The Carpet People

orders to let no one through,’ he managed.
    ‘We’re not anyone,’ said Bane. ‘And that’s an order.’
    The guard stood to attention.
    ‘Yessir. Verygoodsir!’ he said.
    ‘Don’t talk to me, I’m not here,’ said Bane.
    The guard started to speak, and then nodded instead.
    ‘Good man. Come on.’
    Owlglass tapped the guard on the shoulder as he passed through.
    ‘Of course, when we say “not here” we mean only in a figurative or—’
    Pismire grabbed him by his collar. ‘Come on!’
    There were four mouls in the room, staring at Snibril in astonishment. There was also a young man of about his age, who oddly enough was reacting faster than the mouls. By the time he spoke he’d passed right through astonishment and into anger. The Emperor raised a pudgy hand, covered in rings.
    ‘He’s not a cook!’ he wailed. ‘He’s all there! So why’s he here?’
    Snibril dropped his spear and grabbed the arm. ‘You come with me,’ he said, and added, ‘sire.’ He waved his sword at the mouls. ‘It’s one against four,’ he said. ‘That means I’m four times more likely to hit one of you, and who knows which one it’ll be?’
    The mouls hadn’t moved. Then one of them smiled. The Emperor struggled in Snibril’s grip.
    ‘Very wise, sire,’ said the moul who had smiled.
    ‘I’m here to rescue you!’ said Snibril. ‘These are mouls! They’re destroying the Empire!’
    ‘The Empire is safe and well,’ said the Emperor smugly.
    Snibril was astonished. ‘What about Fray?’ he said.
    ‘Jornarileesh and his people can control Fray,’ said the Emperor. ‘Fray only strikes my enemies. Isn’t that so?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said the one called Jornarileesh. He was a tall moul. This one’s not like Gormaleesh, Snibril thought. This one looks clever.
    ‘It’s striking everywhere!’ shouted Snibril.
    ‘That proves I have a lot of enemies,’ said the Emperor.
    The mouls were advancing and, suddenly, the Deftmene way of calculating odds was beginning to seem a lot less attractive.
    ‘Drop the sword and let go of him,’ said Jornarileesh. ‘If you don’t we will call down Fray.’
    ‘Right now?’ said Snibril.
    ‘Yes!’
    ‘Right this minute?’
    ‘Yes!’
    ‘Do it, then.’
    ‘No!’ wailed the Emperor.
    Snibril’s head felt quite clear. ‘You can’t,’ he said. ‘They can’t, sire. It’s just a threat. They can’tdo it. They’re no different than me!’
    Now he had time to look around he could see, in one corner of the big room, a hole. It had bits of hair around the edges.
    ‘You came up from Underlay,’ he said. ‘That was clever. Dumii obey orders, so all you had to do was be in the – the centre, where they start. All you had to do was frighten this . . . this idiot!’
    The Emperor went red with anger. ‘I will have you exec—’ he began.
    ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Snibril.
    The mouls drew their swords and dashed towards him. But four on to one was a disadvantage; it meant that each one was really waiting for one of the other three to make the first move.
    There wasn’t any cutting, thrusting and parrying; that only happens when people are fencing with swords for fun. When it’s for real, it’s like two windmills with sharp edges. The idea is to cut the other person very badly, not to look impressive.
    Snibril backed towards the door, fending off blows as best he could. One of the mouls shouted something in its own language, and another couple of heads appeared over the edge of the hole.
    Snibril kicked the door. ‘Mealy! Open up!’
    The door swung open. The room beyond was empty. Snibril dragged the Emperor into it.
    And the mouls made the mistake of chasing them. The cooks had been standing behind the doors. They stepped, or at least hopped, out.
    Mealy hit a moul over the head with a ladle.
    ‘There’s seven of us and four of them,’ he said. ‘It’s not fair. Three of us won’t have anyone to hit. Get ’em, lads!’
    ‘There’s more coming out of a hole in the floor!’ said Snibril, still hanging on to the Emperor.
    ‘Good!’
    ‘What’s happening? Why is all this happening?’ said the Emperor. He didn’t look angry any more. He looked frightened, and a lot younger. Snibril almost felt sorry for him.
    The cooks were disappointed. Most of the mouls scurried back into the Emperor’s chambers, diving into the hole and colliding with one another in their desperation to escape.
    Mealy’s kitchen army dragged a heavy table across the room