The Eye of Zoltar (12 page)

‘I’ll tell you what I think: that “tasteless” was a word invented just for you.’

‘… and over here is Ralph,’ said Curtis, eager to move on and indicating the second of his friends, ‘another of my old school chums.’

The third traveller was tall and slender, and rubbed his hands together nervously when he spoke. He seemed the least idiotic of the trio and looked to be here as a hanger-on, probably against his better judgement.

‘Hello,’ he said quietly, ‘Ralph D. Nalor. Pleased to meet you. I’m – um – twenty in June.’

‘Anything else?’ I asked.

He thought for a moment.

‘Nothing springs to mind.’

After shaking hands – it was best to at least
attempt
to get along, I felt – and after they’d stored our baggage in the back of the half-track, Addie told us she wanted our attention.

‘Right,’ she said, climbing on to the half-track’s bonnet to address us, ‘the first thing to remember is there is only one rule: do as I tell you, no matter how insane. If we are held up by armed bandits, I do the talking. If we are all kidnapped, I do the talking. If
you
are kidnapped, then make polite conversation with your captors until I come to bargain for your release. That might take up to a year
but I will come
. Trying to escape is considered unspeakably rude, as is wailing, crying and pleading for your life, and is the quickest and easiest way to get yourself killed. The tribes who populate the Cambrian Empire are a murderous bunch of cut-throats, bandits and ne’er-do-wells, but they are polite, hospitable and won’t tolerate bad manners. Does everyone understand?’

‘Yeah, little girl, anything you say,’ said Curtis with a smirk.

Addie looked at him for moment, made a quick movement and in a moment her dagger had punctured Curtis’ collar and pinned him to the tree upon which he leaned.

‘Sorry,’ said Addie, ‘did you say something?’

‘I said,’ replied Curtis, firmly rattled, ‘that you’re totally the boss-dude.’

‘Okay. Now, altogether: what’s the one rule?’

‘Do as you say,’ we all said in unison.

‘Stand on one leg,’ said Addie, and we duly complied.

‘Good,’ she said, and five minutes later we pulled the half-track onto the road and headed off into the interior of the Cambrian Empire.

We headed north along the main Cambrianopolis road. I was driving with the Helping Hand
^™
making easy work of the half-track’s ridiculously heavy steering. Perkins was in the passenger seat with Addie sitting between us, with the Princess just behind. The fields we drove past contained cultivated almond tree groves, from which refined Marzoleum was derived, a syrupy oil that could be used for fondant icing, sunblock, window putty, aviation spirit – and pretty much anything else in between. Curtis and his friends had been standing up in the back because they thought it looked cool and manly until the dust, flies and road debris got in their eyes and mouths, so with eyes streaming and throats sore, they bravely sat in the rear instead.

I looked back to make sure they weren’t within earshot, then said to Addie:

‘Why were you so keen for Curtis and his dopey friends to come along?’

‘Simple. We need those three to make up the fifty per cent fatalities.’

This made me uneasy.

‘That’s not a great thing to hear.’

‘Perhaps not, but this is: you’ll go home safely and Curtis and his losers get to be the honoured dead. What’s not great about that?’

‘A lot,’ I replied. ‘Everyone matters, even those three.’

‘I don’t think that they do,’ said the Princess, who had been listening in to the conversation. ‘If they never came back it wouldn’t change much. Their families would be a bit glum but I dare say they’d get over it. Besides, you don’t come to Cambria without accepting at least the
possibility
of tragedy.’

‘I know you’re not actually a handmaiden,’ said Addie astutely, ‘what with your unservantlike manner and all, but you speak my language.’

‘Well, I
don’t
,’ I replied. ‘I’m not having those three used as cannon fodder.’

‘They knew the risks,’ said Addie, ‘and so did you when you agreed to the trip. I offered you a fifty per cent Fatality Index, and you accepted it. No point getting all precious about it now.’

‘We were taking the responsibility for
ourselves
,’ I said, ‘not other people.’

‘And you still are,’ said Addie with a shrug. ‘I can only guarantee the fifty per cent. I can’t say for certain who will live and who will die.’

Addie’s logic was somewhat strange, but did ring true – sort of. We a fell silent for a few moments.

‘Have you lost many tourists?’ asked Perkins.

‘Hundreds,’ said Addie in a nonchalant manner. ‘I used to keep count but after a while, there were just too many. You always remember the first and the youngest and the one you liked the most, but after that they’re simply a blur.’

‘Wait a moment,’ said the Princess. ‘Jennifer, myself, Porkins, you, Ignatius, Ralph and Curtis only make up seven. If you expect a fifty per cent casualty rate, how’s that meant to work?’

‘We’ll pick up someone on the trip,’ said Addie, ‘we always do. It’ll pan out correctly, you’ll see. I have a gift.’

‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ said the Princess. ‘What’s that up ahead?’

I looked out. On the road ahead someone had painted ‘SORRY’ in large letters.

‘Hunker down,’ shouted Addie and we all did as she said. The half-track had a large armoured flap that could be swung down in front of the windscreen in case of attack. Addie reached up and released the catch; the flap swung down with a bang, leaving me a small slot to see through. A second or two later the first bullet hit the armoured half-track, followed by a second, then a third.

‘Don’t stop,’ said Addie.

I did as she asked, and the air was suddenly heavy with the crack of rifle fire and the metallic
spang
of bullets as they bounced off.

‘Okay,’ said Addie as if we were doing nothing more unusual than driving through heavy hail, ‘here’s the plan: we’ll enter the Empty Quarter presently and stay at the Claerwin reservoir tonight; they have some Pod-poles. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll reach Llangurig and visit your friend. We’ll stay the night there and then head off into mountain Silurian territory to get to the foot of Cadair Idris. We’ll search for the Leviathans’ Graveyard on its rocky slopes until you give up – which you will, because the graveyard doesn’t exist – and then return.’

‘Good plan,’ I said, ‘although our movements really depend on what my friend in Llangurig says – I’m not mad keen on going any farther if I don’t have to.’

I wasn’t wildly keen on climbing the mountain. Cadair Idris was known not just for its stark beauty – a soaring pinnacle of sheer rock almost six thousand feet in height, the highest in the Cambrian range – but for the number of people who had vanished on its rocky slopes. Despite numerous expeditions, no one had reached the summit in modern times, or if they had, no one had returned. I’d risk our lives if there was a chance of finding the Eye of Zoltar, but not if there wasn’t.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Addie, mistaking my silence for nerves, ‘Cadair Idris will be fun.’

‘Ever been there?’

‘No. That’s why it will be fun.’

As we drove on, the rifle fire slowly diminished, and after a minute it stopped completely, and Addie gave us the all-clear so we could raise our heads above the armoured body of the half-track.

‘What was that?’ asked Perkins.

‘What was what?’

‘The rifle fire?’

‘Oh,
that
. I don’t know. A local warlord who is annoyed they built a bypass around his village. It’s cut travel times by a third and reduced congestion, but it also means he can’t extract money from travellers – so he fires on any car that passes. It’s nothing really serious.’

‘Unless you’re not in an armoured car,’ said Perkins.

‘But everyone is,’ said Addie simply. ‘Take the next left and continue on for about twenty miles.’

The half-track was neither fast nor quiet, so to conserve fuel and our eardrums I drove as slowly as practical, and we spent the time taking in the spectacular local countryside. The nation was utterly unspoilt. There were almost no modern buildings, shopping malls or fast-food joints, and no advertising hoardings, electricity pylons or other modern contrivances. Once away from the almond groves, broadleaf forests covered much of the lowlands, and the small houses dotted haphazardly about were constructed of stone with riveted steel roofs, and all were in some manner fortified.

‘What’s a Somnubuvorus?’ asked the Princess, who had been reading
Enjoy the unspoilt charms of the Cambrian Empire without death or serious injury
.

‘It looks like a cross between a baobab and a turnip,’ explained Addie, ‘and about the size of a telephone box. It’s actually not a plant at all, but a fungus that releases puffs of hallucinogenic spores into the breeze. Anyone who inhales them suddenly becomes convinced that being near the Somnubuvorus will enlighten and enrich them with hard-hitting and devastatingly relevant social and political commentary. Then, of course, you are soon overcome with a sense of listlessness and torpidity, and fall fast asleep.’

‘It sounds like what would happen if you weaponised French cinema,’ I observed.

‘Yes, pretty much, only French cinema doesn’t secrete enzymes from its roots and dissolve you while you sleep.’

‘Yag,’ said the Princess, and returned to the book.

I had a thought.

‘Why did the gunners shoot down Col— I mean, that Dragon just before we left?’

‘That’s easily explained,’ said Addie. ‘Emperor Tharv deplores mankind’s need to defy gravity so he’s banned all aerial traffic above his Empire. But because he wants to be equitable and just in all matters, he thinks that it would be unfair if birds, bats, insects and so forth were allowed to fly – so he banned them, too.’

‘And that included Dragons?’

‘Right. But here’s the real issue: Emperor Tharv comes from a long line of dangerously insane rulers, and the greatest difficulty in taking over from the
previous
dangerously insane ruler is to demonstrate that you are as crazy, or even
crazier
. When Emperor Tharv took over from his father, he declared that he would train an entire legion of killer elephants to invade the rest of Wales.’

‘I heard something about the killer elephant story.’

‘It was just sabre-rattling. Firstly, elephants don’t make good deranged killers, being generally good natured, and secondly, the idea fell foul of the “Killer Elephant Non-Proliferation Treaty”, so Tharv simply banned all flying instead. The high jump and pole-vault are illegal, pogo sticks and skipping are banned, and even jumping off chairs and tables is frowned upon.’

‘But that’s absurd,’ said Perkins. ‘Are you saying that geese and pigeons and bees and and bats and Dragons and stuff can’t fly in the Empire?’

‘That’s
exactly
what I’m saying.’

‘And how does he expect to enforce that?’

Addie shrugged.

‘He
can’t
obviously, except—’

‘Except what?’

‘Except … have you seen anything that flies since you arrived?’

I thought about this, and looked around. Now she mentioned it, I didn’t think I had.

‘Right,’ said Addie, ‘weird, isn’t it? We’ve got a lot of jeopardy here in the Empire, but not many things that flap.’

We all fell silent as we considered this.

‘If there are no aeroplanes in Cambria,’ said Perkins, pointing towards two lorries that had stopped in the road for their drivers to chat, ‘what about them?’

The lorries were painted with the pale blue logo of Skybus Aeronautics, and as we watched the one heading into the Empire lumbered forward with a grinding of gears while the one heading out accelerated rapidly away.

‘Aircraft components,’ said Addie. ‘Emperor Tharv may not support flying, but he does apparently have an aircraft component factory somewhere in the Empire.’

‘It doesn’t sound a very consistent policy, does it?’

Addie shrugged.

‘Perhaps not. But as insane as he is, he does okay for us. Do you get free healthcare and child support in your country?’

‘No.’

‘We do. And even though the Cambrian Empire boasts the lowest life expectancy in the Kingdoms what with all the civil war and jeopardy tourism and stuff, at least we get to live our short lives in a varied fashion: full of interest, fun and adventure. Which would you prefer? A short life as a tiger or a long one as a rabbit? I’m with the tiger.’

‘We’re in broad agreement,’ I replied after giving the matter some thought. ‘The only place where we part company is that I think everyone should have the
choice
to be a tiger or a rabbit – or anything in between.’

We stopped for lunch at one of the many tea rooms that dotted the roadside, each one of them designated, by mutual consent, a neutral area where even rival warlords could stop and have a cup of tea and a currant bun without risking a dagger between the shoulder blades. The lunch was excellent – simple, yet tasty – but the meal was marred by Curtis and Ignatius’ brash behaviour – they thought it amusing to talk loudly, flick food at one another and generally act like the complete idiots they were. We apologised as we left, and were told cheerily that ‘youthful high spirits’ were generally tolerated, but if we set foot inside the café again, Curtis and Ignatius would both be ‘tied inside a sack and beaten with sticks’.

We were back on the road within ten minutes.

‘Hello,’ said Ignatius, who had clambered to the front of the half-track to talk to us.

‘I’m not listening to anything but an apology,’ I said.

‘It was only a
little
food fight,’ he said with a grin, ‘barely worthy of the name.’

‘What do you want?’ I asked.

‘There’s a slug farm coming up,’ he said, pointing to his copy of
Ten animals to avoid in the Cambrian Empire
, ‘and I thought we should stop and have a look.’