Scabbard's Song (23 page)

in order to fight with other kings or against other faiths. In Zamerkand, and Guthrum at large, they took to it with great gusto, having led rather boring lives until now. Yet for every step taken forward, there is always some agent at work to take a man two steps back again. OmmullummO had his spies in the city and received his reports. He was not about to allow a few shopkeepers and farmers to destroy his plans to rule the world. He acted swiftly. Soldier was himself training youths a few days later when a dark cloud appeared to the west. Look, Father, the rain is coming in! cried Musket, still obsessed with his hound. I must get Catcher under cover. Canines do not wash away in rain, replied his father, studying the strange cloud. But if you wish to return to your mother while I continue attempting to make soldiers of these greensticks, do so. The cloud grew alarmingly large, very quickly, until it filled the whole horizon. Finally the youths let fall their wooden training swords and straw shields, to watch the cloud growing ever taller and wider. They saw, as it swept across the landscape and drew closer, that it was fashioned of many colours: a nebulous rainbow on the march. The drops of rain, for they could see now that it consisted of millions and millions of individual driplets, did not seem to be falling on the ground. There was no earthy smell such as precedes a heavy rainstorm; there was no thrumming or pit-a-pat sound as it hit the soil; there was no moistness in the air. Instead, as this multi-hued cloud hit the plains before the city, there was a sort of whirring noise which grew louder and louder, until Soldier cried, Run! Those who were not caught in idle wonderment at the sight of the richly painted swarm ran and hid inside the red pavilions. The rust tents of the Carthagans, already crammed with mercenary soldiers, were soon bursting at the seams. The tents proved no real protection, however, when the plague of humming-birds hit the encampment. Within a short while they were in shreds, torn to pieces by the sharp beaks of the millions of birds that swept through in a dense tidal wave, stabbing at everything and everyone with their tiny beaks. The birds seemed crazed for fluid, seeking anywhere to dip their small curved beaks. Men and women without armour to protect them were pecked to death, disappearing beneath a throng of tiny aviators with vibrating wings. Those who had some protection had to cover their eyes with one arm while thrashing with the other. Some, because they were in training, wore full body armour or were thickly padded and wielded bamboo training staves. With visors down they were invulnerable to the plague of birds and swished with bloodied rods at the creatures which attacked them and their companions. Others, when they had gathered their wits, picked up bats, brooms and other broad-bladed instruments and went about beating the clouds of humming-birds, swatting them from comrades, and clearing spaces. As fast as they made holes in the cloud, more tiny birds arrived to fill them. Those partially covered, like Soldier, struggled into full armour, bleeding from a thousand cuts. Once protected, they too battled with the coloured hordes. Soldier, immediately he was in his armour, swept the winged creatures from his son and rolled the boy in thick canvas. Then he snatched a blazing log from one of the camp fires and set about the enemy. It was a terrible business, scorching small birds, but any way of getting rid of the pests was legitimate. They were killing people by the minute. It took three hours of exhausting work to rid the area of the birds. Gradually people emerged from hiding places to find the ground littered ankle deep in little feathered bodies: corpses that looked innocuous now, except for their numbers. Balls of starthngly coloured fluff, with curved-needle beaks. Unrolling Musket, he found the boy bleeding but alive; his puppy, all but smothered, was wriggling inside his doublet. Stay still, son. We will smear you with ointment. If you move, those cuts will bleed the faster. You are fine, dont worry. Once we get some balm on you, and bandages, I will seek your mother. The wounded, and there were many, were treated. The dead lay scattered about. Soldier estimated that one person out of every three who had been caught without protection had died. When he went back to the city he discovered that the same had happened to those caught in the open there. People in their houses who had closed the shutters quickly had survived. Those in the streets, unable to reach shelter, had died. Horses, dogs, cats, rats: carcasses lay everywhere amongst the corpses of humans. Fabric of any kind balcony shades, stall covers, clothes on washing lines all were in shreds. Trees, allotments and open stalls had been picked clean of fruit and vegetables, leaves and all. Even the lawns had been stripped of their grass. The wells were choked with humming-bird dead, the drainpipes, drains and gutters clogged with them. Blocked sewers overflowed. A wailing went up from the citizens as they discovered the raw remains of loved ones caught outside in the storm of birds. Soldier had his heart in his mouth when he climbed the steps of the Green Tower, only to discover that Layana and her servants had escaped death. The queen had been in the bath when the plague arrived. Some of the humming-birds had come up through the drain holes in the bath, but after the first several had popped into her water, she had quickly decided they were not pretty little creatures to be studied, and beat any more intruders to death with a twisted clout of wet towel. She admitted it was not a pleasant thing to have to do, but had realised that while one or two feathered fairies were a surprise, two dozen and more were a threat. Layana had a few peck-marks on her skin, but for the most part she had avoided being hurt. We have lost many citizens, she said. I pity the dead. They died in a horrible fashion. It is OmmullummO who is responsible? Without a doubt, replied Soldier. None of the Seven Gods would send a plague like this. It has to be the rogue magus. His dark soul, or whatever it is that a wizard has in place of such a thing, is rejoicing at the moment, you can be sure. We were caught unawares. It will not happen again. We must be prepared for more plagues. In my world they usually came in tens. Here the old parchments say they come in sevens. Let us hope they stick to your lower figure rather than move up to mine, said Soldier grimly. Now, I shall try to recall what the ancient people of my world had to suffer, what manner of plagues, so that we can prepare ourselves. I believe the first was blood, which filled the rivers and streams and so polluted the drinking waters. Then came lice or was it frogs? It matters not which way around, I know flies were the fourth plague, followed by livestock, which died where it stood or lay. Then the horrible boils, and behind them the hail. Oh, I remember something like the humming-birds the locusts they arrived before a long period of darkness, during which no one could move. Finally, the most terrible of all, unthinkable even, the death of the firstborn, of people and cattle. You were a good student, husband, to remember all those! They were drummed into me by my nurse, who told me I would be visited by such if I were not good for her. She was an evil woman who gave me nightmares. She died of a fever herself, and then I was sorry for her and pitied her, but she made my childhood very dark with her warnings. Fevers! cried Layana. That is one of our plagues. We must call forth all the physicians and apothecaries, to make sure they are ready for any illnesses or diseases which sweep through the city. Oh, that foul wizard, he will cull our numbers until we are a feeble force, then send his armies to overwhelm us. Soldier said, Then we must make sure he does not succeed. We must be ready for the next plague, no matter what it is. Preparation. But how do we prepare for anything? There was of course no way to plan for a million different insidious attacks on the city. The plague of humming-birds, ugly as it was at the time, was soon behind them. People had taken to killing every last one of the poor little creatures. A hovering thing was soon a dead thing. The feathered bodies were swept from the streets, the human dead were buried and mourned, and life went back to reasonable normality, given that a third of the population had gone. It was a devastating blow. Guthrumites could not withstand plagues of such ferocity if they were to follow in any great number. Soldier awaited the call from IxonnoxI to gather together his army and march forth to do battle with Humbold. One day in the month of Huskust, when the tendrils of an early-morning summer sun were curling around the world, Drissila rose and as was her wont went to the kitchens to oversee breakfast for the palace. The kitchen in the Palace of Wildflowers had an invention which was the envy of the whole civilised world: a water pump. There was a well below the stone flags of the kitchen floor which plunged to unfathomable depths, just as there were wells all over the city. A basin of bedrock ensured that Zamerkand never went without water. In fact, on occasion, the city was mildly flooded when the water levels rose too high and overflowed the wells. This had not happened in seventy years, the last time being a period when it had rained for forty days and forty nights: a relentless deluge. So, on this fine Huskust morning, which seemed to be the prelude for one of the hottest days of the year, Drissila went to the pump to assist the kitchen staff in their daily tasks. She was not a lady-in-waiting who stood on her toes and bawled at the castle minions. Drissila was as beloved below stairs as she was above them, for having once been a slave, she knew what drudgery was and did her best to help alleviate it where she could. You get on with the oatcakes, she told a young man, while I pump the water. In truth, she enjoyed using the pump. It was such an astonishing innovation it gave her a thrill to use it. She placed a bucket on the hook above the nozzle and began to work the arm up and down. At first the pump was hard to use, as it worked up a strength of suction, but once the liquid began to rise in the pipe it got easier. She listened to the gurgling as she worked with great satisfaction, awaiting that first sparkling gush of clear water cold from the caverns of the earth. Drissila looked forward to a cool drink, for there was nothing quite as refreshing as fresh well water. But when it came she was totally astonished. It was not clear at all, but opaque white. One of the kitchen staff came over. Maam, it looks like some clay got into the well. How disappointing. Not clear at all, but murky. It appears to be whiter than kaolin, said Drissila. It looks like milk. She sniffed the bucket. It smelled like milk. What was going on here? Shall I taste it? said one of the girls. It is milk, you can see that. No, replied Drissila, sharply. It might be poisoned. She was not sure what was going on, but she had learned to be very cautious in a world full of magicians and poisoners. She went first into the gardens and then straight away to the royal boudoir. The royal couple stared, bleary-eyed, at the glass when Drissila presented them with it, wondering why they had been woken at the crack of dawn to view some milk. It came from the well, insisted Drissila. Theres no water in the palace. I went to the other well, in the gardens, and got a boy to draw me a bucket from there. It was the same. I thought it might be poisoned. You know, we had that plague of humming-birds, and now this. Soldier reached out for the glass. Here, let me see . . . but in passing it to him, some was spilled on to the marble floor. One of the palace ratter cats who had accompanied Drissila up from the kitchens dashed forward and lapped at the spilt liquid. It seemed to be enjoying it. They watched in fascinated silence for some time. Once it had finished drinking from the pool on the tiles it began whining for more, looking up with appealing eyes at Soldier, who now held the glass. Nothing further happened to the cat. It did not suddenly change its expression and roll over in agony, wailing. It did not creep off somewhere, as sick animals often do, to gnaw a bit of grass. There was no slow, lingering, dreamy death either, as one might get with certain numbing poisons that slink through the body and slow the heart to a gentle stop. In fact the cat was most disgusted that no more milk came its way and went off to look elsewhere for more of the same. And there was plenty elsewhere. A plague of milk! cried Soldier, once he was dressed and about. What in the name of the gods does OmmullummO think hes going to achieve with a plague of milk? Every well in the city was full of milk. Every basin of water left out overnight had turned to milk. Every drop of water, even sewer water and the canal which came from an underground river and swept down to the sea some miles away, was milk. There was milk to be had by the million gallon, gushing around the city. At first the citizens were delighted. Here was something for free! A lovely, creamy, rich milk coming from their well. Why, they did not care if they never saw a drop of water again. Milky beverages, milky puddings, milky milk it tasted nice and was full of life-preserving goodness. They could start selling it, to neighbouring countries, where cows were difficult to pasture. Desert countries, forested countries. Here was another source of wealth for an already wealthy city. But of course that euphoria was short-lived. On such a hot summers day the milk soon turned sour. By noon the city was stinking. People walked the streets with their fingers pinching their noses, or gagged in their own dwellings. There is nothing quite so penetrating and disgusting as the smell of sour milk. And of course it was apparent that there was very little else to drink, so by the end of the first week of the plague of milk, people were separating the curds from the whey in order to drink the latter. Whey is a repellent liquid when one has to drink it straight. Of course there were at first other sources of drink. There were those who had preserved fruit in jars, who could drink the juice. Those who had bottles of fairly innocuous medicine: placebos if you will. Those who had jars of oil. And, of course, those who had barrels of beer, who were continually drunk on alcohol. As for wine, the citizens of Zamerkand were much addicted to mead, and this fortified wine filled about half the citys cellars. Mead is a treacly drink and does not quench the thirst; it exacerbates it, and there were many who became sick through drinking such thick fluids. It was not long before the city had been drained of anything but whey, and in the process citizens died or
became horribly ill. People could not wash, could not keep clean, and disease was rife throughout the land. In the temples they prayed for rain. At the end of the second week the rainclouds formed over the distant mountains and dutifully marched towards Zamerkand. The gods were answering hasty orisons with their usual benign alacrity. Storms swept in and drenched the streets. But when the rain came it fell as gentle milk from heaven and the streets were awash with white liquid. It was fresh, so there was drink to be had, but it was still milk. Once the rain had departed, the sun came out again, and the new milk turned as sour as the old. Even magic is finite, however. One morning, after much suffering, it was water which came from the wells again. OmmullummOs spell over the water had finally dried up and blown away. There was great rejoicing in the streets. Everyone sent up prayers of thankfulness for the water. I never thought Id be glad to see a bucket of water, said Spagg, who had lived entirely on beer throughout the whole period of the plague. I never want to see a glass of ale again in my life. Spagg had spent this particular time in a drunken stupor and the whole episode was a haze. Such a condition was not entirely new to him, which was why he had survived. In his youth, now quite distant admittedly, he had followed much the same lifestyle. Now, though, his body ached, and his mouth was like a monkeys armpit. His head throbbed as it had never done before, his eyes feeling as if he had slept on them. He had grown a rough beard, was dishevelled like many through lack of washing, and stank like a hog. When he mentioned this, to Musket, the young prince shrugged and said, So, you always look and smell like a pig dont you? I take great offence at that! cried Spagg, who despite being elevated in life was entirely jealous of the way a raven he had despised had suddenly changed into a prince. It did not seem fair. Why, the black bird had been a pest. He complained of as much to Soldier. Yes, a damn pest, you will admit that, Soldier. You called him such many times in the past. Yet he was raised up far more than I, a loyal friend of yourself and the queen. An upright citizen and a real person. Why should the pestilence of a member of the crow family be rewarded? I dont think youre using the word pestilence correctly there, Spagg, but in any case, life is not fair. If it were, you would be sweeping the gutters with a worn broom. As it is, youre the Keeper of the Royal Purse - and by the way, I am calling in independent auditors at the end of the year, so be prepared to be investigated. I hope youre keeping good books. Spagg let out a cry of anguish. Why me? Why isnt the prince audited? He went quiet for a moment. What does audited mean, anyway? Soldier told him, and Musket grinned when Spagg turned pale. Hes been dipping his greasy hoof into the purse, said the boy. Look how white he is around the gills! I told you his tailors bill is more than Drissila gets for housekeeping - and she has to feed and clothe the whole palace. Oh, Spagg, you are a devil, arent you? Im Im not feeling very well, said Spagg. You shouldnt mock the afflicted. Now that they had had two plagues, the people were prepared for more. And they were not disappointed. OmmullummO was a mad wizard and there was no one more inventive. The next plague that landed on the city was a plague of lewdness. People started tearing off their clothes, walking around naked, and making love in public. Obscene gestures were freely used and spinsters and bachelors thought well beyond such behaviour in years and in status indulged as much as the young. There was no rape, nor involvement of children, nor did the plague affect everyone. It seemed to strike at about one in ten, so there were some to shock and many to be shocked. Again, at first Soldier thought this was a fairly innocuous plague, one which would not greatly harm the city. But of course it involved people, and such behaviour arouses jealousy. There were many violent scenes on the streets and in the houses. Husbands and lovers were challenging men who accosted women they believed were exclusively theirs. Wives were murdering wayward husbands and lovers. The virgin became a bawd overnight. The shy, timid youth turned from a pleasant young man into a lascivious, leering creature who repelled. Even though only ten per cent of the population was struck with the lewdness plague, they dragged in another twenty to thirty per cent with their unnatural behaviour. Again, the magic spell wore off, as time passed. Next came the plague of wind. The wind arrived at night and by morning few could open their doors without letting a hurricane enter their quarters and tear them apart. Trees were uprooted, gibbets were torn from their foundations and carried their caged skeletons with them, night brands were whipped from their holders and thrown on to thatched roofs, which blazed the more when the flames were whipped up. Slates and tiles were stripped from balconies and rooftops and flung like razor-edged missiles to decapitate citizens who ventured out. And those who did go out were lifted from their feet, like dogs and chickens and other animals, and swirled about violently, sometimes to be flung hard against a wall. The air was full of danger - the air was the danger and no one could venture abroad and be sure of returning whole to his or her house again. Ive always hated the wind, said Spagg, gloomily, having fought his way through the streets to the palace. I cant seen any point in it. Rain, yes, you need that to water the crops and to fill your drinking vessels. Sun? That helps things grow. Darkness is necessary to give the world a rest and let people have time to sleep away their daytime work. Snow and frost help to kill the bugs so the flowers can grow and flourish. But wind? It does nothing but bother you. Its a useless piece of weather. For once we agree, said Musket. You can take the wind and stuff it in a sheeps bladder, for all I care. What about kite flying? pointed out Soldier. What about sailing a ship? What about drying clothes on a washing line? Wind is good for something. Not this kind of wind, argued Spagg. Gentle winds, yes. Winds like this do nothing but destroy things. The winds lasted a week, roaring around like wild boys, ripping up fence posts and flinging them like javelins. The straight winds were bad enough, but the corkscrew winds were more destructive. These tornadoes screwed signposts into the ground and warped everything they touched. Spires were left twisted on their foundations. Flagpoles were doubled and whipped and snapped. A man might have his head turned back to front, if caught by one of these fearsome vortex winds. Next came the plague of poisonous worms. They covered every piece of ground in the city. At first people picked them up to throw them in with the rubbish, but the toxins in them were so potent they were absorbed by the skin and the worms killed their victims that way. Spagg invented a worm picker-upper, like a giant pair of tweezers, and made a lot of money selling them to the frightened populace. The sacks of venomous worms were taken outside the city walls and burned in great wriggling heaps. The sixth plague was the plague of twelve-headed rats. King rats, some called them. These ferocious creatures began to emerge from the sewers beneath the city and terrorise people in the streets. They were wheels of a dozen rodents, all joined at the rear, and they spun along the pavements and roads, snapping and snarling at everything they met. They would roll from rooftops and fall on the backs of humans or animals, to swiftly gnaw through their necks. They often hid in beds, and once the occupant was fast asleep would creep to the stomach and gnaw through it so quickly that death was sure to follow. Occasionally they managed to get into cupboards and when the door was opened flew into the face of the opener and tore it to shreds before that person could knock the king rat off. Here are friends of yours! said Musket to Spagg. You should be able to charm them. Dont be cheeky, boy, Spagg cried. Rats are no friends of mine. No friends, then relations instead. Here at least was a tangible enemy that could be dealt with, however, and citizens soon armed themselves. They went about with blades and clubs, dispatching any king rats they found with savage blows. People were angry and upset and they took it out on the rats. Normally a plague lasted between seven and fourteen days, but the plague of rats was over in four days, the citizens having formed hunting parties and annihilated the rodents. Having lived through six plagues, the people of Guthrum knew that a seventh would surely follow. Wizards plagues always came in sevens. And the last one was always the worst. It almost always involved grief of some kind. One might, as Soldier had said, lose ones firstborn child. Or all the young mothers of a kingdom would become barren, so no new births were possible. Or young fathers would become sterile. So the people were quite fearful of what the last plague might be. Those who had predicted something awful were right. So were those who said it would be something no one had yet though of, for no one had. Those who hoped for a mild end to the list of plagues were disappointed. It came with horrible vengeance. Every third citizen woke one morning to find that they were crippled: an essential part of their body, usually necessary to them to earn a living, was damaged in some way. Musicians had gone deaf overnight. Archers had gone blind. The hands of scribes had withered. The tongues of orators had shrivelled at the root. Chefs and vintners had lost their sense of taste. Perfumers their sense of smell. Great male lovers were horrified to find a piece of seaweed between their legs in place of their previously formidable members. Warriors had lost their muscle tone. Slaughterhouse workers had become squeamish. Actors had lost their charisma. Seamstresses were all fingers and thumbs. And so on and so forth. Spagg arrived at the palace, his face of waxen hue. He took off his hat and wiped his sweaty brow with it. Soldier asked him what the matter was, while Musket sat on a windowsill, staring at Spagg, trying to guess what had changed about him. What, the boy thought, had Spagg ever been good at, anyway? What was necessary to him in his work, first as a hand-seller, and then as Keeper of the Royal Purse? It was a puzzle. Me? squeaked Spagg, clearly out of sorts. I do not wish to say. Clearly something has happened to you, argued Layana. You look as if you have lost your nearest and dearest. What about you? asked Spagg in a husky voice. Is everyone here all right? The royal family and the servants at the palace had all escaped this latest plague. They did not know it but OmmullummO himself had once lived within its walls, a few hundred years previously when the wizard had been sane and an adviser to one of Layanas great-fathers. OmmullummO had at that time, as any prudent wizard would, erected a magical barrier, to protect himself against spells from other wizards. This barrier had never been removed and all in the palace had thus escaped from this cruel final plague, sent by that same ancient wizard. No one here has been touched, so far as we know, replied Soldier. Though one of the gardeners who sleeps at his own home not far from here came to work with his affliction. Every plant he touches turns crisp and brown and dies within the minute. He used to have green fingers, but now they spell death to vegetation of any kind. We have lost our best vine this very morning, several orange bushes in the hothouse, and many other fine plants. Even if the gardener brushes against a single leaf, or touches the bloom of a fruit, the whole plant shrivels and droops to the earth. Oh dear, oh dear, muttered Spagg, sweating. What ever will come next? Nothing, I think, replied Soldier. Yet we still have not heard what ails you, Spagg. Come on, speak up. Are you touched? I am - touched, replied Spagg, clearly reluctant to speak of his ordeal, but seemingly unable not to. And what touches you? asked Musket. Have you lost something we cant see? Yes, croaked Spagg. The mind is in a whirl, Layana said. Im not sure I want to know what it is, or I might be revolted. The thing is, whined Spagg, I cannot lie. I have lost my ability to swerve from the truth. I have to speak as it is or not at all. Sometimes I have no choice but to speak, and what I say must be truthful. It is quite terrible. This morning I had to tell a woman she was quite ugly, and a man that he had dropped his purse on the ground behind him, and when I passed a tax collector I informed him that I had not paid the proper amount for some thirty years now, and had no intention of paying it. Spagg gulped and slapped his mouth for betraying him, before adding in a voice full of self-pity, Then I called him back and gave him my name and address! His voice reached a high pitch as the horror of it all came out. I do not believe that hanged mens hands will make a body invisible, and what is more, I have been dipping my fingers into the royal purse. There, I told you he had, cried Musket, clapping in delight. See how his chapped lips quiver. Spagg cannot change his spots. He will always be a robber, no matter how high he is elevated. Bad man, Spagg. Everyone in the room was quiet for a moment. Ofao had entered during Spaggs speech and he was staring at the Keeper of the Royal Purse with tight lips. The queen hummed to herself, something she did when she was thinking very hard. Layana then waved a hand at her husband. Oh, you decide what to do with him, she said. Hes your ex-employer. Soldier nodded. He was not a vindictive man. At least, not towards anyone in this world. Were Spaggs name Drummond, things would have been different. Leave things as they are, for the moment. We have more serious things to worry about than Spaggs light-fingered exercises, Spagg, you will put back every spinza you have taken. Think yourself lucky that we have a war impending, or you might have ended up on the gibbet . . . All the gibbets were blown away, pointed out Musket, but we still have one or two gallows left. Thank you, son. The gallows then. Ill - Ill try to be good, said Spagg. I dont want to be, but I will try to be. It would be better if you were. Out in the city the populace had been devastated by the seven plagues. They and the Carthagans had been seriously reduced in numbers of healthy fighting men and women. Soldier hoped that now the plagues had finished they could get down to properly training what was left of the army. He was at his desk, with Golgath and Velion, putting his plans to paper, when an envoy from Humbold arrived. The man was clearly in a state of terror. In this world, as in the last, enemy bearers of bad news often ended up in the wolf pit. This man was