The Eye of Zoltar (17 page)

He sighed, then bid us goodnight.

We wished him the same and he scooted nimbly up his pod pole.

‘I feel a fool to have been frightened,’ said the Princess sadly, wiping the snail-slime off her face with a handkerchief, ‘most unregal. A princess should be resolute in the face of danger, and unflinching. I’d be a rotten queen.’

‘Queenliness is a skill that must be learned,’ I told her, ‘and this is the place to do it.’

‘I hope so,’ she said with a sigh, then added, after a pause: ‘I was so obnoxious to you back at the palace. You must think I’m a complete arse.’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ I replied. ‘You and I are both victims of a random chance of birth: you a princess, me an orphan. But we’re both working against it to improve ourselves.’

‘I suppose
technically
speaking I’m an orphan too,’ said the Princess, ‘or at least, I will be until I get my body back.’

‘It’s the mind that defines the person,’ I said, ‘not the body.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘looks like I am a princess after all. What does the note say?’

I had been unfolding the message stuck to the shell of the homing snail, and let the Princess read it over my shoulder by the light of the nearest fireberry.

Received your msg, contents noted. Use
EVERY EFFORT
to secure return of Perkins, then find Rubber Colin. Will be waiting at the conch seven tomorrow if possible, much happening and not any of it good, take no risks with yourself or the handmaiden and carry on search for EofZ with all determination. Raining here in Hereford, Tiger says hi – Moobin.

I read the note twice, trying to figure out what he meant, if anything. There seemed to be something going on that didn’t sound brilliant, and a sense of urgency over our task.

‘He underlined “Every Effort” and capitalised it,’ said the Princess. ‘Do you think that’s an “all other considerations secondary” kind of deal?’

‘I think so,’ I replied, ‘and if I know Addie, that’s the approach she’ll take to get Perkins back. What’s worse, I think I asked her to do it, which makes me responsible.’

‘How does that feel?’

‘Not good. Good night, ma’am.’

‘Laura,’ said the Princess, ‘just call me Laura.’

We climbed our pod poles, but I got quite a shock when I clambered into mine, for I wasn’t alone. Curtis was there, and he smiled in that ‘I’m so cute’ manner that I found so utterly odious. Worse, he was lying on my bed, all sort of stretched out and pretend-relaxed.

‘You’d better have a good reason for being up my pod pole,’ I said.

‘Oh,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘is it yours?’

‘You know it is. Out.’

The smile dropped from his face.

‘I thought we could be friendly over this, but never mind: although today I’m a tourist, I’m also a businessman, and a businessman is always on the lookout for new business opportunities.’

‘You said “business” three times in that sentence.’

‘So?’

‘It’s bad syntax.’

‘No it isn’t.’

‘Yes it is. It’s like me saying: “You’re the dumbest dumb person I’ve ever had the dumb luck to meet”.’

‘You’re very sarcastic for someone so young.’

‘You noticed?’

Curtis scowled.

‘Fun’s over,’ he said. ‘This is why I’m here: I thought at first that you were out here for a holiday too, but then I got to thinking. You’re Jennifer Strange, the Last Dragonslayer. You run Kazam, who have recently established themselves as the only licensed House of Enchantment in the world. You are personal Court Mystician to King Snodd and Dragon Ambassador. You are probably the most powerful and influential person working in magic today.’

This was worrying. Idiots like Curtis I can handle so long as they stay being idiots – I have a terrible temper and can fight dirty, if pushed – but when idiots stop being idiots and start sounding smart, that’s another matter entirely.

‘So what are you saying? You want to write my CV?’

‘I’m saying that it’s a little suspicious: you’re heading off towards Cadair Idris mountain with a half-track loaded with fuel and the most experienced guide in the Empire, purportedly to look for Leviathans.’

‘So?’ I said. ‘Everyone needs a holiday.’

‘With a handmaiden who I suspect isn’t a handmaiden, an illegally imported sorcerer and a rubber Dragon? This is a quest, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a
search
.’

‘No way. This smacks to me of an arduous journey towards greater spiritual understanding of oneself and a greater truth.’

Blast. He’d rumbled us.

‘… and if the International Questing Federation find out you’re questing without a licence you’ll be in serious trouble, and not just with them – the Cambrian authorities don’t like anyone questing out here without a permit. A call from me and you’d be in custody quicker than you can say “blackmail” and you can kiss goodbye to whatever it is you’re looking for.’

We stared at one another for a moment.

‘I want to know what you’re looking for,’ he said. ‘It’s something of
extraordinary
value, isn’t it?’

I had to think quickly.

‘I’m not telling you anything,’ I told him. ‘Go on, call the Questing Federation. I’d die before I’d tell you anything.’

Curtis drew a knife from his pocket. It was a flick-knife and although I could have disarmed him relatively easily and punched him painfully in the eye, I didn’t. A second or two later and he had me in an armlock and the knife at my throat.

‘Let’s try again,’ he said. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘Go to hell.’

I stamped hard on his foot and struggled. There was an opportunity to break the grip he had on the knife and punch him in the eye, but I did neither and pretty soon he had me in an armlock once more and I cried out, even though the pain wasn’t that bad. He held the knife so close I could feel the coldness of the blade, his hands gripped me tightly, and I could feel his breath against my ear. This was good news as I now had Curtis
precisely
where I wanted him: convinced he was stronger, and smarter. And now he was an idiot again, I could act.

‘Okay, okay,’ I said in a strained ‘please don’t hurt me’ kind of voice. ‘It’s no big deal. We need … Leviathans’ teeth. They’re useful in spells. In particular, we’re trying to reanimate the mobile phone network, which will require a couple of dozen.’

‘Leviathans’ teeth?’

‘Yes; we usually extract them from the Leviathan bites we find on jetliners’ tails, but the attacks have dropped off these past six years.’

The Leviathans’ tooth story was nonsense, of course. No one had used them in potions for years on account of the whole ‘growing antlers side effect’ controversy of the 1720s, and we certainly didn’t need them to spell mobiles into existence. Only one thing was true: Leviathans
did
chase jetliners – like dogs chase cars, some say.

‘So without Leviathans’ teeth the mobile phone network won’t work?’

‘And a lot of other spells too,’ I said, ‘and here’s the deal: keep quiet about the quest and help us to find the Leviathans’ Graveyard. It’s where the creatures go to die and if we can find it, there’ll be hundreds of tons of dry bones for us to search through. Your silence and assistance will be rewarded: five Leviathan teeth for you to trade with as you see fit. Deal?’

‘I’ll stay quiet and help you,’ said Curtis, ‘but for twenty.’

‘I can go as high as ten.’

‘Fifteen.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘you’ve got a deal.’

He relaxed his grip and took the knife from my throat.

‘Well now,
partner
,’ he said with a greedy smile, ‘this sounds so much better. And this Leviathans’ Graveyard is somewhere near the top of Cadair Idris, yes?’

‘So legend has it. And now you know where we’re heading, you can get your objectionable carcass out of my pod.’

‘Only too happy to oblige, Jennifer. See you tomorrow.’

He smiled again, convinced that he had somehow managed to secure a valuable commodity with minimum effort when in fact he’d negotiated away his own strong position for something of zero value.

After he had gone, I closed the door and bolted it, then took a deep breath. Curtis was out of my hair for a while, but now I knew he would use violence to get what he wanted, I’d have to keep a careful eye on him. But if Addie was right and he was along for the trip only to make up the fifty per cent casualty rate, I half hoped he would hurry up and become a statistic. I then felt guilty for half hoping he would die, then felt stupid for feeling guilty about half hoping he would die. This might have gone on for a while, so I pinched myself out of the emotional-guilt feedback loop and set out my bedroll on the bed.

I lay on my back and stared out at the night sky through the skylight, and listened to the jangling of the perimeter fence as the night creatures stalked over our camp. Something bad was going on back at home. Moobin was suggesting I use ‘Every Effort’ to regain Perkins and despite the fact that Moobin had been against looking for the Eye of Zoltar, he was now asking me to carry on with all due determination. Something wasn’t right. I was still trying to figure it out when I fell fast asleep.

When I awoke the sun was up, but not by much. I had been disturbed twice in the night. Once as a Tralfamosaur herd moved through in a noisy manner, and then again when Ignatius found a gherkin-sized flesh-eating slug sucking on his toe as he lay asleep in bed. He screamed and dislodged it, which was a relief as we then didn’t have to help him.

I unbolted the door of my pod and cautiously looked out. A ground fog had crept in, which offered good cover for a Hotax attack, so it would be wise to remain vigilant until the fog cleared. I folded up my bedroll, tidied the pod, collected my belongings and then signed my name in the visitors’ book before descending the pole to get the breakfast going, all the while keeping a wary eye out.

The half-track had been shoved a few feet sideways by a clumsy Tralfamosaur, but aside from a small piece of bent armour plate, no damage had been done. There were Snork Badger footprints aplenty, and here and there were the shiny trails of flesh-eating slugs. If we wanted to earn a few moolah we could have scraped up the trails and sold them to any glue supplier, as slug slime is that gooey substance you find in glue-guns.

‘Ook?’ said Ralph, appearing from the brush, seemingly unharmed by his night out in the open. He would have been more used to sleeping with dangerous creatures all about him, even though most of the nasty creatures he might have known would have died out by the end of the Pleistocene.

‘Sleep well?’ I asked, and he stared at me in an uncomprehending sort of way.

‘G-ook,’ he said, making an effort to emphasise the ‘G’. I think he was learning to speak. Or relearning, at any rate.

‘L-ook,’ he said, and showed me the flint knife he had been making.

‘May I hold it?’ I asked, putting out a hand, and after looking at me suspiciously for a moment, he gave me the knife. It was well balanced, with a carved bone grip in the shape of the half-track. The blade was finely curved, dangerously serrated and was so thin as to be almost translucent. I smiled appreciatively, and handed it back. He gave an odd half-smile and placed it in a large ladies’ handbag he had found somewhere, then hung the bag over the crook of his arm.

‘Jennifer,’ I said, pointing at myself.

‘J-ookff,’ he said, then pointed at himself and said: ‘R-ooff.’

‘You’re getting it,’ I said with a smile, then nodded as he pointed at various things around the campsite, the small part of what was once Ralph’s brain attempting to speak through an Australopithecine voice box.

‘Hfff t-Ook,’ he said, pointing at the half-track. After a while he settled down by himself, practising pronunciations, and eating some beetles he’d collected.

I had noticed with dismay that Perkins’ and Addie’s ladders were still down, indicating that they’d not returned. I also noticed Ignatius’ ladder was down, so checked his pod – it was empty. I found a few slime trails and oddly shaped footprints at the base of his pod pole, but no evidence of Ignatius himself. It was only on a search for a fireberry with which to cook breakfast that I found Ignatius. He was huddled – wedged might be a better word – in one of the wooden rowing boats, which, as previously noted, were lighter than air because of the Thermowizidrical fallout, and were dangling straight up, tethered to earth only by a frayed rope tied to the jetty. Ignatius was alive, awake, and was staring at me with a shocked expression on his face.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘No, I am
not
okay,’ he said. ‘Several large creatures, two small ones and a slimy thing tried to eat me in the night.’

‘That’s an uneventful night here in the Empty Quarter,’ I said. ‘Didn’t anyone explain the dangers before you came out here?’

‘No, they did not,’ said Ignatius in an aggrieved tone. ‘They said this experience would be like the most amazing and enjoyable dangerfest known to man.’

‘And …?’

‘They said it would be
like
it – not
actually
it. You all must be stark staring bonkers wanting to be out here. I’m going home.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said, glad to be rid of him. ‘You can pick up a G’mooh in Llangurig.’

‘I’m not going a step farther. You can call me a G’mooh as soon as you find a payphone. It can come and get me. I’m not shifting.’

G’mooh was an acronym for ‘Get Me Out of Here’, the slang and universally accepted name for a Fast Exit Taxi, which will guarantee those who have lost their nerve a speedy way out of the Empire. The G’mooh drivers are usually battle-damaged former tour guides who will stop at nothing to return their passengers to safety. It’s expensive, but few haggle.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘if you want to stay out here on your own, but I’d not …’

I stopped talking because Ralph was lolloping up the jetty towards Ignatius, and when he reached him, stared up at where Ignatius sat huddled in the vertically moored boat.

‘Go away, monkey-boy,’ said Ignatius. ‘Go on, shoo.’

But Ralph did
not
shoo, and instead flicked the taut rope that anchored the rowing boat with an inquisitive forefinger. He then looked up at Ignatius.