Thus Justina woke and felt guilty. But guilt was brief though waking was long; for the Empress Justina was far too busy to spare much thought for the horrors of the past. Untunchilamon stood unchanged. Another hot and sultry day was begun. A day bereft of wind: something all Injiltaprajura would lament, for lack of wind would further delay the rest of the Trade Fleet.
The lordess of the pink palace began that day’s work by ascending early to the roof of her pink palace to inspect Sken-Pitilkin’s airship. She was pleased to see the elderly wizard was already at work. Reconstruction of his scattered ship was going apace. But Justina nevertheless had a measure of displeasure to express.
‘Sken-Pitilkin!’ said she severely. ‘Where were you yesterday afternoon?’
‘In bed,’ said the wizard. ‘Laid up with a touch of the centipedes.’
‘If diarrhoea’s your problem, then boil your water. What about the afternoon of the day before? What was your excuse for that?’
‘I’m an old man,’ said Sken-Pitilkin. ‘You can’t work me as you would a cane cutter.’
‘You could try harder,’ said Justina, not one whit impressed by su ch excuses. ‘You will today, won’t you?’ ‘My psychic powers tell me th e day will be hot,’ said Sken-Pitilkin. ‘I fear the onset of heat-stro ke toward noon.’
‘Heatstroke!’ said Justina. ‘Laziness, that’s what I call it. A full day’s work, that’s the least I expect.’
But, to Justina’s dismay, Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin refused to promise to put in more than half a day’s work on his new airship. She remonstrated with him, saying their need was urgent. Prolonged remonstrations brought her no further success. But she was right. Their need was urgent.
As yet, there were but five ships in the Laitemata. Three had stayed there all through the Long Dry. Two were newcomers, one being the Oktobdoj which had brought Jean Froissart and Manthandros Trasilika to the place of their deaths. Justina, as has been noted already, needed at least a dozen ships to get her loyal supporters away to safety.
However, as the days went by, Justina was beginning to despair of the arrival of any more ships. Furthermore, a showdown with the mob was fast approaching. Signs of riot were everywhere. It would happen, and happen soon.
Thus Justina desperately needed Sken-Pitilkin’s airship.
Was she then thinking of deserting her loyal supporters and fleeing alone to save her own skin?
No.
But it had occurred to her that an airship travels much faster than a bark of normal breed; so, despite the limited capacity of Sken-Pitilkin’s flying bird’s nest, it might yet prove an effective vehicle of evacuation. A shuttle service could scarcely hope to complete this great escape in secret. Yet all was not lost. At a pinch, Justina’s people could trek into the wastes of Zolabrik. A desperate move, since a journey so dangerous would mean the deaths of many; but a move which would put them beyond the reach of the disloyalists. Then were the nest to become airworthy, Justina’s people could be ferried in handfuls to distant shores until all had been taken upon that journey.
The Empress said nothing of this to the wizard, thinking (rightly) that he might object to the immense labour of ferrying a dozen shiploads of people across the ocean at the rate of a handful a time.
Thus the Empress Justina had a plan, a plan which might yet succeed in the absence of her twelve much- desired ships. But she needed time. Which was why, after her interview with Sken-Pitilkin, she descended to her study, there to await the arrival of the corpse-master Uckermark.
While Justina was waiting (and demolishing a large breakfast during the wait) one of Theodora’s chickens wandered into the study.
‘Out!’said Justina.
‘Bruck bruck bruck bruck!’ said the chicken.
Justina kicked it, and if fled with a flapping of wings.
Those chickens!
Justina hated the very sight of them.
For, while the Empress Justina was wont to let her own desires have their way with her flesh, she nevertheless thought that her sister Theordora went far, far too far in the direction of outright debauchery.
At length Uckermark arrived, looking somewhat wary. He felt he had done very well for himself, for his position as legal counsel for the Cult of the Holy Cockroach made him safe from even the wrath of Aldarch Three, despite his previous connections and alliances with the Empress Justina. He had no wish to compromise his present advantages (safety, a measure of power, ample remuneration, prestige and the friendship of Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek) by involvement in whatever harebrained scheme the Empress had dreamed up.
Nevertheless, he could not deny that he owed Justina a debt. Several debts, in fact.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Justina, divining his anxieties. ‘I ask nothing from you yourself but an introduction to a good forger.’
‘For what?’ said Uckermark, all curiosity.
Justina told him.
‘There is a Secret History afloat in Injiltaprajura. Fractions of this Injiltaprajuradariski have been found in all manner of places. It is written in Slandolin. I have people who can compose in that language. They have done so. We have made a libel upon the life of Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek. Now we want this forged in the handwriting of the unknown author of the Injiltaprajuradariski. We paint Ek as a secret heretic; and by leaking our forgeries we hope to turn his mob against him, or at least confuse that mob until its wrath becomes impotent.’
‘It won’t work,’ said Uckermark.
So Justina told him the truth. Many bits and pieces of the Secret History made mention of an organic rectifier, an immortality machine which also had the ability to convert male flesh to female, or Crab to human.
‘Our forgeries,’ said Justina, ‘will prove that Ek has such a machine himself. Jealously he guards it. He has made himself immortal, but denies this privilege to all others.’
‘People will never believe that,’ said Uckermark.
‘Of course they will,’ said Justina. ‘Ek’s a mutant. You can see it in the eyes. People are always ready to believe ill of a mutant.’
If Ek were widely believed to have the secret of immortality then he would be torn to pieces by a thousand people in search of the same. That, at any rate, was what Justina believed, and thanks to her powers of persuasion she soon converted Uckermark to her belief. ‘There remains,’ said Uckermark, ‘one little question.’ ‘You’ve no need to ask it,’ said Justina. ‘Believe me, the tax status of the Cult of the Holy Cockroach is safe no matter what. If Ek dies, I guarantee the continuation of your privileges.’
‘That,’ said Uckermark, ‘is all I wanted to hear.’
And, that very day, he sought out a forger and brought the man privily to the pink palace so the work could begin.
Justina was delighted.
Once the Empress Justina had her forgeries to hand, Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek would find that he was not the only person on Untunchilamon who knew how to stir up a mob.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A run on a bank can be disastrous both for the bank and its customers, the panic of the few leading to financial disaster for the many. The reasons for this are very simple. A bank commonly lends out as much as eighty per cent of its depositors’ funds, keeping only a little cash on hand. This is sound business practice, but means such organizations can easily be ruined if depositors come clamouring en masse for their monies.
Accordingly, governments will often intervene to prevent or ameliorate such a run in its early stages.
Aldarch the Third once did as much in Obooloo when the Brothelmaster’s Credit Union came under seige as a result of scurrilous rumours circulated by its enemies. Al’three did not forbid depositors to withdraw their funds. No, he merely ordered his guards to chop off the noses and ears of any customers who insisted on withdrawing more than ten per cent of their funds on any one day.
Since most of the Mutilator’s soldiers were Enumerate, they were incapable of computing the relevant percentages. So, knowing that the Lord of Knives admires zeal, they applied their surgical expertise to every single
