‘Where are we going?’ said Chegory. ‘Yestron? Ashmolea? Yam?’
‘Never you mind,’ said Uckermark. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
The corpse master was snappish, to say the least, for the day had allowed him time sufficient in which to realise temerity of his own actions. The risks were fearful. He might get caught with the wishstone in Injiltaprajura. Even if he escaped Untunchilamon by sea the canoe journey itself would be both arduous and dangerous. Before this game was played out he might get sunk, sharked, murdered, betrayed, imprisoned or tortured. If the worst came to the worst a vengeful wonderworker might even turn him into something horrible and inhuman.
‘I want to know now!’ insisted Chegory.
‘If you’re in that much of a hurry for an education,’ said Uckermark, ‘I’ll teach you why Ebrell Islanders live such short lives!’
‘No fighting!’ said Yilda. ‘Not while I’m cooking!’
The warrior of the Ngati Moana was silent throughout this argument. His face was inscrutable though in all probability he was outraged by such a display of bad manners. It was very bad form for Uckermark to allow a bad- tempered argument with a boy like Chegory to disrupt a formal negotiating session.
‘Where’s the wishstone?’ said Chegory.
‘Don’t even speak of it,’ said Uckermark. ‘Here. Come with me.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To the courtyard. The toilet. You need to go, surely.’
‘I don’t need help!’ said Chegory.
‘No,’ said Uckermark, ‘but you do need watching.’
The walls of his courtyard were twice man-height but he was sure that a nimble young Ebrell Islander could get over them quickly enough, particularly when inspired by fear. Once the toilet trip had been successfully completed Uckermark returned to his negotiations with the warrior of the Ngati Moana. They agreed that any swift departure would surely arouse suspicions.
Why did that matter? The double-hulled canoes of the Ngati Moana were the fastest things afloat; they could outrun any ship in fair winds or foul. Furthermore, since it was presently the season of Fistavlir, all ships were immobilised entirely while the canoes could still ride the coral current through the shallows of the Green Sea.
Mere escape was not the issue. Rather, the continuing freedom of the Ngati Moana was at stake. If rumour of their involvement in the theft of the wishstone ever reached the ears of Aldarch III then the Mutilator might choose to ban the entire coast of Yestron to their vessels. Uckermark could not have cared less but still had to respect the fears and interests of his co-conspirator.
‘With the winds of Fistavlir,’ said Uckermark. ‘What say we leave then?’
‘With the winds,’ agreed his much-tattooed interlocutor. ‘Providing our trading is done by then.’
With escape thus arranged Uckermark felt somewhat more secure. Little did he know! Disaster was imminent. For Log Jaris was even now approaching the corpse shop — and the unsuspecting bullman was being trailed by three Malud marauders.
When the pirates had escaped from the starvation cage in the pink palace they had fled without thought or plan. That was only natural. The presence of a large and angry dragon had not been conducive to methodical consideration or elaborate scheming. The pirates had fled downhill as far as the wonderworkers’ Cabal House before Al-ran Lars had called them to order.
Then Al-ran Lars had held a hurried council of war with his comrades Arnaut and Tolon. To retreat to their ship would be the equivalent to surrendering themselves since that was surely the first place where Justina’s soldiers would search for them. To retreat Downstairs would be equally foolish since that refuge had once already failed to shelter them from hunters with dogs.
Zazazolzodanzarzakazolabrik seemed to offer them their sole chance of safety. If they could escape into the northern wastes they could hope at least to live. But first they wanted some revenge. To be precise, they wanted to kill the monstrous bullman who had encompassed their capture Downstairs.
With that decided, the Malud marauders had gone into action. They had caught themselves a drunk for interrogation. A series of captures and interrogations had allowed them to locate the lair of Log Jaris — easy enough to do since it is hard to hide a bullman in a city as small as Injiltaprajura. Then they had staked out his speakeasy from a rooftop opposite. Then they had waited.
The Malud marauders had waited all through the night of their escape and the daylight that followed. Log Jaris had returned to his speakeasy at noon but there had been men with him — fellow members of the Calligrapher’s Union, though the vengeful pirates were not to know this.
At last, early in the evening, Log Jaris had left his lair. But not alone. The bullman had taken three men as bodyguard, for his way led through the streets of Lubos which he did not care to chance alone. The pirates had followed.
Even as Uckermark concluded his bargain with the warrior of the Ngati Moana his good frieild Log Jaris was drawing steadily nearer with the Malud marauders in catfoot pursuit.
The pirates were not the only threat the unsuspecting corpse master would soon have to confront. An alien wizard of the order of Xluzu, Pelagius Zozimus by name, was another.
Pelagius Zozimus, as Justina’s master chef, had been in a good position to gamer details on the loss of the wishstone, the breakout of the prisoners who had escaped from the starvation cage and all associated events. He had collated all the evidence and had produced a list of hypotheses which might explain the disappearance of the wishstone.
It might have been taken by the fleeing piratical prisoners, in which case its location would prove near impossible to discover.
Alternatively, the Empress Justina might have stolen the wishstone herself. Doubtless she had plans for escaping from Untunchilamon before minions of Aldarch III arrived to seize control of the island. If she sought to take the contents of the treasury with her then Injiltaprajura’s wonderworkers might prevent her, fearing the reprisals Aldarch III would exact if they did not. Thus she might well desire one and all to think the wishstone still missing.
There was also the possibility that a wonderworker might have absconded with the wishstone. But Zozimus, who had a low opinion of the will, wit and talent of such sorcerers, was inclined to discount this notion.
He was, however, intrigued by the news that the corpse master Uckermark had removed a dragon from the pink palace. Zozimus had deduced that the wishstone might well have been secreted within the corpse. The possibility was slight — one chance in fifty by his reckoning — but he thought it worth investigation.
Thus Zozimus had organised his colleagues-in-crime: the wizard Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin, the Yarglat adventurer Guest Gulkan, and the cut-throat from Chi’ash-lan who went by the name of Thayer Levant. They had located Uckermark’s corpse shop, had put it under observation, and, on noting the entry of the warrior of the Ngati Moana, had drawn the logical conclusions. These conclusions were that:
(i) Uckermark did indeed have the wishstone;
(ii) Uckermark planned to flee Untunchilamon by canoe;
(iii) If captured, the corpse master could be forced to tell where the wishstone was hidden.
So it came to pass that Pelagius Zozimus and his companions were preparing to raid the corpse shop even as Log Jaris drew near with a trio of murderous Malud marauders in his wake.
Simultaneously, Shabble came drifting in across the Laitemata. Shabble did not call into Ganthorgruk in pursuit of Odolo Shabblefriend, nor did the demon of Jod pop into the Analytical Institute to rouse Ivan Pokrov for an evening’s conversation. The shining one ignored the lure of the Dromdanjerie where many of Injiltaprajura’s best conversationalists lived out their days in cages.
Instead, Shabble flew straight to Uckermark’s corpse shop, for the imitator of suns was curious to find out why the wishstone was held there.
In this connection it must be noted that the wishstone was, among other things, a beacon. Ever did it announce its presence to those with ears attuned to its far-flying call. It radiated a species of coded energy once used by the peoples of the Golden Gulag to talk at distances greater than shouting. Such energy was easily baffled by the mass of stone, metal and plax of the underworld Downstairs — but from Uckermark’s corpse shop it signalled loud and clear.
Thus the stage was set for an epic confrontation.
Log Jaris reached the corpse shop even as Uckermark, Chegory and Yilda were sitting down to eat their
