The Carpet People Page 9

  They were huge. They had fat barrel bodies with ridiculous small wings, and long thin necks tipped with heads that wobbled slowly round as they passed. At the other end they had a stubby little tail. Their legs didn’t look thick enough to support them. Oh, they were thick – but something that big ought to have legs as thick as giant hairs.

  One of the creatures poked its head through the bars and looked down at Pismire. Its eyes were large but bright and oddly intelligent, and topped by enormous bushy brows.

  ‘A pone,’ he said. ‘A pone! From the utter east, where the very fringes of the Carpet touch the Floor. The biggest things in the Carpet. Oh, if we had a few of those at our command—’

  ‘I think perhaps they are under the command of the mouls,’ said Bane.

  The pone watched him pass.

  They reached the angular metal hills and went through a dark archway. Inside they were handed over to other, swarthier, mouls.

  There was a maze of tunnels that echoed with the chip-chip of hammers, but these they passed, going deeper, until they came to a dimly-lit hall lined with doors. One was opened, and they were thrown inside.

  As they struggled on the dank floor Gormaleesh’s grinning face appeared at the bars, lit red in the torchlight of the dungeons. ‘Enjoy the hospitality of our dungeons while you may. Soon you’ll go to the mines. There you will not sleep. But you’ll be safe from Fray!’

  ‘Why do they talk like that?’ said Pismire. ‘Melodrama. I’m amazed he doesn’t go “harharhar”.’

  ‘Gormaleesh!’ said Bane.

  The moul reappeared. ‘Yes, lowly scum?’ he said.

  ‘Lowly scum,’ said Pismire. ‘Imagination of a loaf of bread, that one.’

  ‘When we get out of here I’m going to find you and kill you,’ said Bane, in quite normal conversational tones. ‘I thought I ought to tell you now. I wouldn’t want you to say afterwards that you hadn’t been warned.’

  Gormaleesh stepped back, and then said, ‘Your threats I treat with scorn. Harharhar!’

  Pismire nodded happily. ‘Knew he would, sooner or later,’ he said to himself.

  They lay in the darkness, listening to the distant knocking of the hammers.

  ‘So these are the mines,’ said Brocando, ‘where my people have been taken. Mining metal.’

  ‘Everyone’s people, by the sound of it,’ said Pismire.

  He lay staring at the dark, wondering about Glurk. He could have imagined the shadow. And Snibril . . . well, perhaps he did get out before the roof fell in . . .

  They were roughly woken by the prodding of a spear.

  Two mouls were standing in the doorway, grinning down at them. ‘These three for the mines, eh?’

  ‘Aye,’ came a growl from outside. Pismire’s ears pricked.

  ‘That one’s a bit small, and that one’s an old codger. Still, use up the old ones first, eh?’

  ‘Let’s see ’em,’ came the voice from outside.

  The prisoners were dragged upright, and had their thongs inspected before they were thrust out into the dim hall. A bronze-clad Vortgorn stood there, terrible in the half-light.

  ‘You stupid oafs,’ he snarled at the mouls. ‘Look at their bonds! Practically falling off!’ And he strode forward and caught up Pismire’s hands. The old man looked for a moment into familiar brown eyes, one of which winked at him.

  ‘We tightened them special!’ said one moul indignantly.

  ‘Oh yes? Look at this one, then.’

  The two mouls slunk over and stood one on either side of the Vortgorn.

  One said: ‘They’re as tight as a . . .’

  The Vortgorn reached out and placed one gnarled hand about each hairy neck. The voice faded into a strangled squeak. The Vortgorn brought his hands together with a satisfying crack, and let the stunned creatures drop.

  Glurk removed his helmet.

  ‘Well, here we are, then,’ he said.

  He couldn’t resist dancing a little jig in front of their staring faces. Then he put his helmet back on again.

  ‘We left you in Underlay!’

  ‘How d’you come here?’

  ‘Was it you I saw?’ asked Pismire. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Safety first, stories later,’ said Glurk.

  He took a knife from his belt and cut their ropes. They rubbed some life into their numb wrists while he dragged the guards into the cell and locked them in, despite Brocando pointing out that the best time to kill an enemy was when they were unconscious.

  Glurk came back with their swords. ‘They’re nasty things, but better than nothing if it comes to a fight,’ he said. ‘Try to look like prisoners if anyone sees you. There’s all sorts up here. You might not be noticed.’

  Glurk led, in his Vortgorn armour. Twice they met moul guards who paid no attention to him until it was too late.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Pismire.

  ‘I’ve found some friends.’

  ‘We ought to rescue the prisoners,’ said Brocando.

  ‘There’s thousands of them. Thousands of mouls, too,’ said Glurk. ‘Too many.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Bane. ‘We’ve got to get out. Then we can get help. And don’t say that if they’ve got a lot of Deftmenes prisoner it means we’ve got an army right inside their lines.’

  ‘I’ve seen some of the prisoners, too,’ said Glurk. ‘They ain’t in any condition to fight, if you want my opinion.’

  ‘You’re talking about Deftmenes, you know,’ said Brocando stoutly.

  Glurk peered around a corner, and then beckoned them to follow him. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And it’s still true. What I’m saying is, it’s not a case of stealing a bunch of keys and unlocking a few doors and shouting, “Harharhar, my people, throw off your shackles”. This is real. And I’ve been listening. You know why the mouls attacked Jeopard?’

  ‘To subjugate and enslave a proud people,’ said Brocando.

  ‘For grit.’

  ‘Grit?’

  ‘That’s what Jeopard’s built on, isn’t it? Stone chisels, see. They use dozens of ’em just to hack out a bit of metal.’

  ‘My lovely city—’

  ‘Grit,’ said Glurk.

  ‘My palace—’

  ‘Grit, too.’

  ‘Metal,’ said Bane. ‘They’re trying to get as much metal as they can. Metal weapons’ll beat varnish and wood any day.’

  ‘Why all this effort, I wonder?’ said Pismire.

  ‘Ware’s only a few days away,’ said Bane. ‘That’s why. We’ve got to warn people.’

  ‘Come on. In here,’ said Glurk.

  ‘Here’ was a long cave mined out of the bronze. Light filtered in from holes in the ceillng, showing dim shadows lining the walls. The air was warm and smelt of animal. The prisoners heard the shifting of great feet in their stalls, and deep breathing. There was a movement, and a pair of green eyes came towards them in the semi-darkness.

  ‘What’s your business here?’ said the moul guard.

  ‘Ah,’ said Glurk, ‘I have brought the prisoners! Harharhar!’

  The guard looked suspiciously at the four of them. ‘What for?’ it said.

  Glurk blinked at him.

  ‘Enough of this talking, harharhar,’ he said eventually, and hit the guard on the head.

  The green eyes went out.

  ‘I runs out of ideas after a while,’ said Glurk.

  Pismire’s eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom. It was a big cave, but it didn’t look as big as it really ought to have done because of the enormous size of the things in it.

  ‘These are pones, aren’t they?’ said Brocando.

  ‘Not easy to mistake for anything else. Why are they here?’ said Pismire.

  ‘They turns the wheels for the lifting platform,’ said Glurk. ‘They’re used for all the heavy work. Know something? They’re intelligent.’

  ‘No, that’s just a story,’ said Pismire airily. ‘They look bright, I’ll grant you, but the head’s tiny co
mpared to the body. They’ve got a brain the size of a dried pea.’

  ‘But a very clever dried pea,’ said Glurk. ‘I lay low in here last night. They’ve got a language. All made up of thumps and nose honks. Watch.’

  A tiny head was lowered towards him out of the shadows, and two bright eyes blinked.

  ‘Er ... if you can understand me, stamp twice,’ he said hoarsely.

  Thud. Thud.

  Even Glurk himself looked surprised.

  ‘These are friends. You’ll help, OK?’

  Thud. Thud.

  ‘That means yes,’ said Glurk.

  ‘Really?’ said Pismire.

  ‘There’s his saddle, by the stall.’

  It was more like a small castle. It had wide girths made of red cloth studded with bronze, and a roof over it, hung with curtains and bells. Inside were cushioned seats, and on the decorated harness was the word ‘Acretongue’ in tarnished bronze letters.

  Pismire sidled closer to the pone while the others were manhandling the saddle, and held up his hand with the fingers spread out.

  ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ he said suspiciously.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  ‘Aha! So much for—’

  Thud.

  ‘Lucky guess.

  The pone lumbered down on to his knees to let them heave the saddle on to his back.

  Then he opened his mouth and trumpeted.

  It sounded like the creaking of a door, magnified a thousand times – but it wavered and changed as well, and seemed to contain a lot of busy little other sounds. Language, thought Pismire. Language without words, but still language.

  I wonder if the wights invented that, too? People used to have language without words. We still have. We say ‘Hmm?’ and ‘Uh’ and ‘Arrgh!’, don’t we?

  What am I thinking? These are animals.

  Just very bright ones, perhaps. Very bright indeed.

  The other pones raised their heads and answered, with a variety of blasts and trills. Glurk motioned the others up on to Acretongue’s back.

  ‘The mouls will have heard that,’ said Pismire.

  ‘Won’t matter,’ said Glurk. ‘The pones have decided to go home.’

  ‘You mean they could have gone any time?’ said Brocando, watching the huge animals leaving their stalls in an orderly line.

  ‘They liked it here when the Vortgorns ran the place,’ said Glurk ‘They likes stuff they find interesting. The mouls don’t interest them any more. They don’t like them. I think they think we’re interesting.’

  ‘Now listen, Glurk,’ said Pismire, ‘I mean, I’m not saying you’re not, you know, quite bright, but I don’t think you could have learned a language and all these other things in just a few—’

  ‘Didn’t,’ said Glurk, smirking. ‘Knew what to expect before I come here.

  ‘How—’

  ‘Enough of this talking, harharhar,’ said Glurk. ‘Tell you later. Be polite, by the way. She said they understand people very well.’

  ‘Don’t believe it,’ said Pismire.

  One of the pones blew a raspberry in his ear.

  ‘That means they think you’re interesting,’ said Glurk.

  ‘And who’s she?’ Pismire demanded.

  ‘Tell you soon,’ said Glurk. He was enjoying himself in a quiet way. For the whole of his life Pismire had known more than he did. It was nice, just for once, to be Mr Answers.

  At the far end of the cave was a thick bronze door. The first two pones walked straight into it, tearing it off its hinges. Once outside the herd broke into a trot, with Acretongue moving up into the lead.

  On his trumpeted signal, it became a gallop. It looked ponderous and funny, until you realized that those great big bouncing balls would walk through a house without noticing it.

  Up on Acretongue’s back the four of them were shaken like small peas in a big pot. Pismire saw a pack of mounted mouls galloping after them, spears ready to throw. Acretongue must have seen them too, because he bellowed like a distressed trumpet.

  Three pones detached themselves from the herd and turned. The mouls suddenly realized that they weren’t chasing a herd of fleeing animals . . .

  Pismire stood up in the saddle. ‘They’ve gone over them!’ he said.

  ‘What, do you mean they jumped?’ asked Brocando.

  ‘No! I mean just . . . over.’

  ‘They hate mouls,’ said Glurk. ‘Hate ’em more than any other creatures do. They think they’re very uninteresting.’

  Ahead of them was the archway, surrounded by a milling throng of mouls and Vortgorns. ‘But all they’ve got to do is lower that platform and we’re done for,’ shouted Pismire.

  ‘They won’t,’ yelled Glurk, and pointed. ‘He powers the platform!’

  Beside the gateway they noticed for the first time a large treadmill. There was a pone in it. A pack of mouls were attacking it with whips and goads. But it stood stolidly, trumpeting. Acretongue bellowed back.

  ‘They’ll rescue it,’ said Glurk. ‘By the way – er, what was it – oh, yeah, they hate sharp things even more than mouls, so we got to be careful with spears and things ...’

  Some pones hurled themselves towards the mill, tossing mouls aside like dust. Their heavy jaws snapped through the bars. The caged pone shrugged itself free, paused for a moment to stamp on a couple of mouls who had been poking it the hardest, and then leapt through the gateway.

  ‘They must be mad!’ said Pismire. ‘That platform won’t hold them!’

  ‘We shall see,’ said Glurk, as they clattered on to it. The other pones piled on behind them, and Pismire noticed that, though they went out of their way to trample on mouls, they avoided the running Vortgorns. Vortgorns were still a bit interesting.

  He expected the platform to split under the weight of the pones. It didn’t – quite – but something went clang above them and the remains of the treadmill spun until it was nothing but a blur. The chains shrieked over their pulleys. The wall rushed past. Only Glurk sat calmly. Even Pismire had crouched down in the saddle. They were going to be crushed when they hit the bottom, he knew. Brocando hung on and moaned, with his eyes shut. Even Bane had slumped down, bracing himself for the shock.

  So only Glurk saw the pones leaping from the platform, one by one.

  The tiny wings opened. They were too small to carry pones – but they worked. They whirled madly and the pones stayed up, drifting gently between the hairs.

  With only Acretongue’s weight upon it the platform slowed down, and hit the dust with a thud. Acretongue lumbered off, while all about them pones crashed down through the hairs like falling fruit.

  The others looked up at Glurk’s face.

  ‘You knew we wouldn’t crash!’ said Pismire accusingly.

  ‘Hoped,’ said Glurk. ‘I wasn’t too sure, even after all Culaina said.’

  ‘Who’s Culaina? Is he the she?’ said Pismire. He was badly rattled. He was kind enough in his way, but knowing more than Glurk about almost everything was one of the few things he was sure he was good at. He wasn’t used to this.

  Another pone bounced onto the dust beside them. They’re lighter than they look, he thought. Balloons with wings. No wonder they don’t like sharp objects . . .

  ‘Culaina’s hard to describe,’ said Glurk. ‘I think she’s a sort of wight.’

  ‘A sort of wight?’ said Pismire.

  ‘You’ll have to ask her yourself,’ said Glurk. ‘We’re going to see her now.’ Acretongue’s head dipped, and he began to plod between the hairs.

  ‘No, we’re not,’ said Bane. ‘We must go to Ware!’

  ‘Back to Jeopard, you mean!’

  ‘Ware’s only a few days away. I have to tell them about this!’

  ‘They might know already,’ said Pismire, glumly.

  ‘They don’t,’ said Glurk.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘We’re the only ones who know about the moul army,’ said Glurk. ‘We’ll have to go to Ware to w
arn people. But first we’ve got to go back to talk to Culaina.’

  ‘This wight? Why?’ said Pismire.

  ‘To tell her what we’ve seen,’ said Glurk, smiling in a puzzled kind of way. He scratched his head. ‘So she can remember what we tell her now and tell me two days ago. When I met her.’

  Brocando opened his mouth, but Pismire waved him into silence.

  ‘Wights remember the future as well as the past,’ he said. ‘But . . . look, they never tell anyone, Glurk.’

  ‘This one does,’ said Glurk. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You think I could make this sort of thing up?’

  Chapter 13

  ‘Following you was easy enough,’ said Glurk. ‘I mean, twenty people leave a trail, no problem there. Half the time I had to be careful I didn’t walk into you. And then I thought . . . they’re going south in a straight line, so I might as well go on ahead, spy out the land, see what’s happening. One person can move a lot faster than twenty, so why not? I’d got a snarg to ride, too. They respond well to a bit of kindness,’ he said. ‘Mind you, you have to use quite a lot of cruelty as well. And that’s how I met Culaina. She’s very strange.’

  There was a pause. Then Pismire said, ‘I think we missed something there.’

  ‘You’ll see where she lives,’ said Glurk. ‘I . . . er . . . I don’t think people see it unless she wants ’em to. I’ve never seen anything like it. And there she was and . . . and . . . she told me where you were going, and how I could hang on to the bottom of that lifting cart, and pinch the armour off a Vortigorn, and release the pones, and how they could fly . . . everything.’

  ‘How did she know all this?’ Brocando demanded.

  ‘Because we’re going to tell her,’ said Glurk. ‘Don’t ask me how it works.’

  ‘They remember forwards as well as backwards,’ said Bane.

  ‘But they must never tell!’ said Pismire ‘Otherwise dreadful things could happen!’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Glurk, guardedly. ‘The way I see it, you’ve been freed . . . that doesn’t sound dreadful.’

  ‘But we must get back to the tribe,’ said Pismire

  ‘And my people!’ said Brocando. ‘They need us!’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Glurk. ‘There’s two hundred Munrungs and three thousand Deftmenes, and they’re all armed and together and . . . they need us? We’ve got some good lads in the tribe. And Snibril’s with them . . . isn’t he?’