'How could any man stand it?' said the king.
Dios shrugged.
'Seven thousand years is just one day at a time,' he said. Slowly, with the occasional wince, he got down on one knee and held up his staff in shaking hands.
'O kings,' he said, 'I have always existed only to serve.'
There was a long, extremely embarrassed pause.
'We will destroy the pyramids,' said Far-re-ptah, pushing forward.
'You will destroy the kingdom,' said Dios. 'I cannot allow it.'
'You cannot allow it?'
'Yes. What will we be without the pyramids?' said Dios.
'Speaking for the dead,' said Far-re-ptah, 'we will be free.'
'But the kingdom will be just another small country,' said Dios, and to their horror the ancestors saw tears in his eyes.
'All that we hold dear, you will cast adrift in time. Uncertain. Without guidance. Changeable.'
'Then it can take its chances,' said Teppicymon. 'Stand aside, Dios.'
Dios held up his staff. The snake around it uncoiled and hissed at the king.
'Be still,' said Dios.
Dark lightning crackled between the ancestors. Dios stared at the staff in astonishment; it had never done this before.
But seven thousand years of his priests had believed, in their hearts, that the staff of Dios could rule this world and the next.
In the sudden silence there was the faint chink, high up, of a knife being wedged between two black marble slabs.
The pyramid pulsed under Teppic, and the marble was as slippery as ice. The inward slope wasn't the help he had expected.
The thing, he told himself, is not to look up or down, but straight ahead, into the marble, parcelling the impossible height into manageable sections. Just like time. That's how we survive infinity - we kill it by breaking it up into small bits.
He was aware of shouts below him, and glanced briefly over his shoulder. He was barely a third of the way up, but he could see the crowds across the river, a grey mass speckled with the pale blobs of upturned faces. Closer to, the pale army of the dead, facing the small grey group of priests, with Dios in front of them. There was some sort of argument going on.
The sun was on the horizon.
He reached up, located the next crack, found a handhold.
Dios spotted Ptaclusp's head peering over the debris, and sent a couple of priests to bring him back. IIb followed, his carefully folded brother under his arm.
'What is the boy doing?' Dios demanded.
'O Dios, he said he was going to flare off the pyramid,' said Ptaclusp.
'How can he do that?'
'O lord, he says he is going to cap it off before the sun sets.'
'Is it possible?' Dios demanded, turning to the architect. IIb hesitated.
'It may be,' he said.