The Carpet People

respected ’em. He left ’em alone. They didn’t like that back in Ware, but he always said it’s worth keeping a few enemies around. You know. To practise on. I think he quite liked ’em. Odd little ba . . . chaps.’
    ‘Baneus,’ said Snibril, cautiously. ‘Yes. Er. Whatever happened to him? Did he do something terrible?’
    ‘You know him?’
    ‘I’ve . . . heard of him,’ said Snibril carefully.
    ‘He killed someone. An assassin. The way I heard it, someone was trying to kill the young Emperor during his coronation. Hiding behind a pillar with a bow. Baneus spotted him and threw his sword at him. Got him just in time. Killed him grit dead. Arrow missed Targon by inches. Funny thing is, Baneus hated Targon. He was always in trouble. He said Emperors shouldn’t be hereditary, but elected just like they used to be. A stickler for honesty, was the General. Oh, there were always rows. But after that, he had to be banished, of course.’
    ‘Why of course?’ said Snibril.
    ‘No one is allowed to draw a sword within fifty paces of the Emperor,’ said the Sergeant.
    ‘But he saved his life!’
    ‘Yes, but you’ve got to have rules, otherwise where would we be?’ said Sergeant Careus.
    ‘But—’
    ‘Afterwards the Emperor had the law changed and they sent someone after the General.’
    ‘Did he ever find him?’
    ‘I think so. He was sent back tied to his horse with an apple in his mouth. I think the General was a bit upset.’
    The Deftmenes are mad and the Dumii are sane, thought Snibril, and that’s just the same as being mad except that it’s quieter. If only you could mix them together, you’d end up with normal people. Just like me.
    ‘We could do with him now, and that’s a fact,’ said the sergeant.
    ‘Yes,’ said Snibril. ‘Um. What do I do now? We’ll have to camp tonight. I mean, I don’t know what sort of orders you’re supposed to give.’
    The sergeant looked at him kindly.
    ‘You say, “Make camp here”,’ he said.

Chapter 17
    A scattering of campfires speckled the darkness. It was the second night of the journey of all four races. No one had killed anyone yet.
    Snibril and the sergeant had made sure that there was at least one Munrung at each campfire, as referees.
    ‘I wish we could get some more wights fighting,’ said Careus. ‘I watched one of them using a bow just now, when the lads were practising. I mean, when have they ever used a bow before? He just looked at it for a while, then put an arrow in the centre of the target. Just like that.’
    ‘Just as well they don’t fight, then,’ said Snibril. ‘Maybe it’s best to leave it to people who aren’t so good at it. What’s the plan?’
    ‘Plan?’ said Careus. ‘I don’t know. I just fight. Fought all my life. Always been a soldier. All Iknow is what the messenger said ... all the legions are going back to Ware.’
    ‘All fifteen?’ said Snibril. He rubbed his head. It was feeling . . . sort of squashed . . .
    The sergeant looked surprised. ‘Fifteen? We haven’t got fifteen. Oh, yes. We’re called the Fifteenth. But a lot got disbanded. No need for ’em, see? Hardly anyone left to fight. It’s like that, empiring. One day you’re fighting everyone, next day everyone’s settled down and being lawful and you don’t hardly need soldiers.’
    ‘So how many are there?’ said Snibril.
    ‘Three.’
    ‘Three legions? How many people is that?’
    ‘About three thousand men.’
    ‘Is that all?’
    Careus shrugged. ‘Less than that now, I reckon. All scattered around, too.’
    ‘But that’s not enough to—’ Snibril stopped, and then raised his hands slowly to his head. ‘Tell everyone to lie down,’ he muttered. ‘Put out their fires and lie down!’
    One or two horses started to whinny in the picket lines.
    ‘Why?’ said the sergeant. ‘What’s the—’
    ‘And they must be ready to fight!’ said Snibril. His head felt as though someone was treading on it.He could hardly think. Somewhere in the hairs, an animal screeched.
    Careus was looking at him as if he was ill. ‘What’s the—’ he began.
    ‘Please! Can’t explain! Do it now!’
    Careus ran off. He could hear him shouting orders to the corporals. The Deftmenes and Munrungs didn’t need telling twice.
    A moment later, Fray struck.
    It was away to the south . . . not far. The pressure built up so that even the Dumii could feel it. The hairs bowed, and then whipped furiously as a wind blew clouds of dust through