The Carpet People

he doesn’t go “harharhar”.’
    ‘Gormaleesh!’ said Bane.
    The moul reappeared. ‘Yes, lowly scum?’ he said.
    ‘Lowly scum,’ said Pismire. ‘Imagination of a loaf of bread, that one.’
    ‘When we get out of here I’m going to find you and kill you,’ said Bane, in quite normal conversational tones. ‘I thought I ought to tell you now. I wouldn’t want you to say afterwards that you hadn’t been warned.’
    Gormaleesh stepped back, and then said, ‘Your threats I treat with scorn. Harharhar!’
    Pismire nodded happily. ‘Knew he would, sooner or later,’ he said to himself.
    They lay in the darkness, listening to the distant knocking of the hammers.
    ‘So these are the mines,’ said Brocando, ‘where my people have been taken. Mining metal.’
    ‘Everyone’s people, by the sound of it,’ said Pismire.
    He lay staring at the dark, wondering about Glurk. He could have imagined the shadow. And Snibril . . . well, perhaps he did get out before the roof fell in . . .
    They were roughly woken by the prodding of a spear.
    Two mouls were standing in the doorway, grinning down at them. ‘These three for the mines, eh?’
    ‘Aye,’ came a growl from outside. Pismire’s ears pricked.
    ‘That one’s a bit small, and that one’s an old codger. Still, use up the old ones first, eh?’
    ‘Let’s see ’em,’ came the voice from outside.
    The prisoners were dragged upright, and had their thongs inspected before they were thrust out into the dim hall. A bronze-clad Vortgorn stood there, terrible in the half-light.
    ‘You stupid oafs,’ he snarled at the mouls. ‘Look at their bonds! Practically falling off!’ And he strode forward and caught up Pismire’s hands. The old man looked for a moment into familiar brown eyes, one of which winked at him.
    ‘We tightened them special!’ said one moul indignantly.
    ‘Oh yes? Look at this one, then.’
    The two mouls slunk over and stood one on either side of the Vortgorn.
    One said: ‘They’re as tight as a . . .’
    The Vortgorn reached out and placed one gnarled hand about each hairy neck. The voice faded into a strangled squeak. The Vortgorn brought his hands together with a satisfying crack, and let the stunned creatures drop.
    Glurk removed his helmet.
    ‘Well, here we are, then,’ he said.
    He couldn’t resist dancing a little jig in front oftheir staring faces. Then he put his helmet back on again.
    ‘We left you in Underlay!’
    ‘How d’you come here?’
    ‘Was it you I saw?’ asked Pismire. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’
    ‘Safety first, stories later,’ said Glurk.
    He took a knife from his belt and cut their ropes. They rubbed some life into their numb wrists while he dragged the guards into the cell and locked them in, despite Brocando pointing out that the best time to kill an enemy was when they were unconscious.
    Glurk came back with their swords. ‘They’re nasty things, but better than nothing if it comes to a fight,’ he said. ‘Try to look like prisoners if anyone sees you. There’s all sorts up here. You might not be noticed.’
    Glurk led, in his Vortgorn armour. Twice they met moul guards who paid no attention to him until it was too late.
    ‘Where are we going?’ said Pismire.
    ‘I’ve found some friends.’
    ‘We ought to rescue the prisoners,’ said Brocando.
    ‘There’s thousands of them. Thousands of mouls, too,’ said Glurk. ‘Too many.’
    ‘That’s right,’ said Bane. ‘We’ve got to get out. Then we can get help. And don’t say that if they’vegot a lot of Deftmenes prisoner it means we’ve got an army right inside their lines.’
    ‘I’ve seen some of the prisoners, too,’ said Glurk. ‘They ain’t in any condition to fight, if you want my opinion.’
    ‘You’re talking about Deftmenes, you know,’ said Brocando stoutly.
    Glurk peered around a corner, and then beckoned them to follow him. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And it’s still true. What I’m saying is, it’s not a case of stealing a bunch of keys and unlocking a few doors and shouting, “Harharhar, my people, throw off your shackles”. This is real. And I’ve been listening. You know why the mouls attacked Jeopard?’
    ‘To subjugate and enslave a proud people,’ said Brocando.
    ‘For grit.’
    ‘Grit?’
    ‘That’s what Jeopard’s built on, isn’t it? Stone chisels, see. They use dozens of ’em just to hack out a bit of metal.’
    ‘My lovely city—’
    ‘Grit,’ said Glurk.
    ‘My