‘Were you?’ said Cod.
‘Yes,’ said Alfric. ‘Really.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Cod. ‘We did… we did rise to the occasion, and we know it. We’re proud of it. But it’s the routine that’s wearing us down.’
‘The routine,’ said Morgenstem, ‘of just living in this city.’
‘They make jokes about us, you see,’ said Cod. ‘Jokes about eating us. I can take a joke. But it’s not a joke, not really. They really do want to eat us. I can’t sleep at night for the bad dreams.’
‘Sleep by day, then,’ said Alfric carelessly ‘Oh, it’s all right f or you,’ said Morgenstem. ‘You’re not an ork. Nobody ever threatened t o boil you down for your blubber oil.’
‘Well… no,’ said Alfric, conceding the point.
‘If you were ambassador,’ said Cod, ‘King Dimple-Dumpling’s ambassador, I mean, then people would take you seriously. You could get things done. Not like us orks.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Alfric. ‘The Izdimir Empire has an ambassador here, but nobody takes him too seriously. They make jokes about him too, you know. It’s not just because you’re orks. It’s because you’re outsiders. Anyway, if it’s getting too much for you, why don’t you go back to the Qinjoks?’
‘King Dimple-Dumpling wouldn’t like that,’ said Morgenstem. ‘He has to have an ambassador in Galsh Ebrek.’
‘Then let him send an ogre,’ said Alfric. ‘One of his sons, perhaps. This just isn’t the place for orks. I’m quite happy to come along to the Qinjoks and tell the king that myself.’
‘Oh,’ said Cod, ‘that’s awfully kind of you. But it wouldn’t really be a good idea. The king’s most awfully keen to keep an ambassador here. We’re under orders.
We can’t leave unless we can find someone to substitute for us.’
Cod paused.
Looked at Alfric.
Morgenstem did likewise.
And Alfric thought to himself, in amusement:
— They want me to be ambassador?
Oh no.
That was impossible.
Or was it?
Technically… technically it might be possible. If Alfric became the ogre-king’s ambassador in Galsh Ebrek, then the Powers That Be would not dare murder him, lest they start a war with the Qinjoks. But… but Alfric planned to leave the continent of Yestron for the continent of Tameran. To make a new life for himself in Port Domax. There, life would be a struggle, but there was no limit to what he might achieve, given time.
Whereas to be the ogre-king’s ambassador in Galsh Ebrek would surely be a dead end.
‘Maybe you’re mistaken about the importance the king attaches to diplomatic representation in Galsh Ebrek,’ said Alfric. ‘I don’t see why King Dimple-Dumpling really needs an ambassador here at all. Our relations are perfectly cordial, and will remain so as long ' as the annual tribute is paid.‘, Alfric frankly did not think that payment of that annual tribute represented much of a strain on the treasury of the king of the Qinjoks.
Cod looked at Morgenstem.
Morgenstem looked at Cod.
‘Shall we tell him?’ said Morgenstem.
‘Let’s,’said Cod. '
So Morgenstem said to Alfric:
‘King Dimple-Dumpling wants to open a bank. Here. In Galsh Ebrek.’
‘A bank?’ said Alfric, not bothering to conceal his surprise.
‘Yes,’ said Morgenstem. ‘A bank.’
‘But why?’ said Alfric.
‘Why does anyone open a bank?’ said Cod. ‘To make money. The king’s got all that treasure up in the Qinjoks with no place to invest it. The stuff just sits there getting warm in spring and cold in autumn. If the king had a bank, he could lend out his money for interest. Invest. Land, ships, insurance. You know. You’re a banker. I don’t have to tell you all this stuff, you know it already.’ ‘It’s a nice idea,’ said Alfric cautiously. ‘But investment opportunities in Galsh Ebrek are somewhat limited. I don’t know that there’s room enough for another bank. Not here.’
‘Of course there is,’ said Cod. ‘After all, you trade with the world.’
A fever-flush burnt through Alfric’s veins. He felt dizzy. Did the orks know about that? But how? How could they?
— Careful now.
— This could be a trap.
Then Alfric chided himself for being so foolish. Of course the orks knew nothing of the Bank’s secret. They couldn’t. It just wasn’t possible. When the orks said that Galsh Ebrek traded with the world, all they meant was that ships came and went, and those ships could go anywhere in the world to do their trading.
‘Let’s have some wine,’ said Alfric abruptly.
He raised his voice, and, by dint of a little shouting, summoned Du Deiner from inside the Green Cricket. Orders were placed, and, shortly, Alfric was sipping on some delicate lemon-flavoured wine. By now he had quite recovered himself, so he said:
‘With reference to trade, you know as well as I do that a few ships come and go to and from Wen Endex. So, yes, certainly, we trade with the world. But it’s a lean tradeline, isn’t it?’
‘Ah,’ said Cod. ‘But it’s not ships I’m talking about. I’m talking about the Door.’
Alfric felt as if he had been abruptly dumped into a barrel of boiling water. They knew! They knew! The orks were privy to the Secret! This was a thunderbolt upset if ever there was one.
But Alfric masked his face with a diplomat’s blandness and said, lightly, lightly, making a joke of it:
‘Door? Yes, the Bank’s got a Door for sure, otherwise we’d have to climb over the walls every time we went in and out.’
Thus he spoke, then felt a pang of anguish when he realized that ‘we’ no longer included himself. He was an outcast, excluded from the company of his fellows. And, for a moment, he almost wanted to weep.
‘It’s not that I’m talking of,’ said Cod. ‘I’m talking of a Door which goes from here to Elsewhere. To Chi’ash- lan, Parengarenga and Tang. To Argan. To Ashmolea.’ Alfric almost declared Cod to be in error; for of course the Circle of the Partnership Banks did not give them access to Ashmolea. However, he restrained his tongue. Took the time to think. Then answered, trying to make his answer seem careless:
‘A pretty tale, methinks, and one you must fabricate for me in full, for I warrant it worth the telling. But of your mysterious Door I know nothing.’
‘See?’ said Morgenstem. ‘I told you he was a liar.’ ‘Don’t be too hard on him,’ said Cod. ‘It’s his upbringing.’
‘What do you mean, I’m a liar?’ said Alfric. ‘I’m telling you the truth.’
‘We’d believe you if we could,’ said Cod, ‘but we know better. Ogres and orks have always known about the Door, you see. We go back to the days before Galsh Ebrek, you see. Before the city was ever founded. Before the Bank built on Mobius Kolb.’
‘You have legends, doubtless,’ said Alfric.
‘Legends, yes,’ said Cod. ‘And truths to go with them. We know the Door to stand in the Rock of Rocks, the Keeper of Secrets. We know it to be a grey screen through which an ork can step to be Elsewhere.’
‘I know nothing of this Door,’ said Alfric. ‘But suppose such a thing to exist. Certain things follow. First, the Bank would never acknowledge its existence, for it would be a secret too great for the world to be trusted with. Second, the Bank would never allow its use by orks.’
‘And why not?’ said Morgenstem.
‘Because, um-’
‘Prejudice,’ said Morgenstem heavily. ‘That’s what you’re talking about. We’re orks, so they hate us. If only because we make them remember. That’s all. You’d like to wage genocide on the lot of us. Then you could forget the crimes of your ancestors. You could forget we ever existed.’
‘I don’t know that that’s entirely fair,’ said Alfric. ‘But the truth is that your Door doesn’t exist, and if it did
