‘My lord,’ said Zozimus, ‘I–I really don’t know.’ ‘Then go!’ said the Crab. ‘Go to the palace! Find the demon and ask it! Tell it my wish! Tell it I will make an alliance of Powers if it can favour me with such a transformation.’
This was the very last thing Zozimus had expected — and the opposite of what he had hoped for. But such is life.
‘My lord,’ said Zozimus, ‘might I spend a little while conferring with my friends before I leave Jod to carry out your mission? These demons… approaching them is a delicate matter. We crave your indulgence. We need time to prepare our approach to the demon.’
‘Granted,’ said the Crab. ‘But be sure you see the demon today. And — do not fail!’
Chegory and Zozimus then set about rounding up all the heroes of the night before so they could have a council of war. Only Logjaris proved unavailable: the bullman was still unassailably asleep. So they started without him. First Zozimus reported his failure in negotiations with the Crab.
He concluded by saying:
‘Our choice is more complex than before. If we kill the demon we anger the Crab. But I doubt we could kill the demon in any case. Or negotiate with it. What is for certain is that we can’t stay here. The Crab wants to be human. But I can’t imagine a demon making it so. These demons — even they don’t have that kind of power. I think our best choice is to run away.’
‘No!’ roared Guest Gulkan, still intent on recovering the wishstone, which he needed to make war on far- distant Chi’ash-lan.
‘No,’ said Chegory Guy, who had just as much at stake as Guest Gulkan, and who was in a foul and bloody- minded mood. ‘My woman is in the palace. To hell with the risks. I say we go in and deal to this demon. Kill it. Finish it. Then we can think about leaving.’
There are few things more dangerous to deal with than the sullen anger of an Ebrell Islander. One of those things is a drunken Ebrell Islander with his dander up. A second is a young, husky, drunken Ebrell Islander running amok with a bladed weapon. When we try to think of a third — well, we start to run into difficulties. We must always remember that these Ebrell Islanders are a people who hunt terrifying sea monsters for fun and profit, who think nothing of drinking themselves to death by the age of thirty, and who are, in short, never to be taken lightly.
So Guest Gulkan and Chegory Guy were both in favour of a further assault on the demon — despite the contemptuous ease with which the monster had defeated their first onslaught. The Malud marauders then declared that they too were ready to join an attack. Young Arnaut in particular was fiercely determined to fight.
There is no telling where all this fighting talk might have led in the end. Because, before a final decision could be reached, Log Jaris joined the conference and demanded to be brought up to date. The bullman laughed heartily when he heard what was being planned.
‘What are you laughing for?’ said Chegory. ‘This is serious!’
‘Death is always serious,’ said the bullman. ‘Even yours.’ ‘I’m not going to die!’ said Chegory fiercely. ‘It’s the demon who’s going to get wasted. I’ll smash the thing myself!’
‘So we have us a hero here!’ said Log Jaris. ‘He’s outstared a basilisk. He’s wrestled a kraken to a standstill. He’s killed out the race of dragons entire. More — he’s mastered his mother-in-law sweet to his will. With such trifles behind him he’s seeking a challenge of substance.’ ‘Are you making fun of me?’ said Chegory.
‘Fun!’ said Logjaris, all wounded innocence. ‘Out of a ferocious young man like you? Out of you, young sir, I could make a mate for a porcupine or a good bit of boot leather. But fun? Perish the thought!’
Then Log Jaris laughed again. His laughter was frank, hearty and open. It enraged Chegory Guy, who took a swing at him. But missed, for the bullman was an accomplished street-fighter from way back.
‘You’re a coward, that’s what it is!’ said Chegory, as Log Jaris sidestepped a second blow. ‘You’re afraid!’
Log Jaris then stood still and let Chegory thump him most heartily. The Ebrell Islander’s fists did no damage to the bullman’s hide, nor did they sway his bulk by so much as a shadow’s one-shout side-shift. So Chegory abandoned the onslaught after swinging but thrice.
‘Of course I’m afraid,’ said Log Jaris, still in apparent good humour. ‘Anything born with something as tender as a pair of testicles has every right and reason to live in fear.’ ‘So you admit it!’ said Chegory furiously. ‘You’re a coward! A shameless craven!’
‘Darling,’ said Log Jaris. ‘You’re so beautiful when you’re angry.’
This good-humoured insult was the last fish. Chegory launched a full-scale assault on the bullman. He swung ferociously with his fists, but this time Log Jaris did not stand still to be hit. Chegory lashed out a dozen times, but to his bafflement found he had not hit his enemy at all. He stood there panting and said:
‘The hell with you. The hell with you all. Stay here and rot if that’s what you want. I’ll go to war with the demon myself.’
In the mouths of many this would have been an empty boast. But when an Ebrell Islander gets as passionately angry as Chegory was, to say is to do.
‘You will?’ said Logjaris. ‘Then perhaps you’ll win. But what if you lose even in the moment of victory? In extremis, a dying demon might destroy all of Injiltaprajura in self-defence. Have you thought of that?’
‘I have to try!’ said Chegory. ‘You just don’t understand, do you? The demon’s got Olivia. We can’t just walk away and leave her!’
‘Oh no,’ said Log Jaris. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that. Now we’ve got a hero on hand there’s certainly a few moves we can try. You are a hero, aren’t you?’
Chegory Guy looked very hard at Logjaris. The young Ebrell Islander was not sure if the bullman was still making fun of him. Still, Chegory decided to give him the benefit of the doubt — particularly as he had proved very hard to hit.
‘Let you be the judge of my courage,’ said Chegory. ‘You’re brave enough yourself. After all, you came adventuring with us last night.’
‘Yes,’ said Logjaris, ‘to stir up the sorcerers.’
‘But afterwards,’ persisted Chegory, ‘you dared the dangers of the palace with the rest of us.’
‘So I did, so I did,’ said Log Jaris. ‘A mistake. Well, anyone can make a mistake. But only a hero would repeat a mistake of such magnitude on purpose. I make no claim to heroism. All I make is a suggestion.’
‘What suggestion?’ said Chegory.
‘The exercise of a little cunning,’ said Logjaris.
Then proceeded to outline his plan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The afternoon found Logjaris and Chegory Guy sweating in the suffocating heat of a forger’s den in Injiltaprajura. The forger, a dwarfish leper named Scalpil Hun, was labouring over a sheet of parchment. His work was difficult, and was made all the harder by the distracted wailing which arose from the Temple of the Consecrated Virgin just across the street.
At last Log Jaris said to Chegory:
'Shut them up.’
'What?' said Chegory.
‘The people in the temple. Shut them up.’
‘I can’t do that!’
'Of course you can. Or do you want me to offer them your corpse as sacrifice?’
Chegory Guy was not sure how serious this threat was, but nevertheless thought it best not to find out. He left the forger’s den for the sunlight without. The street was utterly empty. He crossed over into the temple where he found wailing worshippers prostrating themselves before their idol. Chegory hammered on a handy gong.
The wailing ceased abruptly.
Till that moment, Chegory had had no idea what he was going to say. But the desperation of the moment filled his mouth with an unaccustomed eloquence.
