Hugh Cook - The Wazir and the Witch

It was then that Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek, High Priest of the Temple of Zoz, had himself carried in a litter to the Cabal House. A difficult trip it was, with his slaves slipping and sliding on the wet bloodstone paving blocks, and the rain making a nonsense of his litter’s canopy. But the elderly orangeeyed mutant got to the Cabal House in one piece, gained admission, then began to lecture the timorous wonderworkers within.

‘Your do-nothing idleness,’ said Ek, beginning with an unaccustomed temperance, ‘has seen the richest slice of our city burnt to the ground.’

‘The pink palace yet stands,’ said young Nixorjapretzel Rat, who had escaped from his captors during the night and had sought refuge with his fellow sorcerers.

‘So it does, so it does,’ said Ek, after indulging in a silence meant to chasten the feckless Rat. ‘Doubtless there remains an excellent view from the roof. A view of scorched earth and smouldering cinders.’

Ek inflicted another silence upon the wonder-workers. ‘Some of the city yet remains untouched,’ said one of his auditors.

‘Oh yes!’ said Ek. ‘Marthandorthan! A gift from the gods indeed!’

This sarcasm did not silence the sorcerers entirely, for one went so far as to say:

‘We… we ventured nothing for fear of the Crab.’

‘It… it did intervene,’ said another. ‘It burnt the harbour bridge.’

‘We thought it would be more, more vigorous,’ said Rat, seeking to win favour from his fellows by arguing on their behalf. ‘After all, it’s supposed to have made itself wazir, or so everyone’s been told.’

Ek treated these excuses with the contempt they deserved. His arthritic fingers fumbled tobacco into cigarette form. One of the sorcerers hastened to bring him fire. Ek lit his cigarette and smoked a good half of it before he said:

‘The mob ventured all. The Crab did nothing, beyond lighting the m inor bonfire to which you have alluded.’ More smoke.

More silence.

Then:

‘Some time ago,’ said Ek, ‘I discussed our predicament with certain wonder-workers. Some of these I see before me now. The Crab we fear. Yes. But maintaining power in the face of a wrathful Crab is possible. Quarantine is the answer. That was what I thought at the time. No person was brave enough to act on such suggestion.’

‘As I recall,’ ventured one wonder-worker, ‘no actual-’ ‘Recall not!’ said Ek, his voice a whip. ‘Rather, obey. It is not for me to command. I am High Priest, as you know. I am consecrated to another purpose. It is not proper for me to command, nor is it strictly lawful. But things have reached the stage where to do otherwise would be lunatic. Does anyone here dispute it?’

None did.

Thus did Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek make himself de facto wazir of Injiltaprajura, declaring that city and the island of Untunchilamon to be again a part of the Izdimir Empire, and to be under the rule of Aldarch Three.

Ek demanded oaths of loyalty from the wonderworkers, and received such oaths. Those soldiers who could be located were similarly placed under oath; and a militia was raised to supplement the soldiery.

Ek lectured these combined forces: sorcerers, soldiers and militiamen.

‘We have nothing to fear but fear itself,’ said Ek.

‘What about the Thrug?’ said a soldier.

‘Justina is missing,’ said Ek. ‘Missing, believed dead.’ ‘Her sister, then. Theodora.’

‘Missing, believed to be at sea.’

‘And Lonstantine Thrug?’

‘The Dromdanjerie has been burnt out,’ said Ek. ‘Lonstantine is missing, another Thrug believed dead. If he lives, I fear him not. I’ve nothing to fear from a patent lunatic.’

‘Then… what about… what about the Crab?’

‘The Crab keeps to Jod,’ said Ek. ‘By its own choice.

Contrary to expectation, it failed to exercise its authority during the riot. Its sole act was to burn the harbour bridge. It chose isolation. We need but enforce that isolation to ensure our own security.’

Steps to do just that were soon underway. Patrols were instituted. Guards were placed on all boats. Canoes went into the rainswept Laitemata with bowmen aboard. Parties were landed on Scimitar to deny approach to Jod from that direction. Now nobody could warn, petition, counsel or plead with the Crab; and thus its impotence was assured.

Meantime, Justina and Olivia were still navigating through the depths Downstairs. An amazing feat of courageous endurance, this, since the rectifier was so great in mass and the women were but two in number. But Justina was daughter of a Yudonic Knight and Olivia Qasaba was of Ashdan stock; and both were conscious of their respective geneses and the burdens of pride which were a part of their cultural inheritance.

Thanks to strength, passion, and the accidental discovery of a Lift (which saw them rise a full four hundred levels in fewer than five heartbeats) the two sweating females were at last able to manoeuvre the organic rectifier into the streets of Injiltaprajura, streets alive with pulse-beats of the drums of the drummers.

By this time, the day of their flight had given way to night, and night in turn to day.

And all this time, Ivan Pokrov and poor Chegory Guy had been left alone with the therapist, which had indulged itself in a most intimidating line in conversation. Their sole hope had been that the organic rectifier would function as advertised, that it would turn Crab to human, that a grateful Crab would agree to demolish the therapist, and that Justina would soon return with the Crab to save the therapist’s victims from being demolished themselves.

But hopes of such swift rescue were doomed to be disappointed.

When Justina Thrug and Olivia Qasaba at last emerged into the streets of Injiltaprajura, they were surprised to find it raining heavily, disturbed by the foul reek of burnt-out houses which yet hung so heavily in the air, and shocked by the sight of incinerated buildings.

They came out into the daylight by means of a cavelike opening in a sheer bank at the northern boundary of the slumlands of Lubos. This was an area of tactical concern to Master Ek since it was a much-populated area close to the shores of the Laitemata. Therefore it was much patrolled by soldiers intent on maintaining the quarantine of the island of Jod; and it is scarcely surprising that the two females were shortly discovered.

Given the fact that Justina and Olivia had exhausted themselves in bringing the organic rectifier to the surface, it is similarly unsurprising that they put up no effective resistance whatsoever.

Which explains why, as a sly and self-delighting therapist lectured Ivan Pokrov and Chegory Guy on the pain potential of the anus, Justina Thrug was negotiating (or trying to negotiate) with the High Priest of Zoz the Ancestral.

Young Olivia Qasaba was present at the interview between Justina Thrug and Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek; an interview, as it happens, which was singularly brief. The only notable point is a question asked by the redoubtable Ek.

‘What is this?’ said Master Ek, pointing at the organic rectifier.

‘A skavamareen,’ said Justina firmly.

‘And what, pray tell, is a skavamareen?’

‘A musical instrument. The Hermit Crab bade us fetch it.’

‘This?’ said Ek. ‘This? A musical instrument? Are we to presume that our beloved Empress has become a drummer?’

‘The thing is not a drum, whatever it is,’ said Justina, choosing to take Ek’s words at face value. ‘But the Crab declares it to be a musical instrument of some description. My wisdom is not equal to a dispute with a Crab.’

‘Or with a cockroach, one suspects,’ said Ek dryly.