Chronicles of Isambard Smith 05 - End of Empires (18 page)

‘Me? Good as I can be, stuck out here and full of no rye. Wainscott, now, that’s the question. He’s something else.’ Dreckitt turned and gestured to the giant stone head. ‘I know – I guess this must look bad, but you’ve got to understand: things are different out here. The rules change, pal. Wainscott’s – how can I put this? – he’s a mystic. He sees things other people don’t. He’s the last of the warrior poets. He transcends mere – aw, who am I kidding? The guy’s nuts.’

He walked forward, and Carveth ran up and threw her arms around him. ‘Hey, little lady,’ Dreckitt said. ‘I missed you. We got everything out here, ’cept for dames. And decent sanitation.’

Carveth hugged him a little less tightly. ‘It’s great to hear your voice,’ she said. ‘I almost know what you’re on about, too.’

‘When Wainscott’s boys skipped town,’ Dreckitt said, ‘the big boss put me on the case, to either parley with him or cheese his command and snatch the guy. Thing is, I’ve got more chance of winning a craps game against Nick the Greek than I’ve got slipping Major Wainscott a Mickey Finn. He’s pretty much immune to dope: he’s had more drugs go through him than a hophead with reefer madness. You want to knock Wainscott out, you’ll need tablets bigger than the ones Moses carries around, and you’ll need to break ’em over his head.’

‘Can’t say I’d recommend that,’ a voice said from the foliage. The barrel of a laser support weapon slid through the greenery, funnel first. Susan followed the gun, her left hand resting on the power pack, her right at the trigger. As ever, she looked astonishingly smart – even this far out: the beam gun was neatly-kept, her sleeves rolled up in the regulation style, her auburn plaits carefully arranged under a broad bush hat. ‘Nice to see you all,’ she said. ‘How’s tricks?’

‘Alright,’ Carveth replied. ‘How about you?’

Susan glanced around at the greenery. She lowered her voice. ‘I suppose you’re here to tell Wainscott that it’s home time. I’ll give you a hand, within reason.’

‘Thanks,’ Smith said. He’d known that he could count on Susan: she might lack the ‘inspired’ leadership of her boss, but she was utterly professional.

‘I’ve been out here so long they’ve given me a nickname,’ she said, squinting up into the trees. ‘Sane Susan, they call me.’

‘Why?’

She nodded towards the giant stone head. ‘It’s relative.’

A man stood on the head as if it sprouted him as a horn. He wore boots, underpants and a pith helmet, and a wide range of scabbards and holsters. His body was striped with dirt, as though he had tried to disguise himself as a tiger. For once, Smith reflected, Wainscott had a good reason for looking as if he had spent the last few weeks under a park bench.

Wainscott jumped down, brushed his hands together, and strode over with a large smile across his grimy, bearded face. ‘Isambard Smith, I presume!’ The major stuck out a hand and they shook. ‘Welcome to my abode. What do you think?’

‘Well –’

‘It’s very… er… natural,’ Rhianna said.

‘Spot on,’ Wainscott replied. ‘We’re in harmony with nature here. It helps us creep up on the lemming men,’ he added, smirking. ‘You know what they call me, the Yull?’

‘The Ghost That Walks In Shorts,’ Smith said, not wanting to encourage him.

‘Not anymore. I’m The Ghost Who Needs No Shorts. They fear us, Smith. We’ve gone behind their lines, sneaked up on them, beaten them at their own game.’

It occurred to Smith that there was probably a lot of truth in that. Wainscott was a decent fellow, in his own way, but he’d probably killed more lemmings than gravity.

‘We thought we might be being followed,’ Smith said.

‘Following you?’ Wainscott said. ‘Oh no. The lemmings were lying in wait for you. Thing is, we were lying in wait for them.’ He pulled back a thick branch, dragging with it a curtain of leaves. Behind it, three Yull lay in an untidy pile. Their fur had been dyed green, their bayonets blackened with soot and dung. One of the Sey crouched beside the bodies, rooting through their gear. It raised its long neck like a cobra rearing to strike. ‘Don’t forget to check their cheeks,’ Wainscott said. The Sey grimaced, and he added, ‘On their faces!’ and let the branch swing back.

‘You’re safe for now,’ Susan said. ‘But we’ll post a guard on your ship.’

Wainscott pointed towards the great white head. ‘Like the sculpture?’ he demanded. ‘It looks like stone, but actually the beetle people did it for me. Well, they didn’t really do it so much as roll it, but it’s the thought that counts, eh? We saved a bunch of them from the lemming men. The Yull had abducted a village of them and wanted to pull their legs off, one by one. Mark my words, Smith: we are dealing with sick and demented people here.’ He yanked his underpants up and began to climb up the riverbank. ‘We’ll have a bit of a do, now you’re here. Tell me, Smith,’ he added, looking round, ‘What do you think of owls?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Owls. Like ’em? Trust ’em?’

‘Well, I suppose they’re alright –’

‘Excellent! You see, Susan? I told you he was husband material.’

Wainscott strode off. Susan shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s the pills,’ she added, and she strode after him.

Camp consisted of several folding chairs, a number of well-disguised tents and some hollow logs. Smith was not sure of the extent of it: figures moved between the trees further out, half-hidden by undergrowth and he wondered exactly what the scale of Wainscott’s operation might be. ‘Brew up, Craig,’ the major said to a wiry, fair-haired man, and at once the tea was made.

‘We brought you a gift,’ Smith said. ‘It’s a birthday cake. Compliments of High Command.’ He turned to Carveth. ‘Cake, please.’

Horror and fury flashed across her face. ‘Not the precious cake!’ she hissed, and a moment later, she recovered herself. ‘’Course. Feel free to eat all the cake that I’ve been lugging round the jungle. Go ahead.’

They sat around, drinking and eating. The canopy hid the worst of the sun but the air was uncomfortably warm. The smell of tea at least took away some of the stink of rotting vegetation.

‘We’ve been raising hell with the lemmings,’ Wainscott said. ‘In truth, this terrain’s ours as much as theirs. It’s never quite safe, though.’

‘How many chaps have you got?’

‘Fighters? Just over a hundred. Humans, forty-six. Sey, twenty-three. M’Lak, eight. Then there’s the beetle people, but they mainly carry stuff.’

Smith wondered how far he would get if he walked into the forest. Would the animals kill him, or the Yull, or even the plants? He’d probably die some embarrassing death, murdered by a gang of orchids.

‘Wainscott,’ he asked, ‘can I have a word? Privately?’

* * *

‘Dinner is served!’ Susan announced. ‘Tonight at the Manoir de Merde, we begin with an old favourite: Biscuits, Brown. Guaranteed to stave off not just hunger but digestion itself, these delightful items can be welded together to make a blackboard or just used as individual rooftiles. Then, for the meat course, we have… er, meat. From a tin can. Eight out of ten cats love this stuff. And finally, a special treat in the form of Biscuits, Brown (Fruit), which have either bits of raisin or dead insects imbedded in them. I’m not sure which.’

One of the Sey approached, carrying plates with what Carveth hoped was food. At least, the stuff was steaming.

She had not really seen the Sey properly before: they were shy, had no important resources, and lived at a low technological level. Their main skill was in tracking, and, having proved themselves against the Yull at Kwala Gorge, they had found a new niche in the Imperial Army.

Lucky them, she thought. Seen up close, the Sey looked like a mixture of dinosaur, emu and gazelle. They wore bootees and hats, along with camouflaged cloaks strapped across their backs like the blankets horses wore in cold weather. This particular Sey had a ruff of red feathers at the top of its neck, like the frill on an exotic lizard.

‘Here,’ it said. There was a little speaker mounted to its shoulder: it helped with the words that the Sey could not pronounce. ‘Grub’s up, mate.’

Carveth took the plate. ‘Thanks.’

‘Most kind,’ Suruk said, accepting his helping. ‘Is this food?’

‘Word to the wise,’ the scout replied. ‘See those little biscuits, with the purple bits in them? They’re not flies at all. They’re some kind of fruit. Bloody army’s too cheap to put real flies in.’ The alien dipped its head like a swan. ‘’Scuse my manners,’ it said, ‘but my hands don’t reach my mouth.’ It scooped up a beakfull of sludge, looked up and tipped it down its gullet. ‘So, you’re taking the major back, are you?’

Carveth nodded. ‘I hope so.’

‘Wainscott’s alright. He’s a bit… er…’ it tried to tap the side of its head but couldn’t reach, ‘…bonkers, but he gives a fellow a fair go. He’s honest, too. He doesn’t keep anything back.’

‘That’s for sure,’ Carveth said, thinking of Wainscott’s pants. She didn’t feel very hungry.

She glanced left and saw that Susan, her dinner finished, had pulled out a paperback and was reading it intensely. To Carveth’s surprise, the cover showed a highwayman embracing a woman who was only just in her bodice. The title read
Stand and Deliver Your Love
.

‘Listen, mate,’ said the Sey, ‘when you go back, you couldn’t leave us Susan, could you? Can’t have a tribe without a matriarch.’

‘I think we’re all going back.’

‘Really?’ It raised its head and stared into the trees for a few seconds, then looked back at her. ‘After a while, in a place like this, you learn that there’s ways to survive. You use the Spirit Path, if you know what I mean.’

‘Indeed.’ Suruk had been watching the tracker with interest.

‘
You
know what I’m talking about,’ the Sey added. ‘You travel the mystic path. The hunting way. You run out of bullets, you go old-style and make yourself a spear. That’s how we beat them at Kwala Gorge.’

‘I never had any bullets,’ Suruk said.

‘Bloody cheapo army,’ the Sey replied. ‘They could’ve at least given you a gun, mate.’ It stood up. ‘Well, it’s been a pleasure.’

‘You too,’ Carveth said. She was not sure whether to put her hand out to shake, but the scout beat her to it. ‘Mr –’

The alien’s head drew back. ‘Ms,’ it said. ‘Arik, Second Huntress.’

‘Polly Carveth.’

She watched the alien take its plate to a bulky, dangerous-looking man who was doing the washing-up. When Carveth looked around, Rhianna was beside her, as if she had formed from the air. ‘I think it’s good to see such equality,’ Rhianna said.

‘I don’t,’ Carveth replied. ‘They’re all as mental as each other.’

* * *

Wainscott led Smith about ten yards into the forest, and suddenly the others were gone – or at any rate, Smith couldn’t see them.

‘I’ve seen lemmings hide out so long, lichen starts to grow on them,’ Wainscott said. ‘Burrs get stuck in their fur. Before long, it’s like fighting a thistle bush.’ He folded his arms. ‘I’m not going back, Smith.’

‘Look here,’ Smith said, ‘you’re coming back and that’s that. I’m instructed to tell you that you can’t go playing silly buggers out here. It’s not cricket.’

‘Well, I like that,’ the major replied. ‘I’m actually getting something done out here and HQ has the gall to tell me to go home. All they’re good for is slowing me down. Out here,
I
wear the trousers.’ He looked down and added, ‘That’s a metaphor, obviously.’

‘That’s not on, old chap. I’ve seen what they’re doing back at base camp. For you to say that they’re all mouth and no trousers shows a lot of gall, frankly.’

‘Does it?’ Wainscott twisted around to look at the back of his own legs. He gestured grandly at the forest. ‘I’ve got the lemmings running scared. I’ve got them bending over backwards to stop me. And now HQ wants me to pull out and roll over so they can do the driving? Never! I am my own man and so are all my men! They’re all their own man. Each man, obviously. Except for the women and aliens. You know what I mean.’

‘That won’t do,’ Smith replied. ‘You’re needed, Wainscott. We all are. The lemmings are out for blood, and if we’re to beat them off, we all have to pull together.’

The major’s eyes, which managed to be squinty and wild at the same time, narrowed. ‘You know what you are, Smith? You’re like one of those boys that fellows rent out to do their dirty stuff –’

‘I hope you mean a paper boy.’

‘An errand boy, that’s it.’ Wainscott looked back to the forest and the anger faded from his face. ‘I don’t want to go home,’ he said. ‘I like it here.’

‘I know. I heard the messages you sent back.’

‘Ah.’ For once, Wainscott looked embarrassed. ‘Yes, I wouldn’t put too much weight on those. I was experimenting with the medicinal properties of some of the local plants at the time. I was rather... medicated.’

‘Come on, Wainscott. HQ needs you.’

The major sighed. ‘Smith, I’m not any good at home. All those bloody orders and things. I can’t do normal people stuff. Women won’t go near me, for some strange reason. Every time I go on leave, the place I return to has changed so much that it’s unrecognisable. I tried to go and visit my sister in Dorset a while ago. I didn’t recognise anything.’

‘The file said you crash-landed in the Yemen.’

‘Really?’ The major looked round. ‘Is that what it was? Well, thank goodness for that.’

Smith wondered how a man whose whole existence had been devoted to causing mayhem would return to civilian life. How would Wainscott deal with returning a library book, say, without throttling the librarian and blowing the building up? How would he make friends with anyone who wasn’t Suruk?

Smith suddenly felt very sorry for Wainscott. He had never expected to feel much sympathy towards a violent madman clothed only in underpants and mud. ‘Look, if you come back, I’ll do everything I can to make sure they give you the freedom to blow up whatever you like, provided it doesn’t belong to the Empire.’

‘You’ll help with tomorrow’s raid? Promise?’

‘Promise. But you’ve got to come back.’

‘Well, alright, then. If they need me, you have my word.’ Wainscott said. ‘Tomorrow, we hit the Yull – hard. Then it’s back home. Come on,’ he added, turning back to camp. ‘We’ll be needed to help out with dinner. Breaking those biscuits in half is a two-man job.’