Hugh Cook - The Wazir and the Witch

By early afternoon, the political map of Injiltaprajura had changed.

The Empress Justina had no authority at all. She was Downstairs, a prisoner of a therapist, and her soldiers had scattered.

Fear of the Crab no longer compelled order, for the mob in its frenzy ignored any anxieties its members might earlier have had on that score.

And the wonder-workers, who might have maintained order had they combined their forces for that purpose, instead chose to hold to the fastness of the Cabal House. A course of cowardice which was in keeping with their past actions; the greatest disgrace of their history being that, when a maverick demon had intruded upon the peace of Injiltaprajura, they had chosen such isolation even though they feared the world itself to be in danger.

Thus the sorcerers who had once proved impotent in the face of demonic force now turned out to be equally useless when their city was menaced by riot.

As for Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek, High Priest of the Temple of Zoz, he was in no position to command anything. For his most loyal supporters had been brought to a high pitch of hatred by Ek’s own demagoguery; and therefore naturally chose this opportunity to go hunting for Justina.

Thus did law and order collapse in Injiltaprajura; the proximate cause of this collapse being the run on the Narapatorpabarta Bank, something which the Empress Justina had herself engineered.

News of riot disturbance soon reached certain ships afloat on the Laitemata Harbour. Had news been denied those barks, the outbreak of smoke and fire in a dozen different buildings would soon have given their captains a hint as to the stramash taking place ashore.

Fire breathed its dragons through the slumlands of Lubos and winged its butterflies through the jungle gully humidity of Thlutter. Fire set the dogs to barking, the monkeys to screaming, and the populace to shouting. Dub contended with Toxteth, and both with Janjuladoola; and all three tongues ran panic-stricken through the streets. Black smoke and grey ascended skywards; supplemented, where stocks of oddly configured chemicals caught fire, by green smoke, blue smoke and orange.

One of the seadogs who took cognizance of the work of accident and arsonites was Troldot ‘Heavy-Fist’ Turbothot, a captain who had sojourned upon Untunchilamon merely to rest from the labours of sailing around the world. As Injiltaprajura burnt, Turbothot decided this was a good time to leave. But he declined to leave empty handed, for he wished to take with him his true love Theodora. And if Theodora, then why not much else?

The men under Turbothot’s command then included the Yarglat warrior Guest Gulkan, who was ready to help in any looting expedition provided he was rewarded with possession of the fabled wishstone of Untunchilamon. The shifty-eyed Thayer Levant was also aboard, and would fight alongside Guest Gulkan if the price was right.

On a neighbouring ship were certain Malud marauders from the island of Asral. These uitlanders were led by the piratical Al-ran Lars, who had come to Untunchilamon (like Guest Gulkan) to seek possession of the wishstone. Al-ran Lars had, however, done a deal with Turbothot and Guest Gulkan. When the moment to strike arose, Al-ran Lars and his crew would settle for gold, silver, diamonds and other such trash, and let the wishstone go to other hands.

All this had long been arranged.

All that had been missing had been the moment.

Now, with mob rule replacing that of law, the moment had arrived.

Thus, very shortly, all crewmen loyal to Troldot Turbothot of Hexagon and Al-ran Lars of Asral went marching up Lak Street in a disciplined body. The enforcement of discipline was made much easier by the heat of the day, which remained intense and stifling though the wind was getting up; for this heat discouraged the over-eager from surging ahead of their fellows.

A great many people had it in mind to loot the treasury of Injiltaprajura, and few of those who made the attempt were entirely unrewarded. But the dragon’s share went to the combined crews under the command of Turbothot and Al-ran Lars, and the ships of both these well-satisfied captains were under sail and cruising forth from the Laitemata long before salahanthara came to an end.

Those were not the only ships to leave. As one building in three was ablaze by nightfall, is it surprising that the remaining ships found it wisest to depart if they had not done so already? As a bloody sun sank in the west, as salahanthara gave way to undokondra, the last bark in the Laitemata weighed anchor and set sail, regardless of the perils of departing from Injiltaprajura by night.

Those ships left with their fair share of loot.

And with refugees: those refugees able to pay their way.

For the trouble ashore was not a mere matter of looting. Instead, there was a lot of killing.

Untunchilamon boasted a great many races, most of which hated each other. It was also graced with considerable cultural diversity in the form of many religions. And these too But then, you are a student of human nature, otherwise you would not be reading a history of this kind. You need no lectures on the consequences of the juxtaposition of hostile races and hostile religions in a setting which also features great differences in personal wealth (some citizens living near starvation level, others in sybaritic bliss), a lawless soldiery and a complete collapse of central government attended by a generalized abrogation of all effective authority.

Only the Analytical Institute and the island of Jod remained aloof from this turmoil. For, when the first looter dared set foot upon the harbour bridge, the dreaded Hermit Crab exerted some fraction of its power and caused that bridge to burst into flame; a repeat performance, for in the preceding year it had once had occasion to embark upon a similar course of action.

Thereafter, the Crab made no direct interventions in the riot. Instead, it stood on the shores of Jod and watched, occasionally opening one of its huge claws then closing it again with a decisive click-crunch. So much for the promises of those humans who had lately tried to beguile it with sweet words about an organic rectifier!

Thus disaster came to Untunchilamon, and all those ships which the Empress Justina had hoped to seize for her own purposes escaped from the Laitemata and commenced upon the long lagoon journey which would ultimately take them a great many leagues to the north, to the Galley Gate at the northern end of Untunchilamon, and into the open waters of the Great Ocean, that ocean otherwise known as Moana.

Had the Empress Justina known about this, she would have been horrified. But she knew of it not, for by this time she was labouring Downstairs with Olivia Qasaba, striving to bring an organic rectifier to a surface which she expected to find much as she had left it.

Shall we give a list of the dead?

A list could be given, but most of the names would be meaningless to those with no personal acquaintance of the fallen.

Suffice it to say that a great many of those whom the empress had hoped to rescue from the wrath of Aldarch the Third met with death. Some were raped then murdered; others were murdered then raped. More than a few, it must be admitted, died while attempting to murder or rape on their own account. Some expired amidst the incontinent flames which were threatening the survival of Injiltaprajura as a city. While one or two expired from natural causes; for, though history seldom overtly acknowledges the fact, the normal processes of birth, growth and death proceed even during the greatest and grandest of disasters.

Justina had feared for many, and many died.

Such is the record of history.

By dawn the next day, however, the troubles were largely at an end. For most of those who considered themselves potential victims had fled by sea; or had pursued the course of desperation earlier embarked upon by Dui Tin Char, and had taken themselves off into the wastes of Zolabrik; or had retreated Downstairs. As for the persecutors, they were by and large exhausted. As if beset by a similar exhaustion, the fires themselves died down, having consumed a good third of the city in their earlier passion. Then beclouded skies douched Injiltaprajura with a bucketing downpour, dousing the last fervour of fire and riot alike.