by Hugh Cook
"Shabble, you mean?" said Lord Onosh. "If that's how you feel, why do you come by the notion now? Now and not formerly?"
"Formerly," said Italis, "we did not have the pleasure of Shabble's company. Shabble has only kept us company for the last year or so. It is Shabble who now forms the focus of our plans.
Let me make it clear that your offer of dynastic support for the Great God Jocasta is not sufficient to tempt us to support you in a conquest of the Circle."
Translation: you are mortal, we are not. You will be gone in a hundred years, whereas we will be here in a thousand.
"In addition to your dynastic support," said Italis, "we feel we need an immediate deity. The peoples of the Circle are wedded to the superstitious worship of that which they can see, touch, hear and feel. They are not yet ready to bow down and worship Jocasta, who is distant, and wounded, and temporarily unavailable to worshippers. We need a god."
"The Yarglat have gods," said Lord Onosh. "There is the horse god, Noth. Would Noth suit hour purposes?"
"I have another god in mind," said Iva-Italis. "This god was born upon Untunchilamon."Guest knew what was coming. But, fearing his father was going to make a fool of himself by an undue display of ignorance, Guest intervened with a preemptive question.
"You're not talking about, uh, a certain Cockroach, are you?" said Guest.
"But what else?" said Italis. "What else would I be talking about? You know it, you know it all, even if your father does not."
By that response, Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis, demon of Safrak, showed the intimacy with which it knew Guest Gulkan. The thing had divined the reason for his slow-on-the-uptake question. Just as Guest and Sken-Pitilkin could confirm shared perceptions with no more than a glance, so too the demon Italis could as good as read Guest Gulkan's mind.
Intimacy was the key to this skill.Sken-Pitilkin, Italis, Guest Gulkan - they had shared so much of the recent years that they had no secrets from each other. Guest certainly had very few secrets from the demon Italis, for, while formerly incarcerated in the yellow bottle with Shabble, Guest had shared many intimacies with that ever-talkative bubble, and the demons of the Circle had had a full year and more extract the history of those intimacies from Shabble.
In a way, Guest Gulkan could not help but be gratified by the manner in which the demon Italis understood him. For Guest, the mainrock Pinnacle had become a place of stability, and his easy familiarity with the demon Italis was an index of that stability.
The demon had prevailed, unmoved, unchanging, while the rest of existence had shifted beyond recognition.
One of the terrors of human existence is that, as we get older, the world loses the solidity and stability which it possessed of during childhood, when the existing order seemed absolute. Indeed, to a wizard, the world seems at times a sheer phantasmagoria, in which empires shift, deform, and melt like fog in the sun, and in which the very gods themselves change the faces which they show to humanity as they endure their evolution.
While Guest had yet to suffer that terror which a wizard suffers when he first realizes that all of living creation, saving he alone, has forgotten the names and genesis of his parents, he had nevertheless seen so much change, evolve or perish that he had lost any confidence in the stability of the existing order.
In many ways, the demon Italis had become a foundation stone of Guest's existence; and, though he half-hated the thing, and feared it more than a fraction, he nevertheless felt an inevitable dependency upon it. For if the demon Italis were to cease to exist, then who but for Sken-Pitilkin would truly know, recognize and understand the Weaponmaster?
"The demon," said Lord Onosh, taking Guest by the shoulder.
"It says you know something. What is it you know?"
"You remember Shabble," said Guest.
"Of course," said Lord Onosh. "Of course I remember. Shabble, the Cockroach, that rabble of piratical filibusters - how could I forget?"
"Well," said Guest, "our good friend Iva-Italis has plans for Shabble, and for that Cockroach."
By this stage, Guest Gulkan, Sken-Pitilkin and the demon Italis understood exactly what was on the agenda, but to bring the Witchlord Onosh to the same state of understanding was the work of a full week.
Lord Onosh, like a diligent student of the higher peevishness, seemed perversely reluctant to understand the obvious; and Guest, his mind sharpened by matching wits with Crabs and inquisitors, with wizards and ethnologists, with Great Gods and demons, and with the very Lobos itself.
Despite the Witchlord's reluctance to concede that he understood, the facts were simple. After long millennia of imprisonment, the Great God Jocasta had at last been liberated from the Temple of Blood in Obooloo: and, even though the Great God was temporarily recuperating from battle-damage inside a mountain in Dalar ken Halvar, Jocasta would eventually be able to sally out to assume the rule of the world.
To prepare the way for the Great God, the demons of the Circle of the Partnership Banks were willing to help Guest Gulkan seize control of that Circle - if he would pledge to use it for the benefit of the Great God.
As Guest would probably be dead of old age by the time the Great God completed its recuperation, he was more or less prepared to assent to such a deal. But there was a hitch. The demons wished to enslave the populations of the cities of the Circle by imposing upon them a new god: the Holy Cockroach. In the name of the Cult of Cockroach, the peoples of the Circle would build the new technologies which the Great God Jocasta would (in the fullness of times) painlessly inherit.
At last Lord Onosh conceded his understanding, after which he debated the matter with Guest and Sken-Pitilkin.
It was Guest who was given the task of delivering their decision to the demon Italis.
"We thought about your proposition," said Guest, "and we have decided that your notion of inflicting this Cult of Cockroach upon the world is intolerable."
"But," said Italis, "you will surely need our help if you are to conquer the Circle. Mere possession of a single Door and a single star-globe is nothing in itself."
"Quite right," said Guest. "But we have thought it through, and we have decided that, if the Cult of Cockroach is to be the price for victory, then we will not attempt any such conquest. All things considered, we would rather not reopen Alozay's Door. We would rather live out our lives in the modest contentment of these our Safrak Islands."
"But what is your objection?" said Italis. "I did not know you to be in possession of a religion. If you are not a religious person, then why does it matter to you what god is or is not worshipped?"
"If the peoples of the world wish to worship rocks, trees, stones or toads, then let them," said Guest. "It's nothing to me.
At least, not in itself! But, in the city of Dalar ken Halvar, a city of the Circle, the militant religion of Nu-chala-nuth holds sway. If you are bent on forcing the Cult of Cockroach upon all the world, then you will spark a religious war, when Cockroach clashes with Nu-chala-nuth. I have been in that city, I have met that religion, and I think it better for the world if the doctrines of Nu-chala-nuth be confined to the wastelands of Parengarenga."
"You fear this religion?" said Italis.
"You know as much of it as I do," said Guest, "and probably much more.
"Ah," said Italis, "but has this Nu-chala-nuth a bubble which speaks, which squeaks, which flies, which burns with a fire as bright as the sun, which can blast towers and maim cities at a firestroke?"
"No," said Guest, "but - "
"So it is mere superstition!" said Italis. "Whereas the Cockroach is fact, a proven god, with living hellfire ready to strike down his enemies! Holy holy holy! Holy is the Cockroach!
Unholy are his enemies! They will burn! Their flesh with blister, will char, will crisp! The smoke of their burning will be as incense unto the nostrils of heaven!"
Much more in the same vein followed. To which Guest responded thus:-
"You can and will defeat the forces of Nu-chala-nuth in a clash of
war. But to defeat this religion in war will be to scatter it, for the refugees of war will carry it to every horizon. Once scattered, it is sown. As you sow, so shall you reap. I think to use a vicious war as an instrument to sow the seeds of Nu-chala-nuth broadcast through the world would be - in time! - to reap the whirlwind."
"Brave rhetoric," said Italis. "But the rhetoric veers from the truths of your Yarglat birth, your Yarglat upbringing. The Yarglat say nothing of sowing and reaping. They are a nation of hunters, and you a hunter in the manner of your kind. For all your crop-planting rhetoric, I cannot imaginatively configure you as a farmer. For all your rhetoric, I cannot imagine you much concerned if Dalar ken Halvar were to run awash with blood and every person in Parengarenga be slaughtered by religious war."
This was perceptive, though not uncommonly so.
In the course of his life, Guest Gulkan had not shown himself to be any great humanitarian. His true fear - which he had shared with Sken-Pitilkin, though he had no intention of sharing it with the demon Italis - was the dilution of his own authority.
Long exile, defeat and disappointment, combined with fear, suffering and grueling endurance tests of all descriptions, had hardened and strengthened the Weaponmaster's will to power. His ambitions had become focused on the overthrow of his enemies and the mastery of the Door. He had no wish to share such mastery with a priesthood in the service of the Cockroach, or with a Shabble; and he saw that a Conference of Demons allied to such a priesthood and to such a Shabble would find it the easiest thing in the world to push aside a mere Yarglat barbarian once he had outworn his use.
"Come," said Italis, as Guest remained silent. "My terms are surely reasonable. After all, you're offering me nothing, but I'm offering you the rule of the world."
"Out of the goodness of your heart," said Guest.
"I would choose you as my instrument rather than anyone else," said Italis, "for I know you better than I know any other.
I would rather give employment to an old friend than to a stranger. But you must understand that I speak of a whim. It's not, after all, as if you had anything I want."
"On the contrary," said Guest. "We must have something you need, else you would not have bothered talking with us."
"What, then?" said Italis. "What is it you have that I need?"
"We have Sken-Pitilkin's power of flight," said Guest. "That and the yellow bottle, yes, and the ring which commands that bottle. In the bottle we can carry an army, and Sken-Pitilkin can fly it anywhere at will. With Shabble's strength combined with your own, and with that strength matched with the ability to ship an army by air, we can in combination bring the Bankers to their knees."
"If we have to," said Italis, "then we can rule the Circle in our own right with assistance from Shabble alone."
"Shabble is not reliable," said Guest.
The Weaponmaster did not think that even demons such as Ko of Chi'ash-lan and Italis of Alozay could succeed in bending Shabble to their will on a permanent basis. True, it seemed that the demons had had Shabble as a prisoner for a year. Much could have been done in that time to make the bubble amenable to their discipline.
But, as Guest had learnt from the side-chatter of Untunchilamon, and from long conversations with Shabble itself, a thousand attempts at ruling Shabble had been made in the past, and all had come to disaster in the end. Shabble could not be permanently coerced by threats, promises, oaths, temptations, for Shabble was one of nature's born delinquents, and Shabble's only ultimate allegiance was to a creed of self-indulgent anarchy.
"Shabble might not prove permanently reliable," conceded Italis, "but a priesthood of the Cockroach would be. Us demons, we'd be the high priests. The rest follows naturally."
"I will think about it," said Guest.
And with that, the Weaponmaster withdrew.
There then followed a long and tense conference between Witchlord and Weaponmaster, with Sken-Pitilkin in attendance.
"We've faced this problem before," said Lord Onosh.
They had indeed.
On fleeing Untunchilamon with Sken-Pitilkin and others,
Shabble had come to the island of Alozay, and had made a brief- lived effort to install upon that island the rule of the Cult of Cockroach.
But Guest and Sken-Pitilkin had defeated such efforts by stealing the star-globe. Shabble had chased after the stolen star- globe, and, on venturing to the island of Drum in pursuit of it, had been captured by certain wizards of the Confederation who had long maintained a vigil there, hoping for Sken-Pitilkin to fall to their snares.
"That net thing," said Guest Gulkan, referring to the silver net with which the wizards of the Confederation had restrained Shabble. "How did that work?"
"I've no idea," said Sken-Pitilkin. "But most things of wizard make can be destroyed by application of brute force, if the force is sufficient. We must assume that the prodigious strength of the demon Ko would surely have been adequate to destroy that net and liberate the Shining One for flamethrowing, regardless of the make of that net."
"So," said Lord Onosh, "if the demons have truly suborned Shabble to their service, if only temporarily, then they may send the bubble against us to coerce us to their service."
"That is a strong probability," said Sken-Pitilkin.
"Then," said Lord Onosh, "we must seek to apply the same remedy that we applied before. We must send the star-globe away from here so that the Circle of the Doors remains closed. Once deprived of all possibility of playing with these toys, Shabble may well seek amusement elsewhere."
"Shabble may well," said Sken-Pitilkin.
"But," said Guest, dismayed at the prospect of further exile, further wandering, further hazard and suffering, "this will take years!"
"What alternative is there?" said Lord Onosh. "I am no wizard, and I have not wandered the world as widely as you have, but I think I know enough of Italis and such similar demons to know that they cannot in any way be trusted."
With Guest coming to reluctant agreement, preparations were made for the Weaponmaster to depart once more with his tutelary wizard. Thayer Levant agreed - with some considerable reluctance - to accompany the Weaponmaster once again. The yellow bottle was heavily provisioned. The demon Italis was placed under interdict once more, with the doors to the Hall of Time being sealed and guarded. Sken-Pitilkin took charge of the star-globe.
All these arrangements took no more than the length of a day.
And, on an evening of fog and low cloud, Guest and Sken-Pitilkin took to the skies, accompanied by a somewhat surly Levant.
They had flown no great distance from Alozay when the darkening mists behind them were torn apart by rupturing fire.
Either a dragon was assailing Alozay, or else the mainrock
Pinnacle was coming under attack from a very, very angry Shabble.
"We got away only just in time," said Guest, soberly.
"We are not away yet," said Sken-Pitilkin, "for we have yet to reach a place of refuge."
And, with that, the wizard of Skatzabratzumon guided his stickbird through the night, wondering just how much damage Shabble might have done on Alozay, and just how much more damage Shabble might do in the future, and what manner of place might give the refugees some kind of reliable sanctuary.
Chapter Fifty
Penvash: peninsular in the north-west of Argan. To the south, at the base of this peninsular, is Estar. To the north, across the waters of the Pale, is the rockthrust of Lex Chalis. To the west is Sken-Pitilkin's home island of Drum.
In Penvash are the ruins of the Old City, which house dangerous arcana which have killed many an unwary treasure seeker.
The construction of the Old City is a feat variously attributed to an extinct race of intelligent dragons, to a breed of men possessed by malign demons, or to an entirely hypothetical breed of land-dwelling octopuses. In fact, the Old City was a creation of the Technic Renaissance, and so is the work of ordinary humans.
The Old City is superficially similar t
o the mazeways Downstairs beneath Untunchilamon's ruling city of Injiltaprajura.
But there are profound differences. Much Downstairs - lights and ice-makers in particular - is reliable in its fulfillment of an obvious and useful purpose. Whereas the Old City is the ruinous habitation of mad destruction, a place unfit for human flesh.
As on their first retreat from Alozay, Sken-Pitilkin and his companions flew through the night in the roughest of directions, so that by dawn they had lost themselves entirely. As on their first retreat, they settled in the wilderness of Tameran.
"But this time," said Sken-Pitilkin, "we cannot make Lex Chalis our next stop."
"Good!" said Guest, who had the direst of memories of that place of extreme unpleasantness.
"That is an entirely inappropriate reaction," said Sken-Pitilkin sternly. "Lex Chalis is a very interesting place.
Possibly, our one and only proof of the existence of the Experimenters of old."
"Which Experimenters were doubtless very fond of irregular verbs," said Guest.
"One would expect so," said Sken-Pitilkin, "for scholarship and greatness typically go hand in hand. However, much as we would all like to return to Lex Chalis, Sod may have betrayed its secrets to Chi'ash-lan, and Chi'ash-lan may have betrayed its secrets to Shabble."
This was a sobering thought.
"Sod knew all the thinking which guided our earlier retreat," said Guest.
"Precisely," said Sken-Pitilkin.
"So Shabble may have been granted a disclosure of that thinking," said Guest, "if only at third or fourth hand."
"Exactly," said Sken-Pitilkin. "So what would you do if you were Shabble? What would you do if you knew it to be our policy to choose directions at random?"Guest puzzled over the question, but could come up with no answer. It was his servant Thayer Levant who, abandoning the business of scratching the green fungus which grew on his scalp, delivered himself of the answer:
