"Don't you ever wonder what happens next?" said Mealy.
"It's not my job to wonder about the Emperor's business," sniffed the courtier, "and certainly not with a cook."
"In fact," said Mealy, taking off his tall cook's hat, I'm a sergeant. You lads there-attention!"
The two guards stood to attention before they realized what they were doing. Several more cooks filed into the room. Each of them was carrying something sharp.
"This is-" the courtier began, and then realized that he was in a room with half a dozen large armed men, who probably were not ready to be shouted at.
"-against orders," he said.
"We've put the food in there. That was orders," said Mealy. He limped over to the door and put his one ear to it. "We're just waiting to see what happens next."
The long cloth made a sort of mobile tent.
He heard the door shut behind him. After a minute or two, another door opened.
He smelled moul. It was not in fact a particularly bad smell; they smelled like a fur coat that hadn't been brushed for too long.
The trolley moved. The door shut, and this time it shut behind him, in a very final kind of way.
The moul smell was overpowering. And only now did he hear voices.
"Your dinner, sire." A moul voice.
"I'm not hungry!" A human voice, but with a sulky whine in it that suggested that its owner had been given too many sweets when he was young and not enough shoutings-at. It was the kind of voice that's used to having its life with the crusts cut off.
"Sire must eat," moul voice, "otherwise there will be nothing left of sire."
"What's happening outside? Why won't you tell me what's happening outside? Why doesn't anyone do what I tell them?" Snibril thought he heard a foot stamp. He'd never believed that people really did that outside stories.
"The civil war rages on," another moul voice, "you have enemies on all sides. Only we can protect you. You must let us do that, sire."
"Call Fray down on them!" The Emperor, thought Snibril, horrified. Only well-bred people can be as rude as that.
"Soon, soon, just as we did in Jeopard," a third moul voice. "In the meantime, my people are fighting hard on your behalf. Perhaps we shall have to call on Fray, in time."
"I am surrounded by enemies!" whined the Emperor.
"Yes, yes," said a moul voice, as if it was talking to a baby.
"And everyone must do what I say!"
"Yes, yes," moul voice. "Within reason."
"You know what happens to enemies," said the Emperor. "They get sent away. To a bad place!"
Our village wasn't that bad, thought Snibril. Pismire used to say it was full of homely comfort. I thought the Emperor was going to be noble!
"I'm hungry now. Have you finished tasting my food?"
"Not quite, sire."
"But it's nearly all gone!"
"Poison could be even in the last bite," said a moul voice, and it occurred to Snibril it was speaking with its mouth full.
"Yeh. Yes, of course you're right," said the Emperor uncertainly. "I've never trusted those cooks. They've got far too many bits missing. Even so-perhaps a crust?"
"Why, certainly, sire. And I think we can trust a little of this gravy ... "
We've come all this way to defend this? thought Snibril.
And then he thought: what would Bane say about this?
He'd say: he's the Emperor, whatever else he might be. You've got to do something.
All right, what would Pismire say? He'd say: listen and observe and then take unprecipitate action based on received information. So that's not much help.
Brocando would say, no, he'd shout: Attack!
Glurk wouldn't even wait to shout.
Oh well. I just hope Mealy is still outside.
Bane peered around a corner, and then beckoned the others.
"Don't look too conspiratorial," said Pismire. "If we walk as if we've got a right to be here, the guards won't take any notice."
"I'm fed up with skulking around," said a very small wight behind him. "That's no way for a king to behave."
Bane threw off his robe.
"I thought those guards took it very well, considering," said Pismire.
"Considering what?" said Glurk.
"Considering we've just hit them. They positively wanted to be tied up, I thought. They didn't like what they had to do."
"They still did it, though," said Brocando. "They still obeyed orders. Stupid. What would Deftmenes be if we went around obeying orders all the time?"
"They might be ruling the Carpet," said Pismire.
"Ha!" said Brocando, "half the trouble about obeying orders is, it becomes a habit. And then everything depends on who's giving the orders."
They reached another archway. There were two more guards there, Glurk gripped his stick.
"No," said Bane. "Let's do it my way this time."
He stepped forward.
"You men-eyes face! Preeeesent armssss! Very good. Very good. Come on, people-"
One of the soldiers looked doubtful.
"Got orders to let no-one through," he managed.
"We're not anyone," said Bane. "And that's an order."
The guard stood to attention.
"Yessir. Verygoodsir!" he said.
"Don't talk to me, I'm not here," said Bane.
The guard started to speak, and then nodded instead.
"Good man. Come on."
Owlglass tapped the guard on the shoulder as he passed through.
"Of course, when we say 'not here' we mean only in a figurative or-"
Pismire grabbed him by his collar. "Come on!"
There were four mouls in the room, staring at Snibril in astonishment. There was also a young man of about his age, who oddly enough was reacting faster than the mouls. By the time he spoke he'd passed right through astonishment and into anger. The Emperor raised a pudgy hand, covered in rings.
"He's not a cook!" he wailed. "He's all there! So why's he here?"
Snibril dropped his spear and grabbed the arm. "You come with me," he said, and added, "sire." He waved his sword at the mouls. "It's one against four," he said. "That means I'm four times more likely to hit one of you, and who knows which one it'll be?"
The mouls hadn't moved. Then one of them smiled. The Emperor struggled in Snibril's grip.
"Very wise, sire," said the moul who had smiled.
"I'm here to rescue you!" said Snibril. "These are mouls! They're destroying the Empire!"
"The Empire is safe and well," said the Emperor smugly.
Snibril was astonished. "What about Fray?" he said.
"Jornarileesh and his people can control Fray," said the Emperor. "Fray only strikes my enemies. Isn't that so?"
"Yes, sir," said the one called Jornarileesh. He was a tall moul. This one's not like Gormaleesh, Snibril thought. This one looks clever.
"It's striking everywhere!" shouted Snibril.
"That proves I have a lot of enemies," said the Emperor.
The mouls were advancing and, suddenly, the Deftmene way of calculating odds was beginning to seem a lot less attractive.
"Drop the sword and let go of him," said Jornarileesh. "If you don't we will call down Fray."
"Right now?" said Snibril.
"Yes!"
"Right this minute?"
"Yes!"
"Do it, then."
"No!" wailed the Emperor.
Snibril's head felt quite clear. "You can't," he said. "They can't, sire. It's just a threat. They can't do it. They're no different than me!"
Now he had time to look around he could see, in one corner of the big room, a hole. It had bits of hair around the edges.
"You came up from Underlay," he said. "That was clever. Dumii obey orders, so all you had to do was be in the-the centre, where they start. All you had to do was frighten this ... this idiot!"
The Emperor went red with anger. "I will have you exec-" he began.
"Oh, shut up," said Snibril.
The mouls drew their swords and dashed towards him. But four on to one was a disadvantage; it meant that each one was really waiting for one of the other three to make the first move.