The Carpet People

that direction.
    ‘It’s something you don’t often see,’ he added. The others looked where he pointed.
    Among the greenery at the far side of the glade a wild pig was watching them solemnly. As they all turned it backed away hastily, and they could hear it crashing off through the hairs.
    ‘That’s common enough,’ grunted Bane.
    ‘It’s just that it was brown,’ said Pismire. ‘It should have been green. Almost all wild creatures in the Carpet take on the colour of the hairs where they were born. Protective camouflage.’
    ‘Perhaps it just wandered here,’ said Bane.
    ‘No,’ said Glurk, grinning. ‘Something brought it here. We’re nearly there. You’ll be amazed. You really will.’
    The pones turned, and pushed their way along another track. As they shouldered their way through the thick fronds, scores of small creatures scurried away hurriedly. They were all the colours of the Carpet.
    And then the pones stepped through . . .
    Hairs clustered in closely on the borders of a wideclearing, reflecting the dim glow from the thing in its centre.
    It was one uncut crystal of sugar. High as the Great Palace of Jeopard, whiter than a bone, the crystal glittered coldly in the green dimness. It caught all the light that filtered through the densely packed dust, and within its marvellous cubic bulk a shifting white glow danced. In parts it shone like polished varnish, reflecting the faces of the creatures that clustered round it.
    There were dust rabbits and weft borers of all colours, pigs by the herd, long-necked soraths, patient fat tromps, gromepipers, scurrying goats with spiral horns and creatures even Pismire could not recognize: a scaly thing with spikes on its back, and a long creature that seemed to be all legs. The clearing was filled with the sound of a thousand tongues . . . licking.
    Acretongue and his herd pounded forward, almost throwing Glurk and the rest out of the saddle. Smaller creatures leapt aside hastily to give them room.
    ‘It’s . . . beautiful,’ whispered Brocando at last. Bane stood staring up, gaping. Even Pismire was impressed.
    They climbed down from the pone’s back and walked gingerly up to the smooth surface. Theanimals licking the sugar hardly paid them any attention.
    Glurk cracked a piece off with his knife, and stood crunching it thoughtfully. ‘Have a taste,’ he said, tossing a piece to Bane. Bane bit it cautiously.
    ‘Sugar,’ said Bane. ‘I’ve only ever tasted it once before. There was a crystal down near the Hearthlands. The Emperor used to get it in very small amounts.’
    ‘Like honey, but different,’ said Brocando. ‘How does it get here?’
    ‘Like Grit, and Salt, and Ash do. From above,’ said Pismire. ‘We don’t know any more than that.’
    Instinctively they looked up at the spreading hairs.
    ‘Well, here’s our lunch, anyway.’ Brocando’s voice broke the silence. ‘Take your pick – fried tromp or baked gromer. No wonder they’re all colours. This must attract them from everywhere. Mind you,’ he added, ‘it hardly seems sporting to kill them while they’re not looking.’
    ‘So put away your knife,’ said a new voice.
    Pismire choked on his sugar.
    A figure stood a little way away. It was tall, with the thin face of a wight, and looked ghostly in the light of the crystal. It had a mass of white hair – it was hard to see where the hair ended and the shapeless long robe began. And she was young, butas she moved sometimes she was old, and sometimes she was middle-aged. Time moved across her face like shadows.
    One of her hands held the collar of a white snarg, which was swishing its tail menacingly.
    ‘Um,’ said Glurk, ‘this is Culaina.’
    The wight walked past them and patted Acretongue’s flank. The pone’s long neck turned and his little eyes looked at Culaina; then he clumsily lowered himself to his knees and laid his head on the ground.
    Culaina turned, and smiled. The whole clearing seemed to smile with her. The change was sudden, and dramatic.
    ‘So here you are,’ she said, ‘and now you must tell me of your adventures. I know you will, because I remember you did. Follow me. There will be food.’
    At the far side of the clearing was Culaina’s home, or one of her homes. It was no more than a roof of woven dust on poles. There were no walls or doors, no ditch or stockade to protect it at night, and no place for a fire. Above it was a large hive of hymetors. Animals cropped and dozed peacefully