Chronicles of Isambard Smith 05 - End of Empires (24 page)

Smith and Rhianna were first to arrive. ‘Well,’ Smith said, ‘I’m afraid it’s hardly the Ritz.’

Rhianna smiled. ‘This is fine. I always like trying unusual food.’

Smith looked around. ‘Well then, you’ll love the army canteen. It’s like eating in a different country. I mean, I’m never quite sure what I’m eating and it’s certainly got a special atmosphere.’ He took a cylinder from the tabletop. ‘Look, they’ve even got novelty salt shakers.’

‘That’s a grenade, Isambard.’

He gave it a shake: no salt came out, but neither did the pin. ‘Good point. Still, it’s rather romantic, just you and I. And all these soldiers.’

Rhianna smiled. ‘Hey, you’re right.’ She reached out and took his hand. ‘Let’s make the most of it.’

At the far end of the room the head chef yelled ‘Alright, lads! Tonight’s special is a subtle blend of curry powder and powdered egg. I call it “The Cleanser”. One dollop or two?’

Suruk appeared at the side of the table. He sat down human-style. ‘Greetings all. Let the gravy flow like the lifeblood of our foes!’

‘Hi Suruk,’ Rhianna said. ‘How are the masters of the hidden temple?’

‘Hiding. So far, I have found one of them, and he is an idiot.’ Suruk’s eyes narrowed as he looked around the room. ‘Wait... Carveth is in terrible danger!’

Smith twisted around. ‘What? What’s up, old chap?’

‘Behold my watch, Mazuran,’ Suruk replied. ‘She is three minutes late for a meal!’

‘Good God!’ Smith said, rising from his chair. ‘You don’t think...’

‘Maybe she got distracted,’ Rhianna said. ‘There are a lot of soldiers here, after all. Wait...’ She frowned and raised a hand. ‘I can sense... a terrible hunger, coming from... from there!’

Rhianna threw her arm out, nearly hitting the wallahbot. Carveth came hurrying between the tables. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘Important diplomatic business.’ She sat down. ‘What’s for dinner?’

A tall M’Lak in dress uniform approached, a white cloth draped over his arm. ‘Ladies, gentlemen,’ he announced. ‘You are our honoured guests.’

‘Great,’ Carveth said, rubbing her hands together. ‘I’m really hungry. Bouncing around on Celeste takes it out of you.’

‘Then tonight’s meal will delight you,’ said the M’Lak. ‘We will be dining on the finest delicacies of old Ravnavar. Goodness me, such luxuries! To start with, the jellied bladder of a Corellian Pangolin, served in the squeezings of a thousand venomous scorpion-bugs. Then, the main course: crushed monkey feet, blended with nutmeg and lightly-chilled crocodile tonsils, force-fed to a giant eel and hacked from its still-living belly before your very eyes!’

The eagerness drained from Carveth’s face. ‘Really?’ she croaked.

The M’Lak grinned. ‘No, I’m just having you on. It’s chicken korma.’

Laughter burst out of the table behind them. One of the M’Lak riflemen, a captain from his stripes, leaned over.

‘Good joke, eh, fellows? We like a good laugh in the rifles. Curry night always makes the chaps a bit lively.’

‘Yes,’ said Smith, ‘I did notice some chuckles from behind.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Take no notice, Carveth. You weren’t to know that they ate British food. Now, then: status update, if you please. Suruk, how are these elders? Have you broken the ice yet?’

‘The ice, three stone dogs and Elder Volgath’s left scapula,’ Suruk replied. ‘Disappointingly, Volgath seems to be the only elder left, but he assures me that he knows the location of Grimdall’s resting place.’

‘Great,’ Carveth said. ‘All you have to do now is bash the truth out of him.’

‘Certainly not,’ Suruk growled. ‘To do so, I must first prove myself in the ancient martial disciplines and defeat Volgath in honourable combat and... wait a minute, that
is
bashing the truth out of him. Apologies, Piglet.’ Suruk smiled, and held out his arm. ‘Look.’

A metal bracer covered his arm from wrist to elbow: it bulged slightly as if it concealed something. Suruk flicked his hand out, the first and last fingers extended as if to appreciate heavy metal, then clenched his hand into a fist.

A jointed blade shot out of the back of his arm, clicked into place and locked back on itself at an angle, jutting out over his hand. It was a wicked-looking thing, a tool for punching up close. ‘A Zukari arm-blade,’ he said. ‘For unseaming the Yull.’ Carefully, he pushed the weapon back into place.

Robots rolled down the hall, setting out plates. At the far end, there was a minor commotion as a table of humans and M’Lak leaped upright, then sat back down. Smith glimpsed the cause: the small figure of General Young, taking dinner with her troops.

Rhianna spoke to the wallahbot, and it dispensed the vegan option. ‘Vindaloo with tofu fried in gin,’ it said, and Smith felt his eyes start to sting.

‘So, Carveth, how about you? Have you made any progress with the Equ’i?’

Rhianna nodded. ‘Have they accepted you into their culture?’

‘Oh yes!’ Carveth grinned, a spoonful of korma half-raised to her mouth. ‘Ponyland is the best place ever. Celeste and I are really good friends. She’s really clever. She’d be a best-selling novelist by now, except that she can’t really type. Also, she’s really keen on Tallulah Bankhead. Apparently, they’ll show me the ancient art of dressage.’

Smith frowned. ‘Have you actually learned anything useful?’

‘How do you mean, “useful”?’

Smith sighed.

‘Can she stay over?’ Carveth demanded. ‘Can she? She can sleep in my bed.’

‘Where will you sleep?’

‘In my bed.’

Suruk prodded his dinner. ‘When they made you liaison officer, I doubt that was the sort of liaison that they intended. That will not delight Rick Dreckitt, seeing that he is usually there as well. Curious how there is no word “worstiality”, is it not?’

Smith gave him a stern look. Suruk shrugged and continued to eat. Three tables down, a group of Ravnavari Lancers sprang upright and raised their cups. ‘Victor Rex, King and Emperor! Those who are about to dine salute you!’

‘Look,’ Carveth said, ‘I got Celeste a present. We’ll have such fun with this!’ She rooted about in a plastic bag, and dumped a mass of buckles and leather on the tabletop.

‘What the bloody hell is that?’ Smith said.

‘Well, yes,’ Rhianna said. ‘What exactly is that, Polly?’

‘It’s a strap-on unicorn horn,’ Carveth replied.

‘Er, righto,’ Smith said. They continued their meal. The food wasn’t bad, Smith reflected. A group of lancers leaped upright on the next table down, and, for about the third time, cried ‘To the health of King Victor!’ and drank. Given the amount of booze they seemed to consume, Smith would have been more concerned about the health of the lancers than the king.

‘Well,’ Rhianna said, ‘Suruk’s making good progress with the mystic elder, and Polly’s getting on really well with the Equ’i. Great work, guys.’

‘Indeed,’ Suruk said. ‘So you and this horse. Is it bonky time?’

Carveth jolted upright and glared at him. ‘What?’

‘Alas,’ Suruk said. ‘Tiny horse sex. I think it is very important that we get to the bottom of this, for the wellbeing of the little woman here and so I can collect on that wager I made with Major Wainscott.’

Carveth glared at them. ‘That is so unfair!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’d never sleep with a pony, even a talking one! We’ve not even been on a second date!’

* * *

The next morning, Smith and Rhianna resumed their study of the data that Wainscott had acquired. Suruk returned to the hidden temple, and Carveth delivered some documents to King Chestnut. They were something to do with winning the war. Then she hurried into the garden to find Celeste.

The pony stood beside the ornamental stream, gazing into the water pumped up from the Well of Ponyness. She glanced around and whinnied. ‘Hello, Ambassador Polly!’

Carveth waved. ‘Hi! I, er, brought you something.’

‘Oh really? What’s that?’

Fighting down a burst of uncertainty, Carveth took out her gift. ‘This is for you. It’s a strap-on unicorn horn. You said that you wanted to be a unicorn, and I thought that since I’ve got opposable thumbs, I might as well –’

She was drowned out by Celeste’s gasp. ‘For me? Oh Polly, how absolutely wonderful. Will you help me?’

Carveth helped secure the horn. She pulled Celeste’s forelock out and smoothed it down.

‘How do I look?’

‘Great,’ Carveth replied. ‘Just like a unicorn.’

Celeste paused a moment, thinking. ‘Polly,’ she said, flicking her tail, ‘Would you like to see my special place?’

‘Um,’ said Carveth, ‘Okay.’

‘It’s at the bottom of the gardens,’ Celeste explained, ‘far from the roving eyes of the brutish, uncomprehending masses. It is a place of sophistication and beauty that only those attuned to such things can comprehend. Close your eyes,’ said Celeste, ‘and follow me.’

Carveth felt silly holding Celeste’s tail, so she just kept close behind and hoped that Celeste didn’t feel the need to kick anything.

‘This way,’ the Equ’i said. ‘Left a bit... and there. You can open your eyes now.’

Carveth opened her eyes.

She was standing in a small paddock, no larger than fifty yards across, hidden from view by walls of flowers. Banks of rhododendrons curved upwards, flowers bursting from them like falling droplets of water frozen in mid-burst. A pair of statues – rearing unicorns – glinted in the late afternoon sun beside an ornamental stream. At the rear of the paddock, nestled into the greenery, stood a small building somewhere between a stable and a summerhouse, its door rimmed with fairy lights.

Celeste stood in front of her. ‘Welcome, Polly!’ she cried.

A butterfly slightly smaller than a pair of elephant’s ears flapped past, briefly considered landing on Carveth’s head and instead turned to a huge sunflower like a landing-pad. Carveth’s legs carried her forward while her eyes tried to take in her surroundings: flowers… ponies… statues of unicorns… fairy lights…

‘I feel faint,’ she said. ‘It’s so amazing, I feel a bit sick.’

‘Isn’t it?’ cried Celeste. ‘I write my novel in the summer-stable. It’s called
Tina, the Warrior Horse
.’

The riverbank was clustered with pairs of dragonflies. They shimmered like varnished wood, their wings humming. Celeste watched two dragonflies hover past. They were the size of king prawns. ‘Polly,’ she said, ‘do you have a man friend?’

Carveth shrugged. ‘Kind of. It’s pretty vague.’

‘Best thing for it, if you ask me. If he’s anything like the stallions round here, I can’t blame you. They’re such imbeciles. You can’t turn round in front of them without having one of the buggers trying to flop onto your back.’

‘Men, eh?’

‘Absolutely! Stallions are such useless blighters.’ Celeste peered into the brook, admiring her horn. ‘I’m so terribly glad you came along, Polly. So many people just think ponies are for riding. It’s so rare to meet a human who wants to talk to one.’

‘Of course I’d want to talk to you. I talk to my hamster sometimes, but he doesn’t even reply. But – well, I’ve never really
met
any horses until now. I’ve never properly learned to ride a horse, you see…’

‘Really? Then I shall teach you!’ Celeste turned side-on to Carveth. ‘Climb onto my back, Polly.’

Carveth looked at Celeste’s back. The curve of her spine looked very daunting. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course!’

Carveth stepped forward and heaved herself onto Celeste’s back. She found herself at right angles to the pony, her face parallel with the ground and her legs kicking uselessly in the air. With a lot of effort, Carveth turned ninety degrees, so that she was at least facing in the right direction. It was not a dignified business.

‘Alright up there?’

‘I think so.’

‘Good.’ Celeste started walking; Carveth found that she was moving too, and tried not to panic. Celeste accelerated, and Carveth was alarmed to discover that the air around her face had turned into wind, as if she’d stuck her head out of a car window. Still, provided that they stuck to trotting, it ought to be manageable.

‘Let’s jump over something!’ Celeste cried. ‘Won’t that be fun?’

A log lay across the path. It was not, by arboreal standards, especially big, but it made Carveth think of the sort of thing used to stop tanks. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ she said.

‘We can do it, Polly,’ Celeste replied. ‘Together.’

‘Alright then.’ Carveth leaned forward, as people did in films, and gritted her teeth. ‘First time for everything.’

‘That’s the spirit – I knew you had it in you!’ cried the pony. Head down, she charged straight at the log, Carveth bouncing uncontrollably on her back. ‘Hold on tightly, Polly!’

Celeste drove up from the ground. Carveth whooped with fear and exhilaration and together they sailed over the log.

Celeste landed, cantered forward and slowed to a trot. She halted a few yards further on. ‘Well, golly!’ she panted.

Carveth slid down and landed uncertainly. Her legs were shaking. ‘That was intense.’

‘You have learned the ancient bond between horse and rider. Truly, you are one of us. Oh Polly! What jolly luck to have met you! I do hope you don’t have to go away soon.’

‘Go away?’ The smile fell off Carveth’s face as if a cliff had collapsed under it. She shuddered. ‘Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I’d never leave Ponyland.’ She gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.’

‘Super!’ said Celeste, but the air felt a little colder than before.

* * *

Overnight, Mothkarak seemed to have gained a small, high fort on its western edge. This was in fact the howdah of the ravnaphant Mildred, which had halted next to the curtain wall. A drawbridge flopped down and soldiers of all sorts hurried across, pushing trolleys full of supplies. Uninterested by the whole procedure, the ravnaphant took a bite out of the parapet and stood there chewing.

As Smith and Rhianna stepped into the morning sunshine, Mildred turned her myopic eyes on the castle. She seemed to be trying to decide whether to eat it.

‘Wow!’ Rhianna exclaimed. ‘That’s so big!’

‘Quite so,’ Smith replied. He was carrying a suitcase full of ammunition and sandwiches for the day ahead. Rhianna was wearing a large hat which, for reasons that he couldn’t explain, he found vaguely erotic.