The Carpet People

We can stop being people. We can just grub around in the dark.
    The Deftmenes think that no enemy is too big to fight, but we never even see Fray.
    The Dumii don’t think like that. They think that if an enemy is too big, you should find a smaller enemy.
    Maybe Pismire is right. We can’t stop Fray. But at least we can stop being frightened of Fray.
    ‘I’m going to Ware,’ he told the tribe that evening. They looked at him in horror. Technically, Glurk was still chief ... if he was alive. If he wasn’t, then Snibril was chief. Glurk’s children were all too young. No one wanted to lose another chief.
    ‘You can’t leave us,’ said Dodor Plint, who was the tribe’s shoemaker. ‘You’re the leader.’
    ‘Ware’s important,’ said Snibril. ‘We’d just be simple hunters if it wasn’t for the Empire.’
    The Munrungs looked at one another.
    ‘We are simple hunters,’ said Plint.
    ‘Yes, but at least we know we are,’ said Snibril. ‘Anyway, we’ve got more complicated.’
    ‘That’s true,’ said Crooly Wulf, who was nearly as old as Pismire. ‘People don’t hit one another over the head with clubs as much as they did when I was a boy. There’s more arguing.’
    ‘That doesn’t mean we’re better people!’ said Plint.
    Crooly Wulf rubbed his head. ‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘People are taller now. They don’t groan so much, either.’
    ‘Huh! But the Deftmenes don’t have anything to do with the Dumii,’ said Plint. ‘And they manage.’
    ‘They fight them,’ said Snibril, simply. ‘It’s amazing how things rub off, even when you fight people. Ideas like . . . like not just killing people all the time, that sort of thing.’
    A Deftmene put up his hand.
    ‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘The king always used to throw people off the rock in the old days.’
    ‘He still does,’ said another Deftmene.
    ‘Yes, but he doesn’t laugh about it so much. And he says he’s doing it for their own good.’
    ‘See?’ said Snibril desperately. ‘The Dumii have an effect. Even if you’re their enemy. I’m going south. Perhaps I can find the others. Perhaps the Empire can help us.’
    ‘Yes, but you’re our leader—’ Plint began again.
    ‘Then I’m going to lead!’ snapped Snibril. ‘Who else is coming?’
    Some of the younger Munrungs raised their hands.
    A Deftmene stood up. ‘Will there be fighting against impossible odds?’ he said.
    ‘Probably,’ said Snibril
    ‘Right! Count us in!’ A lot of Deftmenes nodded. Another one said: ‘And will we get a chance to fight to the death?’
    ‘You might get a chance to fight to the enemy’s death,’ said Snibril
    ‘Is that as good?’
    ‘Better.’
    ‘Right, then. We’re with you!’
    In the end three hundred and fifty Deftmenes and fifty Munrungs volunteered to go. On the Rock their families would be as safe as anywhere in the Carpet, they agreed, but someone had to stay. Anything could happen.
    Four hundred, thought Snibril. Who knows how many we’re going to face?
    On the other hand, since we don’t know how many we’re going to face, four hundred might be just enough.
    Always choose a bigger enemy. It makes him easier to hit.
    We must go to Ware. It’s where we all began, ina way. It’s where people first realized that there may be a better way of doing things than hitting one another on the head.

Chapter 15
    It was two days later.
    In a grove of red hairs on the borders of the blue land seven wights were fighting mouls. It was unheard of for wights to be attacked.
    They never carried weapons, apart from the ones they were making for sale.
    This moul pack was large, and led by a chieftain more cunning and wily than most. What he wanted was more weapons. Wights looked easy prey.
    He was beginning to regret this decision. The wights didn’t carry weapons, but they did carry tools. And a hammer is a weapon, if you hit a head instead of a nail. They were standing around their big varnish-boiler and fighting back – hammering back, and using varnish ladles as clubs, and bits of burning hair as crude spears.
    But they were outnumbered. And they were all going to die. They knew it.
    There was someone watching who knew it too.
    Culaina the thunorg watched from deep in the hairs. It would be impossible to describe how a thunorg sees things. It would be like trying to explain the stars to a fish. How can it be said that she watched the fight a million times, all at the same instant, and every time the wights lost?