The Carpet People

CHAPTER 16

They went by narrow tracks that wound in and out of overgrown thickets. In some places enormous hairs had fallen over the path. Dust and fluff grew thickly, choking the spaces between hairs so that they could only move by hacking their way through undergrowth that clawed and pricked them.

Once, in a patch of thick orange hairs, something hurtled out of the tangled bushes and buried itself in a hair bole by Snibril's head. It was a spear.

Up in the hairs a shadow scampered, swinging to safety on a creeper while Deftmene arrows whined around it like hymetors. They never found out what it was, although it might have had something to do with the fact that, a little later, they found a city.

It was not on any maps of the Carpet. For some time they had been walking through its overgrown streets, not realizing they were streets, until they found the statues. Little blue dust flowers grew on them, and fluff had planted itself around them, but they still stood in the centre of their lost city. They had been four kings; wooden crowns were on their wooden heads and they each pointed with one arm to a different point of the compass. Ferns grew around their feet, and small creatures had made their homes in crooks of arms and folds of carven clothing.

Around them, when you knew what you were looking for in the way the hairs grew and dust mounds were banked, was the city. Age hung upon it like smoke. Thick hairs grew in the ruins of buildings, dust had filled the streets. Creepers and tendrils had done their work, breaking down walls and venturing into hidden walls. Insects chirruped in broken archways. Hair pollen made the air sparkle.

"Do you know this place?" said Snibril.

No-one did. Even Athan had never heard of it.

"Places can get lost," he said. "People leave. Hairs grow up. Roads are overgrown."

"By the look of those statues, they thought the place would last for ever," said Snibril.

"It didn't," said Athan, flatly.

And now they've gone, thought Snibril. Or there's just a few left, hunting around in the remains of their city. No-one knows who they were, or what they did. No-one even remembers their name. That mustn't happen to us.

The wights weren't talkative now. It must be like being blind, Snibril thought. We're used to not knowing what's going to happen ...

A couple of hours later they reached a Dumii road. It was white, made of split hairs laid edge to edge. Every few hundred yards there was a hair carved with a finger. All the fingers pointed to Ware.

They rode along it a little way. Here and there the road had been broken when the Carpet had moved, and they had to take to the hairs to get around the break.

That's where they found the legion, or what was left of it. Dumii soldiers were sitting or lying amongst the hairs by the side of the road. Some of them were asleep. Others were wounded.

He'd seen plenty of soldiers in Tregon Marus, but they had simply been on guard. These looked battered, their uniforms ragged and often bloodstained.

They hardly bothered to look up as Snibril rode by. But the ones who did caught sight of the Deftmenes, and started nudging their colleagues. One or two even reached for their swords.

There was muttering from the Deftmenes, too. They moved closer together, and eyed the Dumii suspiciously.

Snibril turned in his saddle.

"Don't make any trouble," he snapped.

"Why not?" said a sullen voice from among the Deftmene ranks. "They're Dumii!"

"You'd prefer them to be mouls, would you?"

He walked Roland over to a group of soldiers sitting on a fallen hair.

"Where is your leader?" he said.

The Dumii looked him up and down.

"Haven't got one," he said. "General got killed."

There was a pause.

"I expect you're wondering who we are," said Snibril.

"Too tired to wonder," said the soldier, leaning back against a hair.

"Stand up straight!"

For a moment Snibril wondered who had said that. Then he realized that it had been him.

To his amazement, the soldier pulled himself upright.

"Now take me to the highest-ranking officer!" said Snibril. I mustn't say "please", he thought. I mustn't give him a chance to think. He's used to orders. It's easier for him to obey orders than think.

"Er ... that'd be Sergeant Careus. If he's still alive."

"Take me to him now!"

The soldier looked past Snibril at the ragged army. His forehead wrinkled.

"I shall talk to the sergeant!" said Snibril. The soldier snapped back to attention.

"Yessir. This way," he said.

Snibril was led past groups of sullen soldiers to a heavy-set man who was sitting on the ground. One arm was in a sling, and his face was pale. He didn't seem to be bothered about who Snibril actually was. He was feeling low enough to accept anyone who seemed to know what they were doing.

"Sergeant Careus, Fifteenth Legion," he said. "Or what's left of it. We were called back to Ware urgently from Ultima Marus, but when we were on the road-"

"-there was a storm-" said Snibril automatically.

"And then afterwards-"

"-you were attacked by mouls mounted on snargs," said Snibril.

"Yes. Time and again. How did you know this?"

"I'm good at guessing," said Snibril. "How many of you are there?"

"About three hundred able-bodied, and a lot of wounded."

"I know a safe city where your wounded can be taken. It's only two days' easy march, if we spare some soldiers to escort them."

"We'll need too many," said the sergeant. "There'll be mouls everywhere."

"Not where we've been," said Snibril quietly. "Not any more. And the rest of us will go with you to Ware."

The sergeant looked down at the dust, thinking.

"I won't say we don't need everyone we can get," he said. "Where's this paradise, then?"

"Jeopard," said Snibril.

"You must be mad!"

At that moment there was a roar from the road. Both of them hurried back, to where there was now a huge pushing crowd of Dumii and Deftmenes, with the Munrungs trying to keep them apart. Snibril pushed his way through and found a Deftmene and a soldier rolling over and over on the road, punching at one another.

Snibril watched them for a moment, and then flung his spear on the ground.

"Stop that!" he shouted. "You're soldiers! You're not supposed to fight!"

Even the two combatants stopped to work that one out.

"I don't understand you!" Snibril shouted. His voice echoed off the hairs. "There's enemies all around us, and you just attack each other! Why?"

"They're closer," said a voice from the Dumii ranks.

"He called me dirty!" said the Deftmene who had been fighting.

"Well, you are," said Snibril. "So's he. We all are. Now get up-"

He stopped. All the Dumii were looking past him, to Athan and the wights, and Snibril heard the whispering start.

"They've got wights with them ... fighting!"

He looked at Athan, who looked miserable. Snibril sidled over to him.

"Don't let them know you can't remember this future," he said.

"They know the future! And they're on his side!"

"Why should we fight for them if they treat us like that?" said a Deftmene. Snibril spun around and picked up the astonished warrior by his collar.

"You're not fighting for them! You're fighting for yourselves!"

The Deftmene was shaken, but not afraid. "We've always fought for ourselves," he said. "And we were never Counted!"

"No, but the Empire was all around you, wasn't it, keeping you safe! The Dumii kept the peace over half the Carpet! All around you! Kept you safe!"

"They never did!"

"Think about it! There's Dumii towns all around you! When they defended themselves, they were defending you! They fought for real so that you could fight them for fun!"

Snibril was shaking with anger.

There was silence.

He put the Deftmene down.

"I'm going to Ware," he said. "Anyone else wants to come, it's up to them ... "

No-one left, except for a small group who were going to accompany the wounded back to Jeopard. Two of the wights went with them. The Dumii felt a lot better with wights around. They seemed to think that wights only went where it was safe. That's what they'd do ...

The rest of them marched on down the road. Snibril found that he was in command; the Munrungs wanted to follow him, the Deftmenes were beginning to think that anyone who could lose their temper that badly was probably a king, and the Dumii-well, the Dumii soldiers followed Sergeant Careus, and Sergeant Careus was riding alongside Snibril. Most armies are in fact run by their sergeants-the officers are there just to give things a bit of tone and prevent warfare becoming a mere lower-class brawl.

The sergeant half turned in his saddle and looked back at the Deftmenes.

"Nice to have cavalry on our side again," he said. "Even if they're still shorter than infantry. I've fought against them a couple of times. Tough little ba ... people. That was under Baneus. He respected 'em. He left 'em alone. They didn't like that back in Ware, but he always said it's worth keeping a few enemies around. You know. To practise on. I think he quite liked 'em. Odd little ba ... chaps."

"Baneus," said Snibril, cautiously. "Yes. Er. Whatever happened to him? Did he do something terrible?"

"You know him?"

"I've ... heard of him," said Snibril carefully.

"He killed someone. An assassin. The way I heard it, someone was trying to kill the young Emperor during his coronation. Hiding behind a pillar with a bow. Baneus spotted him and threw his sword at him. Got him just in time. Killed him grit dead. Arrow missed Targon by inches. Funny thing is, Baneus hated Targon. He was always in trouble. He said Emperors shouldn't be hereditary, but elected just like they used to be. A stickler for honesty, was the General. Oh, there were always rows. But after that, he had to be banished, of course."

"Why of course?" said Snibril.

"No-one is allowed to draw a sword within fifty paces of the Emperor," said the Sergeant.

"But he saved his life!"

"Yes, but you've got to have rules, otherwise where would we be?" said Sergeant Careus.

"But-"

"Afterwards the Emperor had the law changed and they sent someone after the General."

"Did he ever find him?"

"I think so. He was sent back tied to his horse with an apple in his mouth. I think the General was a bit upset."

The Deftmenes are mad and the Dumii are sane, thought Snibril, and that's just the same as being mad except that it's quieter. If only you could mix them together, you'd end up with normal people. Just like me.

"We could do with him now, and that's a fact," said the sergeant.

"Yes," said Snibril. "Um. What do I do now? We'll have to camp tonight. I mean, I don't know what sort of orders you're supposed to give."

The sergeant looked at him kindly.

"You say, "Make camp here"," he said.