‘Come on,’ said Uckermark, grabbing ChegOry by the arm. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’
‘No!’ said Chegory. ‘I have to get Olivia!’
He pulled away from the corpse master then began to jog back toward the Star Chamber. Uckermark hesitated momentarily, said something decidedly obscene, then followed at a leisurely pace. It was far too hot to run any more. Besides, if young Chegory Guy truly wished to die, why should a law-abiding corpse master be in any hurry to join him in death?
Before the fast-hastening Chegory Guy reached the Star Chamber he heard the hideous sounds of combat still proceeding within. He gained the portals of the Star Chamber. He halted. Odolo and Varazchavardan, still guised in the very shapes of hell, were locked in mortal combat. Granching and dranching they raged, clubbed each other with synthetic gravity and clawed with sharpened light.
Harsh actinic illumination outglared from their carapaces. A matching radiance burnt from the very walls of the Star Chamber itself. No shadow could survive in that room. The dazing light was thrice brighter than the noonday sun. Chegory, near-blinded by the glare, could not tell whether any of the huddled forms at the feet of the fighters might be Olivia.
‘Olivia!’ he cried.
Then he tried to shout again — but his voice cracked, broke, failed. He swallowed. Then screamed:
‘Odolo! Varaza — Varazchavardan! Stop it! Stop!’
The two combatants broke away from each other as if they had heard him and had chosen to obey. Then, still guised in the shapes of nightmare, they growled with hideous voices which made the very floor vibrate. Then they charged each other. They flailed wildly as they clashed once more. Lighting crackled around their metal-insect hulls as they slashed and hammered at each other. They grappled. Had each other in a death-grip. They were changing even as Chegory watched, sprouting claws ornate and pincers savage, growthing clutching tentacles and head- cropping mandibles. From one came an intolerable screaming.
Then Both fighting forms collapsed into chaos.
One moment they were there. The next, gone. Dissolved to a thrashing cloud of murk and motion. Which, even as Chegory watched, reformed. The cloud of obscurity resolved itself into two human forms, radiant still with actinic light, still in a death-grip locked.
There was the flesh of Varazchavardan, and there Odolo. Who was dying, surely. For Varazchavardan had the conjuror’s neck in a grip of iron. Literally. For one of Varazchavardan’s arms had not reverted to flesh, but was metal still. That metal arm was forcing Odolo’s neck around. Soon the neck must break.
Now was Chegory’s chance.
If one of those plague-silent bodies was Olivia’s, then he must get her out and away now, now, now! Before the battle ended and Varazchavardan was free to turn his wrath on other targets.
He ran forward.
The light flared to a blinding brightness.
‘No!’ screamed Chegory.
He slipped. He slid. He fell. He sent sprawling in the undelights of kedgeree and curry. Splot! He opened his eyes, but found himself blind. Then rage possessed him. He swore as only an Ebrell Islander can. He leapt to his feet, meaning to do battle with anything he in his blindness could find. But his feet went out from under him, for the floor was slippery as a five-lust aftermath. Down he went, and thump went his head on the floor.
Half-dazed, Chegory lay there.
Was his back broken?
No.
Could he get up?
Yes.
Could he see?
Well… a little.
Yes, his sight was returning. Meanwhile, his hearing was as sharp as ever. He could hear a single human floundering around in the slurry. Who? Chegory strove to see. Amidst a wash of purple light and strobing suns he made out the features of Odolo. Yes, it was the conjuror Odolo who was crawling through the food.
So where was Varazchavardan?
‘Chegory!’ said Uckermark, entering the Star Chamber.
‘Watch out!’ cried Chegory. ‘Varazchavardan!’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Odolo, his voice slurring and blurring. ‘Where is Varazchavardan?’
He had to ask because his eyes were nearly closed by bruises. He had been battered as badly as a haplass elitamoripadroti used for a game of kathandamatandatu.
‘Here,’ said Uckermark, striding forward and dealing out a hearty kick to the recumbent body of the Master of Law.
Varazchavardan lay supine and senseless in a sea of kedgeree which was almost (but not quite) deep enough to drown him. But though Varazchavardan was unconscious, his monstrous metal-formed arm, souvenir of his battle of transformations with Odolo, had a life of its own. The finger-equivalents opened and closed. Opened and closed. Opened and closed. Click click click!
‘You must kill,’ said Odolo. ‘Kill him.’
‘With pleasure,’ said Uckermark, scooping a discarded scimitar from the goop on the floor.
This was Chegory’s moment. This was Chegory’s chance. If he had seized it, he could have found Olivia and could have husded her out of the Star Chamber before anything else went wrong. But he failed to take advantage of the brief-lived chance — because he was too busy watching with fascination as Uckermark advanced upon Varazchavardan.
‘Hold!’ cried an intruder.
Uckermark held. Turned. Faced the intruder. Who was none other than Nixorjapretzel Rat. Where had he sprung from? The answer is simple. Rat had watched most of the proceedings from the mezzanine. Now he was intervening to save his master Varazchavardan from certain death.
‘Get crnt of here,’ said Uckermark, raising the scimitar with murder his intent.
Rat raised his hands. He did that bit perfectly. For a moment he looked every bit the wonderworker. Uckermark hesitated, watching Rat with a degree of wary suspicion.
‘Phidamas!’ cried Rat. ‘Phidamas! Strobo, um… stro-boko! Stroboko!’
Nothing happened.
So Uckermark turned back to Varazchavardan, murder once more his intent. Down came the scimitar. Straight into Varazchavardan’s skull. There was a clang of metal against metal. Uckermark dropped the scimitar. He clutched his swordhand.
‘This sorcerer’s skull is of metal!’ said Uckermark.
True. Varazchavardan’s skull had failed to revert to its original bone after the battle of transformations. Worse, Varazchavardan’s arm of monster-metal, which had also failed to revert, was starting to look for something to crunch and kill.
‘Look out!’ screamed Chegory.
Uckermark leapt aside. Just in time. The finger equivalents of the monster-arm closed on empty air and crushed it to nothing. Meanwhile, Rat was still trying to kill Chegory, Uckermark and Odolo by exercise of magic.
‘Phildamas!’ cried Rat. ‘Phildamas stroldoko! Man-credos! Mancredos! Fa!’
At his command, a whirlwind of shadow and flame roared into life. Roaring still, it began to spin toward Varazchavardan’s enemies. They, realising they had underestimated young Rat, took to their heels and fled for their lives.
From the pink palace they escaped: Uckermark, Odolo and Chegory Guy in consort. They did not linger but fled down Lak Street in blatant defiance of the sweltering heat of the day. When they reached the Cabal House of the sorcerers of Untunchilamon, they turned down Skindik Way, disturbing some crows which were holding a business conference, haggling for shares in the belly of a dead dog.
Past the Dromdanjerie they went, then past Ganthorgruk. Then, when they reached the city’s slaughterhouse, they stopped. Hot, panting, and exhausted.
‘Gods!’ said Chegory.
