The Carpet People (14 page)

"Why not?" said a sullen voice from among the Deftmene ranks. "They're Dumii!"

"You'd prefer them to be mouls, would you?"

He walked Roland over to a group of soldiers sitting on a fallen hair.

"Where is your leader?" he said.

The Dumii looked him up and down.

"Haven't got one," he said. "General got killed."

There was a pause.

"I expect you're wondering who we are," said Snibril.

"Too tired to wonder," said the soldier, leaning back against a hair.

"Stand up straight!"

For a moment Snibril wondered who had said that. Then he realized that it had been him.

To his amazement, the soldier pulled himself upright.

"Now take me to the highest-ranking officer!" said Snibril. I mustn't say "please", he thought. I mustn't give him a chance to think. He's used to orders. It's easier for him to obey orders than think.

"Er ... that'd be Sergeant Careus. If he's still alive."

"Take me to him now!"

The soldier looked past Snibril at the ragged army. His forehead wrinkled.

"I shall talk to the sergeant!" said Snibril. The soldier snapped back to attention.

"Yessir. This way," he said.

Snibril was led past groups of sullen soldiers to a heavy-set man who was sitting on the ground. One arm was in a sling, and his face was pale. He didn't seem to be bothered about who Snibril actually was. He was feeling low enough to accept anyone who seemed to know what they were doing.

"Sergeant Careus, Fifteenth Legion," he said. "Or what's left of it. We were called back to Ware urgently from Ultima Marus, but when we were on the road-"

"-there was a storm-" said Snibril automatically.

"And then afterwards-"

"-you were attacked by mouls mounted on snargs," said Snibril.

"Yes. Time and again. How did you know this?"

"I'm good at guessing," said Snibril. "How many of you are there?"

"About three hundred able-bodied, and a lot of wounded."

"I know a safe city where your wounded can be taken. It's only two days' easy march, if we spare some soldiers to escort them."

"We'll need too many," said the sergeant. "There'll be mouls everywhere."

"Not where we've been," said Snibril quietly. "Not any more. And the rest of us will go with you to Ware."

The sergeant looked down at the dust, thinking.

"I won't say we don't need everyone we can get," he said. "Where's this paradise, then?"

"Jeopard," said Snibril.

"You must be mad!"

At that moment there was a roar from the road. Both of them hurried back, to where there was now a huge pushing crowd of Dumii and Deftmenes, with the Munrungs trying to keep them apart. Snibril pushed his way through and found a Deftmene and a soldier rolling over and over on the road, punching at one another.

Snibril watched them for a moment, and then flung his spear on the ground.

"Stop that!" he shouted. "You're soldiers! You're not supposed to fight!"

Even the two combatants stopped to work that one out.

"I don't understand you!" Snibril shouted. His voice echoed off the hairs. "There's enemies all around us, and you just attack each other! Why?"

"They're closer," said a voice from the Dumii ranks.

"He called me dirty!" said the Deftmene who had been fighting.

"Well, you are," said Snibril. "So's he. We all are. Now get up-"

He stopped. All the Dumii were looking past him, to Athan and the wights, and Snibril heard the whispering start.

"They've got wights with them ... fighting!"

He looked at Athan, who looked miserable. Snibril sidled over to him.

"Don't let them know you can't remember this future," he said.

"They know the future! And they're on his side!"

"Why should we fight for them if they treat us like that?" said a Deftmene. Snibril spun around and picked up the astonished warrior by his collar.

"You're not fighting for them! You're fighting for yourselves!"

The Deftmene was shaken, but not afraid. "We've always fought for ourselves," he said. "And we were never Counted!"

"No, but the Empire was all around you, wasn't it, keeping you safe! The Dumii kept the peace over half the Carpet! All around you! Kept you safe!"

"They never did!"

"Think about it! There's Dumii towns all around you! When they defended themselves, they were defending you! They fought for real so that you could fight them for fun!"

Snibril was shaking with anger.

There was silence.

He put the Deftmene down.

"I'm going to Ware," he said. "Anyone else wants to come, it's up to them ... "

No-one left, except for a small group who were going to accompany the wounded back to Jeopard. Two of the wights went with them. The Dumii felt a lot better with wights around. They seemed to think that wights only went where it was safe. That's what they'd do ...

The rest of them marched on down the road. Snibril found that he was in command; the Munrungs wanted to follow him, the Deftmenes were beginning to think that anyone who could lose their temper that badly was probably a king, and the Dumii-well, the Dumii soldiers followed Sergeant Careus, and Sergeant Careus was riding alongside Snibril. Most armies are in fact run by their sergeants-the officers are there just to give things a bit of tone and prevent warfare becoming a mere lower-class brawl.

The sergeant half turned in his saddle and looked back at the Deftmenes.

"Nice to have cavalry on our side again," he said. "Even if they're still shorter than infantry. I've fought against them a couple of times. Tough little ba ... people. That was under Baneus. He respected 'em. He left 'em alone. They didn't like that back in Ware, but he always said it's worth keeping a few enemies around. You know. To practise on. I think he quite liked 'em. Odd little ba ... chaps."

"Baneus," said Snibril, cautiously. "Yes. Er. Whatever happened to him? Did he do something terrible?"

"You know him?"

"I've ... heard of him," said Snibril carefully.

"He killed someone. An assassin. The way I heard it, someone was trying to kill the young Emperor during his coronation. Hiding behind a pillar with a bow. Baneus spotted him and threw his sword at him. Got him just in time. Killed him grit dead. Arrow missed Targon by inches. Funny thing is, Baneus hated Targon. He was always in trouble. He said Emperors shouldn't be hereditary, but elected just like they used to be. A stickler for honesty, was the General. Oh, there were always rows. But after that, he had to be banished, of course."

"Why of course?" said Snibril.

"No-one is allowed to draw a sword within fifty paces of the Emperor," said the Sergeant.

"But he saved his life!"

"Yes, but you've got to have rules, otherwise where would we be?" said Sergeant Careus.

"But-"

"Afterwards the Emperor had the law changed and they sent someone after the General."

"Did he ever find him?"

"I think so. He was sent back tied to his horse with an apple in his mouth. I think the General was a bit upset."

The Deftmenes are mad and the Dumii are sane, thought Snibril, and that's just the same as being mad except that it's quieter. If only you could mix them together, you'd end up with normal people. Just like me.

"We could do with him now, and that's a fact," said the sergeant.

"Yes," said Snibril. "Um. What do I do now? We'll have to camp tonight. I mean, I don't know what sort of orders you're supposed to give."

The sergeant looked at him kindly.

"You say, "Make camp here"," he said.

A scattering of campfires speckled the darkness. It was the second night of the journey of all four races. No-one had killed anyone yet.

Snibril and the sergeant had made sure that there was at least one Munrung at each campfire, as referees.

"I wish we could get some more wights fighting," said Careus. "I watched one of them using a bow just now, when the lads were practising. I mean, when have they ever used a bow before? He just looked at it for a while, then put an arrow in the centre of the target. Just like that."

"Just as well they don't fight, then," said Snibril. "Maybe it's best to leave it to people who aren't so good at it. What's the plan?"

"Plan?" said Careus. "I don't know. I just fight. Fought all my life. Always been a soldier. All I know is what the messenger said ... all the legions are going back to Ware."

"All fifteen?" said Snibril. He rubbed his head. It was feeling ... sort of squashed ...

The sergeant looked surprised. "Fifteen? We haven't got fifteen. Oh, yes. We're called the Fifteenth. But a lot got disbanded. No need for 'em, see? Hardly anyone left to fight. It's like that, empiring. One day you're fighting everyone, next day everyone's settled down and being lawful and you don't hardly need soldiers."

"So how many are there?" said Snibril.

Three."

"Three legions? How many people is that?"

"About three thousand men."

"Is that all?"

Careus shrugged. "Less than that now, I reckon. All scattered around, too."

"But that's not enough to-" Snibril stopped, and then raised his hands slowly to his head. "Tell everyone to lie down," he muttered. "Put out their fires and lie down!"

One or two horses started to whinny in the picket lines.

"Why?" said the sergeant. "What's the-"

"And they must be ready to fight!" said Snibril. His head felt as though someone was treading on it. He could hardly think. Somewhere in the hairs, an animal screeched.

Careus was looking at him as if he was ill. "What's the-" he began.

"Please! Can't explain! Do it now!"

Careus ran off. He could hear him shouting orders to the corporals. The Deftmenes and Munrungs didn't need telling twice.

A moment later, Fray struck.

It was away to the south ... not far. The pressure built up so that even the Dumii could feel it. The hairs bowed, and then whipped furiously as a wind blew clouds of dust through the Carpet. The soldiers who hadn't been quick enough to follow orders were picked up and bowled over and over in the dust.

And then there was the thump.

Afterwards, there was that long, crowded pause in which everyone decides that although they are very shaken, and possibly upside down, they are, to their surprise, still alive.

Careus crawled around until he found his helmet under a bush and then, still not standing up, shuffled over to Snibril.

"You felt it coming," he said. "Even before the animals!"

"The mouls can, too," said Snibril. "And they're better at it than me! They don't summon Fray! They can sense when it's going to happen! And then they attack afterwards, when everyone's shaken-"

He and Careus looked around at the hairs.

"To arms, everyone!" the sergeant yelled.

A Deftmene raised his hand. "What does that mean?" he said. "We've all got two arms."

"Means you've got to fight!"

"Oh, right."

It was only seconds later that the mouls attacked. But seconds were enough. A hundred of them galloped into what should have been a camp of bewildered, wounded and unprepared victims. They found instead bewildered, wounded and extremely well-prepared and moreover enraged fighters.

They were surprised. But their surprise didn't last long. It was, very accurately, the surprise of their life.

The moul attack changed things. Deftmenes and Dumii had always fought, but never on the same side. It's hard to feel so bad about someone when last night he was stopping other people hitting you with axes and things.

The little army swung down the road to Ware, singing. Admittedly there were three different marching songs, all to different tunes, but the general effect was quite harmonious if you didn't mind not being able to make out any of the words.

"The lads sing one about me sometimes." said the sergeant. "It's got seven verses. Some of them are very rude, and one of them is actually impossible. I have to pretend not to hear it. Have you noticed the wights ran away in the night?"

"Not ran away," said Snibril. "I don't think they've run away. That doesn't sound like them. I think ... they've decided to do something else."

"They went into a huddle after the fight," said the sergeant.

"Perhaps they've got a plan-" Snibril began.

He stopped.

They had been passing through the area that had been right under Fray. Hairs were bent and twisted. And over the road was an arch. Had been an arch.

There were some dead soldiers nearby, and one dead moul.

The legion spread out in silence, watching the hairs. A squad was sent off to bury the dead.

"That could have been us, without you," said Careus. "How much warning do you get?"

"A minute or two, that's all," said Snibril. "Perhaps a bit longer if it's quiet."

"What does it feel like?"

"Like someone's treading on my head! What is this place?"

"One of the gates to the Ware lands. The city's further on."

"I've always wondered what it looked like," said Snibril.

"Me too," said the sergeant.

"You mean you've never seen it?" said Snibril.

"No. Born in a garrison town, see. Done all my soldiering around and about. Never been to Ware. Heard it's very impressive, though. A nice place to visit," said Careus. "We should be there in a few hours."

"Ware!" said Snibril.

Ware had been built between and round five giant hairs. There were really three cities, ringed one inside the other. Inside the thick outer walls was Imperial Ware, a city of wide avenues paved with wood and salt, lined with statues, a city of impressive vistas and magnificent buildings, and at every turn monuments to old battles and glorious victories and even one or two defeats of the more glorious sort.