Like the pride-maddened men of Babel, they were building a sky-high
thing of stone. It was obviously impossible, and even Menes must be
aware of that. Yet perhaps it was no more impossible than all the rest
of the things in this impossible world.
When the warlocks of this world had discovered that they could not solve
the problem of the sky, they must have gone into a state of pure
hysteria, like a chicken dashing back and forth in front of a car. They
had sought through other worlds and ages for anyone with a reputation as
a builder, engineer or construction genius, without screening the
probability of finding an answer. The size of the ancient pyramid must
have been enough to sway them. They had used Hanson, Menes, Einstein,
Cagliostro--for some reason of their own, since he'd never been a
builder--and probably a thousand more. And then they had half-supplied
all of them, rather than picking the most likely few and giving full
cooperation. Magic must have made solutions to most things so easy that
they no longer had the guts to try the impossible themselves. A pyramid
seemed like a ridiculous solution, but for an incredible task, an
impossible solution had to be tried.
And maybe, he thought, they'd overlooked the obvious in their own
system. The solution to a problem in magic should logically be found in
magic, not in the methods of other worlds.
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