The Carpet People

with money. They’d invented money. Before money, people had bought things with cows and pigs, which were not very efficient for the purpose because you had to feed them and keep them safe all the time and sometimes they died. And suddenly the Dumii turned up with this money stuff, which was small and easy to keep and you could hide it in a sock under the mattress, which hardly ever worked with cows and pigs. And it could be cows or pigs. Also, it had little pictures of Emperors and things on it, which were interesting to look at. At least, more interesting than cows and pigs.
    And, Pismire had once said, that was how the Dumii kept their Empire. Because once you started using Dumii money, which was so easy and convenient and didn’t moo all night, you started saving up for things, and selling things in the nearest market town, and settling down, and not hitting neighbouring tribes as often as you used to. And you could buy things in the markets that you’d never seen before – coloured cloth, and different kinds of fruit, and books. Pretty soon, you weredoing things the Dumii way, because it made life better. Oh, you went on about how much better life was in the old days, before there was all this money and peacefulness around, and how much more enjoyable things were when people used to get heavily-armed in the evenings and go out and make their own entertainment – but no one was anxious actually to go back there.
    ‘Economic imperialism!’ Pismire had once said, picking up a handful of coins. ‘A marvellous idea. So neat and simple. Once you set it going, it works all by itself. You see, it’s the Emperor who guarantees that the money will buy you things. Every time someone hands over or accepts one of these coins, it’s a little soldier defending the Empire. Amazing!’
    No one understood a word of what he meant, but they could see he thought it was important.
    And then, off to one side of the bustling city, was a tiny walled enclosure, about the size of a village.
    This was Ware. The first Ware. The little village where the Dumii had begun. No one really knew how, or why Destiny had picked this one little tribe and then wound them up like a big rubber band and sent them out to conquer the world. Hardly anyone went into old Ware these days. Probably it’d soon be pulled down, to make room for some more statues.
    Snibril didn’t see Old Ware until much later. He saw the walls of the city, stretching away on either side. He could see the glint of armour on the walls, too, as the sentries marched sedately along. Everything looked peaceful, as if something like Fray had never existed.
    Careus took off his helmet and surreptitiously gave it a bit of a polish. ‘There could be trouble if we try to take the Deftmenes in,’ he whispered to Snibril.
    ‘Not could,’ Snibril agreed. ‘Would.’
    ‘So we’ll camp outside for now. You better come on in with me.’
    Snibril scanned the walls. ‘It’s all so quiet and peaceful,’ he said. ‘I thought there’d be a war! Why were you called back?’
    ‘That’s what I’m here to find out,’ said Careus. He spat on his hand and tried to flatten his hair a bit. ‘Something’s not right,’ he said. ‘You know how you can sense when there’s going to be an attack by Fray?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I’m the same way about trouble. Which is what there’s going to be. I can feel it. Come on.’
    Snibril rode after the sergeant through the streets. It looked normal. At least, it looked as he thought it’d probably look if things were normal. It was likeTregon Marus, only bigger. Much bigger. He tried to keep up, among the crowds that filled the streets, and tried to look as if it was all familiar.
    Whenever he’d thought of Ware, when he was younger, he’d imagined a kind of glow around it. It was the way people spoke about it. He imagined Ware as all kinds of strange places, but he’d never imagined this – that it was simply a much bigger version of an ordinary town, with more people and statues.
    Careus led him to a barracks just outside the Imperial city, and eventually they reached a table, out in the open air, at which a skinny little Dumii was sitting behind a pile of papers. Messengers kept picking up some from the table, but others kept on bringing new ones. He looked harassed.
    ‘Yes?’ he demanded.
    ‘I am—’ the sergeant began.
    ‘I don’t know, people barge in here, I expect you haven’t even got any papers, have you? No? Of course