The Carpet People Read online

  ‘Right now?’ said Snibril.

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Right this minute?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Do it, then.’

  ‘No!’ wailed the Emperor.

  Snibril’s head felt quite clear. ‘You can’t,’ he said. ‘They can’t, sire. It’s just a threat. They can’t do it. They’re no different than me!’

  Now he had time to look around he could see, in one corner of the big room, a hole. It had bits of hair around the edges.

  ‘You came up from Underlay,’ he said. ‘That was clever. Dumii obey orders, so all you had to do was be in the – the centre, where they start. All you had to do was frighten this . . . this idiot!’

  The Emperor went red with anger. ‘I will have you exec—’ he began.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Snibril.

  The mouls drew their swords and dashed towards him. But four on to one was a disadvantage; it meant that each one was really waiting for one of the other three to make the first move.

  There wasn’t any cutting, thrusting and parrying; that only happens when people are fencing with swords for fun. When it’s for real, it’s like two windmills with sharp edges. The idea is to cut the other person very badly, not to look impressive.

  Snibril backed towards the door, fending off blows as best he could. One of the mouls shouted something in its own language, and another couple of heads appeared over the edge of the hole.

  Snibril kicked the door. ‘Mealy! Open up!’

  The door swung open. The room beyond was empty. Snibril dragged the Emperor into it.

  And the mouls made the mistake of chasing them. The cooks had been standing behind the doors. They stepped, or at least hopped, out.

  Mealy hit a moul over the head with a ladle.

  ‘There’s seven of us and four of them,’ he said. ‘It’s not fair. Three of us won’t have anyone to hit. Get ’em, lads!’

  ‘There’s more coming out of a hole in the floor!’ said Snibril, still hanging on to the Emperor.

  ‘Good!’

  ‘What’s happening? Why is all this happening?’ said the Emperor. He didn’t look angry any more. He looked frightened, and a lot younger. Snibril almost felt sorry for him.

  The cooks were disappointed. Most of the mouls scurried back into the Emperor’s chambers, diving into the hole and colliding with one another in their desperation to escape.

  Mealy’s kitchen army dragged a heavy table across the room and upended it over the hole.

  Mealy wiped his hand on his apron. ‘There,’ he said. ‘All done.’

  ‘I’m afraid we’re only just beginning,’ said Snibril. ‘There could be thousands of them underneath us right now—’

  ‘Everyone must do what I say!’ screamed the Emperor. ‘I am in charge!’

  The sergeants turned to look at him.

  ‘We ought to protect the Emperor,’ said one of them.

  ‘We could shove him down the hole with those friends of his,’ said Mealy. ‘They’d protect him all right.’

  The Emperor’s little piggy eyes glanced from Mealy to the table to Snibril and back again.

  Then he shouted, ‘Guards!’

  The door to the passageway banged open, and a couple of armed men stepped into the room.

  ‘I want these men locked up!’ shouted the Emperor.

  ‘Really?’ said Bane. ‘What for?’

  An hour makes a lot of difference.

  They brought the army in. In order to save a lot of explaining, they did it by getting a signed order from the Emperor.

  It was signed of his own free will, after Glurk explained patiently that if it wasn’t signed of his own free will, there would be trouble.

  Then there was a council of war.

  ‘I always knew this would happen,’ said Bane. ‘Once upon a time the Emperor was elected. Then Targon made it hereditary, so that stupid brat of his could take over. Hardly anyone objected! It’s as bad as having kings.’

  ‘That’s going too far!’ said Brocando.

  ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. At least the Deftmenes have had kings for a long time. At least you’re good at being kings.’

  ‘Don’t start arguing,’ said Snibril. ‘We ought to be wondering what the mouls are doing.’

  ‘They’re doing what they always do,’ said Bane. ‘They’re waiting for Fray, so they can attack when everyone is disorganized. They just got a bit impatient here.’

  ‘We might be lucky,’ said Owlglass. ‘Of course, when I say lucky—’

  ‘It’ll happen,’ said Pismire, despondently. He waved a map in front of him. ‘The village and Jeopard and Ware are more or less in a straight line.’

  ‘Does that mean anything?’ said Snibril.

  ‘Nothing good,’ said Pismire. ‘Where’s the Emperor?’

  ‘Glurk and the cooks have got him locked up in the kitchens,’ said Bane. ‘Best way. He can’t eat and shout at the same time.’ He looked down at a scrap of paper in front of him. ‘With every fighting man we’ve got, we’re still less than fifteen hundred people,’ he said.

  ‘Less than that, in fact,’ said Pismire. ‘You can’t leave women and children and old people in the city. Remember Tregon Marus. Buildings fall down. We’ll have to get them to safety and guard them.’

  ‘No. Arm the women,’ said Brocando.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Bane. ‘Women don’t know how to fight.’

  ‘Deftmene women do,’ said Brocando.

  ‘Oh, yes? Who with?’

  ‘Deftmene men,’ said Brocando.

  ‘He’s got a point,’ said Pismire. ‘My granny had a wallop like a wrestler. I think she could go through a moul like a hot knife through runny butter.’

  ‘I absolutely forbid it,’ said Bane. ‘Women fighting? That’s not warfare. That’s just a vulgar mess. No. I mean it. I want that absolutely understood, Your Majesty. Get them to safety, yes – but no fancy ideas. Besides, they wouldn’t have the first idea about tactics.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Brocando. ‘All right. No fighting women.’ Snibril noticed that he was grinning in a funny way.

  ‘Besides,’ said Bane, ‘there’s not enough weapons to go round as it is.’

  ‘There’s a whole armoury in the palace!’ said Owlglass.

  ‘When we unlocked it there was nothing in there but a hole in the floor,’ said Bane. ‘The mouls have got them.’

  ‘Well, then—’ Brocando began.

  ‘You’re going to suggest we attack the mouls to get weapons off them, aren’t you,’ said Bane coldly.

  ‘Well—’ Brocando began.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Bane. He slapped his hand on the table. ‘They’re out there,’ he said, ‘and down there. I know it. Just waiting. After Fray strikes, they’ll attack. That’s how it’ll happen. That’s how they do it, if they can’t worm their way in from inside.’

  Snibril had been listening to this. When he finally spoke, he felt as though he was reading words off a page. These were the words he had to say now.

  ‘I can help,’ he said. They all looked at him.

  ‘I can sense when Fray is coming,’ he said. ‘I’m not as good at it as the mouls, but I’m better than most animals.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Sergeant Careus. ‘I’ve seen him do it.’

  ‘Well, that’ll be a help,’ said Bane.

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ said Snibril. ‘What do the mouls do before Fray strikes?’

  ‘How should I know,’ said Bane. ‘Lie down and put their hands over their eyes, if they’re sensible. And then attack immediately.’

  He seemed to think about this.

  ‘When they expect to find a crushed enemy,’ he said.

  Snibril nodded.

  Pismire said, ‘It might work, you know. Forewarned is forearmed.’

  There was silence. And then Brocando said, ‘Four armed? Does that mean we can hold twice as many swords?’

  Chapter 20

  They won.

/>   And that was more or less all that the history books said, later, after New Ware was built out of the rubble of the city. They were more concerned with the election of Bane as President, since he was considered to be honest and brave and without any imagination. The Dumii distrusted imagination – they said it made people unreliable.

  The people who wrote the history books weren’t there. They didn’t know how it happened.

  And all the other ways it could have gone.

  First, there was the question of weapons. Mealy took charge of that. Spears, for example. You tied a kitchen knife on the end of a stick and you couldn’t tell the difference. Especially if it got stuck in you. And a handful of nails in a piece of hair made the kind of club that wasn’t exclusive at all – you could hit anyone with it. The sergeants lined up every able-bodied man and boy in the city and gave them simple demonstrations.

  Glurk spent a lot of time helping them. Mealy said he was one of nature’s sergeants, whatever that meant.

  Brocando was put in charge of guarding the women and children. Snibril thought he grinned too much when he agreed to this. And Bane was everywhere, giving orders. Making plans. Supervising the special work that was hurriedly being carried on just outside the walls.

  Pismire and Owlglass played a game. It consisted of moving little models of warriors around on a board made of squares. Pismire said he played because it concentrated the mind, and also because Owlglass bet heavily and wasn’t very good.

  Snibril felt at a loose end.

  Eventually he found Bane, who was leaning on the battlements over one of the main gates, looking out at the hairs. There were always guards here, with a bugle to warn the city in case of attack.

  ‘Can’t see anything,’ said Snibril. ‘We’ve sent patrols out. They didn’t find anything.’

  ‘I wasn’t looking for mouls,’ said Bane.

  ‘What were you looking for, then?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh. No one,’ said Bane.

  ‘A figure in white,’ said Snibril. ‘I’ve seen her, too.’

  ‘She has to watch, to make things happen ...’ Bane seemed to pull himself together. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said, briskly. ‘It’s too quiet.’

  ‘Better than too noisy,’ said Snibril.

  ‘How’s your head?’

  ‘Can’t feel anything,’ said Snibril.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Feels fine.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Bane looked out at the special defences. Everyone who could be spared had worked on them, digging trenches in the dust and piling it up as a low wall. From the hairs, no one could see anything.

  ‘That’s all Ware was, once,’ he said. ‘Just a ditch and a wall. And enemies all around.’

  ‘Glurk thinks the mouls have all gone. They must have heard us. Why do they attack us anyway?’

  ‘Everyone’s got to do something,’ said Bane, still gloomy.

  ‘Look,’ said Snibril. ‘Everyone’s ready. About as ready as they can be, anyway. We’ve blocked all the holes! What’s going to happen next? You’ve got the Emperor in prison! What’s going to happen afterwards?’

  ‘Do you think there’s going to be an afterwards?’ said Bane.

  ‘There’s always an afterwards,’ said Snibril. ‘Glurk said that’s what Culaina told you. The point is to get the afterwards you want.’

  He scratched his head. There was an itch behind his ear.

  ‘There’s a limit to how long we can stay ready, anyway,’ said Bane.

  Snibril rubbed his ear again.

  ‘Bane—!’

  ‘If we’re ready at all. I thought from what you said that the wights might help, but they just ran off—’

  ‘Bane—!’

  Bane turned.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Snibril felt that his ears were being pressed into the middle of his head.

  ‘Fray?’ said Bane.

  Snibril nodded, and even that hurt.

  ‘How long have we got?’

  Snibril held out a hand, all fingers extended. Bane strode along the top of the wall to the nearest guard and picked up the bugle. Dust billowed out when he blew it.

  It’s a funny thing. When there’s a warning signal, when people have known for ever that there’s a warning signal, and that warning signal is sounded for the very first time . . . people don’t react properly. They wander out blearily saying things like ‘Someone’s mucking about with the warning signal, aren’t they?’ and ‘Who’s blowing the warning signal? That’s for warnings, that is.’

  Which is what happened now. Bane looked down at the streets filled with bewildered people, and groaned.

  ‘It’s starting!’ he shouted. ‘Now!’

  A Dumii raised a hand uncertainly.

  ‘Is this another practice?’ he said. There had been a lot of practices in the last few days.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  A moment later the air was filled with shouted orders.

  Snibril sank to his knees as Ware emptied itself around him.

  ‘. . . squad three! Main square! Keep away from buildings! . . .’

  ‘. . . bandages, bandages, who’s got the bandages? . . .’

  ‘. . . remember, they can come up from underneath! . . .’

  All Snibril wanted to do was crawl into a hole and pull it in after him. His head felt flat.

  ‘. . . OK, line up the pones! . . .’

  He could get away, anyway. Staggering, ignored by everyone else, he almost fell down the ladder from the battlements and groped his way towards the rail where he had tethered Roland. He pulled himself on to the horse’s back and joined the flow of people leaving Ware.

  Then the animals started to feel the effects of Fray. The pones, which were already outside the gate, started to trumpet. Horses neighed, and several bolted towards the hairs outside the city walls. Dogs and cats ran between the feet of the people.

  They want to get away, Snibril thought dully.

  The houses began to tremble, very gently.

  Then, with no sound yet, the hairs that arched over the city began to bend.

  Then came the creaking – long and drawn out, as thousands of hairs were forced downwards by the tremendous weight.

  It’s right overhead, Snibril thought.

  The people leaving Ware didn’t need any more encouragement. The hairs over the city were getting closer, groaning and creaking as the weight pushed them down.

  We’ll never do it all in time . . .

  Roland cantered through the arch of the gateway.

  The walls collapsed. The ground moved like the skin of an animal, smashing the houses. Ware began to fall in on itself.

  Snibril’s ears popped. The relief almost made him want to cry.

  He looked back at the city. Walls were still toppling as the Carpet itself bent under Fray, but nearly everyone had got out.

  A couple of soldiers barrelled through the archway just before it broke.

  Right over us, Snibril thought. As if something wants to kill us. But Pismire thinks Fray is just some kind of natural force we can’t understand. Would that be any better? Thousands of us, killed by something that doesn’t even know we are here?

  There were a few people still visible outside the city, and nothing could hide the pones.

  He looked at the hairs around Ware.

  Which erupted mouls. He had time to turn Roland around and race back towards the city.

  Bane’s head poked up as Roland leapt over the ditch in the dust.

  ‘There’s thousands of them!’

  ‘Wait until they get closer,’ said Bane.

  Mouls and snargs were still pouring into the clearing.

  Snibril looked along the ditch. At this point most of the defenders were Dumii bowmen, lying down calmly and watching the black wall moving towards them.

  ‘Aren’t they close enough yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Bane. ‘Sergeant Careus . . . give the signal to be ready.�
�

  ‘Yessir!’

  Snibril could make out individual creatures now. Bane scratched his chin. ‘Not yet,’ he said, ‘not yet. The first shot is the most . . . important.’

  There was a flicker on the mound of dust behind them. Snibril and Bane turned to see a white figure, staring intently at the onrushing horde. Then it vanished.

  ‘Sergeant Careus?’ said Bane quietly.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘The moment is now.’

  Sergeant Careus threw back his shoulders and grinned.

  ‘Yessir! Squad one . . . wait for it, wait for it . . . squaaaaad one . . . fire! Squad one back! Squad two forward! Squaaaaad two . . . fire! Squad one reload! Squad one forward! Squaaaaad one . . . fire . . .’

  Not many people had ever seen Dumii archers in action – or rather, they had, but since arrows had been heading towards them they’d never had much of a chance to make detailed notes. Their technique was simply to keep arrows flying towards the enemy. The bowmen didn’t have to be good. They just had to be fast. It was like watching a machine at work.

  There was a howl from the attackers. That was another Dumii lesson – hit the front line of a rushing attack, and the enemy had to spend too much time trying to avoid tripping over itself. Bowmen started hurrying along the ditch in both directions, leaving only a small squad to carry on the fight there.

  Snibril went with them.

  There had been archers all around the circle. Only in one place had the mouls been able to get right up to the ditch, and there were two fights going on – Deftmenes were fighting mouls, and other Deftmenes were fighting the first Deftmenes to get a chance to fight mouls too.

  Deftmenes had a technique for fighting enemies three times as high as they were – they’d run up them until they got to shoulder height, and hang on with one hand and fight with the other. It meant that half the mouls were stabbing at their own heads.

  There were two more charges before it dawned on the mouls that things had gone wrong.

  They grouped around the hairs, and there were still too many of them.

  ‘We could keep this up all day,’ said Brocando.

  ‘No we can’t,’ said Bane.

  ‘We haven’t lost anyone yet!’

  ‘Yes, but do you want to go and ask the mouls if we can have our arrows back?’ said Bane.