Mort

'Is this necessary?'

'He's very devout,' said the acolyte. 'We may need a snorkel.'

The elephant reached the altar and was forced, without too much difficulty, to kneel. It hiccupped.

'Well, where is it, then?' snapped the High Priest. 'Let's get this, mm, farce over with!'

Murmur went the acolyte. The High Priest listened, nodded gravely, picked up his white- handled sacrificial knife and raised it double-handed over his head. The whole hall watched, holding its breath. Then he lowered it again.

'Where in front of me?'

Murmur.

'I certainly don't need your help, my lad! I've been sacrificing man and boy — and, mm, women and animals — for seventy years, and when I can't use the, mm, knife you can put me to bed with a shovel!'

And he brought the blade down in a wild sweep which, by sheer luck, gave the elephant a mild flesh wound on the trunk.

The creature awoke from its pleasant reflective stupor and squealed. The acolyte turned in horror to look at two tiny bloodshot eyes squinting down the length of an enraged trunk, and cleared the altar in one standing jump.

The elephant was enraged. Vague confusing recollections flooded its aching head, of fires and shouts and men with nets and cages and spears and too many years hauling heavy tree trunks. It brought its trunk down across the altar stone and somewhat to its own surprise smashed it in two, levered the two parts into the air with its tusks, tried unsuccessfully to uproot a stone pillar and then, feeling the sudden need for a breath of fresh air, started to charge arthritically down the length of the hall.

It hit the door at a dead run, its blood loud with the call of the herd and fizzing with alcohol, and took it off at the hinges. Still wearing the frame on its shoulders it careened across the courtyard, smashed the outer gates, burped, thundered through the sleeping city and was still slowly accelerating when it sniffed the distant dark continent of Klatch on the night breeze and, tail raised, followed the ancient call of home.

Back in the hall there was dust and shouts and confusion. Cutwell pushed his hat out of his eyes and got to his hands and knees.

'Thank you,' said Keli, who had been lying underneath him. 'And why did you jump on top of me?'

'My first instinct was to protect you, your Majesty.'

'Yes, instinct it may have been, but —' She started to say that maybe the elephant would have weighed less, but the sight of his big, serious and rather flushed face stopped her.

'We will talk about this later,' she said, sitting up and brushing the dust off her. 'In the meantime, I think we will dispense with the sacrifice. I'm not your Majesty yet, just your Highness, and now if someone will fetch the crown —'

There was the snick of a safety catch behind them.

'The wizard will put his hands where I can see them,' said the duke.

Cutwell stood up slowly, and turned around. The duke was backed by half a dozen large serious men, the type of men whose only function in life is to loom behind people like the duke. They had a dozen large serious crossbows, whose main purpose was to appear to be on the point of going off.

The princess sprang to her feet and launched herself at her uncle, but Cutwell grabbed her.

'No,' he said, quietly. 'This isn't the kind of man who ties you up in a cellar with just enough time for the mice to eat your ropes before the flood-waters rise. This is the kind of man who just kills you here and now.'

The duke bowed.

'I think it can be truly said that the gods have spoken,' he said. 'Clearly the princess was tragically crushed by the rogue elephant. The people will be upset. I will personally decree a week of mourning.'