enough.
The Malud marauders hustled along through the underways Downstairs till they came to a flight of stairs. Up they went. Al-ran Lars extinguished his lantern then opened the sally port at the top of the stairs. He and his companions then sallied out of it. They were in the open air again. To be precise, they were in Thlutter, the steep, jungle-growth gully just east of Pearl.
Injiltaprajura’s portside slopes steeply from Pokra Ridge to the waterfront. Gullies steeper yet gash the slope. For the most part, roads and houses avoid these gullies, which are choked with vegetation in which there dwell indestructible black pigs, snakes, spiders, scorpions, centipedes half as long as your arm, bush dogs, numerous cats and mosquitoes in their millions.
Many of these mosquitoes began to bite the three pirates (for such the Malud marauders were, surely, though they guised themselves as honest merchants) as soon as they emerged into the night air. Muggy night air, air alive with the splitter-splatter of a dozen fountains, with the smells of dank earth, coconut rot, over-ripe bananas, decayed mangos and frangipani.
‘Dogs!’ said Tolon.
‘I’m not deaf,’ said Al-ran Lars.
Dogs in their hundreds were barking. To north, south, east and west. It sounded as if every dog in Injiltaprajura had been roused to wakefulness.
‘Come on,’ said Arnaut. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Wait!’ said Al-ran Lars.
Next moment, the bells of the pink palace rang out. These were the midnight bells, marking the end of undokondra (that quarter of the day which lasts from dusk to midnight) and the start of bardardornootha. The bells had scarcely died away when rainbows flourished through the heavens. The peacock-plumage blaze of colour lit up Thlutter. Lit up the broad-leaved banana trees, the trailing scorpion vines and the faces of the Malud marauders. Faces which clearly revealed their dismay. Then the rainbow light snapped out. Vanished! Gone!
The three Malud blinked blind at the darkness.
‘The wishstone!’ said Arnaut. ‘The wishstone, the stone, that’s what’s doing it!’
‘Nonsense,’ said Al-ran Lars, closing his eyes in an effort to recover his nightsight.
‘Maybe it’s the wonderworkers,’ said Tolon. ‘Warning us. Hunting us.’
‘Rubbish!’ said Al-ran Lars. ‘They can’t know anything. Not yet.’
But he was worried. The rainbows in the sky had echoed the inner life of the wishstone. The relationship between sky and stone might be spurious, accidental, coincidental. Nevertheless, the sky-brightening had surely been a symptom of a fearful exercise of magic.
Al-ran Lars came to a swift decision.
‘We’re going back,’ he said. ‘Back Downstairs.’
‘You really wish to run?’ said Tolon.
‘Rather that than fight my way through Injiltaprajura street by street.’
‘It’s not far,’ argued Tolon. ‘We could be back aboard soon enough.’
‘With these dogs on the rouse?’ said Al-ran Lars. ‘With the sky amok with colour? The whole city will be awake by now.’ Arnaut said: ‘I think-’
‘Think later!’ said Al-ran Lars. ‘Thinking we can do when we’re safely underground.’
So saying, he led his comrades back Downstairs. Down there, of course, Shabble was still on the loose.
What precisely did cause those dogs to rouse, those rainbows to flourish through the sky? With the benefit of perfect hindsight we can say, without a doubt, that those phenomena were associated with the arrival of a demon in Injiltaprajura. Yes, a hideous Thing had broken through from the World Beyond, and would in due course do appalling damage to the dignity of some of the city’s leading citizens.
But this was not known at the time, hence the shock, alarm and bewilderment felt by the Malud marauders was shared by others in the city. Priests roused themselves from bed and went to pray to their gods and to make whatever sacrifices their religions demanded. Sentries standing watch woke their superior officers and were cursed for their pains. Fishermen in canoes which were working the Laitemata and the lagoon by night extinguished their lamps, stowed their gear and began rowing for shore, fearing the sea itself might be next to manifest an unexpected disturbance — perhaps one which would doom their frail craft.
We see, then, that many of the worthy citizens of Injiltaprajura were disturbed by these manifestations which were, at that time, so inexplicable. One of those who suffered a certain degree of angst as a result of the phenomena-of-unknown-origin was Justina’s Master of Law, Aquitaine Varazchavardan.
The name rings a bell?
I wouldn’t be surprised.
Varazchavardan is a formidable figure who has doubtless found his way into many histories by now, so there is every possibility that you will have encountered him already in your reading. Nevertheless, let us tell him in detail even so.
Aquitaine Varazchavardan, who had fingernails as long as the fingers themselves, dwelt in a villa on Hojo Street. Varazchavardan, who was sorcerer and civil servant both, liked his sleep. Yet he was wide awake, even though bardardornootha had begun. There is no mystery about this. His mind was occupied by an urgent question: What the hell is going on?
Earlier in the evening, the lean albino had been woken by the massive energy drain which had extinguished every light in the city. He had known at once that it was nothing to do with the wonderworkers dabbling with the transmutation of metals in the fastness of the Cabal House. No. Someone or Something was tampering with the Fundamentals. Who? Or What? Could it be that the Hermit Crab had been roused to action?
Gods forbid!
Shortly after the energy drain, something had set every dog in Injiltaprajura to barking. Varazchavardan had immediately suspected earthquake. Yet the earth had stayed stable. It was the sky which had next shown signs of disturbance. Rainbows had briefly lit up the entire dome of the heavens from one horizon to the next.
And what next?
Varazchavardan grimaced, watched and waited.
He was standing on the balcony of his villa’s uppermost storey. He looked up and down Hojo Street, and saw lanterns on the move as nervous worshippers began to flock to their temples.
Hojo Street is the most desirable piece of real estate in Injiltaprajura, and consequently attracts land taxes quite astronomical. So astronomical, in fact, that most buildings on Hojo Street are owned by institutions which can live tax free — most notably religions.
Aquitaine Varazchavardan flexed his talons and looked across the Laitemata Harbour to the island of Jod where dwelt the Hermit Crab.
Is it the Hermit Crab?
He remembered his first (and last) interview with that sinister sage. He had dared a trifling piece of magic to test the island’s eremite, and had nearly been turned inside out. That brief encounter had been sufficient to convince him the Crab could do whatever it wanted.
But why would it eat energy, wake dogs, conjure with rainbows? There’s no sense to it.
The night’s manifestations were more in the nature of an experiment. Who but the wonderworkers indulged in experiments? Ivan Pokrov, of course! The man was always playing with mysterious objects recovered from Downstairs or dredged up from the seabed in fishermen’s nets.
Demon’s claw! What’s Pokrov up to now?
So thought Aquitaine Varazchavardan. After thinking such, he vowed to visit Pokrov soon to see precisely what was afoot on Jod.
If it’s Pokrov, we can bring him to heel.
And if not?
Varazchavardan, of all people, should have been able to deduce from the evidence that Untunchilamon was probably feeling the will of Something from Beyond. A Power of some kind. A demon. A minor god. Or (greater gods forbid!) a major god. He had the requisite knowledge, experience and intelligence. But all he thought was:
Time will tell.
The truth is, though Varazchavardan was alarmed by the sudden manifestations, he had a lot of other things on his mind which worried him far more. Political things.
