‘Where to?’ said Justina.
‘Bolfrigalaskaptiko,’ said Trasilika. ‘A very interesting place. They there have an institution which Injiltaprajura seems to be lacking, that is, the professional childbeater.’
‘My father outlawed that trade,’ said Justina.
‘A mistake,’ said Trasilika.
‘You are not seeking to revive the trade, are you?’ said Justina sharply.
Trasilika looked at her, wondering how best to answer. Then a frantic Jean Froissart intruded upon their conference, and no answer was required.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
For Justina Thrug, that morning breakfast was a delicate affair. Jean Froissart had proved himself a true priest of Zoz the Ancestral, therefore Manthandros Trasilika would surely have no trouble in getting himself accepted by one and all as the true wazir, the legitimate wazir appointed by Aldarch the Third to rule over Untunchilamon in the name of the Izdimir Empire.
So…
Really, as far as Justina could see, Trasilika no longer had any pressing need for her services. Such was Trasilika’s confidence that he appeared to have sent away all his guards — Justina’s spies told her those guards were now concentrated in the Temple of Torture. And he had also sent away his ship. All of which suggested he felt very, very secure already. So what was to stop him doing away with her? Nothing. Unless she made herself very, very valuable to him in a great big hurry. Given Trasilika’s manifest confidence in his grasp on power, that might prove difficult — but she had to try.
That was why Justina was there so early in the morning, seeking to entangle Trasilika in drug-dealing schemes which would alienate him from Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek and make him dependent on the services of her friend and ally Log Jaris. All she wanted was Trasilika’s protection, just for a few more days. In that time, she would — she must, otherwise she would surely die — scheme up some way to extricate the organic rectifier from Master Ek’s clutches.
Once Justina had the organic rectifier, she could take it to the Crab and transform that entity into human form. (Always assuming that she could deduce the secret of operating the rectifier, or that the Crab could work it out for itself.)
Once the Crab was made human then it would surely, out of gratitude, solve the rest of her problems.
But staying alive until she could think of some way to win the organic rectifier — why, that might prove very, very difficult indeed. However, the business breakfast seemed to go well enough, for Manthandros Trasilika attended to her schemes with every appearance of interest, even though he was obviously fatigued and hung over.
Then a frantic Jean Froissart intruded upon their conference in the greatest of panics imaginable.
‘They mean to kill me!’ babbled Froissart.
‘Get a grip on yourself,’ said Trasilika. ‘Sit down. Tell me all about it.’
Froissart then spilt out the most extraordinary tale. Master Ek, High Priest of Zoz the Ancestral, had named him as a human sacrifice for the Festival of Light!
‘You must stop him!’ said Froissart. ‘Use your powers as wazir to over-rule the High Priest or else!’
‘Or else what?’
‘Or else I’ll reveal you for what you are. A false wazir!’
‘But I’m not a false wazir,’ protested Trasilika. ‘I’m the real thing, appointed by Al’three himself.’
‘That makes no difference,’ said Froissart. ‘Only one person in five truly believes you. The rest will happily murder you if given the slightest excuse.’
Not for the first time, Manthandros Trasilika wished he was still back in Bolfrigalaskaptiko, that city of mud and mosquitoes which lies on the far-away Crocodile River, also known as the River Ka. Now, his sojourn in that place of marsh and fever seemed positively idyllic. However, he could not go back. He had not sailed from Manamalargo and the shores of Yestron on a whim. No: he had come to Untunchilamon on the direct orders of Aldarch the Third.
And APthree would be very, very unhappy with Trasilika if he failed to secure the rule of Untunchilamon for the Mutilator.
So Trasilika needs do whatever he must to maintain himself in authority.
Even if that meant going up against a High Priest of the religion so dear to the Mutilator’s heart.
‘I–I will order Master Ek that you are not to be sacrificed,’ said Trasilika.
‘Thank you,’ said Jean Froissart.
‘You thank him prematurely,’ said Justina Thrug.
‘What?’ said Trasilika. ‘Do you think Master Ek will dare to disobey me?’
‘He may,’ said Justina.
‘What makes you say that?’ said Trasilika.
The wazir and the witch stared at each other. Justina was thinking, thinking, thinking with greater concentration than ever before in her life. Master Ek had chosen Jean Froissart as a human sacrifice. So Ek wanted Froissart dead. So Ek did not believe that Froissart had passed his trial by ordeal thanks to divine intervention. So Ek thought Froissart to be a false priest, and Trasilika to be a false wazir. (Were they false? At this moment, for the life of her Justina could not tell.)
But ‘Have you lost your tongue?’ said Trasilika.
‘I expect to keep my tongue for longer than you will keep yours,’ said Justina, with great deliberation.
She was sweating. She hoped Trasilika would not notice. Even if he did, why — it was a hot day, and she was a fleshy woman much given to perspiration. So ‘Are you threatening me?’ said Trasilika ominously.
‘I believe,’ said Justina, ‘that it is Master Ek who is threatening you. He does so on good grounds. He knows the trial by ordeal was a fraud.’
‘But it wasn’t!’ objected Froissart. ‘I did it, I did it, I don’t know how but I did it, I picked up the red-hot iron, no magic salve, no nothing, none of your witchcraft, I did it myself.’
‘What you picked up,’ said Justina, ‘was Shabble.’ ‘Shabble?’ said
Froissart, momentarily nonplussed. ‘You have met,’ said Justina. ‘Sha bble escorted you ashore on your first day in Injiltaprajura. Remember? The melting of weapons, the-’
‘Oh, I remember,’ said Froissart. ‘Shabble is the ball, the floating ball.’
‘Yes,’ said Justina. ‘And it was Shabble who helped you pass your trial by ordeal.’
She explained.
While she did so, she thought furiously. Ek clearly intended to destroy Froissart, which suggested that Ek probably had Trasilika’s death in mind also. Trasilika, all unsuspecting, had sent his guards to the Temple of Torture, where they had come under Ek’s command. And Trasilika had sent away his ship. Or had he? If only she could find out!
‘… and,’ said Justina, concluding her tale, ‘Master Ek knows all about Shabble and the trial by ordeal. Just as I know why your ship has gone away and why your guards are in the Temple of Torture.’
Justina smiled, trying to look smug and knowing. This was a big gamble. If only ‘What do you know?’ said Trasilika. ‘Tell me!’
‘That,’ said Justina, bristling, ‘is scarcely the tone of voice to use with me.’
She was in a quandary. If she confessed that she did not really know why Trasilika’s guards and ships had left, then she would have to admit that she was effectively out of the political game, that she was powerless and friendless, and could be destroyed at Trasilika’s whim. (Assuming he could find men to destroy her, which should not prove an insurmountable problem.) If, on the other hand, she could persuade him that she knew, that she was privy to Master Ek’s decisions, that she was in fact in league with Master Ek — why then, by using such an illusion of power as leverage, she might be able to get Trasilika to help her recover the organic rectifier. Somehow.
‘You will tell me all you know,’ said Trasilika, with unsuppressed anger. ‘And now. Or else!’
Justina glanced at Log Jaris. Could he help her? Log Jaris winked. That wink said: I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’ll help if I can.