dios boomed.

'-long history of friendship-'

'Harken to the wisdom of His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King!'

The echoes died away.

'Could I have a word with you a moment, Dios?'

The high priest leaned down.

'Is all this necessary?' hissed Teppic.

Dios's aquiline features took on the wooden expression of one who is wrestling with an unfamiliar concept.

'Of course, sire. It is traditional,' he said, at last.

'I thought I was supposed to talk to these people. You know, about boundaries and trade and so on. I've been doing a lot of thinking about it and I've got several ideas. I mean, it's going to be a little difficult if you're going to keep shouting.'

Dios gave him a polite smile.

'Oh no, sire. That has all been sorted out, sire. I met with them this morning.'

'What am I supposed to do, then?' Dios made a slight circling motion with his hand.

'Just as you wish, sire. It is normal to smile a little, and put them at their ease.'

'Is that all'

'Sire could ask them whether they enjoy being diplomats, sire,' said Dios. He met Teppic's glare with eyes as expressionless as mirrors.

'I am the king,' Teppic hissed.

'Certainly, sire. It would not do to sully the office with mere matters of leaden state, sire. Tomorrow, sire, you will be holding supreme court. A very fit office for a monarch, sire.'

'Ah. Yes.'

It was quite complicated. Teppic listened carefully to the case, which was alleged cattle theft compounded by Djeli's onion-layered land laws. This is what it should be all about, he thought. No-one else can work out who owns the bloody ox, this is the sort of thing kings have to do. Now, let's see, five years ago, he sold the ox to him, but as it turned out-

He looked from the face of one worried farmer to the other. They were both clutching their ragged straw hats close to their chests, and both of them wore the paralysed wooden expressions of simple men who, in pursuit of their parochial disagreement, now found themselves on a marble floor in a great room with their god enthroned before their very eyes. Teppic didn't doubt that either one would cheerfully give up all rights to the wretched creature in exchange for being ten miles away.

It's a fairly mature ox, he thought, time it was slaughtered, even if it's his it's been fattening on his neighbour's land all these years, half each would be about right, they're really going to remember this judgement .

He raised the Sickle of Justice.

'His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, will give judgement! Cower to the justice of His Greatness the King Tep-'