As Chegory was still thinking about it a squad of soldiers came marching down the street. His thoughts flew apart like so many skimble-scamble scatter-sticks, and he strolled as casually as he could round the nearest corner then gave way to terror-deranged flight.
Despite his panic, Chegory soon slowed, panting and sweating heavily in the morning heat. He was walking by the time he gained the waterfront, whereupon he took the path of crushed coral and broken bloodstone which fringed the Laitemata.
He walked along past those open air cafes which served fishermen who did not care for speakeasies; past stalls selling huge bunches of bananas variously green and yellow; past hawkers with trays of spiced rice, curried lizard, pickled cockroach, sunflower seeds and prophylactic amulets sacred to seven different religions; past fish shops abuzz with flies which pestered over clams, crabs, sharkmeat, groper, moray eel, sea slugs, turtie, octopus, tuna and brightsilver sea ghost.
Doctor Death, who was at work in his open-air dental workshop when Chegory went by, straightened up and nodded pleasantly. The patient reclining in Death’s operating chair emitted a low groan. Death had a pair of bloody pliers in his hand. A small heap of bloodstained molars sat upon a white porcelain saucer on a nearby table. Chegory shuddered, and hurried on.
He went by a pharmacy where a chemist proudly displayed jars of oily pyrethrin and like mosquito-killers, twists of ground horn of unicorn and other aphrodisiacs of equal reputation, bundles of ginseng and cannabis, small vials of oil of hashish and vials smaller yet of opium, jars of honey, contraceptive calendars, and, taking pride of place, ceramic bottles holding mead and other types of medicinal alcohol (available on prescription only).
He heard sellers and buyers alike ababble in Jan-juladoola, Ashmarlan, Toxteth and Dub, in Malud and Frangoni and in other alien argots stranger yet. He saw a man selling dragon’s teeth, a woman with herself for sale, a stockbroker auctioning shares in the Narapatorpabarta Bank and the Imtharbodanoptima Brothel. He sauntered past money changers whose hired scimitars stood guard over banks where sunshining ems rivalled their glitter against the sheen of grass-green saladin rings and the shimmer of zeals, the glitz of dragons, the allure of pearls and the argument of damns and dalmoons alike.
Chegory was amazed to find all these people going about their business as usual, as though the State of Emergency meant nothing to them. Here he was, living through a madness equal to anything heard of in legend, yet the world lazed on through its habitual routines as placidly as ever. Young Chegory had endured attack by kraken, arrest by soldiers, beatings, riot, capture first by an elven lord and then by mad Malud marauders, threats of torture from a transmogrified bullman and more — all this is scarcely more than a day and a night! Yet the world still bought, sold, traded and cheated as usual as if nothing whatsoever out of the ordinary had happened at all.
Through the hot sunlight he went, past fortune-tellers and astrologers, pardoners and tax advisers, past letter-writers and story-tellers, snake-charmers and chandlers, travel agents and slave-traders; past greengrocers presiding over counters laden with taro, cassava, mangos, pineapple, paw-paw, kumera, blue potato and breadfruit; past a blood-reeking butcher’s shop where more flies yet were competing for space on the skinned carcases of dogs, rats, cats, goats, chickens and pigs; and then past the jeweller’s shops bright with rainbow-rivalling paua, pounamu most precious, silver beaten to the brightness of the moon and teardrops of gold basking in the adoration of the sun.
Thus went Chegory, coming at length to the harbour bridge, where he turned left and went through the reeking slumlands of Lubos till he came to Skindik Way. Uphill he went, passing the slaughterhouse where men were chopping up huge chunks of one of the krakens which had died in the Laitemata on the previous day. Not to the Dromdanjerie did he go, but rather to Ganthorgruk, the huge rotting doss-house which rivalled Justina’s pink palace in size. He ascended creaking stairs to the uppermost (hence cheapest) levels where he knocked on a door.
It did not open.
‘Teeth of a chicken!’ exclaimed Chegory.
He kicked the door.
Then it did open, and there was Ox No Zan, looking somewhat bleary since he had dosed himself heavily with the opium Doctor Death had prescribed for the toothache — or, more exactly, for the ache where that dentist had torn a number of half-rotten fangs from the jaw of the unfortunate Ox.
‘Oh,’ said Ox.
‘Go,’ said Chegory.
[A weak joke. The Ashmarlan alphabet includes the sequence Oh Go Ro To Po. Oris Baumgage, Fact Checker Minor.]
‘Go?’ said Ox.
‘Never mind,’ said Chegory.
[The implication is that No lacked either a sense of humour or a solid understanding of Ashmarlan. One would like to know what language this discourse was being conducted in. It is elsewhere implied that No understood Ashmarlan, yet one would be inclined to believe that Guy conversed with his friend in Janjuladoola. Oris Baumgage, Fact Checker Minor.]
‘Never mind what?’ said Ox.
‘Never mind anything,’ said Chegory. ‘Can I come in?’ ‘No,’ said Ox. ‘I’m sick.’
‘Don’t be so gutless,’ said Chegory. ‘I need help.’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Ox.
‘Oh, I understand all too well. You don’t want to get involved.’
‘You’re not being fair. I warned you! Didn’t I? Wasn’t I there when you, when you — after the kraken I mean, you remember, you came off the harbour
bridge, there I was, I-’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Chegory, ‘so you-’
‘I did my duty. All right? So that’s all!’
‘Listen,’ said Chegory, ‘aren’t we meant to be friends?’ ‘Yes,’ said Ox, with a touch of desperation. ‘So what are you doing here? You’re all mixed up in, oh, fighting with soldiers, burning people, some kind of treason, a coup at the palace or something, you were-’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Chegory.
‘Well, weren’t you there? Up at the palace? Last night? When they had the revolution?’
‘Revolution? Ox, you’re-’ ‘It’s true! They were fighting, they got weapons off the guards, they-’
‘Oh, that was just a riot,’ said Chegory, ‘just some-’ ‘Just? You could get burnt alive for less than that. You could get, well, the sharks, you know, or knives, you don’t have any idea, you-’
‘I’ve every idea,’ said Chegory. ‘I’m in trouble, deep trouble, I need help, not-’
‘All right,’ said Ox, cutting him off. ‘All right, let’s go down to the dining room, get some soup then talk about it.’
‘I’ve had breakfast.’
‘Then dragons for you!’ said Ox. ‘But I’ve had nothing. Come on, get out of the doorway, how can I get out with you standing there like a, like a, well-’
Chegory sighed, and stepped aside.
Whereupon Ox took a quick step backwards then slammed the door. The quick-witted Ox bolted it even as Chegory threw his weight against the timbers.
‘Open up!’ shouted Chegory, kicking and hammering. No response from Ox.
Chegory kicked and hammered some more. He raised such a bedlam that at last a man threw open a door some three rooms down the corridor to challenge him.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ said the man in decidedly foreign accents. ‘Hey?’
It was a stranger. Some olive-skinned fellow with close-cropped brown hair. Nobody Chegory knew.
‘Nothing,’ said Chegory. ‘I’m just leaving.’
‘Don’t let him get away!’ shouted Ox, words clearly audible despite the muffling timbers. ‘Mutiny, treason, murder, rape!’
‘Traitor,’ said Chegory.
Then kicked savagely at the door. Then strode down the corridor toward the stranger, meaning to fight his way past if the man tried to stop him.
‘Hold it there, boy,’ said the stranger, stepping out of his room.
