He could have sat tight and done nothing.
Had he done so, then a messenger would have arrived bearing a summons (ostensibly from the aforesaid Crab) commanding Tin Char to the presence of that dignitary, thus precipitating a confrontation between two great Powers.
As it happened, no such subterfuge was necessary. For Tin Char was true to his courage. He thought Justina Thrug might be feeding him lies in an effort to scare him off Untunchilamon; so, taking his life in his hands, he went to the island where the Hermit Crab dwelt, meaning to ask that dignitary what the truth was.
Justina had expected as much.
The timing was perfect.
By the time Dui Tin Char ventured to Jod, the Crab was in the worst of moods imaginable. Its companions had deserted it; in place of gourmet meals it was being fed buckets of slops; its sleep had been disturbed nightly by bells; it had been brought close to murder by the attentions of giggling schoolchildren.
When Tin Char arrived, the Crab refused to communicate with the head of the Inland Revenue. That courageous individual continued to pester the continent one. The Crab told Tin Char to go away, for such importunate attentions were unwelcome in the extreme. Tin Char did not go away. The Crab lost its temper.
The Crab did not turn Tin Char inside out. (To Justina’s great disappointment. She had been certain that this would be the minimum misfortune which would befall her enemy.) Instead, the Crab merely exerted a fraction of its power, causing Tin Char to be set upon his backside. Then, as the head of the Inland Revenue staggered to his feet, the Crab caused Tin Char’s arms to be forced backwards and upwards.
Until both shoulders were dislocated.
At that, Tin Char fled the island. Or, to put it more precisely, he staggered over the harbour bridge which led from the island of Jod to the mainland of Untunchilamon, and was carried from there to the Temple of Torture.
Tin Char then gave urgent orders, and the contents of the treasure (minus certain irretrievable bribes which had been paid out to Justina’s soldiery) were returned to the pink palace forthwith.
This incident had a very salutary effect, for it led most people on Untunchilamon to believe that Justina Thrug truly did have the Crab on her side. Respect for her increased enormously. But Justina and her trusted advisers knew the dreadful truth. The Crab’s brief-lived interest in the politics of Injiltaprajura had ceased; it was no longer an ally but a neutral power. If this secret were to get out, then Tin Char would surely have no hesitation in slaughtering Justina immediately.
However, at least Justina once again had her money.
At least she could still hope to bribe her soldiers when the time came to seize her dozen ships.
But, for the moment, there were not a dozen ships to seize. There were only the same three, the three which had sat in the Laitemata throughout Fistavlir. And, as the days went by and no new ships manifested themselves, Justina began to consider a dreadful possibility: what if, this year of all years, the Trade Fleet never came?
The Empress Justina was not the only one considering dreadful possibilities. The Hermit Crab had dislocated Tin Char’s shoulders. It indicated that the Crab was not pleased with him. That he could live with. But… what if the Crab was seriously angry with him? Tin Char brooded about the possible consequences of such anger as he lay awake at nights listening to the disconsolate drumming of a group of adolescents, the drums of their cult singing thus:
Tok — tok — tuk. Tok — tok — tuk. Tok — tok — tukata tok. Tok — tok — tuk. Tok — tok — tuk. Tok — tok — tukata tok.
Ah yes.
I remember.
Night.
Night, hot night, with the bloodstone of Untunchilamon clotted to absolute black. The shimmering stars reflected by the sharktooth silence of the black lagoon. The hulking shadow of a ship looming dark against the doom-black waters of the Laitemata. A brief burst of hubbub as the heavy soundproof door of a speakeasy swings open. That noise abruptly silenced. No noise now but the drums. The drums throbbing through the heat.
The heat!
The heat of Injiltaprajura, a moist enfolding heat, a sweating embrace, smelling of armpits and coconut musk, of woodsmoke and rotting drains. A positively vaginal heat. Heat, yes, and the mosquitoes whining through deliriums of dark, and the relentless punctuation of the drums speaking of the oppressions of the present, the past and the future…
CHAPTER SIX
To know of the Crab, and to know of the Crab’s crucial role in the affairs of Injiltaprajura, is to know much. The historian believes that the ruling dynamic of those affairs has now been explicated: while Justina’s enemies believed the Crab to be on her side, they would obey her; but, once they realized that she had in fact been deprived of such protection, they would fall upon her and overwhelm her.
Justina’s problem, then, was threefold:
First, to maintain the illusion that she was still supported by the Crab;
Second, to avoid death at the hands of assassins and such until the arrival of the Trade Fleet;
Third, to seize the ships of that Fleet and thus make her escape.
All this is very easily stated.
Bu of course the realities are somewhat more complex, because there did not in fact exist a clear-cut division between ‘Justina Thrug and her allies’ and ‘Justina’s enemies’.
Rather, there were many shades of political affiliation and intention within Injiltaprajura; and to explain fully the political complexities of the last days of the reign of the Empress Justina, it would be necessary for the historian to analyse the thoughts and actions of all 30,000 of the inhabitants of Injiltaprajura. Some mention might also have to be made of the interactions between those individuals and the animals which then inhabited Untun-chilamon’s capital, the said animals consisting of 1,946 monkeys, 3,101 pigs, 6,429 dogs, 10,111 snakes, 17,942 cats, 30,000 people, 246,995 vampire rats, 456,831,887 mosquitoes, and numbers of billipedes, millipedes, centipedes, scorpions and other creatures.
When one considers the difficulties attendant upon the exercise thus suggested, one must surely allow the historian the right to generalize upon occasion. On occasion? It is more reasonable to say that generalization must be the rule, and particularization the exception; else the creation of this account will become impossible for logistic reasons alone, the historian being a mortal creature with strictly limited supplies of ink, pens and fooskin at his disposal.
A generalization, then:
It was a quiet, peaceful day on Untunchilamon, where Frangoni was having intercourse with Dub, and Dub with Janjuladoola, and Janjuladoola with Toxteth, and Toxteth with Ashmarlan, and Ashmarlan with Slando-lin, without any sign of riot or civil disturbance.
Even so, it was not, of course, quiet and peaceful for everyone.
It was not, for example, peaceful for the conjuror Odolo, who was having yet another painfully frank interview with his bank manager. Nor was it quiet and peaceful for Threp Sodakik, a hapless fisherman, who was being torn to pieces by sharks in the lagoon waters just south of Island Scimitar. Others embroiled in turmoil, strife and barrat include Yilda, the mate of the corpse-master Uckermark, for Yilda was busy driving a group of teenaged drummers from her doorstep with the help of a gutting knife and a kraken club.
As for the Princess Sabitha, why, she had been kidnapped — snatched in the streets by a group of adolescent drummers from Marthandorthan — and was being held in a captivity which she bitterly resented.
(Do not worry. The princess will escape, even though this history will not chronicle the event; and we will meet her later in these pages, and find her aristocratic beauty unmarred and her matchless hauteur as imposing as ever.)
Furthermore, if we were to attempt an exhaustive catalogue of those currently unquiet and unpeaceful, we would have to mention the bullman Log Jaris, who was arguing with the drug dealer Firfat Labrat about the question of alleged non-payment of certain beer-buying debts; and Ox No Zan, who was thrashing and screaming in his sleep
