Hugh Cook - The Wazir and the Witch

‘You are in no position to demand anything,’ said Dui Tin Char, starting to get angry.

How dare this prating attorney interfere?

‘I demand,’ said Dardanalti, ‘what Aldarch the Third demands. This warrant is from Aldarch Three. He demands and commands the immediate execution of Justina Thrug. Immediate. As in now. Executioner, proceed!’

‘Yes,’ said Froissart, who wanted to get out of that sweltering place of blood and shadows, to escape before he fainted. ‘Yes, kill her.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Justina faintly, as she found her voice at last. ‘Kill me.’

The Empress Justina knew death to be far preferable to the horrors offered as an alternative, particularly when those horrors would in any case ultimately lead to her demise.

‘What say you?’ said Tin Char, looking at Manthandros Trasilika. ‘As wazir, you have wide discretionary powers. Even in the face of a direct order such as this warrant. Well. Are you wazir, or are you not?’

‘I am,’ said Trasilika, with more emphasis than was strictly necessary.

The vehemence of Trasilika’s insistence startled Tin Char. It consolidated a dozen half-felt suspicions into a series of most definite questions. Was there more to Froissart’s mounting panic than a surfeit of heat? Were these two children of Wen Endex the wazir and priest they claimed to be?

What an interesting line of thought!

Dardanalti, whose mind was as sharp as a meat skewer, observed Tin Char’s speculative scrutiny of Jean Froissart and guessed its cause. Here was hope!

‘May I humbly suggest,’ said Dui Tin Char, ‘that you establish your authority by granting me permission to vary the terms of this warrant. ’

Dardanalti was disappointed. He had expected Tin Char to denounce Jean Froissart as a false priest. But Tin Char had not. Why not? Maybe his suspicions were too slight. Maybe, thought Dardanalti, Tin Char actually did not have such suspicions. Or maybe he suspected but reserved those suspicions for later exploitation.

‘We all know from historical example,’ continued Tin Char, ‘that Aldarch the Third is very lenient in his attitude to death warrants. It would seem to me that he cares not how they are executed, as long as the subject of the warrant ends up dead.’

Tin Char then cited several historical cases to back up his judgement. Then he made a little speech.

‘Manthandros Trasilika. Untunchilamon has long suffered the lack of legal leadership. We are ready for a true wazir. We hope you show yourself to be such a man. But… may I venture a small observation? Untunchilamon is far removed from the heartland of the Izdimir Empire. Our wazirs have traditionally been chosen for their initiative, independence and self-sufficiency. All qualities unacceptable in Obooloo, as we know. But our isolation demands that we have a true leader in our midst, lest our island be paralysed by a bureaucracy with its brain seated half an ocean away. Manthandros Trasilika. I beg you. Grant me this boon. Show yourself to be a wazir true. Show your initiative. Your independence. Your confidence. Show us we have the leader we desire. Grant us a variance to the terms of this warrant. Allow me to torture the Thrug before she is killed.’

There was a pause.

Jean Froissart swayed on his feet, as if he would faint.

But Manthandros Trasilika was made of sterner stuff. He looked Tin Char in the face and he said:

‘Dui Tin Char, I speak to you as the rightful wazir of Injiltaprajura. The witch must die. That is the law. But, as wazir, I grant a variance to the terms of her death warrant. You may torture the Thrug before you kill her.’

‘Excellent!’ said Tin Char. ‘May the pleasures both major and minor delight your years till the very end, and may your hereafter join your ancestors amidst the fragrance of the nine million lotus flowers of the seventy-fifth heaven. May you-’

But there is no need to give the rest of Tin Char’s speech of gratitude, for it is one of those formalized speeches which most cultivated people know by heart; the uncultivated but curious student will find the complete text (plus an account of the appropriate accompanying hand gestures) in Lady Jade’s Book of Common Etiquette.

With the speech complete, Dui Tin Char ordered that ten hundred scorpions be produced so the Torture of the Thousand Scorpions could commence. Unfortunately, there were not a thousand scorpions to be found. Indeed, there was not even one. A furious Tin Char swiftly extorted the truth from two shamefaced acolytes: they had sold the delectable arachnids to Jarry the chef, Ganthorgruk’s master of cookery.

The acolytes had thought it safe to make this deal because, under the rule of the Empress Justina, the Temple of Torture was not supposed to exist at all; hence no legal remedies could have been pursued against them had they been caught out. To their great discomfort, the sudden advent of a new wazir had altered their situation diametrically.

‘I’ll deal with you later,’ said the wrathful Tin Char to his trembling acolytes. ‘If you wish to redeem yourself, find me some scorpions. Or some centipedes at least.’

So the acolytes fled from the Temple of Torture. Proceeding with a haste most unsuited to the climate, they rushed to the waterfront, where a path of crushed coral and broken bloodstone stretched all the way from Marthandorthan to the harbour bridge. Along this path lay the markets of Untunchilamon where one could buy all products and services imaginable, from a bunch of bananas to the tender attentions of Doctor Death the dentist.

Everything was on sale.

Except scorpions.

And centipedes.

Scorpions had always been hard to come by in Untunchilamon, since Jarry the chef had always made great demands upon the available supply. Whether Ganthorgruk’s clientele actually liked eating scorpions is a moot point; nevertheless, the fact is that bits and pieces of these predators went into every hash, curry and pie that was served to the denizens of that enormous doss house. As for centipedes, Injiltaprajura had suffered a great shortage of these myriads ever since the Crab had been introduced to this addictive delicacy; for the quantities of centipede soup which can be consumed on a daily basis by a gourmandizing Crab are nothing short of prodigious.

While the acolytes were desperately questing for scorpion and centipede, there was a disturbance at the Temple of Torture. The perturbation of the smooth flow of events was caused by the intrusion of a soldier, Shanvil Angarus May. This warrior was an Ashdan from Ashmolea North, which explains the impetuous manner in which he tried to storm the Temple single-handed to rescue his Empress.

Shanvil Angarus May was overpowered and disarmed. Then he was taken to the naos of the Temple so he could watch the destruction of his Empress before suffering a similar fate himself.

Shortly, the wizard Pelagius Zozimus arrived at the Temple in the company of Ivan Pokrov. The wizard and the analytical engineer hoped to free Justina by bribe or bluff, or, if all else failed, by carefully timed violence. A desperate dare: and a dare which failed. For they were overpowered, bound, gagged and then dragged to the naos of the Temple, where they were tied to iron rings set in the walls. They too were doomed to wait, witness then die.

There was then a somewhat more prolonged disturbance — a regular stramash, in fact — when a furious Juliet Idaho burst in upon the Temple with mayhem on his mind. He too was disarmed, though not without difficulty. Then he was taken to join the other captives. His feet were tied to iron rings set in the floor; his hands were bound behind his back; and a noose was strung around his neck and tightened till Idaho had to stand on tiptoe lest he strangle.

It will be seen, then, that four formidable residents of Injiltaprajura were loyal enough or desperate enough to dare all in an effort to free their Empress. Had they been able to combine, conspire and agree on a concerted effort, they might have succeeded. Possibly. But the speed of events, the difficulties of communication and the failure of intelligence-gathering activities had prevented such combination.