Hugh Cook: The Wordsmiths and the Warguild

Finally, Governor Troop laughed.

"Well, boy," said Governor Troop. "It seems you haven't done as well as you thought. This is no better than shouting at it."

"I'm not finished yet," said Togura.

"You are for the moment. Sit over there, boy. We've our daily petitioners to deal with."

Togura sat to one side, sulking, while various petitioners entered and were permitted – for a small fee- to cast things into the odex. In went a bundle of squalling kittens which someone had been too soft-hearted to drown. In went an unwanted baby of female gender. An old man, wheezing with emphysema, was hauled off his stetcher and flung into the odex. ("Not dead but merely resting," said the young priest who supervised this operation.)

"Okay then," said Governor Troop, when this was finished. "You can try again."

Togura did try.

Vigorously.

He made music and unmusic pour forth from the triple-harp, but all that came out of the odex was more ilpses – all grinning with high hilarity – a small dead fish, a single false tooth and one thin book. The book proved to be full of entirely incomprehensible squiggles (it was, in fact, an antiquated timetable of tides for the Penvash Channel.)

"Well, boy," said Governor Troop. "A good try, but you haven't succeeded. Not this time. We know there's other places you might find an index, though. When are you going to set off?"

"Oh, pox and piles!" shouted Togura.

Frustrated beyond endurance, he was about to smash the triple-harp to pieces. Just in time, he restrained himself. It was, after all, valuable in its own right.

"Play some more pretty music," said Governor Troop. "The ilpses like it, after all!"

"Oh, shit shit shit!" shouted Togura, losing his temper entirely.

And he hurled the triple-harp into the odex.

"Oh, buggeration!" said Togura, as the odex swallowed the triple-harp. "Now look what you've made me do!"

"I?" said Governor Troop, with the merest hint of a giggle in his voice. "Boy, I made you do nothing!"

Togura was tempted to draw steel and kill him.

But before Togura could reach a decision on the matter, the odex spat out the triple-harp.

"There, boy," said Governor Troop, in a condescending voice. "Don't fret now. It's given you your music back."

Togura stooped, and picked up the triple-harp. Of its own accord, it began to play. Not music, exactly, but a weird series of disjointed notes, some high, some low, some flaunting after bat-squeak pitches, some rumbling low to challenge earthquake. And, as it played, the odex began to disgorge things.

Out came the old man wheezing with emphysema.

Out came the unwanted girl baby.

Out came the bundle of squalling kittens.

Out came a bucket-burden of breakfast slops.

"All right," said Governor Troop, "you've proved your point. Now stop it."

"No!" said Togura, who couldn't have if he had wanted to, because he didn't know how.

Oue came a heap of slag and ashes.

Out came a blind woman with a battered face.

"You will stop it, you know," said Governor Troop, advancing on Togura.

Togura drew steel.

"One step further and you're dead!" shouted Togura.

He kept the Wordsmiths at bay for just a little time, then needed to keep them at bay no longer, for things were pouring out in such a flurry that nobody could get near him. He held his station beside the odex as things vomited forth: blood, spittle, urine, dung, ashes, rags, mouldy bread, stones, a mad dog, fish bones, a madman, a cripple, a three-headed calf.

All the filthy, obscene, dirty, unwanted, unloved, despised, hated, feared and abominated objects the world had seen fit to dispose of came surging, screaming, fighting, biting, shouting, reeking, piddling, lurching, slurching and slumping out of the odex. Soon Togura was ankle-deep in filth, then knee-deep. The Wordsmiths fled as things half-dead and half-alive blundered abotu the courtyard, seeking and finding ways of escape.

Suddenly a familiar voice cried:

"By the hell, you pox-blighted Suets!"

"Paps!" screamed Togura.

His father, the redoubtable Baron Chan Poulaan, turned and saw his son, and waded toward him.

"Pox of a demon!" roared the Baron. "What is going on here? Where have those dog-buggering Suets run away to? What's all this – blood's corruption! What a stink!"

"Paps!" said Togura, almost weeping with joy and relief.

"Don't call me that!" said his father, savagely. "What's making this mess? What's that music-thing?"

"It's commanding the odex," said Togura.

"Then stop it."

"I can't," said Togura.

"Can't?" said his father. "I'll show you can't!"

And he snatched the triple-harp from Togura.

"No, paps!" screamed Togura.

But hsi father put the triple-harp on his knee and smashed it with his mailed fist. The music jangled away into silence. One last thing fell out of the odex: a black-clad Zenjingu fighter and the young and beautiful Day Suet.

"Day!" shouted Togura.

"Help me!" screamed Day.

The Zenjingu fighter looked around, bewildered. As far as he was concerned, he had jumped into the odex – which had been described to him as a door – just a moment before. That had been at night. Now broad daylight shone down, revealing -

The Zenjingu fighter saw what he was standing in, and swore. He picked up Day Suet and threw her into the odex. Then he jumped in after her, and was gone. An ilps popped out of the odex, giggled, and hauled itself into the sky.

"Well," said Baron Chan Poulaan, briskly. "So much for that. Come along home, Togura."

Togura turned and smashed him. Or tried to. What actually happened was that his father caught his fist in his hand.

"If you want to play fisticuffs," said the baron, "do it with someone else. Coming? No? Well, we'll see you when you get hungry, no doubt."

And with that, Baron Chan Poulaan strode for the exit.

"Wait about!" said Governor Troop, intercepting him. "You haven't paid the resurrection tax yet."

"Resurrection tax?" said the baron, in tones of outraged incredulity.

"You've been in the odex three year,s you know. You owe us three years' rent, as well."

"It was you who let those pig-licking Suets throw me into it in the first place," roared the baron.

"That doesn't alter your obligations," said the Governor.

And he grabbed hold of the baron, who smashed him with one mail-clad fist, breaking his collar bone. As Governor Troop slumped down in the muck, the baron stalked out of the Wordsmiths' compound; Togura thought it safest to follow him.

He foudn a quiet corner then sat down and wept bitter tears of hate, spite, self-disgust, self-pity, remorse, frustration and despair.

What now?

The only thing Togura could think of was to go to the island of Drum and get help from the wizard of Drum. Somewhere, other indexes were hidden. He would have to go and get one. He had to!

Anyway, first things first.

Furtively, Togura stole water from someone's rainwater barrel, and cleaned himself up. Then he went and sold his sword, to get some working capital. He still had a knife, after all, and lack of food would kill him sooner than would lack of a sword.

With a little of the money, he bought some roasted chestnuts, and wandered about, eating slowly, and brooding. While he was still undecided as to what to do next, he was hailed:

"Hi there!"

Looking around, Togura saw his half-brother Cromarty approaching with half a dozen grinning scungers flanking him.

"Long time no see, little brother," said Cromarty.

"Pax," said Togura, offering peace.

"Oh, we could always have pax with your bones, suppose suppose," said Cromarty.

And advanced on him, with evil his obvious intent. Togura turned and fled. Whooping, Cromarty's mob followed. They ran him to earth near Dead Man's Drop. Caught in a cul-de-sac, Togura turned at bay, his back to the wall and a knife in his hand.