There wasn't any cutting, thrusting and parrying; that only happens when people are fencing with swords for fun. When it's for real, it's like two windmills with sharp edges. The idea is to cut the other person very badly, not to look impressive.
Snibril backed towards the door, fending off blows as best he could. One of the mouls shouted something in its own language, and another couple of heads appeared over the edge of the hole.
Snibril kicked the door. "Mealy! Open up!"
The door swung open. The room beyond was empty. Snibril dragged the Emperor into it.
And the mouls made the mistake of chasing them. The cooks had been standing behind the doors. They stepped, or at least hopped, out.
Mealy hit a moul over the head with a ladle.
"There's seven of us and four of them," he said. "It's not fair. Three of us won't have anyone to hit. Get 'em, lads!"
"There's more coming out of a hole in the floor!" said Snibril, still hanging on to the Emperor.
"Good!"
"What's happening? Why is all this happening?" said the Emperor. He didn't look angry any more. He looked frightened, and a lot younger. Snibril almost felt sorry for him.
The cooks were disappointed. Most of the mouls scurried back into the Emperor's chambers, diving into the hole and colliding with one another in their desperation to escape.
Mealy's kitchen army dragged a heavy table across the room and upended it over the hole.
Mealy wiped his hand on his apron. "There," he said. "All done."
"I'm afraid we're only just beginning," said Snibril. "There could be thousands of them underneath us right now-"
"Everyone must do what I say!" screamed the Emperor. "I am in charge!"
The sergeants turned to look at him.
"We ought to protect the Emperor," said one of them.
"We could shove him down the hole with those friends of his," said Mealy. "They'd protect him all right."
The Emperor's little piggy eyes glanced from Mealy to the table to Snibril and back again.
Then he shouted, "Guards!"
The door to the passageway banged open, and a couple of armed men stepped into the room.
"I want these men locked up!" shouted the Emperor.
"Really?" said Bane. "What for?"
An hour makes a lot of difference. They brought the army in. In order to save a lot of explaining, they did it by getting a signed order from the Emperor.
It was signed of his own free will, after Glurk explained patiently that if it wasn't signed of his own free will, there would be trouble.
Then there was a council of war.
"I always knew this would happen," said Bane. "Once upon a time the Emperor was elected. Then Targon made it hereditary, so that stupid brat of his could take over. Hardly anyone objected! It's as bad as having kings."
"That's going too far!" said Brocando.
"I'm sorry. You're right. At least the Deftmenes have had kings for a long time. At least you're good at being kings."
"Don't start arguing," said Snibril. "We ought to be wondering what the mouls are doing."
"They're doing what they always do," said Bane. "They're waiting for Fray, so they can attack when everyone is disorganized. They just got a bit impatient here."
"We might be lucky," said Owlglass. "Of course, when I say lucky-"
"It'll happen," said Pismire, despondently. He waved a map in front of him. "The village and Jeopard and Ware are more or less in a straight line."
"Does that mean anything?" said Snibril.
"Nothing good," said Pismire. "Where's the Emperor?"
"Glurk and the cooks have got him locked up in the kitchens," said Bane. "Best way. He can't eat and shout at the same time." He looked down at a scrap of paper in front of him. "With every fighting man we've got, we're still less than fifteen hundred people," he said.
"Less than that, in fact," said Pismire. "You can't leave women and children and old people in the city. Remember Tregon Marus. Buildings fall down. We'll have to get them to safety and guard them."
"No. Arm the women," said Brocando.
"Don't be stupid," said Bane. "Women don't know how to fight."
"Deftmene women do," said Brocando.
"Oh, yes? Who with?"
"Deftmene men," said Brocando.
"He's got a point," said Pismire. "My granny had a wallop like a wrestler. I think she could go through a moul like a hot knife through runny butter."
"I absolutely forbid it," said Bane. "Women fighting? That's not warfare. That's just a vulgar mess. No. I mean it. I want that absolutely understood, Your Majesty. Get them to safety, yes-but no fancy ideas. Besides, they wouldn't have the first idea about tactics."
"Fine," said Brocando. "All right. No fighting women." Snibril noticed that he was grinning in a funny way.
"Besides," said Bane, "there's not enough weapons to go round as it is."
"There's a whole armoury in the palace!" said Owlglass.
"When we unlocked it there was nothing in there but a hole in the floor," said Bane. "The mouls have got them."
"Well, then-" Brocando began.
"You're going to suggest we attack the mouls to get weapons off them, aren't you," said Bane coldly.
"Well-" Brocando began.
"Don't," said Bane. He slapped his hand on the table. "They're out there," he said, "and down there. I know it. Just waiting. After Fray strikes, they'll attack. That's how it'll happen. That's how they do it, if they can't worm their way in from inside."
Snibril had been listening to this. When he finally spoke, he felt as though he was reading words off a page. These were the words he had to say now.
"I can help," he said. They all looked at him.
"I can sense when Fray is coming," he said. "I'm not as good at it as the mouls, but I'm better than most animals."
"It's true," said Sergeant Careus. "I've seen him do it."
"Well, that'll be a help," said Bane.
"No, you don't understand," said Snibril. "What do the mouls do before Fray strikes?"
"How should I know," said Bane. "Lie down and put their hands over their eyes, if they're sensible. And then attack immediately."
He seemed to think about this.
"When they expect to find a crushed enemy," he said.
Snibril nodded.
Pismire said, "It might work, you know. Forewarned is forearmed."
There was silence. And then Brocando said, "Four armed? Does that mean we can hold twice as many swords?"
CHAPTER 20
They won.
And that was more or less all that the history books said, later, after New Ware was built out of the rubble of the city. They were more concerned with the election of Bane as President, since he was considered to be honest and brave and without any imagination. The Dumii distrusted imagination-they said it made people unreliable.
The people who wrote the history books weren't there. They didn't know how it happened.
And all the other ways it could have gone.
First, there was the question of weapons. Mealy took charge of that. Spears, for example. You tied a kitchen knife on the end of a stick and you couldn't tell the difference. Especially if it got stuck in you. And a handful of nails in a piece of hair made the kind of club that wasn't exclusive at all-you could hit anyone with it. The sergeants lined up every able-bodied man and boy in the city and gave them simple demonstrations.
Glurk spent a lot of time helping them. Mealy said he was one of nature's sergeants, whatever that meant.
Brocando was put in charge of guarding the women and children. Snibril thought he grinned too much when he agreed to this. And Bane was everywhere, giving orders. Making plans. Supervising the special work that was hurriedly being carried on just outside the walls.
Pismire and Owlglass played a game. It consisted of moving little models of warriors around on a board made of squares. Pismire said he played because it concentrated the mind, and also because Owlglass bet heavily and wasn't very good.