Ms Mix was indeed an ogre, one of twenty-seven of that breed which dwelt in Injiltaprajura. She had laughed at Orge Arat’s axe. Then she had broken his arm.
‘Orge Arat escaped,’ said Rat, ‘but barely. He came to me for help. I gave him the courtesy of my protection. He rewarded me with these pages of manuscript, this being all he had to give.’
‘And you’ve been selling bits of it,’ said Juliet Idaho. ‘Oh no!’ said Rat. ‘What was given, I kept. But there was much more than this. He lost the rest when he fought with Ms Mix. This portion was bound to his chest, it being the most precious, for it was near the stage of final draft. But the rest he lost to the ogre. She must be the seller of those fragments you’ve seen or heard of elsewhere.’
‘Where’s Orge Arat now?’ said Juliet Idaho.
‘He’s disappeared,’ said Rat. ‘He’s vanished off the face of the earth.’
‘Impossible!’ said Idaho.
But it was quite possible. Orge Arat had indeed vanished off the face of the earth, though he had not gone far; he was afloat on the face of the sea, on a ship in the Laitemata Harbour. Orge Arat was a guest of Troldot ‘Heavy-Fist’ Turbothot, a trader from Hexagon who was adventuring round the world on the orders of Baron Farouk. The reasons for this guestship are complicated, and could make a book of their own; as no doubt they may some day, should Troldot Turbothot take it into his head to write his memoirs, or should the fair Theodora one day take upon herself the encyclopedic task of counting her chickens and cataloguing her lovers. But, while reason is complex, result is simple: Orge Arat was not to be found.
In the absence of an apprehendable Orge Arat, Juliet Idaho was all for daring Ms Mix in her lair and beating the truth out of her with the sharp edge of a hatchet. This was vetoed by the Empress Justina who thought, first, that they had as much of the truth as they needed for the moment; and, second, that Idaho was being over- optimistic in thinking himself able to get the better of an ogre in outright combat.
‘What I want, Julie,’ said the Empress, choosing her words with care, ‘is for you to leave poor Mix alone, at least for the moment.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ said Idaho.
‘But I am,’ said the Empress, with all the firmness at her command, which was considerable.
‘But — but now is the time to strike!’ said Idaho.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘But you promised! You promised me! You promised I’d get a chance to kill someone, and soon.’
‘Did I, Julie? I have no recollection of such a promise. But, look — our darling young Nixorjapretzel is starting to fidget. Why don’t you watch over him, Julie dear? There’s nine chances in ten he’ll make a break for it. Then all your dreams will come true.’
‘Right,’ said Juliet Idaho.
And the grim-faced Yudonic Knight (a naked blade by now just slightly more than at the ready) installed himself behind a trembling Nixorjapretzel Rat, a Rat who thereafter did not dare move so much as a finger, lest even a gesture so slight bring about his untimely demise.
Then the Empress Justina sent out for Shanvil Angarus May, the uncommonly loyal Ashdan warrior who, thanks to his knowledge of the Slandolin, had lately served her so well as a translator. There was shortly a knock at her door.
‘Come in!’ said the Empress.
But it was not May who entered; it was a servant bearing a tiny dish, a bright yellow dish carefully covered with a weighted piece of mosquito netting.
‘Here,’ said Justina, tapping her desk.
The servant set down the dish and withdrew. The Empress removed the mosquito net covering, revealing a writhing mass of fleas, mosquitoes, bedbugs and baby cockroaches. Each of these had been painstakingly disabled so it could not flee.
Justina whistled softly.
There was a faint rustling from the little nest of cat’s fur and feather-fluff which sat upon the imperial desk. A tiny head, heraldic in outline, peeped over the edge of that nest. It was the head of the dragon Untunchilamon, now much recovered from its skirmish with the seagulls of Jod. During the early days of its convalescence, the Empress Justina had observed this spitter of sparks stalk, singe, disable and consume a mosquito; which had given her the idea of introducing her fingerlength dragon to a diet of varied vermin. Such viands had found immediate favour with Untunchilamon, who had now recovered strength and vitality to the point of being able to fly.
‘Come forth, my lovely,’ said Justina, and whistled again.
There was a tiny squeak of enthusiasm as the dragon Untunchilamon plunged over the side of the nest and swaggered towards the dish of awaiting delights. Before long, all the wrigglers within had wriggled their last; and by the time Shanvil Angarus May put in an appearance, Untunchilamon was asleep.
May was soon at work on the Injiltaprajuradariski, skimming through the Secret History and decoding the really juicy bits on the spot.
‘Ah!’ said May. ‘Here’s something.’
‘Read,’ said Justina.
‘It’s about the organic rectifier,’ said May, glancing at Rat.
‘Don’t worry about young Nixorjapretzel,’ said the Empress. ‘I trust him implicitly.’
A statement which was meant to be reassuring, but which procured quite an opposite effect in the trembling breast of the sensitive Rat. For wherefore should the Empress trust him so unless she shortly planned to remove his head from his shoulders? Rat’s fear increased inordinately. Thus we see that the Empress erred in her treatment of the young sorcerer; but, in her defence, let it be said that she made such mistakes infrequently, and, while she blundered on this occasion, her motives were of the best.
‘I will read, then,’ said May, peering once more at the close-scorpioned purple scripting from which he was to translate. ‘It says that… Pokrov, it says, by which I presume it means our neighbour on Jod… it says Pokrov… ah, here’s the bit… I quote verbatim, it says, quote, Pokrov was immortal, hence lonely; for Shabble was a less than satisfactory companion for a life which might yet run for many millennia until it was terminated by accident or design. Therefore Pokrov wished for companions of his own breed. It was the arts of an organic rectifier which had made Pokrov immortal. Moreover, as Pokrov knew full well, another machine of such breed was very likely concealed in the magnanimous dark Downstairs; but there he was loathe to venture, for the potential rewards of such journeying were incommensurate in the dark of the dangers. Such was his fear that he was doomed, it seemed, to have no constant companionship down through the centuries.’
‘So Pokrov’s a coward,’ said Idaho, with a violence which made Rat flinch. ‘So let’s arrest him. Then chop off his head!’
‘Julie, darling,’ said tfie Empress Justina reprovingly, ‘your monomania ill becomes you. We will most certainly have a little chat with Pokrov, but undue bloodshed might draw attention to us from the most unwelcome quarters.’
It took but moments for the Empress to formulate an alternative plan. Chegory Guy and Olivia Qasaba, travelling ostensibly as secretaries of the Crab, were due to pay one of their regular visits to the pink palace at noon that day.
‘So,’ said Justina, ‘all we need do is ask that Ivan Pokrov accompany them so we may consult with him on… on, ah, a possible use of the Analytical Engine. That should do it.’
‘But noon is almost upon us,’ said Idaho.
‘The shadows lack some shortening yet,’ said May, ‘and I have strong legs. I will bear the message to Jod.’
Message-bear he did; leaving those in Justina’s study (Idaho, Rat, Odolo and Herself) to speculate fervidly on the possibilities surely to be made actualities by the pursuit and capture of an organic rectifier. Man to woman; woman to man; mortal flesh to immortal; and, not least of the promises of the future, Crab to human.
Were the Crab to become human, in gratitude it would surely accept the wazirship which bluff now claimed to be its choice. It would exercise its Powers to deny the shores of Injiltaprajura to enemies of the existing order. A result most greatly to be desired!
As Justina was thinking thus, the forger recruited to her cause by the corpse-master Uckermark was admitted to her study. He bowed, presented the Empress with five pages of close-scripted ricepaper, then withdrew. The Empress spread the pages out upon her desk and gazed upon them happily. She could not read the
