Giza was on the opposite bank of the Nile from Memphis. It was the land of the dead. Pyramids were nothing new, but this one was to be of an entirely new scale. Engineers feared it would be so heavy that it would sink into the desert. Pigrot was to share quarters with one such engineer, a foreigner named Fred.
"So like I was saying, this here pyramid is so big there's no way the sand can support it. I keep telling these numbskulls from the Pharaoh's palace, but there heads are hard as rock. Why, I outta clobber them!" Fred was loud and heavy set, and no matter how recently he had shaved he always had a five o'clock shadow.
"If I understand thee correctly, thou insinuatest that the design and location may not necessarily be structurally sound?" Pigrot asked by way of clarification.
"What I'm insinuatin' is that these guys are a bunch of knuckleheads. Look, where I come from we might not have no gold jewerly or copper cooking pots or fancy two story houses. But if there is one thing we are good at it's making stuff with rocks, see. We're known far and wide for rocks. Stones and rocks. And making animals do funny things for us. But mostly making stuff with rocks. So when some snooty-tooty over-paid errand boy for the Pharaoh tells me it's not my place to question his high holiness's choice for his eternal home, I say it's time to give that knucklehead a knuckle sandwich!" Fred was getting worked up. Not wanting to encourage him to further rants, Pigrot started uncomfortably reproducing his things-to-be-done list in the sand of their lodging. Fred cast a curious eye at his roommate's chore. "Say, Piggy Boy, watcha writin' there?"
"This is a list of tasks I must preform in preparation for my meeting with the Pharaoh's officials."
"Geez, wouldn't it be swell to be able to write like that. I'm always gettin' in trouble with the Mrs. for forgetin' stuff like our aniversary. I got a real lousy memory. Hey, I got a great idea. Seein' as we're gonna be roomies for a while, why don't you teach me. It can't really be that hard, can it?"
"To the contrary, my dear Fred, it took me an entire childhood to master the art of writing. I fear that a mere fortnight of instruction would do thee little good towards achieving literacy. Indeed, it might interfere with thine important masonry endevors."
"Aw, shucks! Oh well, you can't blame me for tryin'."
Pigrot breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently, even the untrained and unrefined eye of his foreign colleague could ascertain the simplicity of the Fishlip script. Pigrot had felt safe using it in front of the illiterate, but now was forced to reconsider this position.
The next day, he went to the building site. There were literally thousands of laborers at work, mostly clearing sand in order to make a flat base for the construction. Scattered among them were foremen and supervisors, distinguished by the clothing, or more accurately by their lack of nakedness. Pigrot was led to a small group more ornately attired individuals. These were the engineers, architects, and other specialists. Fred was already there, and was repeating his proclamation about the need to "clobber someone."
At the meeting, it was not Pigrot's place to enter into the debate, only to record the outcome. This was done by carving traditional glyphs into tablets of soft clay using a stylus. Following the conclusion of the meeting Pigrot had the tablets placed in a special area in order to be sunbaked. He was just getting ready to hail his guide to lead him back to his lodging when suddenly he became aware of a commotion not too far away. There was some sort of procession, led by armed guards, followed by banner carriers, fan wavers, throne hoisters, more banners, more guards, and assorted hangers on. Seated on the thrown was a little man. Fred approached from behind and stood next to Pigrot.
"Would ya get a load of that? It must be some real big-shot. Who d'ya suppose it is?"
As the procession appoached Pigrot made out the name of a king on the banners. "T'is our Pharaoh. Lower thine eyes!"
"The Phaoroh, eh? Who wudda thunk?!" Fred replied, ignoring Pigrots insturction. "He's a scrawny little feller, isn't he? Not much of a looker, when ya get down to it. Hey, Piggy Boy, guess what! The Pharaoh's got a big wart on his nose."
This was too much for Pigrot. He looked up just in time to see his sovereign pass by. The monarch looked in Pigrot's direction and smiled. He did have a wart on his nose. And green teeth.