accident.
The bee, on the other hand, was intelligent to know that escape lay toward the light. So to the light it went, only to find its way blocked by an impervious transparency. It struggled valorously, for it was obstinate in courage. But in the end it died, betrayed by its intelligence.
The moral of the story?
Many morals could be drawn, some of them concerning the dangers of intelligence. But to Lonstantine Thrug — he was, we must remember, a Yudonic Knight, and therefore inclined toward simplicities — the moral was this: Never despair!
‘Well,’ said Olivia Qasaba, ‘what are we going to do now?’
‘We,’ said Justina, ‘are going to retreat into Zolabrik.’ ‘No!’ sa id Chegory, who had a peculiar horror of Untunchilamon’s wasteland des erts.
‘Yes,’ said Justina. ‘We have no other choice.’
‘But why?’ said Chegory. ‘Couldn’t we just — well, surrender?’
A foolish question, this. It required no answer. But Idaho provided one anyway.
‘We can’t surrender,’ said Idaho. ‘For if captured, we might be brainwashed. ’
The Empress Justina shuddered at the thought. Brainwashing, for those unfamiliar with the niceties of political life in the Izdimir Empire, is a particularly hideous form of torture, and all its varieties are almost invariably lethal. Brainwashing can take any of seventeen different forms, the most merciful being the Hovmun Variation in which the much-washed brain is cut from its stem on the second day then fed to the next-of-kin of the deceased or (should next-of-kin be unavailable) to offal pigs bred especially for the purpose.
While Justina was still shuddering, she heard boots pounding up the stairs leading to the roof.
‘Someone’s coming!’ screamed Olivia.
‘We’ve left it too late,’ said Idaho. ‘We can’t escape.’ Then he screamed his battle cry: ‘Wen Endex!’
‘Julie!’ said Justina sharply. ‘They might be friends.’ ‘No,’ said Idaho sternly. ‘They can’t be. We have no friends left. We are doomed. Our sole remaining privilege is to die with weapons in our hands. Better it is to die thus than to be captured alive. So this is it, then. Our last stand.’
Verily, the doughty Yudonic Knight seemed almost to welcome the crisis. He had endured Justina’s civilized and charitable regime for too long. He wanted war, blood-slaughter battles, violence, glory, death. If only for a moment. Even if his own death were to be consequent upon such indulgences.
‘You,’ said Justina, seizing Pelagius Zozimus and shaking him. ‘Don’t just stand there. Do something!’
‘Do what?’ said Zozimus.
‘You’re a wizard, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Zozimus. ‘A wizard with the power to animate corpses. Do you see any raw material for my work?’
‘Stand ready!’ said Juliet Idaho, bracing himself for combat. ‘I’ll soon give you all the raw material you need.’
Then those coming up the stairs burst out on to the roof.
The corpse-master Uckermark was in the lead, and Idaho almost took off his head with a swordstroke before he saw who it was. Uckermark was carrying a wickerwork cage, and Shabble bobbed bright-shining at Uckermark’s shoulder.
Uckermark’s hard-bitten woman, Yilda of the many conflicts, followed him on to the roof. Then came the bullman Log Jaris and his helpmate Molly.
‘Is there anyone else?’ said Idaho.
‘This is all of us,’ said Uckermark.
‘Well, that doesn’t give me many to choose from,’ said Idaho.
‘What are you talking about?’ said Uckermark.
‘Our wizard friend here requires a corpse,’ said Uckermark, indicating Zozimus. ‘Only by means of such can he unleash his power.’
‘That’s enough!’ said Justina sharply. Then she looked hard at Zozimus. ‘Are you all right?’ she said. ‘You look ill.’
‘I-’
But Zozimus said no more, for he began to Change. He shrivelled and shrank, and he outflourished fur as he shrank. Moments later, where the wizard had been, there was nothing but a wriggling loin cloth. Bro Drumel’s corpse staggered then collapsed. Then a gerbil struggled free from the loin cloth, and sat on its hind legs chittering furiously.
‘Oh!’ said Olivia. ‘A hampster. How cute!’
The gerbil glared at her in fury. Its eyes were bloodshot with berserk fury, and, in its rage, it pawed at the roof like a bull trying to ruck apart a paddock with its hooves. Olivia failed to heed these warning signs. Instead, with one cherishing finger she ventured to stroke the gerbil behind the ears.
The gerbil bit her.
‘Yowl’ said Olivia.
‘Olivia!’ said the Empress Justina. ‘We’ve no time for games! And don’t drop my dragon! Now listen, all of you. We must leave immediately. For Zolabrik.’
‘We must leave, yes,’ said Uckermark. ‘But not for Zolabrik. We’re leaving by air.’
‘Are you blind?’ said Justina. ‘The airship’s destroyed! Look!’
Uckermark laughed.
‘Look yourself,’ said he. ‘Look for Xtokobrokotok.’ Justina resisted the temptation to swear at him. She deigned to look out across the city to the warehouses of Marthandorthan. She located Xtokobrokotok, most notorious of all the buildings in that dockland quarter. On the rooftop, a solitary figure was hauling a tarpaulin from a ‘Oh,’ said Justina in surprise.
Now all was explained. Now she knew why Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin had only worked for half the day at the pink palace, and had never seemed to have much enthusiasm for the work he did there.
‘That’s all very well,’ said Juliet Idaho, observing the gigantic bird’s nest which stood atop Xtokobrokotok, waiting for the wizard Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin to send it whirling into the air. ‘But the Cabal House has destroyed two airships already. They can destroy a third as easily.’
‘Shabble,’ said Uckermark. ‘Now!’
Shabble hummed with excitement as Shabble went bobbing upwards. Then fire flashed forth from Shabble, and the upper storey of the Cabal House exploded into flame.
‘Ouch!’ said Justina.
She did not think Uckermark was being at all wise in persuading Shabble thus to join the wars of humanity. But she had to admit the manoeuvre served the needs of the moment.
When she looked again, Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin had got his bird’s nest into the air, and it was whirling through the sultry sunlight toward them. It rose up, up, up into the air, then whirled downward, almost clipping the glitter dome as its shadow spun across the roof of the pink palace, its substance speaking to the world thus:
Thubber lubber dubber — ffft!
All ducked as the huge thing swept overhead, nearly taking their heads off. It slewed sideways, lurched to an abrupt halt in mid-air, then gyrated backwards until it was spinning in the air directly overhead. Then it descended. Justina grabbed the still-chittering gerbil and dived for safety just before the bird’s nest landed with a hideous grating sound accompanied by an upfling of dust.
‘All aboard!’ cried Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin, looking down from above.
Yilda was already scrambling up the side of the airship. The others followed, the gerbil being passed from hand to hand as Justina was hauled aboard. As the refugees came aboard, they seated themselves in the bottom of the airship like so many fledglings in a huge bird’s next.
‘Hurry up, Julie!’ cried the Empress Justina.
‘But,’ cried Juliet Idaho, who was still standing on the palace roof, ‘we haven’t killed anyone yet!’
‘Julie!’ said Justina. ‘I’m giving you a direct order! Get inside! Now!’
Juliet Idaho scrambled aboard. As he sought for a place to sit, he almost crushed the wickerwork cage which Uckermark had brought aboard.
‘Careful!’ said Uckermark. ‘Don’t sit on that!’
