future market; he drew his pay in bronze and gold and protected himself against all possibility of theft by spending it promptly in forthright debauch.
‘So,’ said Idaho slowly, ‘you pay to a number.’
‘A numbered account,’ agreed Bro Drumel.
‘But the account has a human attached to it, does it not?’ said Idaho.
‘Well,’ said Drumel hesitantly, ‘as I understand it-’
‘It does not,’ said the Empress crisply.
‘But it must!’ said Idaho. ‘Or how does the owner get at the cash? That’s the thing with banks, isn’t it? I’m not an expert, but as I understand it, money put into a bank account is not meant as a gift to a bank.’
‘The bank has a barrel,’ said Justina, who knew this system well. ‘Within the barrel, a thousand envelopes.
Each envelope sealed. Each envelope holds two numbers. Each number unique, and each in length at least a dozen digits. You wish an account? Very well! You lay down ten dragons-’
‘Ten!’ said Idaho, scandalized.
‘Ten,’affirmed Justina.
‘Let me guess,’ said Idaho. ‘It’s a lucky dip.’
‘Right,’ said Justina. ‘Ten dragons, one envelope.’
‘I see,’ muttered Idaho. ‘A bloody banker’s trick, isn’t it? Nobod y knows who’s working which numbers.’ ‘Exactly,’ said Justina.
And watched Idaho’s face. He was still puzzling through these revelations, trying to work out the necessary implications and ramifications. Justina had every confidence that he’d sort it out in his own good time, but Bro Drumel, not realizing the reason for her silence, intruded without invitation:
‘One number you bank with. You see? But both you must have to withdraw. Both you must have as well to know the account’s balance. They’ve master ledgers, you see, all made up with numbers in twins.’
Justina was afraid this information overload would draw a roar of outraged incomprehension from the irascible Idaho. But the Yudonic Knight was sharp today, he was on form indeed:
‘So our bright friend Blackmail, he sends Drumel one number. So Drumel goes to the bank. A thousand dragons he gives to the bank. They look up their ledgers with numbers in twins. They write down the dragons by the side of the twin. Then bright spark Blackmail, in he comes the next day with numbers in doubles. Both numbers he gives to the bank, and the dragons they give him.’
‘Why,’ said Bro Drumel, amazed at such uncharacteristic penetration on the part of the battleman Idaho. ‘A single cast, yet your hook finds its fish.’
‘Yes,’ said Idaho. ‘And we find us friend Blackmail as well. Easy, isn’t it? He’s now but a number to us and the bank. But flesh he must have to cash numbers for dragons. He can’t come as a ghost, can he?’
‘There are ways and means,’ said Justina darkly.
‘But we could try,’ said Bro Drumel, keen to catch friend Blackmail if there was one chance in a thousand of doing it.
‘What do you mean, try?’ said Idaho, a touch of outrage at work in his voice. ‘It’s a sure thing, isn’t it?’ ‘Not,’ said Justina, ‘if ou r blackmailing friend leaves his deposits untouched till the island ha s fallen to Aldarch the Third.’
‘Then let’s grab in quick,’ said Idaho. ‘Grab the records, see what’s there to find.’
‘It’s just numbers,’ said Bro Drumel, unable to suppress his exasperation. ‘Just numbers, that’s all!’
How could he get it through to this big lunk of a headlopper? A raid on the bank would give them numbers, no more. No name, no address, no identikit, nothing.
‘Listen, sklork,’ sasid Idaho, edging his words with murder. ‘I’m a killer, okay, but I’ve brains for brains, not dogshit. Understand?’
‘Dogshit!’ said the Empress Justina, pretending to be shocked and scandalized.
‘My lady,’ said Idaho, starting to get heated. ‘My apologies. But I won’t be patronized by this — this Janjuladoola thing!’
‘He does have a point, Julie my darling,’ said Justina gently. ‘We would win but numbers if we won with a raid.’
‘Aye,’ said Idaho. ‘And what are numbers but history, if money’s at stake? No doubt they’ll have dates with their ledgers. A date for the account’s genesis, for example.’
‘No,’ said Bro Drumel, pleased to win yet another point off this uncouth uitlander who so obviously had dogshit for brains, yet fearing that the loss of too many such points might make that same uitlander run amok in a berserker fury. ‘The accounts are undated, for who knows when they’re bought? They come from a barrel, remember. All envelopes jumbled. A choice of a thousand.’
‘Privacy perfect,’ said Justina in agreement.
‘Yes,’ said Idaho, reluctantly conceding the point. ‘But dates they’ll have for other things. Surely. Not when the account was opened, perhaps. But money gone in and money gone out. All signed for and dated. It has to be! Not by the customer, maybe, but their own staff must sign when they play with the gold. A banker’s as much a thief as the next man, is he not?’
‘Well,’ said Bro Drumel, annoyed to find that there was a certain amount of good sense to this. ‘That’s all very well, but-’
‘It’s a start,’ said Justina decisively. ‘We’ll get on to the bank this instant.’
‘But,’ protested Drumel, ‘if all we can learn is deposits, disbursements and dates…’
His voice trailed away as he began to understand the implications. Once they had the history of the blackmailer’s account, complete with the current balance and dates for all deposits and any disbursements, they would have a pattern on which they could exert their intelligence.
A slim hope indeed, but far better than none.
‘There is also something else we could try,’ said Idaho. ‘What?’ said Justina.
Then listened in silence as Idaho explained.
‘Why, Julie!’ said Justina in amazement. ‘That’s a brilliant idea! Why didn’t I think of that?’
In truth, Idaho’s idea was so good that even Bro Drumel felt compelled to congratulate him.
Their meeting was then effectively at an end, for all business had been dealt with. But Bro Drumel was not prepared to depart without asking one last question.
‘My lady,’ said Drumel. ‘Is the Crab… has the Crab really chosen to be wazir? Or is it…?’
‘The Crab is very much wazir,’ said the Empress Justina decisively. ‘Believe me, Brody. I’d never lie to you.’
Thus spoke the Empress. And Bro Drumel believed the Thrug, and was comforted by her blatant lie.
The truth was quite another matter entirely.
The truth was that Chegory Guy and Olivia Qasaba had dared a desperate bluff, claiming that the Crab had declared itself wazir when in point of fact it had done no such thing.
Each day, a great many state papers were carried across the harbour bridge to the island of Jod; and each day a stream of orders, commands, declarations and petitions were returned from that island. But the Crab played no part in this two-way flow. Instead, Injiltaprajura was effectively been ruled by the young Chegory Guy and the even younger Olivia Qasaba.
With, it must be admitted, a little help from the wizards Pelagius Zozimus and Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin, a certain amount of assistance from the analytical engineer Ivan Pokrov and the algorithmist Artemis Ingalawa, and daily advice from the Empress Justina herself.
Were this history to adopt the style of Greven Jing, it might say something like this:
‘So far, the innocent citizens of Injiltaprajura had no idea that power had been seized by two members of the dreaded drumming cult. But they would find out. Soon enough. For, nightly, the drums beat on the island of Jod, competing with the slabender frogs for the dominance of the night. And the hellish rhythms of the drums spoke of fear; and death; and torture; and things far worse still yet to come.’
But this is a history, therefore it must avoid such artificial hysteria wherever possible. Let the truth be told. While Chegory Guy and Olivia Qasaba are known to have associated with ‘drummers’ from time to time, there is no evidence to show or suggest that they actually engaged in ‘drumming’ themselves. Even though Olivia once gave the Crab a drum of its own, there is no evidence to suggest that she used it herself (or that the Crab employed the
