The Fourteenth Adjustment

by Robert Wingfield

  “And does it?”

  “What?”

  “Cut through bulkheads and fire lasers. It will be useful for getting through this door if it does.”

  “Of course it doesn’t. It’s a bloody nail-file. It files fingernails. I made a bomb, almost literally, after advertising it. All sorts of orders came in. I offered a money-back guarantee if it didn’t work, but oddly, none of the terrorists came back to claim it, them being dead through getting shot by the security forces as they tried to menace people with the lasers that weren’t there. Why do you think I’m sometimes not as popular as I might be in some places, and a heroine in others?”

  “I thought it was your charm, personality and horniness,” said the Magus, giving her a squeeze and watching the water ooze up around her neck. “We must get dry-suits next time.”

  “Right,” she said, inserting the nail-file into the keyhole in the door. “There you go. After you, sir.”

  The Magus stared at the open portal and the dark passageway beyond. “How did you do that?”

  “This is a special nail-file with the adaptive magnetic key built in (five drachmae from major retailers). It is very popular with the public-lavatory-visiting public, and voyeurs, but in this case, it can deactivate bi-continuous, nonporous electrodes. Lead on.”

  The passage led into a sumptuous room, which lit up automatically as they entered. It was festooned with jewels, and purple curtains were drawn across what turned out to be burial niches. Upon investigation, in these were stored the remains of past emperors, preserved in embalming fluid and waste engine oil, and easily identifiable from the plan on the sign at the entrance, and by the various missing facial protrusions. One, however, was a sealed coffin, isolated at the far end of the room.

  “That’s him,” said Rannie, skipping up to it. “I suppose we should open the box and see what’s inside. Oh, it’s locked.”

  “What about using the nail-file?”

  “I’m not sure it can handle a padlock.” She rattled the device, which was holding the lid shut via a hasp and staple, and was recommended by the Master Locksmiths’ Association for its durability and aesthetics.

  “Why would they lock it, though? I mean, he’s not going anywhere, is he?”

  There was the sound of wet feet in the entrance corridor. The Magus jumped and drew his own sword. The blade fell off completely. He brandished the hilt feebly.

  “No need,” said a voice, and Luigi appeared out of the darkness, a large sabre-toothed rabbit under each arm.

  “Are you unharmed?” said Rannie. “We were worried about you.”

  “No problem,” said Luigi. “Once you fix them with the ‘headlight stare’, they freeze up. I was able to leave them there, apart from these two, who seem to have taken a liking to me.” He put them down gently and they started licking his waders and making the silent sound that rabbits do when they are contented, that you can’t hear. “You found the tomb then,” he said, regarding the Magus rattling away at the lock.

  “Can’t get it open, so the trip’s been wasted.”

  “Can I borrow your hilt?”

  The Magus handed over the remains of his sword. Luigi got a firm grip and brought it down hard on the body of the lock. It broke.

  “Nice one,” said Rannie. “How did you know?”

  “Easy. The shackle gave way as the rusty locking bar inside disintegrated. Backstreet technique,” said Luigi, nursing his scuffed knuckles. “and an associate membership to the MLA. On Glenforbis, we used fizzy cola to rot the mechanism, and a tommy-bar to break it, and then the same tool to clock the gendarmes as they came to interfere—multi-purpose appliances you see, tommy-bar and cola. Handy if you get thirsty too, and no calories. Want me to open it?”

  “The lid looks heavy,” said the Magus. “Do you need any help? Oh, you’ve done it.”

  The hinges on the far side of the sarcophagus gave way as Luigi wrenched the lid open.

  The Magus nervously peered inside, and leapt backwards as the cadaver sat up and scowled at him. “About bloody time,” it said. “I’ve been waiting up all night for you. Lid must have got stuck. Where have you been? Hang on chap, you’re not the vizier. Where the fuck is my vizier?”

  “He’s probably dead by now.”

  “By now, what do you mean ‘by now’? I only popped in here for a doze. Vizier said he’d shut the lid to keep the noise from the builders disturbing me.” The corpse looked around the room. “Has there been an epidemic while I was sleeping? Seems there are rather more coffins than I remember.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you your name?” said Rannie, smiling sweetly.

  “My name? Grovel you woman in the presence of Basil the Second, also known as the Burglar-Slayer.”

  “Don’t you mean the Blurgar Slayer?” said the Magus.

  “Phoist, yes. I keep getting the letters mixed up. I did a good deal of slaying in my time. Do you know, we completely eradicated housebreaking as a threat in my city?”

  “Housebreaking, are you still on the burglar thing?”

  “Of course. Yes, I did strike terror into the hearts of those warring barbarians too.” He paused and stared at Rannie. “What is a woman doing in my mausoleum? You are a woman, aren’t you? My memory sometimes fails me.” He licked his lips. “It’s all coming back now.” He reached out to grab a breast.

  Rannie stepped backwards. “Women have the same rights as men now, your, er, Excellency. We are treated as real people at last. There may have been a few years pass while you were asleep.”

  “Hey-ho,” said Basil. “Force of habit. Anyway, I was testing this stasis pod. It was supposed to keep me alive, once I got too old to cut off noses. The idea was that I could sleep until someone came up with a cure for old age. The vizier said he would let me nap for a day to test it, and then awaken me. I’m guessing from the strangeness of your clothing and attitude…” he gave Rannie a lecherous glance, “…that there has been a little more than a day pass by?”

  “If I calculate correctly,” said Rannie, “a few thousand years.”

  “Then my dear brother, Constantine, has passed on?”

  “He ruled for a good while, as Constantine the Eighth, I believe.”

  “Bastard!”

  “No, he’s different. You are thinking of Maurice the Bastard, who is in charge now,” said Rannie. “He gave us the title of emperor and empress, but there are strings attached.”

  “I can see you would be put in as puppet leaders,” said Basil. “It is in the Rules of Emperorship. What has he got you doing?”

  “There is trouble with the Blurgars,” said the Magus.

  “Bastards!” Basil thumped the sarcophagus. A small jewel dropped off and rolled across the floor. One of Luigi’s rabbits struggled free and chased it under an ornate nose-trimming table.

  “No, that’s Maurice the other Bastard,” said Rannie. “He’s in charge of the army.”

  “Ah, my magnificent army. It is unstoppable. We shall deal with the Burglars, ram aubergines up their arses, and send their heads back home on spikes, as a warning to others.”

  “I’m not sure your army is unstoppable anymore,” said the Magus. “The leaders seem to have spent the war-chest on luxuries instead. Would you like a crispy, giant panda embryo? I packed a few for lunch. You must be hungry after your enforced sleep.”

  “Thirsty. Have you anything to drink?”

  “Never thought to pack,” said the Magus. “I can lend you my funnel. Go outside, stick it in your mouth and look upwards.”

  “Still raining then?”

  “Never stops.”

  “It’s good to be awake again.” Basil stretched and climbed out of the coffin. “Now about those burglars...”

  “Blurgars,” said Rannie.

  “Those too. I think you need my talents, and this Maurice is going to have some explaining to do.”

  Luigi left his rabbits behind at the edge of the forest, where they imm
ediately leaped off in pursuit of a shiver of card-sharks. The stage-boat was where they had left it. One of the dolphins had to be released as it was slightly rabbit-nibbled, but its blubber had protected it, and the rabbits were now distracted. The stage-boat was a little heavy for the remaining dolphins to pull, so Luigi got out and provided extra pushing power from the back. Inside, the passengers rubbed themselves dry with the backup royal ocelot-skin towels and then sat back to watch the scenery. The homing dolphins took them towards the capital, as trained, but unfortunately via the border with Blurgar territory.

  Maurice the other Bastard came to greet them, a half sneer on his face. He opened the coach door and helped Rannie into the centre of a large puddle.

  “No luck then, with the vampire rabbits and sealed tomb I forgot to tell you about...” he faltered as Emperor Basil climbed out of the stage-boat and glowered at him. “Er, who is this?”

  The emperor stretched and scowled at the commander of the army. “I think you know. I have come to reclaim my empire. I trust you have been running the country in accordance with the ideals of benevolence to its citizens and ferocity to everyone else? I see we are drawn up for glorious battle.” He regarded the motley collection of rusty troops standing miserably to attention at the ditch marking the border. “And when is our main force due? It seems to me these men are somewhat dispirited and could do with motivation. The arrival of our crack shock troops would be what is required. Speak man!”

  “Er, these are our shock troops.”

  “Certainly is a shock to see them in this state. We have proper armour in the royal Armoury. Why have they not been kitted out in the rust-proofed versions?”

  “The armoury was sold off by Constantine the Fifth, the ‘Dung Named’.”

  “The historians didn’t like him much then?”

  “That, and his middle name was ‘Slurry’, I believe.” Maurice the Other Bastard seemed to brighten up. “Now that you are back, Excellency, you will be wanting to lead our troops into battle? Also, as you have been usurped by the ex-emperor and empress, Magus and Dearheat respectively, you will be wanting to regain your throne and lop off their extremities I trust?”

  “Maurice, you complete bastard,” said the Magus.

  “Other Complete Bastard,” retorted Maurice. “I am merely the commander of the military, and my brother is the vizier. You are the guys sitting on the throne. Unless you are going to despoil our new and ancient glorious leader, after whom our capital city is named, and regain power for yourselves instead?” He looked hopefully at the Magus.

  “There is to be no nose-culling while we are at war,” said Basil. “We will need all hands... and facial features.”

  The Magus nodded vigorously in agreement.

  “I will be taking up my rightful position,” continued Basil, “and if there is anyone who desires to challenge me, they will be dealt with in the traditional way, via written application, interviews and subsequent disappearance without trace. By the way, what are those animals?”

  The Magus followed his gaze through the haze, and his mouth dropped open. “Doku? What the Phoist are they doing here?”

  “It was strange,” said Maurice. One moment the field was empty, apart from a couple of inches of water, and the next, that lot seemed to simply appear out of thin air. I think it’s an Act of Phoist, a sign that we shall achieve victory on the battlefield.”

  “I think it’s a sign that these beasts are still following you,” said Rannie. “You did say they thought you were special. I suspect they are copying your teleportation techniques, but over longer distances. Now that would be an excellent product to sell through Dearheat Enterprises... if we can find out how they do it.”

  “I don’t recognise them,” said the Magus. “Unless they have adapted to conditions.” He paddled over to see the herd. They raised their heads and lowed affectionately at him. He patted the nearest one and dodged the array of horns as it tried to lick him. “They are mine,” he said. “I don’t know how they did it, but their hair has become shorter, to keep it out of the water, and...” He patted the back of another doku. “...it seems to be waterproof.”

  “Check the feet,” said Rannie. “From what I’ve heard, cloven-hoofed animals do really badly in soggy conditions: foot-rot, blue-tongue, fly-strike, lungworms, fog fever, dung worm, ear quake, halitosis...”

  “I didn’t know you were versed in bovine health.” The Magus raised one of the feet of the animal next to him. It leaned against him with obvious delight. “Look at this. The legs have developed a rubbery coating, and the feet have changed so that they are large flat paddles. How on Glenforbis can they evolve so quickly?”

  “They can teleport, so why should a quick evolution to adapt to environmental conditions be such a problem?”

  “I suppose they do have a unique physiology,” said the Magus, “what with their hair being a processor matrix, as we discovered in the last book.”

  “They seem to be waterproof now,” said Rannie. “Look out!”

  The Magus dodged, as a rusty sword whistled past his back. There was a stir amongst the herd, and a doku charged at Maurice, who had apparently tried to stab the Magus. It knocked the man off his feet and raised on its back legs, preparing to pound him into the mud.

  “No!” The doku stopped in mid-trample as the Magus shouted, and looked back at him expectantly. “No, leave him,” said the Magus. He helped the man up. “Why did you do that? You could have killed me.”

  “An accident,” said Maurice shiftily. “I thought the beasts were going to attack you.” He sheathed his sword. “I see I was wrong. Please accept my apologies.”

  “Not trying assassinate me?” said the Magus.

  Of course not... but if I was, it would be traditional, and I’m not normally one to break with tradition.”

  “See you don’t,” said the Magus. “What can you see, your excellency?”

  Basil was studying the Blurgar army across the border ditch. “There are a lot of them,” he said, counting on his fingers. “It will make our triumph all the more glorious.”

  “You’re surely not thinking of attacking them now?” said the Magus.

  “We will have the element of surprise,” said Basil. “They won’t be expecting us to go ahead with an full assault, outnumbered as we are.” A peal of thunder echoed dully across the field. “A lightning attack,” continued Basil enthusiastically, “going straight for their leader, and we will be victorious. Are you with me, men?”

  The troops regarded their new leader with suspicion, and then a half-hearted cheer began, once Maurice had prompted them.

  “Then follow me to glory. Each man in this army will be given new lands, twenty nubile doe-eyed virgins, and a ten percent pay rise.”

  The cheer increased in zeal, and the ‘Imperial Invasion Pontoon’ was ceremoniously laid across the ditch. Basil led the way, followed by Luigi. Maurice shoved the Magus and Rannie after him. “You must protect your leader,” he said with a sly smile. “I will be bringing up the rear and ensuring your escape route is kept clear. Come on troops. You can’t lose; you have Basil the Blurgar Slayer as your figurehead. Protect him with your lives, unless it looks too dangerous.”

  The men gave a cheer and surged across the bridge. As they reached the other side and formed into a sloppy line, Maurice pulled the crossing away. “I will protect the Imperial Pontoon,” he said. “You will need it to bring the spoils of war back with you.”

  Basil organised his battle force. Himself at the front, Rannie and the Magus behind, with Luigi trying to shield Rannie with his body, and then the soldiers. The Magus swallowed hard. “Are you sure we can’t negotiate a peaceful settlement?” he said, regarding the solid line of Blurgar warriors arrayed ahead of him. The dull light glittered on polished brass groin-plates and the wall of enemy spears. There was a vast array of hairy chests and sturdy, hairy legs. Behind the first rank, more barbarians took up positions, and then a few more.

/>   “This is hopeless,” said the Magus.

  “We never surrender,” said Basil. “Ready, men. Charge!”

  Loss

  In which Tom finds that pizza isn’t good for him

  T

  he Fortune had been resting in the shade of an asteroid belt for several days now.

  “Is everyone sober yet?” Tom made a ship-wide announcement. “I trust the rest and recreation break has been useful. You have all done credit to our piracy strategies, and that last shipment of Old Speckled Nishi was an added bonus. I presume it’s all gone now, as I can hear movement. Care to tell me how the five-a-side football went, in the cleaned-up cargo hold?”

  “We won,” said the Magus. “There were the five of us on the one side, so it was easier than I expected.”

  “Five?”

  “P17 played for us to make up the numbers. It was a bit of a liability as it kept fussing around Kara’s legs, but we made it, winning 23-1.”

  “You lost a goal?”

  “A mistake by Pete, slipping in a doku-pat.”

  “It could have happened to anyone playing ‘Hyper-Wars’ on a handheld, whilst on the pitch,” said Pete.

  Tom’s communication was cut by a mechanical voice, as a message was forced across it via the aubergine-timer.

  “This is Command Drone P96 of the Sapristi STOP Protectorate. Two-Dan $mith (sic), you are surrounded, and have nowhere to hide. Surrender now and return to Sapristi to be tried for piracy.”

  “I don’t need to try,” said Tom. “I think we already managed it, but where did you all come from?” Tom stared out of the cockpit with disbelief at the fleet of craft surrounding them. “I thought we were completely hidden in this asteroid belt. I can’t see how they can even be out this far... and so many of them.”

  “We have been betrayed,” said Groat, slipping in to the pilot’s seat. “Shall I fire?”