The Carpet People

note. The chains around them shook and rattled as they took up the slack and then, with a creaking, the platform swung off the ground and up towards the Land.
    Pismire had been forced up against one of the railings by the press of animals, and so it was that he saw a shadow detach itself from the dust bush by the base of the wall and dash for the rising platform, trying to find a handhold on the underside.
    He saw it leap; but at that moment the platform swung, and he could not see the shadow again.
    Up rose the entrance to the Land, through swirling fogs, and then he realized he was looking out over the Carpet. Beneath him the tips of the hairs gleamed in the mist. It made him dizzy, so he tried to take his mind off things by giving the others a short lecture.
    ‘The Deftmenes say that this Land fell out of the above many years ago. The Vortgorns were just another small tribe that lived nearby. They climbed it, too, and hardly ever come down.’
    ‘Then why are mouls in the Land?’
    ‘I’d rather not think about it,’ said Pismire. ‘The Vortgorns may be a bit dull, but I’ve never understood them to be evil.’
    The platform ground on up the wall until, suddenly, it stopped. Before them was a bronze gate, built on top of the wall. Just above it heavy gantries carried the pulleys that raised and lowered the platform. They were plated with bronze, and studded with spikes. The gateway was spiked, and the portcullis in it was tipped with more spikes. Beneath them, far beneath, lay the Carpet.
    ‘They like their privacy, these people,’ remarked Bane.
    Behind him Gormaleesh hissed. ‘Look your last at your precious Carpet. You will not see it again.’
    ‘Ah. Melodrama,’ said Pismire.
    ‘So you think—’ Gormaleesh began.
    The last word ended on a yelp. Brocando had sunk his teeth into the moul’s leg.
    Whimpering with pain and rage Gormaleesh picked up the Deftmene king and rushed with him to the edge of the platform, raising him over his head.
    Then he lowered his arms, and smiled. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘No. Why? Soon you will wish that I had thrown you over. Throwing you over now would be mercy. And I don’t feel merciful ...’
    He dropped the trembling Brocando by the others just as the portcullis rose.
    ‘I wasn’t shaking,’ said Brocando. ‘It’s just a bit chilly up here.’
    The mouls marched on to the High Gate Land. Pismire saw a broad metal plateau, with what looked like hills in the distance. On either side as they marched were cages, with thick bars. They contained snargs. There were small brown snargs from the Woodwall lands, red snargs from the west, and black snargs with overlong teeth. Whatever their colour, they all had one thought in mind. They hurled themselves at their bars as the prisoners passed.
    On they went, and there were compounds where snargs were being broken in and trained. Further, and there were more cages, bigger than those of the snargs. They contained . . . strange creatures.
    They were huge. They had fat barrel bodies with ridiculous small wings, and long thin necks tipped with heads that wobbled slowly round as they passed. At the other end they had a stubby little tail. Their legs didn’t look thick enough to support them. Oh, they were thick – but something thatbig ought to have legs as thick as giant hairs.
    One of the creatures poked its head through the bars and looked down at Pismire. Its eyes were large but bright and oddly intelligent, and topped by enormous bushy brows.
    ‘A pone,’ he said. ‘A pone! From the utter east, where the very fringes of the Carpet touch the Floor. The biggest things in the Carpet. Oh, if we had a few of those at our command—’
    ‘I think perhaps they are under the command of the mouls,’ said Bane.
    The pone watched him pass.
    They reached the angular metal hills and went through a dark archway. Inside they were handed over to other, swarthier, mouls.
    There was a maze of tunnels that echoed with the chip-chip of hammers, but these they passed, going deeper, until they came to a dimly-lit hall lined with doors. One was opened, and they were thrown inside.
    As they struggled on the dank floor Gormaleesh’s grinning face appeared at the bars, lit red in the torchlight of the dungeons. ‘Enjoy the hospitality of our dungeons while you may. Soon you’ll go to the mines. There you will not sleep. But you’ll be safe from Fray!’
    ‘Why do they talk like that?’ said Pismire. ‘Melodrama. I’m amazed