Hugh Cook - The Wishstone and the Wonderworkers

Then said to Shabble: ‘Why have you brought these people here, litde friend?’

‘They are criminals guilty of crimes against the State,’ said Stogirov’s voice. ‘They will suffer sundry peripheral ablations before they endure execution most bloody. They-’

‘That’s enough!’ said Ivan Pokrov, who, unlike Uckermark, was not enjoying this at all. ‘Shabble! Come to order! Or I’ll take you to a therapist! Right now!’

Shabble squeaked in terror. The light of the shining one faded till the dim-glowing globe was scarcely visible in the dark. This eclipsed sun drifted toward Chegory Guy, who took pity on poor Shabble and bundled the sad and sorry demon into the most capacious pocket of his canary robes.

‘Thank you for reining in your goblin,’ said Zozimus. ‘Now, as an imperial servant-’

‘The Empress Justina is a captive, and possibly dead,’ said Ivan Pokrov. interrupting without apology. ‘We have a crisis situation here. You have to help us kill a demon.’ ‘A demon?’ said Zozimus. momentarily taken aback. Then he shuddered as if emerging from very cold water, pressed his fingers to his temples as if attempting to expel fatigue by an exercise of brute force, then said, crisply: ‘Explanations! ’

Pokrov proceeded to explain in Ashmarlan. Tolon listened impassively (perhaps understanding, perhaps not) but Arnaut clamoured for a translation into Malud which Al-ran Lars provided. Meanwhile, Pelagius Zozimus put Pokrov’s dialogue into Toxteth for the benefit of Guest Gulkan. who then rendered the translation into another tongue entirely at the request of Thayer Levant. Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin, who was temporarily non — compos mentis, followed the conversation not at all.

‘Duggerlop,’ muttered Thayer Levant, when the translation of a translation had enlightened him as to their situation.

The precise meaning of this is unclear, but it can reasonably be presumed to be a statement of extreme discontent. Levant then exchanged further words with Guest Gulkan in a tongue foreign to all our informing witnesses. Whereupon Guest Gulkan addressed the others in tolerably good Toxteth:

‘My good friend Thayer Levant notes that we’ve got nothing personal against Varazchavardan. If you want us to help kill him, we will — but only if we get a suitable reward.’

‘We’ll give you the wishstone,’ said Pokrov grandly.

Uckermark and Log Jaris looked at each other. How could the crazy analytical engineer say something so stupid? The wishstone was of incalculable value. Still, the words could not be unsaid. They sparked a clamour from the Malud marauders and from Guest Gulkan’s faction. Both sides wanted the wishstone.

In a moment, there were weapons alive in the night, and the two factions were squared off for combat.

‘Shabble!’ said Pokrov, thinking to restore order with the help of his ‘goblin’.

Shabble lay inert in Chegory’s pocket. But Chegory fumbled the now unshining one out of the pocket and tossed this fearer of therapists into the air. Shabble dropped like a stone. The long-surviving plaything of many millennia was playing dead.

‘Enough of this!’ roared Log Jaris.

Toxteth is a great language for roaring so that is what he roared in. Even those who did not understand his vocables paused nevertheless.

Log Jaris confronted the would-be combatants. This was a very ticklish situation. Shabble had never thought to disarm the prisoners, who were well-equipped for slaughter. If the prisoners thought to combine — as they shortly surely would — they could easily overwhelm Log Jaris and his friends.

‘The demon Binchinminfin haunts Varazchavardan’s flesh,’ said Log Jaris. ‘Varazchavardan so possessed will prove our doom unless we doom him first. There’s no escape from Untunchilamon till Fistavlir ends and the winds renew once more. Oh, we could escape from mortal men in a shallow canoe — but from a demon?’

‘I’ll take my chances in a canoe,’ said Guest Gulkan. ‘Give me the wishstone and I’ll be gone.’

‘What do you want with the wishstone?’ said Log Jaris. ‘To rule the world,’ said Guest Gulkan.

The bullman laughed heartily.

‘This thing,’ said Logjaris, taking the glittering triakisoctahedron from Uckermark’s hands, ‘rules nothing. Wishstone it is called but it grants no wishes. It is but a toy. A bauble. Opal and diamond in one, hence treasured much — but useless for the exercise of power.’

‘Wrong!’ said Guest Gulkan. ‘It is a power among powers for those who know how to use it.’

‘Then suppose we hand it to you?’ said Log Jaris. ‘Can you abolish Varazchavardan? Can you defeat Binchinminfin? Can you turn Injiltaprajura upside down and inside out?’

‘Yes!’ said Guest Gulkan, his voice shaking with untrammelled emotions. ‘Give it to me! It’s mine!’

He reached for it.

Tolon growled with displeasure.

Swords leapt to the ready.

All were poised for slaughter.

Then Shabble in a single moment evolved from stone to firefly, from firefly to candle, from candle to sun. So evolving, the shining one leapt skywards. Swordsmen flinched from the glare. Then Shabble spake in a cooing female voice most melodious and most beautiful to hear, saying sweedy:

‘Don’t fight, dear friends. For I, dear friends, must fry you to cinders if you do.’

This beautifully voiced death-threat brought order to Uckermark’s courtyard and set the stage for long and involved tripartite negotiations to begin. It would be tedious to recount these convoluted negotiations in detail but the gist of the matter can be given in moments.

Of the three parties present, only guest Gulkan’s faction wanted the wishstone for its own sake. The Malud marauders sought the precious bauble only because they knew it could be exchanged elsewhere for fabulous wealth. If Uckermark and his friends lusted for the thing, they likewise did so only because they could use it to get rich.

‘So there’s no problem,’ said Logjaris, when all parties had made their positions clear. ‘If we kill Varazchavardan, we’ll be heroes. If we secure the rule of Untunchilamon for the Empress Justina, her gratitude will let us rape the treasury entire. There’ll be riches and honours for the least of us. We’ll sleep on pearls and swim in liquid gold. If our friend Guest Gulkan will consent to settle for the wishstone then the rest of us will surely settle for treasure.’

‘But,’ said Chegory, objecting, ‘what if, um, this Gulkan guy uses the wishstone to, well, to chop off our heads or something? He says it’s a power-thing, doesn’t he?’

‘Come now!’ said Pelagius Zozimus. ‘You don’t believe everything you’re told, do you?’

‘Your Gulkan man said the wishstone’s a power-thing,’ said Chegory stubbornly. ‘I want to know what it is. What it does.’

Zozimus sighed.

‘It’s a long story,’ said he, ‘and we’ve shortened the night too much already. If you must know, the wishstone is actually the x-x-zix of the Iltong Legends, of which you’ve never heard. It was made by the Dissidents, of whom you know nothing, to control the breathings of the Cold West, a place stranger than anything you could possibly imagine. Once we have the x-x-zix in the Cold West we can fight for control of Chi’ash-lan, a city you’ve never been to and never will. Success will give us the rule of a Door. Then we can strive for control of the Circle. That leaves you none the wiser — but still you’re as wise as you ever will be. We’ve got a deal. Let’s waste our time no longer. To the palace! To face this demon! To kill it where it stands!’

All this was said in the most ferocious quick-fire rattle imaginable, for even in fatigue the formidable Zozimus remained a brilliant wizard with little patience for the foolish or the ignorant. Chegory insisted that he still didn’t understand, and wanted to, and would. But he was overruled.