Pyramids

‘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.’

‘But it can’t start yet,’ whispered IIb. ‘It can’t form temporal nodes yet, I mean, how does it know it’s going to be a pyramid?’

‘I put my hand down for it, and it felt just like … it felt pretty unpleasant,’ the plasterer complained.

‘And it’s a negative node, too,’ added IIb. ‘We shouldn’t be getting them at all.’

‘Is it still there?’ said Ptaclusp, and added, ‘Tell me yes.’

‘If more blocks have been set in position it won’t be,’ said his son, looking around wildly. ‘As the centre of mass changes, you see, the nodes will be pulled around.’

Ptaclusp pulled the young man to one side. ‘What are you telling me now?’ he demanded, in a camel whisper[14].

‘We ought to put a cap on it,’ mumbled IIb. ‘Flare off the trapped time. Wouldn’t be any problems then …’

‘How can we cap it? It isn’t damn well finished,’ said Ptaclusp. ‘What have you been and gone and done? Pyramids don’t start accumulating until they’re finished. Until they’re pyramids, see? Pyramid energy, see? Named after pyramids. That’s why it’s called pyramid energy.’

‘It must be something to do with the mass, or something,’ the architect hazarded, ‘and the speed of construction. The time is getting trapped in the fabric. I mean, in theory you could get small nodes during construction, but they’d be so weak you wouldn’t notice; if you went and stood in one maybe you’d become a few hours older or younger or—’ he began to gabble.

‘I recall when we did Kheneth XIV’s tomb the fresco painter said it took him two hours to do the painting in the Queen’s Room, and we said it was three days and fined him,’ said Ptaclusp, slowly. ‘There was a lot of Guild fuss, I remember.’

‘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 Ptaclusp.

‘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[15].

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 realized 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, agonizing 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.