Chronicles of Isambard Smith 05 - End of Empires (30 page)

Night turned the kitchens into a dungeon. Saucepans became helmets, toasting forks and garlic presses instruments of torture. No wonder the lemming men liked it here.

She scurried forward, ducking behind the tables and cupboards.

A shadow moved on the far wall, black against moonlight, a magnified silhouette. She ducked down, froze like a mouse under the gaze of an owl, and remembered that she was actually pretty scared.

Colonel Prem muttered to himself. ‘Aha,’ he said, as if he had made an important discovery. ‘
Propacap
.’

The silhouette lifted massive paws to its head, and when it lowered them, it was wearing a chef’s hat. The lemming looked left and right. He wasn’t in the room, Carveth realised, but in some neighbouring part of the kitchen. The Colonel stepped out of the light, and the shadow was gone.

‘
Hwhereat feki kopaketl?
’ he growled.

Carveth crept towards the door. You couldn’t leave one of them alive – wasn’t that what they’d told her back at base? You had to clean them all out.

She lunged around the doorframe.

The room was empty. It looked as if a whirlwind had hit it: knives and cleavers scattered on a work-surface, a huge spit hauled in front of the fireplace, half a dozen trays under it to catch fat. They must have been planning a celebration feast. So much for that, she thought: they hadn’t made it past the aperitif.

A large book was propped against the sideboard. It showed the preparation of a huge joint of meat, but the words were in French, from the look of it. She closed the book. The title said
La Cuisine Belge.

It was then that she saw the picture pinned to the wall, held in place by a couple of Yullian knives. For a second she didn’t realise its function, and then she looked closer, not doubting her eyes.

It was the outline of a pony, divided by half a dozen dotted lines.

No. Surely not. Surely nobody, not even the lemming men, could stoop so low. Yes, they tortured and sacrificed for their war god, but not this.

‘
Darhep!
’

Something smashed into the back of her legs and she dropped onto her knees. She twisted, trying to aim, but a huge hand shot out and yanked the shotgun out of her grip. It clattered beside the door and Prem backhanded her across the ear.

Carveth went sprawling. Paws grabbed her, lifted her clean off the ground and threw her into the wall. She fell in a crash of pots, saw a monstrous shape lumber forwards and scrambled onto all fours.

Prem bent down, yanked her up by her lapels and tossed her across the room. She fell into the corner, bounced off the wall and managed to stay upright, which in the circumstances felt like an achievement.

The colonel wore an officer’s sash and battleaxe. He looked her over with that pompous self-importance she’d seen in the
Know Your Enemy
films.

‘You again,’ he said.

‘You eat ponies!’ she shouted back.

The rodent nodded. ‘As the lesser races serve us, we shall serve them,’ it said. ‘With a salad.’

‘
Bastard!
’

Prem took a step forward. He was massive; his bulk swallowed up the room. His paws caught her under the chin, and without any apparent effort, he lifted her up by the throat.

‘You puzzle me,’ he said. ‘You must be a strong fighter to get past my guards, skilled in death. Yet you come here for the sake of...
little horses?
A true warrior despises the weak. Why do you shame yourself with pity?’

Carveth coughed. The colonel loosened his grip.

‘I got too close,’ she gasped.

‘Too close?’

‘Like you,’ she hissed, and she flicked out her hand, the first and last fingers extended, clenched her fist and punched him in the gut.

It was a feeble blow and her hand did very little. Twelve inches of spring-loaded Zukari steel, on the other hand, had the desired effect. Carveth tore her hand up and free and the officer staggered back, clutching his midriff. His eyes were huge and full of horror.

Carveth yanked the axe from Colonel Prem’s belt. She gave it an experimental swing through the air. Satisfactory.

‘You hurt ponies,’ she said. ‘Now ponies hurt you.’

‘Offworlder, what are you doing?’ the erstwhile gourmet gasped. ‘You cannot kill me. It is against your rules!’

‘Oh,’ said Carveth, a huge grin spreading across her face, ‘I’ll stick to the rules all right. I’ll even cut along the dotted lines!’

The lightning crackled around the house, and as she swung the weapon up over her head, Carveth’s laughter and the thunder became one.

* * *

The Yull had not posted many sentries: they had clearly not expected anyone to dare, or bother, to rescue the Equ’i. Dreckitt knocked out the first guard with a blackjack and Smith cut down the second. Smith wiped his sword on the lemming’s fur and they advanced through the trees, closer to the house.

‘It’ll be well fortified,’ Wainscott whispered. ‘All these big houses are the same: bars on the windows, padded walls –’

‘Only the ones you stay in,’ Susan said from behind. ‘The side door’s open. Maybe we’re too late.’

‘Nix, dragon lady,’ Dreckitt replied. ‘Let’s bust the joint.’

Smith nodded. ‘With me, chaps. For Britain, and for the very small horses!’

He sprinted out of cover, across the lawn. His boots thundered on the ornamental bridge. He raced towards the open door, sword raised.

A figure stepped out to meet him, axe in hand.

‘Hurrah!’ Smith bellowed, swinging the sword, and at the last moment he saw that it was no Yull before him. He stopped, just managing not to trip over, and his blade cut only air.

Carveth stepped out. She might not be a lemming, but she was covered in fur. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said.

They stood around the door, watching as she emerged. She held a battleaxe.

‘Hi, everyone,’ she said, and she gave them a broad, uneven smile. ‘Look what I’ve got. This is what happens to people who aren’t nice to their pets.’

She raised her left hand, and tossed something onto the wet grass. It rolled once and was still.

It was the severed head of Colonel Prem.

They stared at her as she stumbled forward, and nobody spoke.

Suruk pointed to the grisly head.

‘Then this was her work,’ he said, and slowly he looked up at Carveth. ‘Go Piglet! The job is a good one!’ He clapped, cheered, realised that nobody had joined in and said, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

Smith gestured to Wainscott. The tranquiliser rifle gave a soft ‘Phut’, and Carveth looked thoughtfully at the feathered dart sticking out of her shoulder, as if not sure why she had put it there. ‘Ooh, a birdie,’ she observed, reaching towards the dart, and she toppled over onto her back.

Wainscott rushed forward, and as Dreckitt hurried to Carveth’s side, the Deepspace Operations Group ran into the house.

Suruk shook his head. ‘Shame on you, Wainscott, I have known this woman for four years. The first time she does anything remotely interesting, you shoot her with a dart.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Wainscott growled. ‘Being tranquilised never did me any harm.’

Susan and Wainscott walked back onto the lawn.

‘Something died in there,’ Susan said. ‘Probably a mammal. Beyond that, I reckon it’s fluff and dental records.’

Wainscott nodded. ‘She caught one of them in the kitchen and hacked him to pieces. A regular kukri lesson.’

‘Look!’ Rhianna said, and she pointed into the trees.

They turned, raising their guns in a quick clatter of weaponry, but it was not the lemming men that they faced. Quietly, the Equ’i walked out of the forest, their blue fur glistening like water.

The largest of the Equ’i approached. He was tall, broad across the shoulders, with a long nose and considerable forelock. ‘Greetings, people of Earth,’ he declared. ‘I am Chestnut, king of the Equ’i. I have heard much of you all, especially Suruk the Slayer.’ A smaller, lighter-coloured horse appeared at his side. ‘And this is Celeste, my daughter.’

Celeste hurried over to Dreckitt’s side. Dreckitt had rolled up his trenchcoat and put it under Carveth’s head. He rummaged in the medical kit. ‘Is she alright?’ Celeste asked.

‘She’ll be okay,’ Dreckitt said. ‘She took a Mickey Finn, and now she’s hopped up. That’s all.’

‘Indeed,’ said Suruk. ‘The little woman has never been better, in my opinion.’

‘But she’s covered in blood!’ Celeste replied.

Suruk shrugged. ‘Your friend was overcome by berserk rage and butchered every living thing in sight. So no need to worry.’

‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ King Chestnut said. ‘Normally, anyone who rescues a princess would receive my daughter’s hoof in marriage, but... well, that would be a bit weird.’

‘I know, Daddy!’ Celeste exclaimed. ‘Why don’t you make Polly a princess too! Then we can both live in the magical kingdom for ever – and ever!’

Wainscott leaned over and whispered in Smith’s ear. ‘You know, I think these people are a bit rum.’

‘We can decide that later,’ Smith said. ‘The Yull are on the move. We all need to get away from here. Wainscott, you’ll be needed back at base. We’ll drop you chaps off and then go on to look for the relics. We’re not much ahead of the lemming men.’

‘No,’ said King Chestnut. ‘You should press on. We can take the major and his men. We’ll carry you.’

Wainscott rubbed his chin. ‘Well, I suppose…’ He looked at Susan. ‘What do you say?’

‘Me?’ Susan let go of the beam gun, clapped her hands and squealed. ‘Oh my goodness, pony ride! Just kidding,’ she added, heaving the gun into her arms again. ‘Yeah, it should work if nobody cocks up.’

‘Excellent,’ Smith replied. ‘Then I’ll see you soon. Suruk, would you give me a hand carrying Carveth into the ship? We have work to do!’

Dawn rose over the treetops like flame. The green canopy glowed in the new light. Under the leaves, the cycle of life began anew as the myriad creatures of the forest woke, blinked and immediately began biting, poisoning and swallowing one another.

The soldiers on the watchtowers of Mothkarak watched Mildred the ravnaphant lumber north, trees creaking and snapping around her bulk. In Mildred’s wake rode the proud ranks of the lancers, their banners raised. Many of the better-trained shadar had turned red, white or blue, so that the marching column resembled a Union Jack. The infantry waved them off, and went back to the task of bolstering the walls.

Other eyes followed the lancers.

‘Shall we attack them?’ asked Colonel Cots.

‘Let them run,’ General Wikwot replied.

They sat on the upper deck of the Forward Command Treehouse, sipping the morning ration of dandelion wine. The Yull had erected a few treehouses near the citadel: partly for surveillance, and partly because being high up in a tree gave them a sense of wellbeing bettered only by jumping out of it. In the next tree down, connected by a walkway, glider pilots were carrying out a dummy run. They wore elastic belts to make sure that they did not hit the ground, and the constant leaping and bouncing gave the scene a curious pendulum effect.

‘The lancers are full of fear,’ Wikwot said. ‘Their cowardly hearts dread the battle and so they sneak away. Let the forest take them.’

Cots nodded. His black coat was particularly silky today, owing to liberal use of Head and Pelt. ‘My sources suggest that the enemy are close to finding the so-called Relics of Grimdall. And we are close to finding
them
.’

‘Good.’ Wikwot finished his drink. ‘Fetch the relics. In the meantime, I shall address the timid ranks of the enemy and promise them safety when they give up.’

‘Excellent, General! Once they see our army, and that we hold their sacred relics, the weakling inhabitants will surrender, and then – let the screaming and torture begin!’

‘Cots!’ Wikwot leaned out and belted his comrade across the snout. ‘You shame yourself with this talk of torture!’ Cots rubbed his muzzle. ‘No,’ Wikwot added, smiling into the trees. ‘This one we will do nice and quiet.’

* * *

The
John Pym
tore across the forest, only a few yards over the canopy.

‘It looks like a coral reef,’ Rhianna said. She sat in the captain’s chair: Smith flew the ship from Carveth’s usual seat, following the river west. The floor was littered with cushions that he had tossed out prior to sitting down.

‘Or a big green brain,’ he said.

Suruk entered, holding the tea tray. He passed out the mugs.

‘How’s Carveth?’ Smith asked. ‘Still resting in bed?’

‘Resting, yes. Bed, no,’ Suruk said. ‘She is excluding a draft. One of the airlock doors was not working, and since she was just lying there, I thought she might as well do something useful…’

‘Really, old chap. Rhianna, have you got anything that would wake Carveth up? I know you’ve got a lot of medicine, but most of it seems to deaden the senses.’

‘Sure,’ Rhianna said, and as she stood up, Carveth wandered into the cockpit, rubbing her head.

‘Ugh, what happened? I feel funny. I remember falling over and hitting my head – I think the fresh air’s done me a bit of good, though.’

‘See?’ Suruk said.

Below them, the rippling canopy opened up, and the river swelled into a lake. Smith saw tiny buildings on the lakeside, hotels and boathouses, and stabilised the ship. He cut the thrusters, and they began to descend.

‘It looks empty,’ Suruk said. ‘Perhaps the Yull are hiding.’

The
John Pym
touched down in a car park. Suruk and Carveth left the cockpit, to get ready.

Nearly there, Smith thought as he checked his rifle. We’re nearly at the resting-place of the greatest hero in M’Lak history. Too bad he wasn’t on our side.

Rhianna tapped him on the arm. ‘Isambard?’

‘Yes?’

‘What are we going to do with the relics?’

‘What’s that?’ The question hadn’t crossed his mind until now. They would collect the Relics of Grimdall, whatever they were exactly, load them into the
John Pym
and take them back. And then... he wasn’t sure. ‘I don’t know. Put them in a museum or something?’

‘Isambard, Grimdall was no friend of the Space Empire.’