Hugh Cook - The Wazir and the Witch

‘It is,’ said Justina. ‘I have discussed it with the Crab’s ambassadors.’

She had no need to specify the names of those ambassadors, for all Injiltaprajura knew the Crab’s official representatives to be Chegory Guy and Olivia Qasaba.

‘And?’ said Drumel.

‘And the Crab would welcome a human form,’ said Justina. ‘If we provide it with such, it guarantees the safety of Injiltaprajura for ever.’

‘You mean it won’t if we don’t?’ said Drumel.

‘It is no secret that the Crab is too inhuman to demonstrate a sustained interest in human politics,’ said Justina. ‘It rules Injiltaprajura now, but it does so at a whim. It could lose interest in our island’s fate as early as tomorrow.’

Bro Drumel could not help himself. He shuddered.

‘So,’ continued Justina briskly, ‘we have no time to lose. We must find the blackmailer, locate the Secret History, discover the truth about the organic rectifier, find that device if it is anywhere within finding range, take it to the Crab and win our safety.’

‘After using it ourselves,’ said Juliet Idaho.

‘For what?’ said Bro Drumel. ‘To become Crab ourselves?’

‘No,’ said Idaho. ‘To become immortal. Weren’t you listening?’

‘It… it’s rather a lot to take in at once. Have I got this right? You say — what? That Ek has some of this Secret History?’

‘Yes,’said Justina.

‘And the Cabal House?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then… do they know of this… this organic contraption?’

‘The Cabal House has most definitely seen written mention of the organic rectifier,’ said Justina. ‘They may know more of it than we do. Our spies are trying to find out. As for Master Ek, he has a part of the Injiltaprajuradariski in his possession, and may know more than we would like him to know.’

‘So,’ said Idaho. ‘Enough blathering. Let’s see how your blackmailer plans to get money off you.’

The three then studied the blackmailer’s written demands.

‘As you see,’ said Drumel, ‘my blackmailer says I must pay a thousand dragons into this numbered account at theN’barta.’

‘N’barta?’ said Juliet Idaho.

‘The Narapatorpabarta Bank,’ said the Empress Justina.

‘Indeed, my lady,’ said Bro Drumel. ‘The same.’

‘And what was that other thing you called it?’ said Idaho.

‘The N’barta,’ said the Empress patiently.

Idaho’s ignorance came as no surprise to the well-fleshed Justina. For a start, Idaho was a xenophobe who entered as little as possible into the life of Injiltaprajura. The Janjuladoola people were not the only ones capable of entertaining violent prejudices; and Idaho was as much a racist as the most bigoted son of Obooloo. Furthermore, Juliet Idaho was a stereotypical Yudonic Knight: which meant, amongst other things, that he was a financial simpleton. He would have nothing to do with banks, bank accounts, stockbrokers, shares, bonds, unit trusts or the future market; he drew his pay in bronze and gold and protected himself against all possibility of theft by spending it promptly in forthright debauch.

‘So,’ said Idaho slowly, ‘you pay to a number.’

‘A numbered account,’ agreed Bro Drumel.

‘But the account has a human attached to it, does it not?’ said Idaho.

‘Well,’ said Drumel hesitantly, ‘as I understand it-’

‘It does not,’ said the Empress crisply.

‘But it must!’ said Idaho. ‘Or how does the owner get at the cash? That’s the thing with banks, isn’t it? I’m not an expert, but as I understand it, money put into a bank account is not meant as a gift to a bank.’

‘The bank has a barrel,’ said Justina, who knew this system well. ‘Within the barrel, a thousand envelopes.

Each envelope sealed. Each envelope holds two numbers. Each number unique, and each in length at least a dozen digits. You wish an account? Very well! You lay down ten dragons-’

‘Ten!’ said Idaho, scandalized.

‘Ten,’affirmed Justina.

‘Let me guess,’ said Idaho. ‘It’s a lucky dip.’

‘Right,’ said Justina. ‘Ten dragons, one envelope.’

‘I see,’ muttered Idaho. ‘A bloody banker’s trick, isn’t it? Nobod y knows who’s working which numbers.’ ‘Exactly,’ said Justina.

And watched Idaho’s face. He was still puzzling through these revelations, trying to work out the necessary implications and ramifications. Justina had every confidence that he’d sort it out in his own good time, but Bro Drumel, not realizing the reason for her silence, intruded without invitation:

‘One number you bank with. You see? But both you must have to withdraw. Both you must have as well to know the account’s balance. They’ve master ledgers, you see, all made up with numbers in twins.’

Justina was afraid this information overload would draw a roar of outraged incomprehension from the irascible Idaho. But the Yudonic Knight was sharp today, he was on form indeed:

‘So our bright friend Blackmail, he sends Drumel one number. So Drumel goes to the bank. A thousand dragons he gives to the bank. They look up their ledgers with numbers in twins. They write down the dragons by the side of the twin. Then bright spark Blackmail, in he comes the next day with numbers in doubles. Both numbers he gives to the bank, and the dragons they give him.’

‘Why,’ said Bro Drumel, amazed at such uncharacteristic penetration on the part of the battleman Idaho. ‘A single cast, yet your hook finds its fish.’

‘Yes,’ said Idaho. ‘And we find us friend Blackmail as well. Easy, isn’t it? He’s now but a number to us and the bank. But flesh he must have to cash numbers for dragons. He can’t come as a ghost, can he?’

‘There are ways and means,’ said Justina darkly.

‘But we could try,’ said Bro Drumel, keen to catch friend Blackmail if there was one chance in a thousand of doing it.

‘What do you mean, try?’ said Idaho, a touch of outrage at work in his voice. ‘It’s a sure thing, isn’t it?’ ‘Not,’ said Justina, ‘if ou r blackmailing friend leaves his deposits untouched till the island ha s fallen to Aldarch the Third.’

‘Then let’s grab in quick,’ said Idaho. ‘Grab the records, see what’s there to find.’

‘It’s just numbers,’ said Bro Drumel, unable to suppress his exasperation. ‘Just numbers, that’s all!’

How could he get it through to this big lunk of a headlopper? A raid on the bank would give them numbers, no more. No name, no address, no identikit, nothing.

‘Listen, sklork,’ sasid Idaho, edging his words with murder. ‘I’m a killer, okay, but I’ve brains for brains, not dogshit. Understand?’

‘Dogshit!’ said the Empress Justina, pretending to be shocked and scandalized.

‘My lady,’ said Idaho, starting to get heated. ‘My apologies. But I won’t be patronized by this — this Janjuladoola thing!’

‘He does have a point, Julie my darling,’ said Justina gently. ‘We would win but numbers if we won with a raid.’

‘Aye,’ said Idaho. ‘And what are numbers but history, if money’s at stake? No doubt they’ll have dates with their ledgers. A date for the account’s genesis, for example.’

‘No,’ said Bro Drumel, pleased to win yet another point off this uncouth uitlander who so obviously had dogshit for brains, yet fearing that the loss of too many such points might make that same uitlander run amok in a berserker fury. ‘The accounts are undated, for who knows when they’re bought? They come from a barrel, remember. All envelopes jumbled. A choice of a thousand.’

‘Privacy perfect,’ said Justina in agreement.

‘Yes,’ said Idaho, reluctantly conceding the point. ‘But dates they’ll have for other things. Surely. Not when the account was opened, perhaps. But money gone in and money gone out. All signed for and dated. It has to be! Not by the customer, maybe, but their own staff must sign when they play with the gold. A banker’s as much a thief as the next man, is he not?’