‘Well, Ibid you already know. And Copolymer. Over there, that’s Iesope, the greatest teller of fables in the world. And that’s Antiphon, the greatest writer of comic plays in the world.’
‘Where is Pthagonal?’ said Teppic. Xeno pointed to the far end of the table, where a glum-looking, heavy-drinking man was trying to determine the angle between two bread rolls. ‘I’ll introduce you to him afterwards,’ he said.
Teppic looked around at the bald heads and long white beards, which seemed to be a badge of office. If you had a bald head and a long white beard, they seemed to indicate, whatever lay between them must be bursting with wisdom. The only exception was Antiphon, who looked as though he was built of pork.
They are great minds, he told himself. These are men who are trying to work out how the world fits together, not by magic, not by religion, but just by inserting their brains in whatever crack they can find and trying to lever it apart.
Ibid rapped on the table for silence.
‘The Tyrant has called for war on Tsort,’ he said. ‘Now, let us consider the place of war in the ideal republic,’ he said. ‘We would require-‘
‘Excuse me, could you just pass me the celery?’ said Iesope. ‘Thank you.’
‘-the ideal republic, as I was saying, based on the fundamental laws that govern-‘
‘And the salt. It’s just by your elbow.’
‘-the fundamental laws, that is, which govern all men. Now, it is without doubt true that war. . . could you stop that, please?’
‘It’s celery,’ said Iesope, crunching cheerfully. ‘You can’t help it with celery.’
Xeno peered suspiciously at what was on his fork.
‘Here, this is squid,’ he said. ‘I didn’t ask for squid. Who ordered squid?’
‘-without doubt,’ repeated Thid, raising his voice, ‘without doubt, I put it to you-
‘I think this is the lamb couscous,’ said Antiphon.
‘Was yours the squid?’
‘I asked for marida and dolmades.’
‘I ordered the lamb. Just pass it along, will you?’
‘I don’t remember anyone asking for all this garlic bread,’ said Xeno.
‘Look, some of us are trying to float a philosophical concept here,’ said Ibid sarcastically. ‘Don’t let us interrupt you, will you?’
Someone threw a breadstick at him.
Teppic looked at what was on his fork. Seafood was unknown in the kingdom, and what was on his fork had too many valves and suckers to be reassuring. He lifted a boiled vine leaf with extreme care, and was sure he saw something scuttle behind an olive.
Ah. Something else to remember, then. The Ephebians made wine out of anything they could put in a bucket, and ate anything that couldn’t climb out of one.
He pushed the food around on his plate. Some of it pushed back.
And philosophers didn’t listen to one another. And they don’t stick to the point. This probably is mocracy at work.
A bread roll bounced past him. Oh, and they get over-excited.
He noticed a skinny little man sitting opposite him, chewing primly on some anonymous tentacle. Apart from Pthagonal the geometrician, who was now gloomily calculating the radius of his plate, he was the only person not speaking his mind at the top of his voice. Sometimes he’d make little notes on a piece of parchment and slip it into his toga.
Teppic leaned across. Further down the table Iesope, encouraged by occasional olive stones and bread rolls, started a long fable about a fox, a turkey, a goose and a wolf, who had a wager to see who could stay longest underwater with heavy weights tied to their feet.
‘Excuse me,’ said Teppic, raising his voice above the din. ‘Who are you?’
The little man gave him a shy look. He had extremely large ears. In a certain light, he could have been mistaken for a very thin jug.
‘I’m Endos,’ he said.
‘Why aren’t you philosophising?’
Endos sliced a strange mollusc.
‘I’m not a philosopher, actually,’ he said.
‘Or a humorous playwright or something?’ said Teppic.
‘I’m afraid not. I’m a Listener. Endos the Listener, I’m known as.’
‘That’s fascinating,’ said Teppic automatically. ‘What does that involve?’
‘Listening.’
‘Just listening?’
‘That’s what they pay me for,’ said Endos. ‘Sometimes I nod. Or smile. Or nod and smile at the same time. Encouragingly, you know. They like that.’
Teppic felt he was called upon to comment at this point. ‘Gosh,’ he said.
Endos gave him an encouraging nod, and a smile that suggested that of all the things Endos could be doing in the world right at this minute there was nothing so basically riveting as listening to Teppic. It was something about his ears. They appeared to be a vast aural black hole, begging to be filled up with words. Teppic felt an overpowering urge to tell him all about his life and hopes and dreams…
‘I bet,’ he said, ‘that they pay you an awful lot of money.
Endos gave him a heartening smile.
‘Have you listened to Copolymer tell his story lots of times?’
Endos nodded and smiled, although there was a faint trace of pain right behind his eyes.
‘I expect,’ said Teppic, ‘that your ears develop protective rough surfaces after a while?’
Endos nodded. ‘Do go on,’ he urged.
Teppic glanced across at Pthagonal, who was moodily drawing right angles in his taramasalata.
‘I’d love to stay and listen to you listening to me all day,’ he said. ‘But there’s a man over there I’d like to see.’
‘That’s amazing,’ said Endos, making a short note and turning his attention to a conversation further along the table. A philosopher had averred that although truth was beauty, beauty was not necessarily truth, and a fight was breaking out. Endos listened carefully.[27]
Teppic wandered along the table to where Pthagonal was sitting in unrelieved misery, and currently peering suspiciously over the crust of a pie.
Teppic looked over his shoulder.
‘I think I saw something moving in there,’ he said.
‘Ah,’ said the geometrician, taking the cork out of an amphora with his teeth. ‘The mysterious young man in black from the lost kingdom.’
‘I was hoping you could help me find it again?’ said Teppic.
‘I heard that you have some very unusual ideas in Ephebe.’
‘It had to happen,’ said Pthagonal. He pulled a pair of dividers from the folds of his robe and measured the pie thoughtfully. ‘Is it a constant, do you think? It’s a depressing concept.’
‘Sorry?’ said Teppic.
‘The diameter divides into the circumference, you know. It ought to be three times. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But does it? No. Three point one four one and lots of other figures. There’s no end to the buggers. Do you know how pissed off that makes me?’
‘I expect it makes you extremely pissed off,’ said Teppic politely.
‘Right. It tells me that the Creator used the wrong kind of circles. It’s not even a proper number! I mean, three point five, you could respect. Or three point three. That’d look right.’ He stared morosely at the pie.
‘Excuse me, you said something about it had to happen?’
‘What?’ said Pthagonal, from the depths of his gloom. ‘Pie!’ he added.
‘What had to happen?’ Teppic prompted.
‘You can’t mess with geometry, friend. Pyramids? Dangerous things. Asking for trouble. I mean,’ Pthagonal reached unsteadily for his wine cup, ‘how long did they think they could go on building bigger and bigger pyramids for? I mean, where did they think power comes from? I mean,’ he hiccuped, ‘you’ve been in that place, haven’t you? Ever noticed how slow it all seems to be?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Teppic flatly.
‘That’s because the time is sucked up, see? Pyramids. So they have to flare it off. Flarelight, they call it. They think it looks pretty! It’s their time they’re burning off!’
‘All I know is the air feels as though it’s been boiled in a sock,’ said Teppic. ‘And nothing actually changes, even if it doesn’t stay the same.
‘Right,’ said Pthagonal. ‘The reason being, it’s past time. They use up past time, over and over again. The pyramids take all the new time. And if you don’t let the pyramids flare, the power build up’ll-” he paused. ‘I suppose,’ he went on, ‘that it’d escape along a wossname, a fracture. In space.’
‘I was there before the kingdom, er, went,’ said Teppic. ‘I thought I saw the big pyramid move.’
‘There you are then. It’s probably moved the dimensions around by ninety degrees,’ said Pthagonal, with the assurance of the truly drunk.
‘You mean, so length is height and height is width?’
Pthagonal shook an unsteady finger.
‘Nonono,’ he said. ‘So that length is height and height is breadth and breadth is width and width is a’, he burped ‘A ‘time. S’nother dimessnon, see? Four of the bastards. Time’s one of them. Ninety thingys to the other three. Degrees is what I mean. Only, only, it can’t exist in this world like that, so the place had to sort of pop outside for a bit, see? Otherwise you’d have people getting older by walking sideways. He looked sadly into the depths of his cup. ‘And every birthday you’d age another mile,’ he added. Teppic looked at him aghast.