And then there was a place ... above the Carpet.
The hairs were bent almost double under the weight of the High Gate Land of the Vortgorns. First it was a glimmer between the hairs. An hour later it loomed above them, the largest thing Pismire had ever seen. He had read about it, back in the old days, but the descriptions in the books had not got it right at all. You needed bigger words than "big".
It looked the largest thing there could ever be. The Carpet was big, but the Carpet was ... everything. It didn't count. It was too big to have a size.
But the High Gate Land was small enough to be really huge.
It looked quite near even from a long way off. And it shone.
It was bronze. All the metal in the Carpet came from there. Snibril knew that much. The Vortgorns had to trade it with the wights for food. Nothing grew on the High Gate Land.
"On Epen Ny," said Pismire, under his breath, while the party stopped for a brief rest under the very walls of the Land. Brocando had immediately fallen asleep. He had shorter legs than everyone else.
"What?" said Brocando, waking up.
"That's the battle cry of the Vortgorns," said Pismire. "Lots of people remembered it, but not for very long. It was often the last thing they heard. On Epen Ny. It's written on the Land. Huge metal letters. I've seen pictures. It'd take you all day just to walk around one letter."
"Who wrote them?" said Brocando, eyeing the guards.
"The Vortgorns think it was done by Fray," said Pismire. "Superstition, of course. There's probably some natural explanation. The Vortgorns used to say there's letters under the Land, too. They dug tunnels and found them. Some of them say ... " he concentrated " ... I ZABETH II. The Vortgorns seem to think that's very important."
"Giant letters can't just grow by themselves," said Brocando.
"They might. Who knows?"
They looked up at the Land. Around the base of it ran a road. It was wider than a Dumii road, yet in the shadow of that looming wall it looked thinner than a thread.
"Anyone know much about the Vortgorns?" said
Pismire. "I've read about them, but I don't remember ever seeing one."
"Like the Dumii, but without their well-known flair and excitement," said Brocando.
"Thank you," said Bane gravely.
"Well, living on metal all the time must give you a very sombre and mystical view of life," said Pismire.
"Whose side are they on?" said Brocando.
"Sides? Their own, I suppose, just like everyone else."
The mouls milled around aimlessly, waiting for something.
"I suppose we're waiting to get up there," said Brocando, "but how?"
"Dumii patrols have been all round the Land and found no way in," said Bane.
Pismire, who was squinting upwards, said: "Ah. But I think this remarkable mechanism is the secret."
High above them was a speck on the wall. Slowly it grew bigger, became a wide platform sliding down the bronze. They could see heads peering over the side of it.
When it landed beside the pack Pismire saw that it was a simple square made of hair planks with a railing around them. Four bronze chains, one from each corner, rose up into the mists. A man stood at each corner. Each one was as tall as Bane. They wore helmets and body armour of beaten bronze, and carried by their sides long bronze swords. Their shields were bronze, round like the High Gate Land itself, and their hair was the colour of the metal. They had short square beards, and grey eyes that stared calmly ahead of them. Too much metal, Pismire thought. It enters the soul.
"Er," Brocando whispered, as they were pushed forward on to the platform, "you haven't, er, seen or heard anyone, as it were, following us? Someone, such as it might be, your chief? The big fellow?"
"Not a sign since we left Underlay," said Pismire. "I've been watching and listening very carefully."
"Oh, dear."
"Oh, no. That's good news. It means he's out there somewhere. If I had seen or heard anything, I'd know it wasn't Glurk. He's a hunter, you see."
"Good point. Ow!" A whip stung Brocando's legs as the mouls led their nervous mounts on to the planks.
When the last one was aboard one of the bronze guards took a trumpet from his belt and blew one note. The chains around them shook and rattled as they took up the slack and then, with a creaking, the platform swung off the ground and up towards the Land.
Pismire had been forced up against one of the railings by the press of animals, and so it was that he saw a shadow detach itself from the dust bush by the base of the wall and dash for the rising platform, trying to find a handhold on the underside.
He saw it leap; but at that moment the platform swung, and he could not see the shadow again.
Up rose the entrance to the Land, through swirling fogs, and then he realized he was looking out over the Carpet. Beneath him the tips of the hairs gleamed in the mist. It made him dizzy, so he tried to take his mind off things by giving the others a short lecture.
"The Deftmenes say that this Land fell out of the above many years ago. The Vortgorns were just another small tribe that lived nearby. They climbed it, too, and hardly ever come down."
"Then why are mouls in the Land?"
"I'd rather not think about it," said Pismire. "The Vortgorns may be a bit dull, but I've never understood them to be evil."
The platform ground on up the wall until, suddenly, it stopped. Before them was a bronze gate, built on top of the wall. Just above it heavy gantries carried the pulleys that raised and lowered the platform. They were plated with bronze, and studded with spikes. The gateway was spiked, and the portcullis in it was tipped with more spikes. Beneath them, far beneath, lay the Carpet.
"They like their privacy, these people," remarked Bane.
Behind him Gormaleesh hissed. "Look your last at your precious Carpet. You will not see it again."
"Ah. Melodrama," said Pismire.
"So you think-" Gormaleesh began.
The last word ended on a yelp. Brocando had sunk his teeth into the moul's leg.
Whimpering with pain and rage Gormaleesh picked up the Deftmene king and rushed with him to the edge of the platform, raising him over his head.
Then he lowered his arms, and smiled. "No," he said slowly. "No. Why? Soon you will wish that I had thrown you over. Throwing you over now would be mercy. And I don't feel merciful ... "
He dropped the trembling Brocando by the others just as the portcullis rose.
"I wasn't shaking," said Brocando. "It's just a bit chilly up here."
The mouls marched on to the High Gate Land. Pismire saw a broad metal plateau, with what looked like hills in the distance. On either side as they marched were cages, with thick bars. They contained snargs. There were small brown snargs from the Woodwall lands, red snargs from the west, and black snargs with overlong teeth.
Whatever their colour, they all had one thought in mind. They hurled themselves at their bars as the prisoners passed.
On they went, and there were compounds where snargs were being broken in and trained. Further, and there were more cages, bigger than those of the snargs. They contained ... strange creatures.
They were huge. They had fat barrel bodies with ridiculous small wings, and long thin necks tipped with heads that wobbled slowly round as they passed. At the other end they had a stubby little tail. Their legs didn't look thick enough to support them. Oh, they were thick-but something that big ought to have legs as thick as giant hairs.
One of the creatures poked its head through the bars and looked down at Pismire. Its eyes were large but bright and oddly intelligent, and topped by enormous bushy brows.
"A pone," he said. "A pone! From the utter east, where the very fringes of the Carpet touch the Floor. The biggest things in the Carpet. Oh, if we had a few of those at our command-"