Of course, it seemed likely that neither the king nor his grand bishop would be found anywhere in the city once the defences collapsed and raging Firends ran amok through the streets. This at least was consistent with his assessment of tyrants. When the dung hits the wall, why, the source of all incumbent misery and suffering has long-since hightailed it out of harm’s way.
Typical. He wondered, as he made his way back to the embassy, if there existed some high, impregnable keep, situated atop a mountain or on an isolated island in a sea swarming with savage beasts, where all tyrants fled to as soon as the inevitable occurred. If so, why, wouldn’t it be a wonderful thing to, say, drop a whole other mountain on top of them? Crushing into paste every last one!
Slithering along dank alleys, creeping against moss-gummed walls, crossing foul trenches, he came at last to the embassy. Producing a key, he let himself in through the well-hidden back door, and then made his way to where waited the Royal Messenger.
The man was covered in spider’s webs and dozing on a settee.
Ophal cleared his throat, although that merely produced a strange hissing sound. Still, that proved sufficient, as Beetle Praata flinched upright, blinking owlishly in the gloom.
He started clawing strands of web from his face. ‘Ambassador! It is a relief to see you again.’
‘Prrlll, yeth, fank you. Now, my fwend, we must pweepare to prrllll deparrrth, ath the wocalllth willl be motht angwy with uth, yeth?’
Beetle nodded. ‘I shall inform the stabler, then, to ready us some mounts.’
‘Prrlll, flip thvlah! Vewy good. In the meantwime, I thalll dethtwoy documenth and whatnot.’
‘It is sad, is it not, Ambassador, that you must quit this city. Please, sir, do not deem this a failure on your part – the Council and the Emperor wish to make that as clear as possible. You did your best.’
‘Fank you, sir. Motht kind of you. Thuch a welief!’
Beetle Praata dipped his head in a bow and then strode from the chamber.
In the yard outside, the Royal Messenger found Puny Sploor collapsed against the carcass of his horse. The man was weeping, his small hands curled tight into fists with which he beat weakly and futilely on the dead animal’s well-groomed flank. A bucket of water had been dragged up beside the horse’s mouth, along with a few handfuls of straw.
Beetle frowned down at the stabler. ‘You should know by now,’ he said, ‘there’s no point trying to feed and water a dead horse. Now then, Puny, we have to flee the city. Ready the remaining horses, with saddles upon three of them. The Ambassador will be here shortly.’
Puny Sploor blinked up at Beetle, and then with a shriek he launched himself at the messenger, fingers closing about Beetle’s throat.
‘Tiny can grow as many new teeth as he wants,’ said Tiny, still sitting on the stone steps. ‘Tiny has been attacked by demons before.’
‘That wasn’t a demon,’ said Steck Marynd from two steps down, his hands at his temples and a pool of vomit between his feet.
‘Tiny says it was a demon, so it was a demon, right Midge?’
‘Demon,’ said Midge, still trying to push his right eyeball back into its socket, but it kept popping back out. ‘Midge can see up his own nose.’
Flea leaned close to his brother. ‘Can you see up mine, Midge?’
‘I could always see up yours, Flea.’
‘But now it must be different, right?’
Midge nodded. ‘Different.’
‘Better?’
‘Maybe.’
Flea smiled.
Apto had ripped a strip from his filthy tunic and given it to Shartorial, to help stop the blood flowing from her broken nose. Now he said, ‘The problem is the Mortal Sword’s broken legs. He needs splints, or at least binding, if Tiny or Flea are to carry him.’
‘Tiny carries no-one,’ said Tiny. ‘Midge and Flea don’t neither. The fool can crawl for all Tiny cares.’
‘Fub fab bib,’ said Brash Phluster, and then he burst into tears again.
‘There is a cutter’s room,’ said Shartorial Infelance, ‘containing the Royal Apothecary. Healing salves, unguents and some High Denul elixirs. It’s not far.’
Brash leapt to his feet, eyes fervent with sudden hope. He still held his severed tongue.
Apto sighed, ‘Right, I suppose we’ll have to make for that then. But Tulgord still needs help to get him there, and I have a bad back and all. It’s a chronic condition, had it since, uh, since birth.’
Groaning, Steck Marynd straightened. ‘I will carry him, then. With luck, he’ll pass out with the pain.’
‘Pass out?’ Tulgord glowered up at Steck. ‘More like die!’
‘Pray to your goddess for salvation, sir,’ advised Steck, making his way down the steps. ‘I’ll be as gentle as possible, but I make no promises.’
‘There is mercy in your soul, sir,’ said Tulgord Vise, grudgingly.
‘Tiny can grow as many new teeth as he wants. Tiny has been attacked by demons before.’
‘You said that just a moment ago,’ Apto pointed out.
‘Tiny never repeats himself. Never.’
‘I think you’re addled.’
‘Tiny’s not addled. The world is addled. That’s why the walls are leaking and his fingernails are buzzing.’
Amidst grunts, yelps, groans and moans, Steck Marynd worked Tulgord Vise onto his back, gripping the man’s thick wrists. This meant the legs dangled and bounced along the steps, and after a few moments of this, Tulgord Vise passed out.
‘Lead on, Milady,’ rasped Steck Marynd.
Nodding, she resumed the journey up the stairs, Apto right behind her followed by the Chanters and then Brash Phluster behind them with Steck and Tulgord taking up the rear.
‘Might get your tongue back, Phluster,’ said Apto, ‘proving the universe’s essential indifference to justice.’
‘Buh ovv,’ the poet replied.
They reached a landing and Sharotrial led them through a doorway, down another passageway, through another doorway and then went left at a T-intersection, coming at last to a final door. ‘We’re here,’ she said, turning the latch and swinging it open.
Crowded inside were thirty-two demons. Sixty-three eyes fixed upon the newcomers, and then in a collective roar, the demons attacked.
Apto grasped hold of Shartorial and pulled her behind the door as the swarm poured out in a shrieking, slavering mob.
Bellowing, the Chanters vanished beneath a mound of writhing, spitting, snarling, biting, clawing creatures. Farther down the corridor, Steck was dragging Tulgord into a side-passage, Brash Phluster trying to push past them.
Apto risked a peek into the chamber. ‘It’s clear!’ he hissed, dragging Shartorial around and inside, whereupon he slammed shut the door. ‘That was close!’
‘But Steck—’
‘Made his escape, Milady, I promise you! I saw it with my own eyes!’ He paused, and then said, ‘But if the demons followed, well, he’s finished. Dead. The poet too. In fact, Milady, we’re probably the last ones left.’
Beyond the door the demons were now screaming along with the Chanters. Bodies struck walls, the floor, the ceiling and the door itself, the meaty impacts rattling the thick planks and popping bronze rivets.
‘Sounds lively out there,’ said Apto, offering Shartorial a modest smile. ‘But I judge us safe, at least for the next little while.’
The door opened and Tiny barged into the Apothecary with three demons clinging to him and more rushing in behind.
Apto shrieked, grasping Shartorial Infelance and pushing her forward. ‘It’s all her fault! Not me! Not me!’