Chronicles of Isambard Smith 05 - End of Empires (23 page)

She hurried up the path, towards the home of the king of the Equ’i.

Radcliffe Hall stood in ten acres of terraformed grounds, flanked by outbuildings and gymkhana yards. It was broad and white, more a mansion than a castle. A huge statue of a rearing horse stood in the drive. Above the door, a sign said ‘Please wipe your hooves’.

The royal couple waited outside. They were wider in the leg than Earth horses, and shorter in the body. Their eyes were slightly larger, and the tails somewhat more bushy, but they were very much ponies. The massive, dark-blue stallion nodded to Carveth, and she curtseyed.

‘You must be the new liaison officer,’ he said. ‘I am King Chestnut Moonlight-Shadow. This is my wife, Queen Delilah.’

‘Very pleased to meet you,’ Carveth replied.

‘Together,’ Chestnut explained, ‘we reign over the surrounding countryside, taking the council of our people in order to rule with justice and fairness.’

‘We have a daughter, too,’ said Queen Delilah. ‘She’s somewhere about...’

A figure emerged from the undergrowth.

‘And this is Princess Celeste,’ said the king.

The pony walked forward. She had a light blue coat and large, intelligent eyes. Her mane was very pale, almost silver. She moved with an easy elegance that Carveth rather envied, even though Celeste was a quadruped.

‘Hello!’ Celeste said. Her accent was cultured and jolly, and reminded Carveth of Captain Fitzroy. But there was no hardness in Celeste’s voice, just a sort of quick, girlish enthusiasm. Her voice was made for japes and excited whispering after dark. ‘You must be Mrs Carveth.’

‘Polly, please,’ Carveth replied. ‘And I’m a miss.’

‘Celeste Moonlight-Shadow,’ said the Equ’i. ‘And I’m a miss too.’

There was a moment’s silence. Carveth wondered what she was supposed to do, now that she had introduced herself. She felt extremely awkward, as if she would fall over if she moved, or would just make stupid noises if she tried to speak.

‘Why don’t you show Miss Carveth the grounds, Celeste?’ said Queen Delilah.

‘Yes, let’s!’ Celeste exclaimed. ‘Do you like gardens, Polly?’

‘I like yours,’ Carveth said.

‘Then follow me!’ Celeste turned on the spot, looked over her shoulder and smiled. Carveth bowed to the king and queen, not sure what else to do, and hurried after the princess.

‘So,’ said Carveth, as they walked down the steps, ‘I hear your last liaison officer had an interesting time.’

‘Really?’ Celeste turned to her. ‘Whoever told you that?’

‘Well, your last liaison officer, to be honest.’

Celeste snorted. ‘It’s absolute rot,’ she declared. ‘He was the most boring oaf you could imagine. He used to gather us all together and read bible stories. There was one he used to bang on about concerning some fellow called Balaam and his talking ass. Talking ass indeed! His wife was a bit better, though. She had a book about Tallulah Bankhead.’ Celeste stopped abruptly and gasped. ‘Goodness, they don’t give you all that self-improving business on your planet, do they?’

‘Well, not much,’ Carveth said. They turned off the drive, into the gardens.

Celeste flicked her tail. ‘I tell you what – I’ll lend you the book on Tallulah if you fetch me something good to read. Something wicked and unimproving. How about a book on pirates, or some Dorothy Parker? You can help me turn the pages. It’s rubbish sometimes, only having hooves.’

‘I’ve not got any books like that,’ Carveth said. She was surprised at how clottish the admission made her feel. ‘I’ve got some piloting manuals.’

‘Super! Are there dogfights?’

She thought of Smith’s bookshelf. ‘I could find some.’

‘Being a pilot must be marvellous,’ Celeste said. ‘I think I’d enjoy that.’

A huge butterfly flapped across the path before them, as though it were a Chinese kite given life. It vanished into the lush undergrowth, its orange wings visible for a moment between the leaves, like a tiger’s back.

‘You’re a princess,’ Carveth said. ‘That’s not bad.’

‘It gets a bit lonely. Is it true that you’re a war hero? It must be awfully exciting.’

‘Er, I’m not really. I kind of took the job because I like po – because I have an affinity with equine creatures.’

Carveth paused and smelt a rose. Celeste leaned in, smelled it too, and then ate it.

‘Are you trained in cross-species protocol, then?’ she asked.

‘I’ve got a hamster,’ Carveth replied, not wanting to seem ill-prepared. ‘And I can learn.’

They walked on. Somewhere, there was a desperate, bitter war being fought against the most vicious savages in the galaxy. It seemed a million light years from this garden. Could the same sun that set the shadows dappling on Celeste’s flank be glinting on the bayonets of the lemming men?

‘When I was little, I always wanted to be a unicorn,’ Celeste said thoughtfully. She paused to take a bite of grass. ‘But as you grow up, you realise that you have to start being more realistic about your ambitions. So now I’ve decided to become a best-selling novelist.’

‘How’s that going?’

‘Slowly. I’ve got a little shed at the far end of the grounds, next to the stream and the Well of Ponyness. The typing’s ghastly, though.’ Celeste flicked her tail. ‘I think I need to broaden my horizons first. Getting off this planet would be a start. Sometimes it seems so... boring here. Standing in a field all day, eating sugar lumps.’ Her large eyes lit up. ‘I want to see Manhattan! The Folies Bergere! Stockton-on-Tees!’

‘But it’s very pretty here.’

‘Do you think so?’ Celeste stopped walking and stared across the rolling paddock, over the stream with its mass of dragonflies, towards the trees at the far end, almost glowing green. ‘You know, you’re right. Yes, it
is
beautiful. Thank you for reminding me, Polly.’

Carveth glanced away. ‘It’s nothing.’

Celeste stamped her hoof. ‘Nonsense. What good would the world be if people stopped appreciating beauty?’

Carveth looked around to find that Celeste was looking her straight in the eyes. ‘Not very good,’ she said, ‘at all.’

‘Then that shall be our mission,’ Celeste declared. ‘To bring beauty and splendour back to the world. How does that sound?’

Carveth felt strangely moved. It was so rare to hear anyone talking about something that didn’t entail swilling tea and blowing people up. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That sounds fine.’

‘Splendid. Will you be back soon? I realise that it must be a bit boring for you, to have to deal with a load of talking horses instead of exciting things like war. And then there must be all those dawn raids you’re missing, not to mention the dogfights –’

‘I could do tomorrow.’

‘Super!’

Up ahead, a pair of larger Equi strode across the path. ‘Well, there’s Mummy and Daddy,’ Celeste said. ‘I suppose we’ve been a while.’

Carveth brushed her trousers down, checked her collar, and approached.

‘Hello again, Polly,’ said King Chestnut, ‘I hope Celeste has been able to give you some idea of our daily life.’

‘She doesn’t meet many new people,’ Queen Delilah explained. ‘She was always a rather sensitive foal. She had colic when she was young, you see.’

Carveth bowed. ‘It’s been very interesting, thank you –’

‘It’s been smashing,’ Celeste put in. ‘I think she’ll make a jolly good liaison officer. Much better than the last one. Oh, do let’s keep her, Daddy. Can we?’

The king and queen looked at one another. ‘Well,’ said King Chestnut, ‘all right.’

Carveth couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so relieved, except at the end of most gunfights.

‘Marvellous!’ Celeste exclaimed. ‘You’re going to love it here, Polly.’

King Chestnut chuckled. ‘Sounds like you girls have really hit it off,’ he said, and Carveth went red.

The king and queen watched as the
John Pym
took their new liaison officer back to Mothkarak. It was getting dark; Celeste had retired to her chambers to work on her novel.

‘Well, if you ask me it makes a nice change from the previous human,’ said the queen. ‘All those talks about fresh air and bracing walks. I’m a horse, for goodness’ sake. I know what a bracing walk is without being lectured by an overgrown boy scout, thank you.’

‘He did introduce us to tea,’ said King Chestnut. ‘That’s something. Although I’ve still not figured out what he meant when he preached that sermon against “the sin of beastliness”. Seems a bit pointless, seeing that we are beasts.’

‘You don’t think he meant, you know, having one off the hoof, do you?’

‘I doubt it. I can’t even reach all that stuff.’ Chestnut shrugged. ‘At least now we’ve got somebody half sane, not some obnoxious yahoo. Frankly,’ he added, ‘I can’t see how it could go wrong.’

* * *

Smith, Rhianna and Suruk spent the next few days in the castle, assisting with the defences. Rhianna helped the troops perfect their survival skills by carrying out a detailed study of the local plant and mushroom life. Smith consulted the maps with Suruk until they knew the surrounding countryside almost by heart. But they were not the only restless inhabitants of Mothkarak.

After several months of savage combat in the most dangerous and overgrown forest in the galaxy, Major Wainscott was beginning to show the signs of trauma, mainly because he wanted to go back out there. Also, bath day was approaching. That, Susan explained, always made him twitchy. They compromised: Wainscott and Suruk took Smith outside to teach him hunting techniques. On the third day, Wainscott went missing and they tracked him down. Smith assumed that it was a test, but when the major had to be shot with a tranquiliser dart, he realised that Wainscott had been making a bolt towards freedom and the hunting grounds.

Suruk spent his free time meditating, readying his spirit for the tests to come and achieving calm by raking the sand in his litter tray. On the morning of the fourth day, he announced his readiness to meet the hidden masters of the Temple of Goron.

* * *

It took Suruk eight hours to walk to the area where the hidden temple was said to be, and thirty minutes to find it. That was a good omen. Either Suruk had been destined to locate the hidden temple, or its inhabitants were idiots. Whichever was true, it gave him an advantage in the negotiations to come.

The place was half-overgrown. The walls were grey stone, so decrepit that it was hard to work out in which direction they were supposed to be going. The forest had started to devour it, and creepers were climbing the walls like the tentacles of a sea monster pulling a ship into the ocean. It occurred to Suruk that the only reason why the hidden temple was hidden was because nobody had bothered to tidy it up.

He walked under a mossy archway, into a courtyard.

Lumps of rock lay strewn around, dice thrown by a giant hand. On each side stood a large grey building. Friezes on the sides depicted M’Lak heroes slaying a wide range of large enemies. They were faded and chipped. Statues of beasts flanked each doorway. None had a head.

Far away, a carnotaur bellowed.

Suruk walked forward. He was being watched. It was a feeling, but also a certainty, the way that he could tell what Carveth would be doing as soon as nobody was looking and there were biscuits within reach. He looked up, expecting to see half a dozen elders crouched in the trees, waiting to do battle or, worse, to force him to get a proper job. Nothing.

He reached the centre of the courtyard. Suruk paused and reached out to a decapitated statue of a crouching froghound. A heap of stones lay beside the body. It was all that remained of its head.

Something popped behind him. Suruk whipped round, spear raised. Smoke rose hissing from the ground. In the column of smoke stood a figure. Arms folded, head tilted back, an ancient M’Lak warrior regarded Suruk with stern disapproval.

‘Will men never learn?’ the ancient asked. He had a deep, slow voice. ‘True wisdom comes not from here’ – he touched his head – ‘nor from here’ – he pressed his hand to his heart – ‘but from not messing with other people’s stuff.’

‘But I am no man,’ Suruk said.

‘True,’ the ancient replied. He wore traditional battledress, as well as a cravat. ‘Yet great wisdom lies in keeping your thieving hands to yourself.’

‘Bah! Mere objects are nothing beside brave deeds. Besides, whoever was last here really cleaned you out. They even took the heads off your statues.’

‘That was me. I practiced the fighting stance called Delicate Butterfly. Things exploded.’

‘I do not know it. On which subject,’ Suruk added, ‘I have come here to learn.’

‘Ah. You wish to study my Presumptuous Owl? Or is it the Probing Cobra that interests you?’

‘No, ancient. I seek the location of the Relics of Grimdall.’

The warrior laughed. ‘Is that so? Do you think I just give them out to any passing traveller?’

‘Hopefully, yes.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Suruk the Slayer, of the House of Agshad. Scion of Ametrin, son of Agshad Nine-Swords, lord of the line of Urgar the Miffed. Taker of skulls, conqueror of lemming men, most honoured of my clan and –’

‘General-purpose upstart. I know of you. I am Volgath. If you wish to learn the ancient arts, then you are in the right place.’

‘That depends on the ancient art in question,’ Suruk replied. ‘I did not journey this far to make pots.’

Volgath smiled. ‘Fear not. I guard the secrets of combat. Come forward and I will teach you an ancient technique. It is called Education of the Gullible.’

Suruk approached. ‘I have not heard of that style.’

Volgath whipped around. His heel crashed into Suruk’s ear. Suruk stumbled back and dropped into a fighting stance. Quietly, he raised his spear.

Suruk snarled. ‘Most amusing. And now, old fool, I shall educate
you.
’

Night fell over Mothkarak. In its mighty walls, dumb waiters rumbled as tea and biscuits were sent up to the gunners on the battlements. The M’Lak riflemen training in the great hall stopped throwing each other into the butresses long enough to share out the tiffin. After a long day of pouring over maps and shooting no lemming men, Smith called a meeting of his crew.

They met in the main dining hall, on the table near the exit reserved for Games and Recreations, Interplanetary Shipping and other branches of the secret service. The air was full of spice and polite conversation. On the next table down, a row of lancers chatted about something that probably involved decapitation. A hovering wallahbot drifted slowly over the tables, dispensing gravy from integral spigots.