As Shabble approached, a side door was flung open, and forth from that side door there came Firfat Labrat himself and a much-scarred and much-tattooed man whom Pokrov recognized as the corpse-master Uckermark. Behind them were half a dozen men with crossbows.
Shabble came to a halt just above their collective heads and brightened marginally, throwing all into sharp focus.
‘Hello,’ said Shabble, brightly.
Shabble’s momentary fear and panic were over, and Shabble’s customary high spirits had once again regained the ascendancy.
‘Shabble!’ said Pokrov. ‘I’ve got a job for you. You must-’
‘Silence!’ said Firfat Labrat. ‘One more word and you’re dead.’
Half a dozen cocked and loaded crossbows were immediately levelled at Ivan Pokrov and Pelagius Zozimus. If this, confrontation disintegrated into violence, then Pokrov and Zozimus would surely be killed. Pokrov had no combat skills. Zozimus, on the other hand, was an accomplished warrior, and a wizard to boot. But Zozimus could scarcely hope to dodge half a dozen crossbow bolts fired at point blank range. And as for his wizardry, that was unfortunately somewhat specialized; Zozimus was a wizard of the order of Xluzu, and hence dealt largely with the animation of corpses, an ability scarcely apposite at the moment.
As Zozimus and Pokrov maintained a studied silence, the corpse-master Uckermark cleared his throat.
Then said:
‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Shabble’s lawyer.’
This was news to Ivan Pokrov. Uckermark was certainly no stranger to the law, for his work with human flesh had brought many charges of blasphemy upon his head; however, while Uckermark had always defended himself in court with panache and success, he had never before laid claim to any legal qualifications.
Despite the threat of the crossbows, Pokrov could not help but expostulate:
‘You are no lawyer!’
‘Ah, but I am,’ said Uckermark, with a grin of great cunning. ‘I have a degree from Injiltaprajura’s leading university.’
‘Your fraudulent farce does not amuse us,’ said Pelagius Zozimus coldly. ‘Injiltaprajura has no university.’
‘You stand in error,’ said Uckermark. ‘In point of fact, it has three. The Temple of Torture was formally constituted as a university in the time of the late Wazir Sin. Furthermore, standing beside you is the head of a second university, our dearly beloved Ivan Pokrov. Under interrogation, I’m sure he would admit that his Analytical Institute had a similar legal status. The Cabal House of the wonder-workers is another such seat of learning, and it is from there that my degree derives.’ ‘You have not the look of a scholar,’ said Zozimus. ‘So, as for this degree, I suppose you bought it.’
‘I did,’ said Uckermark, unabashed by this accusation. ‘But my knowledge of the law is firm regardless. This restraint order is valid.’
So saying, Uckermark produced an ornate parchment with a flourish, and presented it to Ivan Pokrov.
‘We knew you’d show up sooner or later,’ said Uckermark, ‘so we went to the trouble of getting this court order. It restrains you from interfering in any way whatsoever with the Cult of the Holy Cockroach, or with the High Priest of that Cult.’
‘The holy what?’ said Pokrov in amazement. ‘Cockroach,’ said Firfa t Labrat.
‘You know,’ said Uckermark. ‘The shabiti. The veko-veko. The loqualadibimosqantarka.’
‘Yes,’ said Shabble in great excitement. ‘He’s holy, that’s what he is, holy as ever was. And I’m His Priest, His High Priest, that’s what, so no more accounting, not ever, no more algorithms, no nothing. Just playing with cats and chasing seagulls, that’s all, for ever and ever. Lawyers, that’s what I’ve got, lawyers, court orders, freedom of religon, isn’t it exciting?’
‘Shabble!’ said Pokrov sharply. ‘This has gone quite far enough. I f you don’t come to order promptly, I’ll-’ ‘Die,’ said Uckermark.
Pokrov shut his mouth abruptly. He could be killed before he could command Shabble to kill the potential Pokrov-killers.
‘Yes,’ said Uckermark. ‘That’s more sensible. Silence is a much more sensible course of action under the circumstances. Now why don’t you leave?’
‘We cannot leave,’ said Pelagius Zozimus, ‘because Injiltaprajura stands in grave danger.’
Then Zozimus quickly explained that Aldarch Three had triumphed in Talonsklavara; that a new wazir had come to Untunchilamon; that Justina Thrug had been arrested and was believed to be imprisoned in the Temple of Torture, and, in all probability, to be in immediate danger of losing her life; and that the new wazir would probably shortly kill a great many other people unless he was overthrown immediately.
‘You mean to bring civil war to the streets of Injiltaprajura,’ said Uckermark.
‘With Shabble’s help we can win such a war,’ said Pokrov.
‘Maybe,’ said Uckermark.
And maybe not. For, as Uckermark knew well from long acquaintance with Shabble, the shining one was prone to musical fits in which Injiltaprajura’s bright spark was totally deaf to all pleas and orders, however couched. Anyone who had Shabble as an ally could prosecute a war with fearful effect; but might lose regardless if an untimely fit befell poor Shabble.
‘We have no option,’ said Zozimus, ‘for if we go not to war then we will likely die.’
‘Then die in your own time,’ said Uckermark.
‘You will die with us,’ said Zozimus.
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said the much-scarred corpse-master. ‘We belong, you see, to a Protected Religion. The Cult of the Holy Cockroach and all its adherents are under the protection of the High Priest of Zoz the Ancestral.’
‘But,’ said Pokrov in amazement, ‘that’s impossible!
That’s an honour almost unheard of. Master Ek would never give his protection to a — cockroach, of all things!’
‘Master Ek!’ said Uckermark smoothly, ‘is not unaware of Shabble’s desire for independence. Nor is Master Ek unsympathetic to that desire. In long discussions with Master Ek, I myself made the advantages of the afore-mentioned Protected Religion perfectly clear.’
Zozimus and Pokrov looked at each other.
Obviously, they had been out-manoeuvred.
Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek, a long-time resident upon Untunchilamon, was fully aware of Shabble’s potential for mayhem; moreover, Ek may well have heard rumours to the effect that some people were able to command Shabble for their own purposes. So Ek had neutralized Shabble by, in effect, allowing Shabble to raise a private army to protect Shabble’s desire for independence.
‘This… this Cult of the Cockroach,’ said Pokrov.
‘The Holy Cockroach,’ said Firfat Labrat by way of correction.
‘Holy Cockroach, then,’ said Pokrov. ‘You say its adherents are under Master Ek’s protection. How… how precisely does one join this religion?’
Pokrov was already thinking, and thinking fast. Since Ek had neutralized Shabble, there was no way that enemies of Aldarch Three could triumph in civil war in Injiltaprajura. So Pokrov might well be advised to join this new Protected Religion to secure his own safety. After all, if it admitted villainous drug dealers like Firfat Labrat, why should it refuse entry to a reputable Analytical Engineer?
‘I regret to say,’ said Uckermark, with remarkably little regret in his voice, ‘that the entrance rolls are closed. This is a Closed Congregation. That was part of our agreement with Master Ek. The High Priest of Zoz the Ancestral is scarcely a fool, is he?’
‘No,’ said Pokrov bleakly.
‘And neither are we,’ said Zozimus brusquely, ‘so we’ll waste no more time here trifling with cockroaches holy or otherwise. Come! Let’s be going.’
And the wizard hustled the Analytical Engineer out into the street, where they faced each other in the hot and sweating sunlight.
‘Where will we run to?’ said Ivan Pokrov, in something like despair.
‘Run?’ said Pelagius Zozimus. ‘We’re running nowhere. We’re going to the Temple of Torture. To attack!’