The Eye of Zoltar

Llangurig

Llangurig was situated on a bend in the river and was roughly circular. It was defended by a high wall that was curved inwards with an overhang at the top in order to better withstand attack by Tralfamosaur and other terrors. There was open countryside outside the walls but it was churned and shattered by recent conflict. And by recent, I mean really recent – several armoured vehicles were smouldering from a battle earlier that day.

‘What are they?’ I asked, pointing to what looked like two encampments, one a half-mile to the east of Llangurig, and one the same distance to the west. Each encampment seemed to have its own system of trenches and earthworks, within which I could see troops at readiness.

‘Two conflicting sides,’ said Addie, ‘who have fought violently over Llangurig’s territory for the past one hundred and forty years. A period of endless strife, aggression and political manoeuvring. The leaders of these two factions will stop at nothing to defeat the other, while in between them, the target of their endless battle awaits the outcome with long-bated breath.’

‘Warlords?’ I asked.

‘If only,’ replied Addie. ‘At least power-hungry Lunatics eventually know when to call a truce. No, these two factions are fuelled by greed and are utterly ruthless in their pursuit of power, influence and territory.’

‘You mean—?’ said Perkins.

‘Right,’ said Addie, ‘railway companies.’

I looked again. Now she mentioned it, the two encampments to the east and west did appear to have cranes and piles of building materials, coal, even a locomotive or two, and behind each fortified area was a railway, snaking out behind and soon lost to view in the endless green folds of the countryside. The area of churned soil and shattered earth was confined, I noticed, solely to the area around Llangurig.

As we watched, a salvo of artillery was fired from the railway company to the east, and a few moments later several shellbursts appeared close by their enemies in the west, who returned fire and felled an ancient oak that looked as though it had survived several near-misses in the past. While the artillery barrage continued, I noticed that engineers and armoured fighting vehicles on the western side were attempting to lay some railway track in the direction of Llangurig. This was soon noticed by those in the east, who sent forward some skirmishers to stop the engineers, which they managed to do – only three sleepers were laid, for a body count, as far as I could see, of five.

While this was going on the engineers in the east used a steam crane to deliver a completed section of track about thirty feet in length, which was met with a fusillade of small-arms fire from the west. As we watched, welders in heavy body armour ran out to fix the new section of track, and even though they welded with incredible bravery, the section of track was condemned by the Inspector of Works, who was dressed in a stripy umpire’s outfit.

‘Not enough ballast under the track,’ said Wilson expertly. ‘It would never have taken the weight of a locomotive, let alone fully loaded coal wagons.’

It all seemed very strange indeed, even by Cambrian Empire standards, which were admittedly quite broad. The two factions seemed to be fighting over the mile of empty ground between the two railheads.

‘Okay,’ I said slowly, ‘and they are fighting because …?’

‘I’ll tell you as we walk down,’ said Addie, glancing at the sun to gauge the time. ‘We want to get to town in time for the 12.07 ceasefire.’

‘That seems very precise.’

‘Railway militia are notorious sticklers for punctuality. They are sometimes late, but always apologise and let you know why, and if the ceasefire is really late, you can apply for a refund.’

‘A refund of what?’

She shrugged.

‘No one really knows.’

As we climbed down, the story unfolded itself courtesy of Addie’s spirited storytelling. The conflict began with Tharv’s grandfather, who was keen that the Cambrian Empire make full use of the then new railway technology to bring modernity and riches to the Empire. A flurry of railway companies sprang up to bid on the lucrative railway contracts but, owing to a misunderstanding, two railway companies were mistakenly awarded the potentially lucrative line from Cambrianopolis to the deep-water anchorages at Aberystwyth.

‘After some wrangling,’ concluded Addie, ‘the Emperor decreed that whoever got to Llangurig first would control the line, so a flurry of building ensued. The Cambrian Railway Company built from the east, and the Trans-Wales Rails Corporation from the west. The companies met either side of Llangurig, and one thing led to another – angry words, a bloody nose, someone shot someone, and before you know it there was a war, which has lasted over a century. There are goods stacked high at the docks and in Cambrianopolis waiting to be transported by rail. If your great-grandfather ordered a Cambrian piano, it’ll be in a warehouse somewhere, still waiting to be shipped.’

We stopped within sight of the town walls as the warring companies exchanged another artillery salvo and several brave railway militiamen were cut down by a scythe of machine-gun fire.

‘How many people have died over this mile of railway track during that century and a half?’ asked Perkins.

‘Eight thousand,’ said Addie, ‘give or take.’

‘Working for the railways is quite dangerous out here,’ said Wilson.

‘True,’ said Addie, ‘and each of those soldiers is fighting not for glory, but a share of the profits. If the company you fight for builds the track to Llangurig and you survive, you’ll be rich beyond your wildest dreams.’

‘What if you’re killed?’

‘You get a cardboard box to be buried in, and a fifty-pound Argos gift token goes to the widow.’

‘Do they have any trouble recruiting?’ asked Wilson.

‘They’re queuing up.’

‘Someone should put a stop to this,’ growled Perkins.

‘The battle has been going on for so long and the profits to be made from the line are so huge that whoever wins bankrupts the other,’ said Addie, ‘so it really is a matter of corporate life and death. It’s not profit running this war any more, but the dire financial consequences to the loser.’

‘What if it’s a tie?’ I asked out of interest, ‘Couldn’t they share the line?’

‘They would have to drive in the final two spikes at precisely the same time,’ she said, ‘and that’s not likely to happen.’

We waited until the 12.07 ceasefire, and the guns fell silent. Almost immediately the two railway companies came out to remove their wounded and dead, and the gates of the city opened. A torrent of traders, walkers, vehicles, railway enthusiasts, TV crews, goatherds and other assorted townsfolk spewed forth, eager to get out and back again before the battle recommenced at 14.38.

We walked up to the gates and entered the town. It was not large, but it was busy. Very busy. Llangurig wasn’t just a railway trophy town, but a frontier town. All the land north of here was unexplored and uncharted. Llangurig was a good starting point for tours into the rarely travelled and mostly inhospitable Plynlimon and Berwyn mountains.

‘But the tours tend not to go to Cadair Idris,’ said Addie. ‘Even jeopardy tourism has its limits.’

‘Any particular reason?’ asked Perkins.

‘The impossibly high level of fatalities, mostly. Dead tourists aren’t good for repeat business.’

As we headed towards the nearest hostelry for something to eat, I noted there were numerous street traders buying and selling railway shares. These traders, who had names like ‘Honest Bob’ and ‘Rock Solid Eddie’ and so forth, had set up blackboards on the streets with up-to-date reports of the current worth of the companies. Given the fresh battle this morning, the shares of the Cambrian Railway Company were at present slightly higher in value than the shares of the Trans-Wales Rails Corporation, but from the look of the number of hastily scrubbed and rewritten figures on the board, this was a state of affairs that was constantly changing.

‘The value of shares can go up as well as down!’ came a cheery voice behind me. I turned to find the Princess beaming at me. She was, strangely enough, actually dressed as a handmaiden, but aside from that, looked remarkably well.

‘Oh boy,’ I said, ‘am I glad to see you.’

‘Likewise,’ said the Princess, giving me a very unprincessly hug. ‘Hullo, Wilson, hullo, Addie and Mr Perkins. Hang on, my goat shares have taken a dive.’

She was pointing at another trader, who was dealing in commodities – things that you could consume like orange juice, beef and goats. It seemed the price of goats had suddenly dropped.

‘I was dabbling in the Llangurig Commodities Market,’ explained the Princess, looking suddenly crestfallen, ‘and I can’t understand how goats could be so cheap. It just doesn’t make any sense. Someone must be dumping cheap goats on the already saturated goat market. I thought the price couldn’t go any lower, but what a fool I was.’

‘Is that what you’ve been doing here for the past twenty-four hours?’ I asked. ‘Dabbling in goat shares at the Llangurig Commodities Market?’

‘I’ve not had so much fun in years,’ she said happily. ‘The smallest thing can set prices tumbling. Shall I demonstrate?’

‘No, please don’t. What happened to Curtis and the half-track?’

‘Gone, and not before time. Why not come over to the Bluebell Railway Inn? I can explain it over lunch.’

This seemed a good idea, and we trooped across to the inn opposite and ordered some food.