The Eye of Zoltar

The fast-track trial

We all reconvened at Mrs Timpson’s Battlement Viewing Tea Rooms situated atop the town walls, which, as its name suggested, afforded the many railway and military enthusiasts drawn to Llangurig a clear view of the battles below. We were there for a more culinary reason: Mrs Timpson’s was reputedly the best tea rooms in Llangurig, and I wanted at least to savour one last excellent scone, jam and clotted cream before we headed north.

‘… even if this only shows the Eye of Zoltar was here six years ago, I’m for going on,’ I concluded, ‘but if anyone wants out, I understand.’

‘I’ve got something to add before you all get too excited,’ said Addie. ‘I made a few enquiries and everyone who has ventured towards Cadair Idris to look for Sky Pirate Wolff or the Leviathans’ Graveyard has vanished without trace.’

‘How many?’

‘Fifteen expeditions, two hundred and sixty people,’ said Addie. ‘A hundred per cent fatality rate, and that’s weird. Even the most hideously dangerous undertaking leaves someone.’

‘The Mountain Silurians?’ I asked. ‘They’re pretty unpleasant.’

‘Unpleasant but not gratuitously murderous,’ replied Addie. ‘They let people travel across their territory so long as they get paid in goats. No, I think there’s something else. Something we don’t know about – a hidden menace waiting for us out there at the mountain. Still want to go there?’

We all exchanged glances.

‘You can only be talking to me,’ said Wilson with a smile, ‘because Addie we know would sooner accept death than dishonour her profession by baling out, and Perkins is as loyal and as unswerving as any man I have ever known.’

Addie and Perkins nodded their agreement at the assessment.

‘As for me,’ said Wilson, ‘that brush with the Cloud Leviathan has really got my ornithological blood racing. Okay, it’s not a bird, but the notion of lighter-than-air flight in the animal kingdom is the scientific discovery of the century. I’ll be on the cover of National Geographic, so long as that woman with the gorillas hasn’t done anything exciting that month. Listen, wild Buzonjis wouldn’t keep me from this part of the expedition.’

I thanked them all, and asked how everyone had done since we last met. The short answer was ‘not very well’. Addie had found us transport in the guise of a battered jeep that was now waiting for us fuelled and oiled at the North Gate.

‘The jeep is a bit clapped out,’ said Addie, ‘but it should get us to Cadair Idris. I’ve also got eight goats in a trailer to barter safe passage with the Mountain Silurians.’

‘Good. Mr Wilson?’

Wilson explained that he had tried a small test bribe on the clerk of the court but was simply met with stony defiance.

‘I then went and told Judge Gripper O’Rourke that Laura was a princess.’

‘How did that work out?’

‘The judge laughed and told me that “everyone tried that” and “to come up with something a little more imaginative”.’

‘I could try magic to spring her,’ said Perkins, ‘but this is a tricky one. I’ve never used it against the accepted rule of law and … and that might cause some morality blowback.’

‘Some what?’ asked Wilson.

‘Morality blowback. Using magic to accomplish something against the natural order of justice can do serious damage. To use magic for wrong you have to believe the wrong is correct, and I’m kind of thinking that because the Princess was trading fraudulently, somewhere in all of this is a form of justice – even if execution itself is unjustified.’

‘Morality and magic is a minefield,’ I said. ‘It’s why wizards never spell death – just newting or stone transformations and stuff. It’s why Evil Sorcerer Geniuses always employ minions to do their dirty work. Even someone like Shandar would risk everything if he tried to actually kill someone or something directly using magic. Perkins is right. It’s too risky.’

We all fell silent for a while. We heard the gates of the town swing shut, and a second or two later the warring railway companies commenced their 18.02 teatime ‘Express Battle’ special.

We had a good view as the two railway armies locked in combat once more, this time with tanks and flame-throwers. Within a very short time two Trans-Wales Rails armoured bulldozers advanced to lay ballast for the tracks. They might have succeeded, had the earth not collapsed beneath them, the result of some secret tunnelling by Cambrian sappers. As the battle increased in intensity, the Cambrian railwaymen brought out a completed sixty-yard section of track while under cover of a diversionary ‘pincer movement’ to the south.

As we watched the proceedings, the assistants of Honest Pete and Rock-Steady Eddie communicated by a series of bizarre hand signals to their masters in the street below as to how the battle was faring, and with every sleeper or length of rail that was added or removed, the company’s share value rose or fell accordingly. By the time a short volley of mortars heralded the destruction of any small gains twenty-two minutes later, the shares had settled at about the same level as when the battle started. The railway tracks, it should be noted, had not progressed so much as an inch.

The railway enthusiasts who were with us made notes in their books as the dead and wounded were carried off, the town gates opened again and everything returned to Llangurig’s version of normal.

‘Senseless waste of time, effort and life,’ said Perkins.

‘So,’ I said, checking my watch, ‘any ideas on how to spring the Princess?’

There weren’t, which was discouraging.

‘Okay, then,’ I said, ‘we’ll just have to improvise.’

We paid for the tea and scones and made our way towards the combined bakery and courthouse to take our seats for the trial. It was hot in the courthouse – it would be, since the bread ovens had only just completed the afternoon bake – and the public were busy fanning themselves.

‘Where’s Perkins?’ I said to Wilson, as I’d lost sight of him coming in. He told me he didn’t know, and offered to find him, but I said not to worry. I wanted the Princess to see at least two of us there.

She was duly escorted in by the two officers who had arrested her earlier. Mr Lloyd, prosecuting, was sitting at his bench surrounded by a mountain of paperwork. In the Cambrian Empire lawyers were paid not by time worked, but by using a complex algorithm that took into account the weight of the paperwork, the age and height differential between counsel and defendant, recent rainfall and the brevity of the proceedings. It was said the best way to make a profit as a Cambrian lawyer was if you were a tall octogenarian who could generate three tons of paperwork, conduct cases in the rain for no more than three minutes and only prosecute the under-twelves.

‘All rise!’ said the clerk, and we all rose dutifully as the judge walked in and took his seat. He rummaged for his glasses, and had the court sit before he read the charges. While he did so, the public – there were at least thirty of them, I think – tutted and went ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’. The Princess looked on impassively, but did not glance in our direction. She may have been in the body of Laura, but she wanted to show us she could face the music like a princess if need be.

‘How do you plead?’ asked the judge.

‘Not guilty,’ said the Princess, and there were more muted whisperings in the courthouse.

‘Nonsense,’ said the judge, ‘I’ve seen the evidence and it’s highly compelling. Guilty as charged, for which the sentence is death. Anything to say before the punishment is carried out?’

‘Yes,’ said the Princess, ‘actually I do—’

‘Fascinating,’ said the judge. ‘Thank you, Mr Lloyd, for such a well-tried case. The legal profession may be justly proud of you. What was that? Nineteen seconds?’

‘Eighteen and a quarter, M’lud,’ said Mr Lloyd, bowing deferentially after consulting a stopwatch. ‘A new regional judicial speed record.’

‘Good show,’ said the judge, signing a docket the clerk had handed him. The scrap of paper was then passed to a bony old man who was sitting on a chair half asleep, and who awoke with a start when prodded.

‘Executioner?’ said the judge. ‘Do your work, but make sure it’s a clean cut – not like the messy job you did last time.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’ said the executioner.

I jumped up.

‘Objection!’ I shouted, and several people in the courtroom gasped at my audacity. ‘This trial makes a mockery of the high levels of judicial excellence that we have come to expect from the great nation that is the Cambrian Empire. I counter that everyone has the right to be represented by counsel, to be judged by their peers, and all evidence subjected to scrutiny before any decision is reached. I move that this farce be declared a mistrial and the prisoner released forthwith!’

There was silence in the court. It wasn’t a great speech. To be honest, it wasn’t even a good speech, but several of the public were moved to tears and shook me by the hand, and I even heard a sob from someone in the front row.

‘Your impassioned appeal has moved me, miss,’ said the judge, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief, ‘and I accede to your wishes. The trial will be declared void, the prisoner will be pardoned and released, and her criminal record expunged, with our apologies.’

He indicated to the clerk, who swiftly drafted a pardon for the Princess.

‘Th-thank you, M’lud,’ I said, surprised by the results.

The judge signed the pardon with a flourish.

‘There,’ he said, handing the Princess the pardon.

‘Thank you, M’lud,’ said the Princess, then added, as soon as she had read it: ‘Wait a moment, this is post-dated. I’m not pardoned for another hour – until after the execution.’

‘How … ironically tragic,’ said the judge. ‘Executioner? Get on with it.’

‘That’s not fair!’ I shouted.

‘You shouldn’t confuse justice with the law, my dear,’ said the judge. ‘I have done everything that the law and you have asked: I have been both resolute and merciful. Now stay your hand, or you shall be arrested for contempt.’

I felt myself grow hot. The veins in my temples began to thump and a prickly heat ran down my back as my anger rose. It would end badly if I went into a rage, and I battled to keep it down. I squeezed the chair in front of me and the wooden back-brace exploded into fragments in my hands. I felt a howling in my ears, which then became a whistling; a high-pitched squeal that … sounded like a train whistle. Everyone in the courtyard had heard it too, and it had come from outside. My temper subsided as the judge, the executioner, Mr Lloyd and the public all hurried out to see what was going on. I took a deep breath and beckoned to the Princess, who hopped over the barrier between the combined witness box and flour bin.

‘All we have to do is keep you hidden for an hour,’ I said, taking her hand and heading for the door. ‘Quick, to the North Gate.’

We made our way to the town square and noticed that everyone was streaming out of the main gates with whoops of joy and resounding cheers. Hats were being thrown in the air, old women were crying in doorways and a brass band had struck up a triumphant tune. Just beyond the town gates I could see a shiny locomotive, big and bold and hissing with steam, where less than an hour ago there had been only battlefield.

‘Go with Wilson,’ I said to the Princess. ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Something’s … not right. Wilson, use force to protect her if necessary.’

‘All other considerations secondary?’

‘Exactly.’

I left them and ran out of the gates to find that ahead of me a mile of shiny new track connected the depots of Trans-Wales Rails and Cambrian Railway. The rails were dead straight, the sleepers perfectly aligned and the ballast looked as though laid carefully by hand. The jubilant townsfolk and equally jubilant and now very wealthy railway troops were dancing in the dust outside the short connecting piece of rail while the railway militia generals were shaking each other’s hands in an annoyed but relieved fashion. The line was to be shared; profits would be equal; and better still, there would be no more senseless loss of life over an insignificant mile of railway line somewhere in the forgotten wilds of the Cambrian Empire.

‘In less than ten minutes!’ said one man, dancing past me.

‘It is a miracle!’ shouted another.

‘It’s nothing of the sort,’ I muttered through gritted teeth, ‘it’s Perkins frittering his life away.’

I looked around, knowing he would still be about. Such a feat would have exhausted him, and he’d need help getting to the North Gate. I eventually found him sitting on a bench a little way away.

‘That was quite something,’ I said, my voice trembling. His face was obscured by his hands, and I dared not see what price his magic had exacted this time around.

‘It was a win-win,’ he said in a tired voice. ‘My timing was good and the Princess lives, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the Llangurig Railway War is over?’

‘It is.’

He looked up at me and smiled. A mile of track in under ten minutes is a fearfully large spell. By my best estimation he was now in his early fifties. His hair was streaked with grey and there were wrinkle lines about his mouth and eyes. A small mole on his cheek was now more prominent, and he was wearing reading glasses.

‘I thought it would only take six years from me,’ he said with a smile, ‘but it took over twenty. But then, I’m not so young as I was.’

‘It’s not funny,’ I said. ‘Here, take my arm.’

I pulled him to his feet and we stumbled back through the main gates and the deserted town. ‘For Sale’ signs had already sprung up, and townsfolk were loading handcarts with their possessions and beginning to move out, the town’s purpose now vanished with the arrival of the railway. We were passing a parade of shops when I stopped outside a second-hand furniture store and stared in the window. I moved closer. This was not what I had expected.

‘Will you look at that,’ said Perkins with a smile as he followed my gaze, ‘he’ll never live this down.’

Sitting in the antique shop’s window and surrounded by several pieces of furniture, a moose’s head and various items of bric-a-brac was a large rubber Dragon, its scales perfect, its mouth open and a large array of black teeth on display in its rubbery mouth.

‘I can turn him back instantly if you want,’ said Perkins. ‘It’ll only take ten years off me.’

‘Absolutely not. Your spelling days are over until we get you back to Kazam. I’ll go and make enquiries while you sit down and rest.’

A bell rang above my head as I opened the door, and a few seconds later a middle-aged woman appeared from the back room. She stared at me over her half-moon glasses, and didn’t look the type to take any nonsense, nor give any.

‘I’m interested in the rubber Dragon,’ I said, touching Colin’s rubber scales with an index finger. In life they would have been hard and unyielding, but here they felt soft and pliable, like a marshmallow. ‘Is it for sale?’

‘Everything’s for sale,’ she said, ‘make me an offer.’

I emptied the contents of my pockets on to the counter. There was a shade over eight hundred plotniks. The woman looked at the money, then chuckled derisively.

‘The rubber scrap value alone is fifteen hundred. Give me two thousand and it’s yours.’

‘I don’t have two thousand,’ I told her. ‘Eight hundred and an IOU for the rest.’

‘I don’t take IOUs.’

‘It’s all I have.’

‘Then you aren’t going to own a rubber Dragon today, and given that Llangurig is being abandoned, he’ll be sold to the recyclers tomorrow, and made into bicycle inner tubes and pencil erasers.’

It wouldn’t be a dignified end for such a magnificent beast, but I had an idea. It wasn’t a good one. In fact, I think it might have been one of my worst, but I needed to buy Rubber Colin before anyone figured out who or what he really was.

‘Then I’ll trade,’ I said. ‘You give me the rubber Dragon, and I’ll give you … me.’

I took my indentured servitude papers out of my pocket. I had two years to run at Kazam and after that I was free – or free to sell myself for another year or two, or whatever I wanted.

‘I’ll give you a year of me,’ I said. ‘I work hard and learn quick. That’s got to be worth two thousand any day of the week.’

The shopkeeper looked at my orphan papers and stared at me suspiciously.

‘There’s something I’m missing here,’ she said. ‘No one in their right mind would swap a year of themselves for a rubber Dragon – unless …’

Her voice trailed off as a look of sudden realisation crossed her face. All of a sudden, she knew. A Dragon – any Dragon, in any condition, transformed or otherwise – would be worth a thousand orphan years. The cat was now out of the bag, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I could have tried to steal Rubber Colin but wasn’t sure how far I’d get with something I could barely lift, and besides, this was Llangurig, and it was perfectly legal to have a weapon hidden beneath the counter, and doubly legal – encouraged, actually – to use it on shoplifters. We stared at one another for a moment in silence.

I took back my indentured papers and pushed the eight hundred plotniks and an IOU for a further twelve hundred across the counter. We weren’t bargaining any longer. I was going to tell her how it was.

‘This for the rubber Dragon. Take it or we take him and you get nothing.’

‘And how do you propose to take him?’ she asked, her hand reaching under the counter.

‘I have a sorcerer outside who can transform him back to a living, breathing and very angry Dragon in a twinkling,’ I said. ‘I know Colin personally, and believe me, he won’t be happy to have been turned into rubber. Take the money. It’s the best you’re going to get.’

‘You can’t threaten me,’ she replied defiantly. ‘The law is on my side.’

I leaned forward and lowered my voice.

‘And magic is on mine. Which do you think the more powerful?’

We stared at one another for a moment until, finally, she saw sense.

‘Looks like you’re the owner of a rubber Dragon,’ she said, taking the money and the IOU.

‘A wise choice,’ I said in a quiet voice, ‘but there’s one other thing: I need a hand trolley.’

A few minutes later I had loaded Rubber Colin on to the trolley and was wheeling him along the street, Perkins at my side, steadying the rubber creature, which wobbled about all over the place in a very undignified manner. It was about the size of a pony, but weighed, thankfully, only about a tenth as much.

We stumbled to the North Gate, where Addie, Wilson and the Princess were waiting next to a battered jeep that was attached to a trailer that contained eight ‘barter quality’ goats.

‘I’m not going to ask where you found that,’ said Addie, pointing at Rubber Colin, ‘but it’s going to be a tight fit.’

It was a tight fit. Ridiculously so. But with Rubber Colin in the back of the open jeep, Wilson and Perkins on either side of him and with me and the Princess sharing the passenger seat, we could just about fit in. Addie coaxed the jeep into life.

‘Is Perkins okay?’ asked Addie. ‘He looks kind of … old.’

‘He’s fine,’ I said, even though he wasn’t, not really. ‘Let’s just drive.’

So we did. We took the rough unmade road towards Cadair Idris and after an hour had passed we knew that the Princess’s pardon was now official, and she was free.

We drove in almost unparalleled discomfort for another two hours until we reached a waterfall, where Addie knew there was a dry cave hidden behind some rhododendron bushes. We stopped and then sat in silence for some time, not moving, the eight goats bleating plaintively as they weren’t used to being in a trailer and could smell the water. It had been a worrying afternoon, and the positive outcome of the trial notwithstanding, we could all feel the stress within the small group. We ignored one another for the forty minutes it took to settle in the cave, all of us working at our chores without talking. I chased out a boogaloo that had taken refuge while Addie and the Princess went to tether the goats near the river, and Perkins and Wilson wandered off to look for fireberries. Colin stayed in the back of the jeep, his lifeless rubber eyes staring unseeing into the gathering gloom.

We reconvened when the fireberries were ignited, the daylight had gone and the supper was about ready. It was Spam, but everyone was too tired to complain.

It was the Princess who finally broke the silence.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘all of you. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

‘You should thank Perkins,’ said Addie, pointing to where he was sitting on a stone farther back in the cave. He looked preoccupied and in that sort of dark place where you shun companionship, but are secretly glad when someone forces it upon you.

‘Did he give more of himself?’ asked the Princess anxiously. ‘In years, I mean?’

I nodded.

‘Over twenty.’

‘Oh,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘I must speak with him.’

She went over and spoke to him in a quiet voice. She took his hand in hers, and I saw him shrug, then smile, then nod some thanks of his own.

We opened some tins of rice pudding, which, along with the Spam and some pickled eggs, was all Addie could find for provisions at short notice, and washed it all down with a cup of tea.

Conversation after dinner was muted. We had come a long way and each of us had dodged death at least twice. The Princess kindly offered to tell us how hedge funds operated, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it and there were no takers. There would be no spin-the-bottle, no stories. The search had suddenly become more dangerous, more real.

Seven o’clock passed and no homing snail had arrived. I felt very much on my own, with only my wits to guide us.

The Princess placed her bedroll next to mine.

‘I’m not doing very well, am I?’ she said once we’d settled down and were staring at the roof of the cave, ready for sleep. ‘I mean, this adventure is meant to make me less bratty and more wise and thoughtful and stuff but all that’s happened is that you’ve all put your lives on the line to save me, but I’ve done little except need to be rescued. I feel like the worst princess cliché.’

‘It could be worse,’ I said, ‘you could be screaming and swooning or demanding a bath in rabbit’s milk or something.’

She agreed with this, and there was a pause. I hadn’t much cared for her at the beginning, but I’d be sorry to lose her now. And not just because there was the hint of a fine queen about her, but because I actually quite liked her. I recalled Kevin’s words: You will be saved by people who do not like you, nor are like you, nor that you like. It had been true then, but it wasn’t so true now. None of us had saved the Princess from the executioner because she was just the Princess. We had saved her because she was part of whatever made us us.

‘We’d have done the same if you were Laura Scrubb,’ I said. ‘We don’t abandon our friends.’

‘I’m glad,’ said the Princess. ‘Your friendship and trust mean more to me than everything I have, or everything I will ever be.’

There was no answer to this, so I nodded to say that I understood.

‘What did you say to Perkins?’

‘I conferred upon him the Dukedom of Bredwardine – in recognition of his sacrifices in the service of the Crown. I know the honour system is the worst kind of bullshit, but the Snodd dukedom also allows the holder a twenty-five per cent discount at the Co-op, free bus and rail travel and two free seats at the Wimbledon finals every year.’

‘He deserved it,’ I said, then added in a louder voice so everyone else could hear: ‘Don’t tell the Federation, but I’m upgrading this search to quest status.’

The flickering light of the fireberry played upon the roof.

‘About time too,’ came Addie’s voice in the darkness.