Harry Cavendish (18 page)

‘How are you doing?’

‘You don’t mind me there, skinny man,’ said Stanton Bosch. ‘I is not the focus of this here operation.

That there evil Captain Proton is treating you right?’

‘Everything is fine so far.’

‘Now, listen to me good. The Emperor has been killed.’

‘The Emperor is dead?’

‘Yes. But Proton must not be told. Have you got that?’

‘The Emperor is dead? It was very sudden.’

‘Listen to me, skinny man. You must not let Captain Proton find out that the Emperor is dead. Your life depends on it. The cow will help you in your task.’

‘Why does my life depend on it?’ asked Cormack, but Stanton Bosch had hung up.

Cormack put the relay stick back in his pocket and went to join the others.

They had found a good spot, not too far from the village, and had begun to clear it. Proton was slashing at the vegetation furiously and grumbling to himself.

‘You know, Cormack,’ he said when he saw Cormack was back. ‘Do we even need these losers?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Let’s get back to Bartislard and off this planet and get a connection to the uniSwarm.’

‘Whatever you want.’

The cow was trying to help them clear the area by chewing at the thicker grass.

‘I don’t mean to interrupt or nothing,’ she said, looking up, ‘but the prophecies do say that the Negus will march from this here Kabbal, don’t they?’

‘We could march from here to Bartislard, I suppose. Maybe that would fulfil the prophecies,’ said Proton, but seeds of doubt had been planted in his mind by the cow’s objection and he resumed hacking at the undergrowth in grim silence. They would rest there for the night and hope that Bernard would have send word to Dennis of Cormack’s authenticity by morning.

In fact, Bernard was in Dennis’ hut enjoying a mug of steaming cocoa. He had gone a little way down the track to Shambalah, and then the sun had begun to set, and he hadn’t really felt like walking all that way in the dark, so he had turned back to Kabbal. He had watched Proton arguing with Dennis from a distance far enough away that he couldn’t be seen, and then he had waited until they had all gone before going inside Dennis’ hut.

Dennis was, in fact, his cousin.

‘Why did you give him the scroll, Bernard?’ said Dennis, munching on a crumpet he had toasted on the blazing fire. It was filled with honey, so that the innards had slopped out and congealed round its outer circumference like fresh cement burst from its boarding.

‘His Candidate passed the test. There was nothing else I could do,’ said Bernard. He had taken off the multi-coloured caftan at last and revealed a dirty grey vest beneath.

‘The Throat has certified him?’

‘Indeed. Well, I didn’t note any objections. It’s very difficult between me and the Throat at the moment.

I mean, this business you’ve got me in to of just picking up a frog from the Luminous Pool when the previous Throat has expired – are you completely sure there’s a valid theological basis?’

‘Absolutely. It’s in one of the Texts. I’ll find the passage for you if it’s bothering you.’

Dennis moved to the bookcase, curved to fit tight against the wall, and pulled a book, red and leather-backed, from a row.

‘Well, anyway, this latest frog is certainly a dead loss,’ said Bernard. ‘Almost had me in a deal of trouble with Captain Proton. It’s quite inscrutable. There’s only so much palaver one can do if it won’t move at all.’

‘The Captain seems to be insisting that we mobilize,’ said Dennis, putting the book back quietly.

‘Yes, it’s a bugger.’

‘So we will mobilize. Nothing for it. The whole bloody enterprise has gone arse over tits, cousin.’

‘Brave new world…’

‘I suppose. We’ve had it cushy here for too long. Time for a change.’

‘Drastic, though.’

‘Could we spin it out a bit longer? I could pretend that you can’t be found or something.’

‘Really rather not. We must have some respect for the prophecies. We are not charlatans.’

‘Absolutely not, Bernard. You’re quite right of course. It’s just so unexpected. That a successful Candidate could have come forth after all these years.’

‘You know, I was telling the Captain the same thing myself just yesterday.’

‘Back when we were young, one hundred and eighty years ago, when we were on fire with religion. Then we would have welcomed him.’

‘But he couldn’t be found.’

‘It was so disappointing.’

‘And now when we’re quite settled.’

‘And have roots…’ said Dennis, looking at the mantelpiece on one side of the fireplace, filled with gaudy knick-knacks, and deft little potteries, and worn keepsakes with bits broken off them, and Hummels.

‘It’s just a total bugger, but we must get on with it,’ said Bernard emphatically.

Cormack had had a torrid night – the cow couldn’t sleep and had kept rolling over him and he had had dreams of being smothered by a leathery sea lion until he woke dripping with sweat and pushed her off.

Proton was flustered too. His survival skills had once again proved wanting and he had made his bed in a nest of fire-ants which had crawled into his spandex bodysuit through a tiny point of entry near his armpit, one at a time, stinging him just enough to keep him awake but not enough for him to rise and destroy them, all throughout the night.

There was nowhere to wash and the cow was livid.

‘This here ain’t good enough for us, Cormack. We ain’t be so badly treated since we did leave Zargon 8.’

‘I’m going to see Dennis again right away and see if we can’t get this thing sorted out,’ said Proton angrily.

He marched in a fury to Dennis’ hut, determined to have it out with him, and, on being allowed ingress, was surprised to see Bernard in the hut, drinking a cup of cocoa.

‘Hello, Captain Proton,’ he said. ‘Do come in.’

‘Bernard!’

‘Yes, and how are you? How’s the Negus more importantly?’

‘Cormack, mate! Come in - Bernard’s here! Did they fetch you from Shambalah, Bernard?’

‘Ummm…No…’

‘Well, it’s wonderful to see you,’ said Proton, still assessing the situation. ‘We need your help. See, we were having a problem with this fellow here.’ Proton pointed at Dennis, who was fetching hot snacks from a tiered dessert tray that hung in a cage with a bell. ‘He seemed not to recognize the Negus.’

‘I never said I didn’t recognize him,’ said Dennis, setting his tray down. ‘I just needed further confirmation from the Sibyl himself. A scroll can be forged, you know.’

‘Well, here is your Sibyl now. What say you, Sibyl?’ said Proton.

‘The little misunderstanding has been ironed out. Dennis is now convinced.’

‘Excellent!’

‘We’re mobilizing around eleven. I just want to have a refreshing cup of tea before we get started,’ said Dennis.

‘OK.’

‘Very disruptive for everybody, you know. It’s going to take a bit of doing.’

‘Dennis!’ growled Bernard.

Dennis shuffled back to the fire.

‘You know each other?’ said Proton.

‘Dennis is a cousin,’ said Bernard.

‘What cosy little arrangements you have here on Foul Ball,’ said Proton.

Mobilisation seemed to consist of the moving of tents and shifting of gear and packing away of bits and pieces to be put on carts and in wooden trailers under tarpaulins and sheets. The fires in the smithy were dowsed, and the baker had produced a final round, which sold out within minutes, and he shut his oven, bricked round the furnace, and joined his friend the leatherworker to slop out the tannery and drain the slurries. The children were washed and dressed and blessed by the Elder, then separated from the adults to form a squad by themselves. The carts were corralled, one for two families, and the things they had packed, bound in sheets or held in stout wooden trunks, were brought from the huts and laid on the ground and they decided in loud voices what needed to be taken and what they would leave. Then they boarded their doors and set the dogs loose to roam.

They were all day at it, after eleven, and nobody was happy at all.

‘Considering their supposed purpose of being in Kabbal is so that they can be mobilized by the Negus, they seem very pissed off about it,’ observed Proton.

Cormack had to agree.

There was a small armoury to the east of the village and the villagers were to be given ancient muskets - a purely symbolic gesture, Dennis assured them, but consistent with the prophecies, and even this small matter was causing consternation. The best of the rifles had gone to the earliest attendees and the majority had to make do with broken bits of rusted metal, not able to fire a shot - a further burden to be borne on the march that would follow.

At least, the children were excited.

‘Is he really the Negus?’ asked one small, dirty boy.

‘Yes, he is, aren’t you, Cormack?’ said Proton.

‘No, I’m not,’ said Cormack.

‘He’s says he’s not,’ said the boy.

‘He is but he doesn’t want anyone to know,’ said Proton and the boy left satisfied.

Dennis came by with Bernard. He looked harassed, and was carrying a clipboard with a list of problems to be solved and lost children and supplies gone missing.

‘We’re not going to get through today,’ he said. ‘We’ll leave in the morning. Make more sense anyway.’

‘Another day wasted!’ said Proton. ‘When will I ever get myself off this God forsaken planet?’

‘Might be safer here for now,’ said Dennis. ‘We’ve gotten word from one of the late arrivals that the Emperor has been…’

He couldn’t finish because the cow, who was disporting herself close by, suddenly pricked up her ears and launched herself through the mud, sliding at Dennis at a great speed, coming at him like a curling stone. He didn’t see her at all and caught the full force, careening backwards violently.

‘Good heavens!’ said Bernard, because one second his cousin was there next to him, and then the next, twenty yards away, sprawled against the baker’s hut.

‘What the hell got into the cow?’ yelled Proton.

‘I think I’ve broken something,’ said Dennis when they reached him. He was lying on one side and clutching his leg, moaning and groaning.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised at all,’ said Proton. ‘The cow, Cormack, is a frigging menace. I have been saying this since we arrived on Foul Ball. And now she has turned rabid.’

‘I’m not rabid,’ said the cow who was caked in brown mud but otherwise unharmed. ‘I’m dribbling from the exertions.’

‘I take full responsibility for the cow,’ said Cormack. ‘Dennis, I do apologise.’

But Dennis was too far gone to hear him.

‘We’ll have to take him back to his hut,’ said Proton. ‘Put the cow on a chain.’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Cormack. But it was apparent that Dennis’ injuries were more than superficial, and that Bernard was very upset. He kept looking at the cow and shivering, as he tended his cousin, wondering if she had marked him out as her next victim.

Cormack had to do as he was told, a chain was found, and she was harnessed and tied to a post for the night.

‘It’s up to you now, Cormack,’ she told him as he wished her goodnight. ‘Don’t let Proton know the Emperor is dead. I done me best.’

‘What is the big deal about Proton knowing the Emperor is dead?’

‘It will force his hand, Cormack. He will have to act precipitously.’

‘Precipitously - that’s a big word for you, cow.’

‘There’s more to me than straw and syllogisms, Cormack.’

‘I see that now.’

‘He’ll want to take you directly to Zargon 8.’

‘And we don’t want that?’

‘We don’t. We is biding our time. Waiting for our moment. Stanton Bosch needs to get his strength back. Trust in me.’

‘I do, cow.’

‘Good. You’re one of us, now. A real Pantheistic Syllogist,’ she said, and she gave him a little lick on his hand. It felt like a brillo pad, gently scouring him.

‘I know, cow. You’ve been good to me,’ he said when she’d finished

‘Loosen this here harness then. It’s right tight against me udders.’

The Opikarp was bored with the current arrangements and wanted an end to them. Either they should execute him, or they should dismiss the guards and let him get on with governing the Cramptonians as was his wont. He requested a meeting with the Senate so that his case could be resolved forthwith one way or the other, and they were loathed to grant it, because it would have meant the tying up of a transporter vessel big enough to carry his tank to Zargon 8 and they could ill afford such extravagances in these troubled times. In any case, they considered him something of an irrelevance, because what harm could a fish confined to a tank really do? If he was involved in the Emperor’s death, it was only by proxy, and his being confined on Crampton amounted to dismal exile anyway. Somebody would deal with him at a later date, but for now he could do as he pleased until due process could be restored.

They allowed him his freedom.

The Opikarp celebrated by meeting with Traction.

‘You have caused me some trouble, old man,’ he bubbled.

‘We were double-crossed, Governor.’

‘I was double-crossed.’

‘I suspect the Councillor.’

‘Enough of your lies! You outplayed me! You did well! Be thankful the Emperor died, because he would not be as merciful as me. But you cannot expect to live.’

‘I had nothing to do with it, Governor.’

‘No matter. I will kill you all the same. But first you will perform a service for me. You will travel to Foul Ball. I have word of some peculiar goings-on you will help me with.’

‘Foul Ball? If I refuse?’

‘It will not only be you that will die. I’ll kill your children too.’

Dennis was made comfortable with pillows, and his leg, which wasn’t broken but just badly bruised, was bandaged and tinctured, and he was primed with Horlicks that Bernard brought to him in a fusty mug from the cauldron over the fire; Proton and Cormack were allowed to bed down in the front room, their status of Negus and his sensei now having been made official; and the cow was muzzled as an extra precaution.