instrument, though it did not reject the gift).
Besides, the fear, death and torture which at that time threatened so many good citizens of Injiltaprajura owned nothing whatsoever to the fringe cult of ‘drumming’, but stemmed instead from the nature of the main stream political struggle.
The historian apologizes to the reader for so stressing a point which has perhaps been adequately made earlier; but the nature of the final days of the rule of the Family Thrug has been so confused by the agitated fictionalizing of those who make a living from sensationalizing ‘cults’ and ‘cultists’ that the historian feels the point needs to be made yet again.
Another thing must be made clear:
While Chegory Guy and Olivia Qasaba played a vital role in the politics of that time and place, their roles owed everything to their association with the Crab, and nothing whatsoever to the cult of ‘drumming’; and the fact that the Crab allowed Chegory and Olivia to issue imperial decrees in the Crab’s name should not be allowed to obscure the fact that all the decisions made by those two infatuated children were largely influenced and controlled by the constant advice they received from the responsible adults on whose good counsel they relied and depended.
Now this has been clarified:
Read on!
If you dare!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The day after Bro Drumel’s meeting with the Empress Justina, the Narapatorpabarta Bank began to experience an unusual number of withdrawals. Juliet Idaho engineered this run on the bank, and did so in the simplest way imaginable. He made up a list of likely account holders (anyone rich enough to have money worth hiding from the Inland Revenue), visited the people on his list, and ordered each to bring him documented proof of a withdrawal from the N’barta. Or else!
Drug dealers he visited, and brothel keepers; and certain other people who had suspiciously grand houses and no visible means of support.
That was all it took to get things moving, for once rumour got wind of the rash of withdrawals no further engineering was needed. The run on the bank escalated rapidly as people by the dozen came in to clean out their numbered accounts. Idle drummers, drawn to the scene by the panic of honest citizens, began to beat their instruments in the street outside.
Tok-tok-thuk!
Tok-tok-thuk…
In the bank, hidden behind the scenes but monitoring every transaction, Justina’s agents lurked in waiting. The Narapatorpabarta Bank permitted this intrusion because Juliet Idaho had kidnapped the bank manager’s wife, sons (five in number) and baby daughter.
When results are required in a hurry, Yudonic Knights tend to give much more satisfaction than lawyers or other slow-working persuaders. There is a degree of danger in the use of Yudonic Knights, since their presence tends to escalate a minor diplomatic incident to an armed confrontation, or to make a full-scale war out of a street corner brawl. The Empress Justina, however, was in so much strife already that she failed to see how Idaho’s indiscretions could possibly make things worse.
Thus the run on the N’barta began, and a great many numbers were brought to the bank’s counters in twins while Justina’s people waited patiently for the much-wanted bearer of the blackmail numbers to make his (her?) appearance.
Meanwhile, another financial crisis was taking place on Untunchilamon, albeit a minor one. The officials of the Inland Revenue had learnt that Shabble’s Cult of the Holy Cockroach was tithing its adherents. The Cult was not demanding ten per cent of the congregation’s income. Or twenty. Or thirty, even. No. Shabble was going for the whole thing. A full 100 per cent.
Agents from the Inland Revenue fronted up at the Xtokobrokotok to protest. Shabble’s lawyer, the redoubtable corpse-master Uckermark, gave them a stern lecture on the rights and freedoms of religion.
‘You don’t understand,’ said an earnest revenue agent. ‘If people give all to religion, there’s nothing left to be taxed.’
‘Oh, I understand perfectly,’ said Uckermark.
‘You mean,’ said the revenue agent, warming to his task, ‘you understand this Shabble’s religion to be no more than a tax dodge.’
‘No more than a tax dodge?’ said a scandalized Uckermark. ‘That’s blasphemy.’
‘Blasphemy?’ said the revenue agent. ‘Against a cockroach? Who cares?’
‘The law cares!’ said Uckermark. ‘This is no ordinary cockroach. This is the Holy Cockroach. Furthermore, His Cult is a Protected Religion. It has the favour of the High Priest of Zoz the Ancestral. So to blaspheme against the Holy Cockroach is as bad as blaspheming against Zoz Himself. You’ve already said enough to endanger your life. I suggest you say no more unless you have urgent business to conduct with your ancestors.’
The revenue agents lacked Uckermark’s specialized knowledge of ecclesiastical law, but research soon demonstrated that Uckermark was right. So the revenue agents had recourse to Nadalastabstala Banraithan- chumun Ek. The High Priest of Zoz the Ancestral was far from pleased to see them, and even less pleased once they had explained their mission.
‘You petty money-grubbing omolkiomomooskipis,’ said Master Ek in open contempt. ‘Your grudgery is an open disgrace. It is fitting for worshippers to give freely to their faith.’
‘But,’ said a revenue agent, the same one who had argued valorously with Uckermark, ‘the Cult returns half of all monies to the donors as charity.’
‘That is only reasonable,’ said Master Ek. ‘If the donors have pauperized themselves by their generosity to their church they must surely have need of such charity.’
‘Then let them give less to start with,’ said the revenue agent. ‘For charity doles escape all taxes, You see, most of these people are in the upper income bracket. Their tax rate is set at nine dalmoons in the dragon. But as it is, they pay a dragon to the cult to earn five dalmoons in charity. Every dragon thus paid saves the giver four dalmoons, while the revenue wins not a damn in taxes.’ ‘It’s a laundering operation,’ said another agent. ‘Explain it to me again,’ said Master Ek.
It was a great many years since he had bothered to add or subtract. He had accountants to do that kind of drudgery.
The revenue agents were pleased with Ek’s enthusiasm for enlightenment and gladly assisted with his continuing education. Master Ek proved to be exceptionally interested in the details; indeed, the sharp-eyed priest had smoked his way through three cigarettes before the agents were finished.
‘Now I understand,’ said Ek at last. ‘As a reward for their devotion, the worshippers have their effective tax rate cut from ninety per cent to fifty, thus saving themselves four dalmoons in the dragon.’
‘Precisely,’ said one of the agents.
Ek lit a fourth cigarette, drew deeply on that source of narcotic delight, blew a smoke ring then said:
‘You have my gratitude. You have revealed to me a cure for the growing impiety of Injiltaprajura. What serves for a Protected Religion will serve for the Source.’ One particularly young and impressionable revenue agent, unable to control himself, gave vent to a moan of anguish.
‘You do that well,’ said Master Ek with interest. He was something of a connoisseur of moans, groans and other expressions of anguish; and here, he realized, was a unique talent. ‘Have you ever considered a career as a human sacrifice? If you do, we have an opening available. The Festival of Light is scarcely a month away. Just think! Very shortly you could be kneeling at the feet of Zoz himself. Actually… I have a mind to declare a mass sacrifice. As High Priest upon Untunchilamon I do have that privilege. How many of there are you? Let me see…’
As Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek began counting the assembled revenue agents, they said their adieus and fled.
Their next stop was the pink palace, where they petitioned the Empress Justina for assistance.
