Apto frowned. “I don’t-”
Tiny Chanter swung round, weapons shivering. “You! Flicker!”
“Lady Snippet,” said I, calm as ever, “There is more to my tale, my gift to you, this offering of redemption in this sullied, terrible world.”
Tulgord barked something to Steck who reined in and then wheeled his mount. The entire party had now halted, Mister Must grunting in irritation as he tugged on his traces.
Arpo looked round. “Is it raining again? Bouncing cat eyes, how I hate rain!”
“Through gritted teeth and clenched jaws,” I began, eyes fixed upon Purse Snippet’s, “do we not despair of the injustice that plagues our precious civilization? Are we not flayed by the unfairness to which we are ever witness? The venal escape unscathed. The corrupt duck into shadows and leave echoes of mocking laughter. Murderers walk the streets. Bullies grow hulking and make fortunes buying and selling property. Legions of black-tongued clerks steal from you every last coin, whilst their shrouded masters build extensions to their well-guarded vaults. Money lenders recline in the filth of riches stripped from the poor. Justice? How can one believe in justice when it bleeds and crawls, when it wears a thousand faces and each one dying before your very eyes? And without justice, how can redemption survive?
We are whipped round, made to turn our backs on notions of righteous restitution, and should we raise our voices in protest, why, our heads are lopped off and set on spikes as warnings to everyone else. ‘Keep in line, you miserable shits, or you’ll end up like this!”
Now that I had their attention, even Nifty’s, I waved my arms about, consumed by pious wrath. “Shall we plead to the gods for justice?” And I jabbed a finger at Arpo Relent. “Do so, then! One is among us! But be warned, justice cuts clean, and what you ask for could well slice you in two on the backswing!” I wheeled to face Purse Snippet once again. “Do you believe in justice, Lady?”
Mutely she shook her head.
“Because you have seen! With your own eyes!”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I have seen.”
I hugged myself, wretched with all my haunting thoughts. “Evil hides. Sometimes right in front of you. I hear something… something. It’s close. Yes, close. Lady, to our tale, then. She walked in the company of pilgrims and killers, but as the journey went on, as the straits grew ever direr, she began to lose the distinction-there among her companions, even within her own soul. Which the pilgrim? Which the killer? The very titles blurred in blood-stained mockery-how could she remain blind to that? How could anyone?
“And so, as dreadful precipices loomed ever closer, it seemed the world was swallowed in grisly confusion. Killers, yes, on all sides. Wearing brazen faces. Wearing veiled ones. The masks all hide the same bloodless visage, do they not? Where is the enemy? Where? Somewhere ahead, just beyond the horizon? Or somewhere much closer. What was that warning again? Ah, yes… be careful who you invite into your camp. I hear something. What is it? Is it laughter? I think-”
Bellowing, Tiny Chanter pushed through our ranks and thumped against the carriage. “Everyone quiet!” And he set the side of his head against the shuttered side window. “I hear… breathing.”
“Yes,” said Mister Must, looking down, “she does that.”
“No! It’s-it’s-”
“ ‘Ware off there, sir,” rumbled Mister Must, his stained teeth visible where they clenched the clay stem of his pipe. “I am warning you. Back off… now.”
“An old woman, is it?” Tiny sneered up at the driver. “Eats enough to shame a damned wolf!”
“Her appetites are her business-”
Steck kicked his horse closer. “Flicker-”
“By my bloody altar!” cried Arpo Relent, “I just noticed!”
Tulgord raised his sword, head whipping round. “What? What did you just-”
The pipe stem snapped between Mister Must’s teeth and he set most narrow eyes upon the Well Knight. “Let the past lie, I always say. Deep in the quiet earth, deep and-”
“I know you!” Arpo roared, and then he launched himself at Mister Must.
Something erupted, engulfing the driver in flames. Arms outstretched, Arpo plunged into that raging maelstrom. Braying, the mules lunged forward.
Tiny flung himself onto the side of the carriage, hammering at the door. An instant later Flea and Midge joined him, clambering like wild apes. Where Mister Must had been there was now a demon, monstrous, locked in a deathgrip with Arpo Relent, as flames writhed like serpents around them both.
The carriage heaved forward as the mules strained in their harnesses.
Everyone scattered from its careening path.
Tulgord Vise fought with his rearing charger, and the beast twisted, seeking to evade the mules, Arpo’s tethered horse and the crowded carriage, only to collide with Steck Marynd’s shaggy mare.
The crossbow loosed, the quarrel burying itself in the rump of Tulgord’s mount. Squealing, the beast lunged, shot forward, colliding with Steck’s horse. That creature went down, rolling over Steck Marynd and loud was the snap of one of the woodsman’s legs. Tulgord had lost grip on his reins, and now tottered perilously as his horse charged up alongside the carriage.
More flames ignited, bathing the front half of the rollicking, thundering conveyance.
Tulgord’s mount veered suddenly, throwing the Mortal Sword from the saddle, and down he went, rolling once before the front left wheel ground over him in a frenzied crunching of enameled armour, followed by the rear wheel, and then his weapon belt went taut in a snapping of leather, and off the man went, dragged in the carriage’s wake, and in spinning, curling clouds of smoke, the whole mess thundered ahead, straight for the edge of the Great Descent.
Steck Marynd was screaming in agony as his horse staggered upright once more, and the beast set off in mindless pursuit of the carriage, Tulgord’s mount and Arpo’s falling in alongside it. Relish howled and ran after them, her hair flying out to surround her head in black fronds.
Mute, we followed, stumbling, staggering.
None could miss the moment when the mad mob plunged over the crest and vanished from sight. It is an instant of appalling clarity, seared into my memory. And we saw, too, when the horses did the same, and through drifting smoke and clouds of dust we were witness to Relish Chanter finally arriving, skidding to a halt, and her horrified cry was so curdling Nifty’s head went rolling across our paths as Sellup clapped greasy hands to her rotting earholes. Relish set off down the slope and we could see her no more.
There are instances in life when no cogent thought is possible. When even words vanish and nothing rises to challenge a choke-tight throat, and each breath is a shocked torment, and all one’s limbs move of their own accord, loose as a drunkard’s, and a numbness spreads from a gaping mouth. And on all sides, the world is suddenly painfully sharp. Details cut and rend the eyes. The sheer brilliant stupidity of stones and dead grasses and clouds and twigs strewn like grey bones on the path-all this, then, strike the eye like mailed fists. Yes, there are instances in life when all this assails a person.
It was there in the face of Apto Canavalian. And in Purse Snippet’s, and even in Brash Phluster’s (behind the manic joy of his impending salvation). Sardic Thews oily hands were up at his oily lips, his eyes glittering and he led us all in the rush to the trail’s edge.
At last we arrived, and looked down.
The carriage had not well survived the plunge, its smashed wreckage heaped in the midst of flames and smoke at the distant base, three hundred steep strides down the rocky, treacherous path. Bits of it were scattered about here and there, flames licking or smoke twirling. Astonishingly, the mules had somehow escaped their harnesses and were swimming out into the twisting streams of the vast river that stretched out from a cluster of shacks and a stone jetty at the ferry’s landing. Immediately behind them bobbed the heads of three horses.