by Hugh Cook
Yarazchavardan's deserted corpus slumped insensibly into the carpet of food.
‘He’s killed him?’ said one of the guards, meaning that Chegory had*lain B mrhinminfm.
Instantly several soldiers rushed forward, intending to slaughter Chegory Guy on the spot. Olivia screamed. But the guards never reached their target. Instead, they were spun round and smashed into the walls. They collapsed insensibly.
A guard on the mezzanine levelled a crossbow at Chegory and pulled the trigger. The crossbow bolt sped toward Chegory'$ heart. It never got there. It burst into flames in mid-air and disintegrated an instant later.
Tins is me!’ roared Odolo’s accents, issuing most strangely from the throat of young Chegory Guy. ‘Me, me, Bincbinminfin!’
IBs guards began to get the message.
Chegory, to his startlement, felt his throat worked, heard the words which issued forth, but found he had no control over his body whatsoever. It was being worked without reference to his own thoughts. So this was what it meant to be demonically possessed! It was, more than anything, like one of those terrible dreams in which your limbs refuse to obey you.
His first question was:
Olivia! Where is Olivia?
But he could not tell, for the demon had focused his eyes on a crock of firewater, which it was emptying into the drinking skull Chegory had been using.
Olivia! Olivia! Olivia!
Thus Chegory.
The much more interesting question, which never occurred to him at the time, was why Binchinminfin’s latest act of possession had not resulted in unconsciousness for both demon and new host. When Binchinminfin had leapt from the conjuror Odolo to the wonderworker Varazchavardan, the newly possessed flesh had been insensible for some time, whereas the demon had taken over Chegory without any such trouble.
The answer to this conundrum, of course, lies in the firewater both parties had been so liberally consuming. Alcohol softens the psychic shock usually suffered by an entity intelligent as it leaps from one body to another.
Long thereafter did Binchinminfin sit drinking. But all flesh has limits, and even Chegory Guy’s body could at last take no more. Liquor overpowered it, and the intelligence of demon and Ebrell Islander alike spiralled down into unconsciousness. The body lay there with its twin consciousness inert.
The guards kept vigil over their demonic master as the night crept on. Elsewhere, on the island of Jod, Chegory’s erstwhile companions-in-adventure sat round a watchfire, roasting vampire rats then eating the same. Meanwhile, the steady flux of dikle and shlug poured forth from the wealth fountains as if it would continue to outpour for all eternity.
‘He’s not coming back,’ said Pokrov at last, stating the obvious.
‘No,’ said Uckermark. ‘He’s not.’
‘So — so what do we tell the Hermit Crab?’ said Pokrov. ‘That’s for Zozimus to worry about, not us,’ said Uckermark. ‘He’s the one who had the job to do.’
The job in question was, as you will remember, to ask the demon Binchinminfin if it would be so kind as to provide the Hermit Crab with a human form. But Zozimus had already worked out what he would say to the Crab.
‘In the morning,’ said Zozimus, ‘I’ll tell the Crab the demon told him to go and get jumped on. Then maybe we’ll see some action!’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Dawn came to Injiltaprajura, but the sun bells failed to ring to mark the start of istarlat. Dawn brought light to supplement the tapers burning in the Star Chamber of the pink palace atop Pokra Ridge. A ghastly sight that light revealed.
Already fat flies were bumbling over the carpet of rotten chowder and kedgeree which covered much of the floor. Part of that carpet had disintegrated into a white writhing of maggots. In among this vomit-splattered slather of rotting food there lay a good half-dozen empty crocks (which had once held firewater) and the chamberpot which the demon Binchinminfin had chosen first as crown and later as drinking goblet.
Round the room various humans stood, sat or lay in postures of sleep, exhaustion or despair. There was Artemis Ingalawa comforting an exhausted and tearful Olivia. There was the Empress Justina, her white ape Vazzy in her arms. Besides these, there were half a dozen anonymous bedraggled females — serving wenches and such — and some waiters. And the lean and leucodermic Aquitaine Varazchavardan, surveying all he saw with manifest contempt. The pink-eyed Master of Law watched a young soldier who had the wishstone in his care. The man appeared to be wishing on it. The wonderworker could guess what the warrior desired.
All the soldiers in the Star Chamber were very tired, and naturally distressed by the mephitic malodours. They had joined the army of the Izdimir Empire to get regular pay and the chance to travel and dress up in gaudy uniforms. Not to preside over a sewer! Most had slept little during the night, for the garrison was dreadfully shorthanded thanks to the mass desertions which had followed Binchinminfin’s seizure of power. Those few who had given the demon their loyalty were hard-pressed to guard both treasury and wine cellar, to keep the kitchen staff from jo ining the exodus from the palace, and to mount guard over their new lord and master.
Their unconscious lord and master.
As we know, Ebrell Islanders can drink far more than ordinary mortals. But, after Binchinminfin had possessed Chegory Guy, the demon had nevertheless eventually found the natural limits of his new host’s flesh. For the moment, the demon was at the mercy of any soldier in a mood for assassination. Some of the armed guards, thinking they had made a mistake in their choice of overlord, were actively considering it.
‘Oh, what a bright and beautiful morning!’ said Justina Thrug, stretching prodigiously. She blew out a candle. 'Huff! Out with its light! Good morning, Vazzy. How are you today? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Oh, you’re no fun! All right then, who’s in charge here?’ "Don’t worry about that,’ rumbled one of the soldiers. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’
‘Oh, I think we’re all going somewhere,’ said the Empress. ‘Sanitary expeditions are the order of the day. If not, then we will do what we must. I don’t mind. But you have to put up with the results.’
The soldiers were already putting up with more than they cared for, so one of those with more initiative than the ics arranged for small parties to be escorted under armed guard to other parts of the palace.
In due course Justina herself was marched away with Ofivia Qasaba and Artemis Ingalawa. Once free of the Star Chamber, she persuaded her wardens to allow a detour to*hc rooftop swimming pool. This needed little doing. The were in no hurry to get back to the Star Chamber, zed far preferred watching three females disport themselves ¦l the water. The next stop was Justina’s private quarters. These die Empress sorted out fresh clothes for herself and the two Ashdan females. On their return to the Star Chamber they found Chegory Guy sitting up. He looked at them with eyes shot through with a bloody red more violent than that of his skin.
‘Chegory,’ said Olivia timidly.
‘That’s not Chegory,’ said Ingalawa. ‘That’s the demon. Binchinminfin. The usurper.’
‘You’re in there!’ insisted Olivia. ‘Aren’t you, Chegory? You can hear me, my love. Can’t you?’
Chegory Guy was indeed within that red skin. He heard Olivia, but could not move so much as a muscle. He could not speak. In frustrated rage he felt his throat move as the demon Binchinminfin groaned. The accents of the conjuror Odolo came from his throat as Binchinminfin croaked:
‘I’m dying…’
‘My lord Binchinminfin,’ said one of his soldiers. ‘It is not death which ails you. It is but a hangover.’
‘Oh,’ said the Odolo-voiced demon. Weakly. ‘Oh. A hangover. Side effects. Yes, I remember.’ Then Chegory’s eyes closed and his face went slack. The demon was rummaging through Chegory’s mind. Then the face animated itself again and Binchinminfin once more stared out of those eyes. ‘It comes to me,’ said the demon, ‘that there is no cure for this side effect but time. It must be lived through. Is
that not so?’
‘Such is the world’s wisdom, my lord,’ said the same soldier who had first addressed him.
The man was doing his best to be politely deferential, and was making an excellent job of it. But the strain he was under was obvious.
Binchinminfin looked around.
‘Varazchavardan,’ he said.
‘It’s no good coming to me,’ said Aquitaine Varazchavardan, who was suffering terribly from last night’s drinking bout and was in no hurry to be again possessed. ‘Don’t you remember? You abused me bitterly before you let me go. I’m in agony even now. Sledgehammers in my head.’ Then the Master of Law pointed at Justina. ‘If you must take someone — take her.’
There stood Justina, freshly washed and freshly dressed, and smiling with amusement at some private, unvoiced joke. Of all the people in the Star Chamber she looked to be the happiest, healthiest and most comfortable. Binchinminfin wasted no time in reflection. Instead, the demon acted — deserting young Chegory in favour of the flesh of the Empress. This time there was no alcohol to soften the psychic shock of transmigration. So, as the demon possessed her, the Empress Justina fell insensible to the carpeting food, spoiling her new clothes entirely.
‘Chegory!’ said Olivia.
‘I’m free!’ said he.
Moments later, they were in each other’s arms.
Justina’s white ape, Vazzy, picked its way across the muck-slush to its mistress. It stood over her slow-breathing body, hooting dismally.
‘Ape and demon are united again,’ said Varazchavardan, raising his voice to the volume of public address as he began to harangue the soldiers. ‘They suit each other well, do they not? This Binchinminfin has found the ape its best companion yet. Look at this place! This is what it means to be ruled by a demon. Is this what you want?’
No soldier claimed it was. So Varazchavardan went on: "You have a choice. Endure whatever madness the demon dreams of next. Or act — but do it quick, my friends, oh yes. be sure to do it quick. Overthrow the demon. Be done with its rule. Aldarch the Third will reward you as well as any demon could. The demon-thing has gone to ground in the flesh of the Empress. It takes but a moment. Act now. Secure your future. Destroy her.’
’You can’d’ said Chegory, disengaging himself from Ohvia.
‘Can’t?’ said Varazchavardan. ‘What kind of nonsense is that? Of course we can! Indeed, we must!’
'But that’s — that’s the Empress.’
‘Your whore,’ said Varazchavardan. ‘I know. But why worry? You’ve found yourself a new one already.’
Lightly spoke Varazchavardan, but there was death in his voice. Unless he was stopped, he would have the Empress killed in moments. Chegory was a patriot. With a roar of rage he launched himself at the wonderworker. A guard moved to intercept him. But nobody was watching Artemis Ingalawa. Who was already closing with Varazchavardan.
The sorcerer had no time to conjure up defensive flame. He barely had time to fling up a hand in self defence. Ingalawa grabbed the hand by the wrist. There was the crackle of breaking bones. A scream from Varazchavardan. Ingalawa chopped down. She smashed his clavicle with the edge of her hand.
Already guards were storming toward her. She snatched up a stray scimitar and stood at bay. The guards hesitated, for any Ashdan with a weapon is dangerous — and this was a strong, determined, athletic woman.
Then Chegory hit the man who was holding him. Chegory hit hard, hit low, and left his warden disabled by pain. Then the Ebrell Islander scooped up the insensible body of the Empress Justina and was off. Olivia raced after him. Ingalawa slashed at the nearest guard, opening his arm to the bone. Then followed. As did the albinotic ape Vazzy, screaming with rage and excitement as it loped through the corridors of the pink palace.
They were doomed, of course.
There was no way they could outrun the guards when Chegory was burdened by the weight of the Empress.
But he did his best.
He was young, fit and muscular, his body hardened by sledgehammering rocks on Jod for day after day under the blazing sun. The soldiers were soft, overfed and out of condition thanks to long years of eventless garrison routine. Chegory was still outpacing them when he burst into the foyer of the pink palace.
Shouting greeted his ears.
A mob of beggars, petitioners, priests and sundry would-be looters was crowding the palace portico and seeking admission. A handful of guards were keeping them back. Chegory, Ingalawa, Olivia and Vazzy the Ape slammed into the guards from behind, broke through that thin line of military menace, and forged their way into the crowd.
Those few soldiers who tried to follow them were pulled down by the mob. Then were kicked and bruised most horribly before their fellows rescued them and pulled them back to the safety of the pink palace. After a prolonged struggle, the guards at last beat back the mob, closed the palace doors and secured this fortress against immediate entry. But by that time, of course, Chegory and his companions were far away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When Chegory and his companions got to the waterfront they found the entire surface of the Laitemata covered with solidified dikle.
For days the wealth fountains of Jod had been pouring out both bile-green dikle and grey shlug. These two substances, when mixed, form an oily, irisated fluid with a specific gravity nearly identical to that of seawater. But, given calm conditions, the shlug will precipitate out, sinking to layer the seabottom rocks with a grey ooze which kills all ground-dwelling life, while the dikle will float to the top and harden into a slightly plastic crust. During the night the two substances in question had so separated. With the result that the Laitemata was a flat green plain. The sun beat down, but the sun, though hot, was not hot enough to melt the dikle.
‘It looks solid,’ said Olivia. ‘Maybe we could walk on it.’
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ said Ingalawa. ‘It’s thixotropic. That means-’
‘Oh, I know what it means,’ said Olivia.
Then they started out over the harbour bridge.
Vazzy lingered, hooting mournfully.
‘Don’t be frightened!’ said Olivia. But the albinotic ape refused to dare the dangers of the bridge. ‘Oh, don’t be silly!’ said Olivia, and went back, meaning to take it by the hand.
But Vazzy loped away to the buildings.
‘Come on!’ said Artemis Ingalawa, in her this-is-serious-business-and-no-time-to-be-playing-with-apes voice.
So Olivia ran after the others and soon caught them up.
Ahead lay the island of Jod where the bright white marble of the Analytical Institute gleamed in the sun. A little smoke rose from the Institute’s kitchen, reminding Ingalawa and Olivia that they had not had breakfast. Chegory, however, thought not about food. He was working far too hard for that. He had the unconscious corpus of the Empress Justina slung across his shoulders — and she was a fair weight. So he said nothing until, when he was half way across the bridge, he was met by a bright-singing bubble of light.
‘Hello, Chegory!’ sang Shabble.
‘Hi,’ said Chegory, without any great outburst of enthusiasm.
‘Oh, it is good to see you, Chegory dearest,’ said Shabble happily. ‘You were gone so long! I thought you were gone for good!’
‘I notice you didn’t come looking for me,’ said Chegory, as he strode along purposefully, proud of his ability to carry his burden at a vigorous pace.
‘I couldn’d There’s the demon, isn’t there? In the palace!’
‘No,’ said Chegory. ‘The demon’s right here. In the Empress Justina.’
On receiving this alarming intelligence, Shabble squeaked with fright and soared high, high into the air. On strode Chegory. Jod’s wealth fountains had ceased outpouring dikle and shlug sometime during the night, so he was able to carry the Empress to the island without slushing through a disgusting chemical outpour. By the time he and his companions had reached the main entrance of the Analytical Institute, Shabble had desce
nded from the heavens. The imitator of suns feared the demon Binchinminfin — yet was consumed by curiosity. What had happened? Furthermore, what would happen now?
Shabble was not alone in curiosity.
Sentries posted by the nervous denizens of Jod had spotted Chegory, Ingalawa and Olivia as soon as they set foot on the harbour bridge. By the time they had reached the Analytical Institute with the Empress, virtually everyone on the island had gathered to find out what was happening.
The press of people was so great that Chegory could not get the Empress inside, and had no option but to put her down. He stood, flexed his back, flexed his arms, then grinned. He could not help his own pride in his strength. His physical supremacy. Even though he knew that such an asset was of little account in the present crisis.
What a crowd! Odolo was there. So was Ivan Pokrov. The Malud marauders, of course. Guest Gulkan and all those of his faction, including the two wizards Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin and Pelagius Zozimus. The kitchen staff. Sundry mechanics and algorithmists. Then there were others, including some quite unknown to Chegory who were refugees from the mainland. All had their questions, and at first the impatient interrogative uproar made for quite intolerable confusion.
‘Where,’ shouted Guest Gulkan, in a fury, ‘is the wishstone? Don’t say you left it behind!’
‘The hell with the wishstone!’ said Chegory.
‘So you did leave it behind!’ said Guest Gulkan.
Then swore. The pretender to the throne of Tameran was so angry that he might have done Chegory a violence if the bullman Logjaris had not intervened.
‘That’s enough!’ said Log Jaris. ‘Enough from the pair of you!’ Then he called all present to order. ‘Speak, Chegory,’ said Logjaris. ‘Tell us what’s been going on.’ ‘What hasn’t!’ said Chegory.
Then gathered his breath, gathered his thoughts, and began. While his speech tended toward incoherence under emotional pressure, when he controlled himself and took his time he was capable of something approaching verbal fluency. Indeed, young Chegory gave the assembly a surprisingly perspicuous and accurate account of recent events in the pink palace and assured them that, in all probability, the demon Binchinminfin was instantly in possession of the body of the Empress Justina.
