The Long War

symbolic, but real nevertheless. Like the British Empire formally abolishing slavery in the early nineteenth century. Didn’t get rid of slavery overnight, but it was a sea change.’
    ‘He sounds like Martin Luther King with a heavenly choir. Typical Lobsang.’
    ‘I wonder how much of this abstract stuff they can understand,’ Bill said.
    Joshua shrugged. ‘Their collective intelligence is different from ours. If they get the basic message – give us another chance – that might be enough.’
    ‘And what about giving these beagle beasts Dan Dare ray guns? Where’s the morality in that?’
    ‘Well, they’re not our guns,’ Joshua said. ‘And we didn’t provide them in the first place. If we live through this there’ll be other parties to follow, proper contact. We can talk to the beagles then about peace, love and understanding.’
    ‘Sure we can. After we’ve all had rabies shots. So you think this is going to work? This whole mad stunt of Lobsang’s? And what then?’
    To Joshua, all his life, the future had been nothing but a continual surprise. ‘Tomorrow never knows.’
    There was a soft tap on his shoulder. He turned, to look up into the cold eyes of Snowy.
    ‘Talk to t-hrrollss. Going well?’
    ‘I think so.’
    ‘Good. Your work-k done?’
    ‘I guess.’
    ‘Josh-shua?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Hrr-run.’
    The rock hatchway had slid back into place, and save for a patch of disturbed earth there was no sign of the passageway into the ground.
    Only a heap of toy-like sci-fi blasters, retrieved from the cache.
    Oh, and the ring, which had somehow been spat back out, to lie on the ground.
    Jansson sat in the dirt, shivering despite the heat.
    Finn McCool hissed, ‘Have guns-ss. Now back to beagles-ss. And ss-ay goodbye to Josh-ssua.’
    Sally snatched up the ring and harangued him. ‘What did you mean by that, you piece of garbage?’
    He backed off, hands raised defensively. ‘Deal nearly finish-ss,’ he said. ‘Ray guns. Trollen. Now payback. Granddaughter honour Joshua. You say goodbye to him-mm . . .’
    Sally glanced over at Jansson. ‘You any idea what he’s talking about? I’m guessing, nothing good.’
    ‘Gang culture,’ Jansson murmured, exhausted. ‘Like that, maybe. The honour of the warrior. She’s going to grant him a good death. Maybe that’s what he means.’
    ‘Shit. Then we have to help him.’ Sally glanced around. ‘What have we got? Think, think.’ She pocketed the ring, and a ray gun that she slipped inside her sleeveless traveller’s jacket. ‘What else? You. Little Joe.’
    The kobold cringed. ‘What, what?’
    ‘You got your walkman?’
    ‘Stone that sings-ss?’
    ‘Give it to me.’
    ‘But, but, but, mm-mine!’ He sounded like a child.
    She grabbed his wrist so he couldn’t step away without her. ‘It’s that or your left bollock. Hand it over. Now we go back. Get ready to step, Jansson . . .’

66
    J OSHUA BACKED AWAY from Snowy, and from Bill, who scrambled to pack up the translation gear. Some instinct guided Joshua towards the river bank, the flowing water.
    How the hell was he supposed to handle this? He was barely conscious as it was. The device on his back felt like a huge malevolent crab now, digging its claws deeper into his flesh with every pace. Maybe the painkillers were wearing off.
    And Snowy followed. He wasn’t moving as quickly as Joshua, so the gap between them opened up, yet there was a steady, purposeful, relentless quality to his gait. Then he dropped to all fours, becoming even more wolf-like. A huge, big-brained, weapon-carrying wolf.
    Joshua was aware of the trolls watching, apparently curious, but none intervened. Other dogs watched too: Li-Li, the mordant Brian. More warrior types followed, it seemed, come to see the show.
    Suddenly all the beagles howled, a pack in full cry.
    ‘Come, Joshua-aahh,’ Snowy growled. ‘This fun-nn.’
    ‘Get stuffed, Krypto.’
    ‘And honour-hrr for you. Gift of Granddaughter. Life he-hhre, cheap.’
    ‘Big litters?’
    ‘Many born. All die. To die well is-s to have lived well-ll.’
    ‘That’s your culture. Not mine.’
    ‘Head high on her wall. Honour-hhr of place.’
    ‘Whose head?’
    ‘Yours-ss.’
    ‘Thanks.’ Joshua, succumbing to the inevitable, turned and started to jog, parallel to the river. ‘How can I win?’
    ‘Die well-ll—’
    ‘Any options aside from that?’
    ‘ My head on wall-ll . . . Play fair-hrr.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I play fair.’ The