‘How interesting. How very interesting.’
Shabble, still softly singing all the while, floated down from the heavens like a feather.
‘Chegory dearest,’ said Shabble, ‘there’s more than one.’
The Ebrell Islander untangled himself from Olivia and looked round. Shabble was right! There were at least half a dozen monsters in clear sight, thrashing madly in the harbour waters. The nearest was only a league distant.
‘Kill them!’ he said curtly.
‘Oh, I don’t really want to kill anything else, Chegory dearest,’ said Shabble.
‘Don’t worry about the other monsters,’ said Pokrov. ‘They’ll die from a surfeit of dikle and shlug before they can do any harm. Come and look at this, Chegory. Isn’t it fascinating?’
‘It’s gross, it’s horrible,’ sobbed Olivia. ‘I hate it, I hate it, I want to get out of here, I want to go home.’
‘Come along then, darling,’ said Chegory.
Then, soothing her as best he could, he led her shore-wards along the harbour bridge.
In the heat of the moment he did not realise that he had called her his darling. As for Olivia, if she noticed his presumption, she did not choose to comment on it.
The conjurer Odolo, Official Keeper of the Imperial Sceptre, had endured all manner of terror that day. He had been arrested as soon as the loss of the wishstone was discovered. He had been beaten, interrogated and threatened with torture. Only the personal intervention of the Empress Justina had spared him from the loss of toenails and fingernails both.
Late in the afternoon, Justina had set Odolo at liberty. But that gesture of imperial liberality meant little on its own. Doubtless he was still under suspicion. He had declined the meal she offered him (his interrogators had starved him on principle) and had fled.
Odolo had been physically and mentally exhausted by the time he got to Ganthorgruk. It had been too late for lunch and too early for the evening meal, but he had persuaded the chef to rustle up some soup. Then he had taken himself to his bed where he had collapsed. To dream grim dreams of monsters various.
Last and most vivid of his dreams was one in which krakens upheaved themselves from the waters of the Laitemata. This dream lacked the slapdash incoherence of image and narrative which characterises most of our sleeping delusions. Worse, it stayed bright and sharp in memory when Odolo awoke.
Why should that worry him?
Because he remembered the morning, and the scorpions which had swarmed to life in his breakfast bowl. Scorpions real enough, mind you! In the end, it had been necessary to pulp them with a rolling pin.
Odolo hurried to the nearest window which had a view of the Laitemata. What he saw therefrom increased his worries a thousandfold.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Olivia was still shaking and shuddering when they reached the shore, where the harbour bridge ended at the bank of crushed red coral and broken bloodstone which ran the length of the entire waterfront of Injiltaprajura. They had scarcely stepped off the bridge when Ox No Zan hailed them. ‘I’ve been waiting for you!’ he said.
‘That much we could have guessed for ourselves,’ said Pokrov. ‘Did you see the show?’
‘Oh yes, oh yes!’ said Ox Zan. ‘Shabble was marvellous!’ Shabble did three rapid pirouettes and squeaked with undiluted pleasure. Injiltaprajura’s master of irresponsibility has never been averse to accepting compliments.
‘It’s Chegory we’ve got to thank,’ said Ingalawa. ‘He’s the one who brought Shabble along.’
This is the worst thing about these Ashdan liberals. They’re always so ready to think the best of people! Doubtless the kraken would have snacked on Ingalawa and her companions unless Shabble had been on hand. But did Chegory Guy have that in mind when he fetched Shabble from the teapot? Hardly!
‘Yes, Chegory!’ said Ox Zan. ‘That’s why I’m here! You have to go back, now, now, right back to Jod.’
‘Why?’ said Chegory.
‘Because, because,’ said Ox Zan in high excitement, ‘because the wishstone’s missing.’
‘So Shabble was telling the truth!’ said Chegory. ‘The wishstone was stolen!’
‘If Shabble knows about it,’ said Ox Zan, who had yet to hear Shabble’s story of encountering pirates Downstairs, ‘then maybe Shabble can help get it back. Meanwhile, you’d better run, Chegory. Soldiers are hunting the streets for — what’s the word? — undesirable elements, that’s it! Everyone they catch is getting smashed up to make them tell about the wishstone.’
‘Chegory,’ said Artemis Ingalawa severely, ‘is not an undesirable element.’
‘Well, you know that and so do I,’ said Ox Zan, ‘but the soldiers-’
‘Oh, we all know about the soldiers,’ said Chegory. ‘I’m off.’
He turned as if to retreat to Jod. But Pokrov caught him by the sleeve.
‘Wait about,’ said Pokrov.
‘You don’t understand,’ said Chegory, already in a panic. ‘They’ll kill me!’
This was the stuff of nightmare. Soldiers on the street. Hunting. Hunting him!
‘Nonsense!’ said Ingalawa. ‘You’re innocent.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ said Chegory. ‘I’m an Ebrell Islander, aren’t I? Pogrom! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
‘Stop being melodramatic,’ said Ingalawa. ‘The pogroms went out with Wazir Sin. You’re a free citizen. You should act accordingly.’
‘What?’ said Chegory, scarcely able to believe his ears. ‘Get myself beaten up?’
‘You won’t get beaten up,’ said Ingalawa in her lecturing voice. ‘Untunchilamon is under the rule of law. People don’t get assaulted in the streets for no reason.’
‘Oh, you might not,’ said Chegory. ‘But I’m-’
‘You’re with us,’ said Ingalawa firmly. ‘You’re under our protection.’
‘Thanks but no thanks,’ said Chegory. ‘I’m going back to Jod.’
‘Oh Chegory!’ said Ingalawa. ‘You can’t just run away like this. You’re a disappointment to me. Haven’t we always done our best for you? Can’t you see? If you always act like a doormat you’ll always get stepped on. You have to stand up for your rights.’
Chegory knew she was talking nonsense, yet knew he would sorely wound her pride if he told her as much. Pride is the dominant vice of the Ashdans, and Ingalawa had more than her fair share of it. Moreover, he did not want to disappoint her if he could possibly help it.
‘You’re coming with us,’ said Ivan Pokrov. ‘If we run into any soldiers we’ll vouch for you.’
‘Yes, Chegory,’ said Shabble. ‘And if they hurt you I’ll burn them up.’
‘Shabble!’ said Pokrov sharply. ‘You are not to burn anyone up! Do you hear me?’ In reply there came a soft swelling of orchestral music. ‘I mean it!’ said Pokrov. ‘If you incinerate even one soldier, there will be consequences! I’m talking about therapy!’
The music cut off abruptly.
‘Really?’ said Shabble.
‘Indubitably,’ said Pokrov.
‘Oh,’ said Shabble, in a most crestfallen voice. Then, rebelliously: ‘But why shouldn’t I? Boom! I could burn them up just like that. All gone. What fun!’
‘If you go round doing things like that,’ said Pokrov, ‘then nobody will play with you, not ever again. They’ll all be too afraid. They’ll run away. I mean it! Everyone! You’ll be left all alone. Now and forever.’
‘Really and truly?’ said Shabble.
‘He’s not kidding,’ said Chegory. ‘But if you do want friends, how about finding the wishstone? You could do it!’ ‘I know where it is already,’ said his orchestrally inclined companion.
‘Where is it then?’ said Chegory.
‘East of sun and west of moon,’ sang Shabble. ‘Supping on soup with the scorpion’s grandam.’
