TROPILE SAID, FAINTLY annoyed: “You were damn near too late.”
“Oh, no, Tropile,” Haendl assured him. “We’re never too late. If you don’t have enough guts and ingenuity to get away from sheep, you’re no wolf—simple as that. But there’s this Translation. We know it happens, but we don’t even know what it is. All we know, people disappear. There’s a new sun in the sky every five years or so. Who makes it? The Pyramids. How? We don’t know that. Sometimes something floats around in the air and we call it an Eye. It has something to do with Translation, something to do with the Pyramids. What? We don’t know that.”
“We don’t know much of anything,” interrupted Tropile, trying to hurry him along.
“Not about the Pyramids, no.” Haendl shook his head. “Hardly anyone has ever seen one, for that mat
