The Carpet People

north for a second, then turned to Glurk and Snibril. ‘You have been found,’ he said. ‘That was what brought this horse here, fear of the snargs. And fear of the snargs is nothing to be ashamed of. Fear of snargs like that is common sense. Now they have discovered the village you can’t stay. They’ll come every night until one night you won’t fight back hard enough. Leave tomorrow. Even that might be too late.’
    ‘We can’t just—’ Glurk began.
    ‘You can. You must. Fray is back, and all the things that come after. Do you understand?’
    ‘No,’ said Glurk.
    ‘Then trust me,’ said Pismire. ’And hope that you never do have to understand. Have you ever known me be wrong?’
    Glurk considered. ‘Well, there was that time when you said—’
    ‘About important things?’
    ‘No. I suppose not.’ Glurk looked worried. ‘But we’ve never been frightened of snargs. We can deal with snargs. What’s special about these?’
    ‘The things that ride on them,’ said Pismire
    ‘There was another pair of eyes,’ said Glurk uncertainly.
    ‘Worse than snargs,’ said Pismire. ‘Got much worse weapons than teeth and claws. They’ve got brains.’

Chapter 2
    ‘Well, that’s the lot. Come on,’ said Glurk, taking a last look at the ruins of the hut.
    ‘Just a minute,’ said Snibril.
    His possessions fitted easily into one fur pack, but he rummaged through them in case anything had been left behind. There was a bone knife with the carved wooden handle, and a spare pair of boots. Then there was a coil of bowstrings, and another bag of arrowheads, a piece of lucky dust and, right at the bottom, Snibril’s fingers closed round a lumpy bag. He lifted it out carefully, taking care not to damage its contents, and opened it. Two, five, eight, nine. All there, their varnish catching the light as he moved his fingers.
    ‘Huh,’ said Glurk, ‘I don’t know why you bother with them. Another bag of arrowheads would fill the space better.’
    Snibril shook his head, and held up the coins which gleamed with varnish.
    They had been shaped from the red wood of the Chairleg mines. On one side each coin carried a carving of the Emperor’s head. They were Tarnerii, the coins of the Dumii, and they had cost many skins at Tregon Marus. In fact they were skins, if you looked at it like that, or pots or knives or spears. At least, so Pismire said.
    Snibril never quite understood this, but it seemed that so great was the Dumii’s love for their Emperor they would give and take the little wooden pictures of him in exchange for skins and fur. At least, so Pismire said. Snibril wasn’t sure that Pismire understood finance any more than he did.
    The two of them made their way to the carts. It was less than a day since Fray had come. But what a day . . .
    Arguments, mostly. The richer Munrungs hadn’t wanted to leave, especially since no one had a clear idea of where they would go. And Pismire had gone off somewhere, on business of his own.
    Then, in the middle of the morning, they had heard snarg cries in the south. Someone saw shadows gliding among the hairs. Someone else said he saw eyes peering over the stockade.
    After that, the arguments stopped. The Munrungs were used to travelling, as peoplesuddenly pointed out. They moved around every year or so, to better hunting grounds. They’d been planning this move for months, probably. It wasn’t as if they were running away, everyone said. No one could say they were running away. They were walking away. Quite slowly.
    Before mid-afternoon the area inside the stockade was filled with carts, cows and people carrying furniture. Now the bustle was over, and they all waited for Glurk. His cart was the finest, a family heirloom, with a curved roof covered with furs. It needed four ponies to pull it; huts were things you built to last a year or so, but carts were what you handed down to your grandchildren.
    Behind it a string of pack ponies, laden with the Orkson wealth in furs, waited patiently. Then came the lesser carts, none as rich as the Orkson cart, though some almost equalled it. After them came the poorer handcarts, and the families that could only afford one pony and one-third shares in a cow. And last came the people on foot. It seemed to Snibril that those who carried all their personal goods in one hand looked a bit more cheerful than those who were leaving half theirs behind.
    Now they needed Pismire. Where was he?
    ‘Isn’t he here?’ said Glurk.