Free Lem, Stanislaw by The Cyberiad [v1.0] [htm] Page B

there?
    Good! Now—hold on, you have to keep the feet together. Not
    yours, idiot, the King's! All right now, ready? One, two, find the
    derivative! Quick! What do you get?"
    "Pi."
    "And the beast?"
    "Under the radical sign. But
    look, the King's still standing!"
    "Still standing, eh? Factor both
    sides, divide by two, throw in a few imaginary numbers—good!
    Now change variables and subtract—Trurl, what on earth are
    you doing?! The
beast
, not the King, the
beast
!
    That's right! Good! Perfect!! Now transform, approximate and
    solve for
x
. Do you have it?"
    "I have it! Klapaucius! Look at
    the King now!!"
    There was a pause, then a burst of
    wild laughter.
    That same morning, as all the experts
    and high officials of the secret police shook their heads,
    bleary-eyed after a sleepless night, the constructors asked for
    quartz, vanadium, steel, copper, platinum, rhinestones, dysprosium,
    yttrium and thulium, also cerium and germanium, and most of the other
    elements that make up the Universe, plus a variety of machines and
    qualified technicians, not to mention a wide assortment of
    spies—for so insolent had the constructors become, that on the
    triplicate requisition form they boldly wrote: "Also, kindly
    send agents of various cuts and stripes at the discretion and with
    the approval of the Proper Authorities." The next day they
    asked for sawdust and a large red velvet curtain on a stand, a
    cluster of little glass bells in the center and a large tassel at
    each of its four corners; everything, even down to the littlest glass
    bell, was specified with the utmost precision. The King scowled when
    he heard these requests, but ordered them to be carried out to the
    letter, for he had given his royal word. The constructors were thus
    granted all that they wished.
    All that they wished grew more and
    more outlandish. For instance, in the files of the secret police
    under code number 48999/11K/T was a copy of a requisition for three
    tailor's mannequins as well as six full police uniforms, complete
    with sash, side arm, shako, plume and handcuffs, also all available
    back issues of the magazine
The
Patriotic
Policeman
,
    yearbooks and supplements included—under "Comments"
    the constructors had guaranteed the return of all items listed above
    within twenty-four hours of delivery and in perfect condition. In
    another, classified section of the police archives was a copy of a
    letter from Klapaucius in which he demanded the immediate shipment of
    (1) a life-size doll representing the Postmaster General in full
    regalia, and (2) a light gig painted green with a kerosene lamp on
    the left and a sky-blue sign on the back that said THINK. The doll
    and gig proved too much for the Chief of Police: he had to be taken
    away for a much-needed rest. During the next three days the
    constructors asked only for barrels of red castor oil, and after
    that—nothing. From then on, they worked in the basement of the
    palace, hammering away and singing space chanties, and at night blue
    lights came flashing from the basement windows and gave weird shapes
    to the trees in the garden outside. Trurl and Klapaucius with their
    many helpers bustled about amid arcs and sparks, now and then looking
    up to see faces pressed against the glass: the servants, as if out of
    idle curiosity, were photographing their every move. One evening,
    when the weary constructors had finally dragged themselves off to
    bed, the components of the apparatus they had been working on were
    quickly transported by unmarked balloon to police headquarters and
    assembled by eighteen of the finest cyberneticians in the land, who
    had been deputized and duly sworn in for that very purpose, whereupon
    a gray tin mouse ran out from under their hands, blowing soap bubbles
    and dropping a thin trail of chalk dust from under its tail, which
    spelled, as it danced this way and that across the table, WHAT, DON'T
    YOU LOVE US ANYMORE? Never before in the kingdom's history did