"A fine job, lads! A fine job!" said Piccolo, panting.
Richards began to push himself up off the floor, then stopped. Through a gap in the rough timber he could see movement and the glint of an eye. Something looked back up at him. He could dimly make out porcine shapes. "The car's not empty," he said, and was greeted by a chorus of grunts and squeals.
"Did you expect it to be?" asked Bear.
Richards shrugged. "All I got were numbers and a map."
As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they saw that the pigs' silhouettes were a little off. All were wearing clothes.
"Arrrr!" said one of the pirates. "At least we be having something to eat, and I's can get me a new pair o' boots while's I is about it. Arrrrrr!"
Richards explained where the pigs came from. And about Circus. The pirate went pale.
"This is it," said Richards. "Lord Hog, here we come."
CHAPTER 19
Lord Hog's lair was an inverted mountain. Its splayed roots faced heavenwards, peak pointing down in the direction of the other place. Its stone was the colour of a corpse killed by asphyxiation. If geological processes had forced such a mountain into being, they are best left undescribed.
Although it was called the Anvil, it was more akin in shape to a clawed hand. Within the palm lay the temple of Hog, from where, Tarquin said, he ruled his subjects with an iron trotter.
Only the broad sweep of these details was visible to the stowaways on board the cable car, intent as they were on hacking away at the roof.
"Come on! We've not got much time!" said Richards. The car was closing in on the final pylon; from there the cable descended steeply to a turnaround at the base of the mountain.
"We're going as fast as we can, sunshine," grunted Bear, as he punched at the roof. It was ancient wood, seasoned by evil purpose. It splintered slowly and, although already there was a hole big enough for the men to slip through, Bear would not fit.
"Phew!" said Bear, "this stuff is harder than it looks." His gauntlets and fur were smudged with sticky creosote.
"Don't stop, man! We will be there in seconds."
"Tarky," said Bear, "I don't think it matters. I'm not going in. If I'm in there I'll blow the plan. They'll never think I'm a pig. Look, you lot go in there and hide. I'll lie flat on the roof."
"There'll be lookouts," warned Richards.
"Nay, I think not," said Piccolo. "We venture right into the heart of Hog's power. He will be complacent."
"But what if he isn't? We don't want to blow the game," said Tarquin.
"Boys, boys, boys. I'll climb up the outside of the mountain. You lot go in with the pigs. That way, if anything goes wrong, I can come and rescue you. I'm good at rescues. Sound OK?"
"I suppose," said Richards.
"Indeed," said Piccolo.
The final pylon neared; beyond, a steep run of cable. The men hurried through the hole, pushing squealing swine out of the way. The pigs defecated in fright, and huddled away from them.
"Here we go," said Bear. He laid himself spread-eagled upon the roof. "Watch out below!" he shouted, then rammed his claws into the wood as far as he was able. The car approached the last pylon.
The truckle wheel above the car bounced upon some device within the pylon's frame. The rope continued to move, but the truck was no longer being pulled along with it.
The boxcar slowed for a moment, seeming as if it would stop. There was one final bump, and it went over the edge. Richards watched through a crack in the wood as the car dropped. His stomach was left trailing as the car hurtled down toward the mountain. The pigs squealed. The mountain's topsy-turvy base rushed up to meet them. There was a metallic rumble as something connected with the wheels above, the entire car lurched violently forward as its truckle grabbed at the rope, and it was moving slowly again.
"Ow!" whispered Richards. He rubbed his face where it had smacked into the wood. He put his eye back to the crack. The cable ahead curved round a series of wheels bolted directly into stone. The terminus was ahead.
"Mr Richards!" hissed Piccolo. "Get away from there! We must make ourselves ready to disembark!" A sound of cracking wood came from above and Bear's claws disappeared from the ceiling.
There was a series of muffled thumps and the car came to a standstill. The pirates and Richards took out their weapons.
"Ready, men?" whispered Piccolo.
"Arrr!" whispered the pirates.
"As Odysseus was before Polyphemus," growled Tarquin.
The sound of bolts being drawn back preceded a loud bang as the door was pulled down to form a ramp. The sound of fluting voices came up through the floor, accompanied by the grunts of frightened pigs. There were several levels to the enormous car, and Richards and company were at the top. As each floor was cleared, a section of floor was let down to make a ramp to the level lower, and the pigs herded out. Each time it was done, a fresh chorus of terrified squeals echoed through the boxcar as the floor dropped away underneath the swine. As they went out, there was a further commotion, sounds of pain, the clang of hammers, the hiss of hot brands on skin. The boxcar filled with the aroma of burning hair where it competed with the stench of shit. Every new piggy cry sent a palpable wave of fear through the remaining animals, so by the time the swineherds reached the third floor the boxcar was rank and noisy.
The fourth floor was unloaded. Only one more lay between the stowaways and Lord Hog's servants. Richards tried to catch sight of them through cracks in the floor, but all he could make out were blinking shadows. Their words were tangled with trotter scrapes and fearful oinks, but whatever they were speaking, it was no human tongue.
Piccolo gestured to two of his crew. He pointed to the corners behind the trapdoor and moved a finger across his throat. The pirates nodded and, as quiet as cats, secreted themselves, knives in hands, amongst the pigs.
"Ready?" said Piccolo very quietly. All present nodded. "Remember, lads, quietly! Do not advertise our presence, lest we bring the whole mountain down on us."
Tarquin growled. In this confined space he could not shift his hide or Richards would be hampered by a corset of stone. Richards fingered his gun and sabre nervously.
The seconds stretched themselves out. The pigs on the floor below were driven out, and the herders undid the bolts beneath. There was a crash as the door fell open and one luckless piggy tumbled through. The creatures started up the ramp.
The creatures were of the same species that Circus had been, only larger. He had been, after all, in some respects, a true dwarf. At a metre and a half they would have towered over the transmogrified Pl'anna. They were heavily muscled, shock-pikes gripped in their kangaroo-paws.
They gabbled their singsong tongue, jabbing at pigs with their sticks. One of them stopped and grabbed at the other's naked arm.
Their frog-eyes widened; the hole in the roof. They walked toward it cautiously, pikes outstretched. They were handspans from Richards when they stopped and poked at the edges, exchanging swift sentences of alarm.
They died silently as two pirates stalked up behind them and slit their skinny throats.
Another creature came to the bottom of the ramp, calling out for his colleagues. He had time for a look of deep surprise before a thrown knife took him in the eye. Three pirates crept down the ramp onto the floor below. They gestured that it was clear.