Hugh Cook - The Wazir and the Witch

‘Well,’ said Bro Drumel, annoyed to find that there was a certain amount of good sense to this. ‘That’s all very well, but-’

‘It’s a start,’ said Justina decisively. ‘We’ll get on to the bank this instant.’

‘But,’ protested Drumel, ‘if all we can learn is deposits, disbursements and dates…’

His voice trailed away as he began to understand the implications. Once they had the history of the blackmailer’s account, complete with the current balance and dates for all deposits and any disbursements, they would have a pattern on which they could exert their intelligence.

A slim hope indeed, but far better than none.

‘There is also something else we could try,’ said Idaho. ‘What?’ said Justina.

Then listened in silence as Idaho explained.

‘Why, Julie!’ said Justina in amazement. ‘That’s a brilliant idea! Why didn’t I think of that?’

In truth, Idaho’s idea was so good that even Bro Drumel felt compelled to congratulate him.

Their meeting was then effectively at an end, for all business had been dealt with. But Bro Drumel was not prepared to depart without asking one last question.

‘My lady,’ said Drumel. ‘Is the Crab… has the Crab really chosen to be wazir? Or is it…?’

‘The Crab is very much wazir,’ said the Empress Justina decisively. ‘Believe me, Brody. I’d never lie to you.’

Thus spoke the Empress. And Bro Drumel believed the Thrug, and was comforted by her blatant lie.

The truth was quite another matter entirely.

The truth was that Chegory Guy and Olivia Qasaba had dared a desperate bluff, claiming that the Crab had declared itself wazir when in point of fact it had done no such thing.

Each day, a great many state papers were carried across the harbour bridge to the island of Jod; and each day a stream of orders, commands, declarations and petitions were returned from that island. But the Crab played no part in this two-way flow. Instead, Injiltaprajura was effectively been ruled by the young Chegory Guy and the even younger Olivia Qasaba.

With, it must be admitted, a little help from the wizards Pelagius Zozimus and Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin, a certain amount of assistance from the analytical engineer Ivan Pokrov and the algorithmist Artemis Ingalawa, and daily advice from the Empress Justina herself.

Were this history to adopt the style of Greven Jing, it might say something like this:

‘So far, the innocent citizens of Injiltaprajura had no idea that power had been seized by two members of the dreaded drumming cult. But they would find out. Soon enough. For, nightly, the drums beat on the island of Jod, competing with the slabender frogs for the dominance of the night. And the hellish rhythms of the drums spoke of fear; and death; and torture; and things far worse still yet to come.’

But this is a history, therefore it must avoid such artificial hysteria wherever possible. Let the truth be told. While Chegory Guy and Olivia Qasaba are known to have associated with ‘drummers’ from time to time, there is no evidence to show or suggest that they actually engaged in ‘drumming’ themselves. Even though Olivia once gave the Crab a drum of its own, there is no evidence to suggest that she used it herself (or that the Crab employed the instrument, though it did not reject the gift).

Besides, the fear, death and torture which at that time threatened so many good citizens of Injiltaprajura owned nothing whatsoever to the fringe cult of ‘drumming’, but stemmed instead from the nature of the main stream political struggle.

The historian apologizes to the reader for so stressing a point which has perhaps been adequately made earlier; but the nature of the final days of the rule of the Family Thrug has been so confused by the agitated fictionalizing of those who make a living from sensationalizing ‘cults’ and ‘cultists’ that the historian feels the point needs to be made yet again.

Another thing must be made clear:

While Chegory Guy and Olivia Qasaba played a vital role in the politics of that time and place, their roles owed everything to their association with the Crab, and nothing whatsoever to the cult of ‘drumming’; and the fact that the Crab allowed Chegory and Olivia to issue imperial decrees in the Crab’s name should not be allowed to obscure the fact that all the decisions made by those two infatuated children were largely influenced and controlled by the constant advice they received from the responsible adults on whose good counsel they relied and depended.

Now this has been clarified:

Read on!

If you dare!

The day after Bro Drumel’s meeting with the Empress Justina, the Narapatorpabarta Bank began to experience an unusual number of withdrawals. Juliet Idaho engineered this run on the bank, and did so in the simplest way imaginable. He made up a list of likely account holders (anyone rich enough to have money worth hiding from the Inland Revenue), visited the people on his list, and ordered each to bring him documented proof of a withdrawal from the N’barta. Or else!

Drug dealers he visited, and brothel keepers; and certain other people who had suspiciously grand houses and no visible means of support.

That was all it took to get things moving, for once rumour got wind of the rash of withdrawals no further engineering was needed. The run on the bank escalated rapidly as people by the dozen came in to clean out their numbered accounts. Idle drummers, drawn to the scene by the panic of honest citizens, began to beat their instruments in the street outside.

Tok-tok-thuk!

Tok-tok-thuk…

In the bank, hidden behind the scenes but monitoring every transaction, Justina’s agents lurked in waiting. The Narapatorpabarta Bank permitted this intrusion because Juliet Idaho had kidnapped the bank manager’s wife, sons (five in number) and baby daughter.

When results are required in a hurry, Yudonic Knights tend to give much more satisfaction than lawyers or other slow-working persuaders. There is a degree of danger in the use of Yudonic Knights, since their presence tends to escalate a minor diplomatic incident to an armed confrontation, or to make a full-scale war out of a street corner brawl. The Empress Justina, however, was in so much strife already that she failed to see how Idaho’s indiscretions could possibly make things worse.

Thus the run on the N’barta began, and a great many numbers were brought to the bank’s counters in twins while Justina’s people waited patiently for the much-wanted bearer of the blackmail numbers to make his (her?) appearance.

Meanwhile, another financial crisis was taking place on Untunchilamon, albeit a minor one. The officials of the Inland Revenue had learnt that Shabble’s Cult of the Holy Cockroach was tithing its adherents. The Cult was not demanding ten per cent of the congregation’s income. Or twenty. Or thirty, even. No. Shabble was going for the whole thing. A full 100 per cent.

Agents from the Inland Revenue fronted up at the Xtokobrokotok to protest. Shabble’s lawyer, the redoubtable corpse-master Uckermark, gave them a stern lecture on the rights and freedoms of religion.

‘You don’t understand,’ said an earnest revenue agent. ‘If people give all to religion, there’s nothing left to be taxed.’

‘Oh, I understand perfectly,’ said Uckermark.

‘You mean,’ said the revenue agent, warming to his task, ‘you understand this Shabble’s religion to be no more than a tax dodge.’

‘No more than a tax dodge?’ said a scandalized Uckermark. ‘That’s blasphemy.’

‘Blasphemy?’ said the revenue agent. ‘Against a cockroach? Who cares?’

‘The law cares!’ said Uckermark. ‘This is no ordinary cockroach. This is the Holy Cockroach. Furthermore, His Cult is a Protected Religion. It has the favour of the High Priest of Zoz the Ancestral. So to blaspheme against the Holy Cockroach is as bad as blaspheming against Zoz Himself. You’ve already said enough to endanger your life. I suggest you say no more unless you have urgent business to conduct with your ancestors.’