Interesting Times

the sun.
    He ignored them.
    “Crowdie the Strong?” he said to Caleb.
    “Dead.”
    “Can’t be. He was a picture of health when I saw him a coupla months ago. Going on a new quest and everything.”
    “Dead.”
    “What happened?”
    “You know the Terrible Man-eating Sloth of Clup?”
    “The one they say guards the giant ruby of the mad snake god?”
    “The very same. Well…it was.”
    The crowd parted to let the Horde through. One or two people tried a cheer, but were shushed into silence. It was a silence that Mr. Saveloy had only heard before in the most devout of temples. *
    There was a whispering, though, growing out of that watchful silence like bubbles in a pot of water on a hot fire.
    It went like this.
    The Red Army. The Red Army .
    “How about Organdy Sloggo? Still going strong down in Howondaland, last I heard.”
    “Dead. Metal poisoning.”
    “How?”
    “Three swords through the stomach.”
    The Red Army!
    “Slasher Mungo?”
    “Presumed dead in Skund.”
    “Presumed?”
    “Well, they only found his head.”
    The Red Army!
    The Horde approached the inner gates of the Forbidden City. The crowd followed them at a distance.
    These gates were shut, too. A couple of heavyset guards were standing in front of them. They wore the expressions of men who’d been told to guard the gates and were going to guard the gates come what may. The military depends on people who will guard gates or bridges or passes come what may and there are often heroic poems written in their honor, invariably posthumously.
    “Gosbar the Wake?”
    “Died in bed, I heard.”
    “Not old Gosbar!”
    “Everyone’s got to sleep some time.”
    “That’s not the only thing they’ve got to do, mister,” said Boy Willie. “I really need the wossname.”
    “Well, there’s the Wall.”
    “Not with everyone watching! That ain’t…civilized.”
    Cohen strode up to the guards.
    “I’m not mucking about,” he said. “Okay? Would you rather die than betray your Emperor?”
    The guards stared ahead.
    “Right, fair enough.” Cohen drew his sword. A thought seemed to strike him.
    “Nurker?” he said. “Big Nurker? Tough as old boots, him.”
    “Fishbone,” said Caleb.
    “Nurker? He once killed six trolls with a—”
    “Choked on a fishbone in his gruel. I thought you knew. Sorry.”
    Cohen stared at him. And then at his sword. And then at the guards. For a moment there was silence, broken only by the sound of the rain.
    “Y’know, lads,” he said, in a voice so suddenly full of weariness that Mr. Saveloy felt a pit opening up, here, at the moment of triumph, “I was goin’ to chop your heads off. But…what’s the point, eh? I mean, when you get right down to it, why bother? What sort of difference does it make?”
    The guards still stared straight ahead. But their eyes were widening.
    Mr. Saveloy turned.
    “You’ll end up dead anyway, sooner or later,” Cohen went on. “Well, that’s about it. You live your life best way you can and then it don’t actually matter, ’cos you’re dead—”
    “Er. Cohen?” said Mr. Saveloy.
    “I mean, look at me. Been chopping heads off my whole life and what’ve I got to show for it?”
    “Cohen…”
    The guards weren’t just staring now. Their faces were dragging themselves into very creditable grimaces of fear.
    “Cohen?”
    “Yeah, what?”
    “I think you should look round, Cohen.”
    Cohen turned.
    Half a dozen red warriors were advancing up the street. The crowd had pulled right back and were watching in silent terror.
    Then a voice shouted: “Extended Duration To The Red Army!”
    Cries rose up here and there in the crowd. A young woman raised her hand in a clenched fist.
    “Advance Necessarily With The People While Retaining Due Regard For Traditions!”
    Others joined her.
    “Deserved Correction To Enemies!”
    “I’ve lost Mr. Bunny!”
    The red giants clonked to a halt.
    “Look at them!” said Mr. Saveloy. “They’re not trolls! They move like some kind of engine! Doesn’t that interest you?”
    “No,” said Cohen, vacantly. “Abstract thinking is not a major aspect of the barbarian mental process. Now then, where was I?” He sighed. “Oh, yes. You two…you’d rather die than betray your Emperor, would you?”
    The two men were rigid with fear now.
    Cohen raised his sword.
    Mr. Saveloy took a deep breath, grabbed Cohen’s sword arm and shouted:
    “ Then open the gates and let him through! ”
    There was a moment of utter