by Foul-ball
‘Cormack, mate! Come in - Bernard’s here! Did they fetch you from Shambalah, Bernard?’
‘Ummm…No…’
‘Well, it’s wonderful to see you,’ said Proton, still assessing the situation. ‘We need your help. See, we were having a problem with this fellow here.’ Proton pointed at Dennis, who was fetching hot snacks from a tiered dessert tray that hung in a cage with a bell. ‘He seemed not to recognize the Negus.’
‘I never said I didn’t recognize him,’ said Dennis, setting his tray down. ‘I just needed further confirmation from the Sibyl himself. A scroll can be forged, you know.’
‘Well, here is your Sibyl now. What say you, Sibyl?’ said Proton.
‘The little misunderstanding has been ironed out. Dennis is now convinced.’
‘Excellent!’
‘We’re mobilizing around eleven. I just want to have a refreshing cup of tea before we get started,’ said Dennis.
‘OK.’
‘Very disruptive for everybody, you know. It’s going to take a bit of doing.’
‘Dennis!’ growled Bernard.
Dennis shuffled back to the fire.
‘You know each other?’ said Proton.
‘Dennis is a cousin,’ said Bernard.
‘What cosy little arrangements you have here on Foul Ball,’ said Proton.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Mobilisation seemed to consist of the moving of tents and shifting of gear and packing away of bits and pieces to be put on carts and in wooden trailers under tarpaulins and sheets. The fires in the smithy were dowsed, and the baker had produced a final round, which sold out within minutes, and he shut his oven, bricked round the furnace, and joined his friend the leatherworker to slop out the tannery and drain the slurries. The children were washed and dressed and blessed by the Elder, then separated from the adults to form a squad by themselves. The carts were corralled, one for two families, and the things they had packed, bound in sheets or held in stout wooden trunks, were brought from the huts and laid on the ground and they decided in loud voices what needed to be taken and what they would leave. Then they boarded their doors and set the dogs loose to roam.
They were all day at it, after eleven, and nobody was happy at all.
‘Considering their supposed purpose of being in Kabbal is so that they can be mobilized by the Negus, they seem very pissed off about it,’ observed Proton.
Cormack had to agree.
There was a small armoury to the east of the village and the villagers were to be given ancient muskets - a purely symbolic gesture, Dennis assured them, but consistent with the prophecies, and even this small matter was causing consternation. The best of the rifles had gone to the earliest attendees and the majority had to make do with broken bits of rusted metal, not able to fire a shot - a further burden to be borne on the march that would follow.
At least, the children were excited.
‘Is he really the Negus?’ asked one small, dirty boy.
‘Yes, he is, aren’t you, Cormack?’ said Proton.
‘No, I’m not,’ said Cormack.
‘He’s says he’s not,’ said the boy.
‘He is but he doesn’t want anyone to know,’ said Proton and the boy left satisfied.
Dennis came by with Bernard. He looked harassed, and was carrying a clipboard with a list of problems to be solved and lost children and supplies gone missing.
‘We’re not going to get through today,’ he said. ‘We’ll leave in the morning. Make more sense anyway.’
‘Another day wasted!’ said Proton. ‘When will I ever get myself off this God forsaken planet?’
‘Might be safer here for now,’ said Dennis. ‘We’ve gotten word from one of the late arrivals that the Emperor has been…’
He couldn’t finish because the cow, who was disporting herself close by, suddenly pricked up her ears and launched herself through the mud, sliding at Dennis at a great speed, coming at him like a curling stone. He didn’t see her at all and caught the full force, careening backwards violently.
‘Good heavens!’ said Bernard, because one second his cousin was there next to him, and then the next, twenty yards away, sprawled against the baker’s hut.
‘What the hell got into the cow?’ yelled Proton.
‘I think I’ve broken something,’ said Dennis when they reached him. He was lying on one side and clutching his leg, moaning and groaning.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised at all,’ said Proton. ‘The cow, Cormack, is a frigging menace. I have been saying this since we arrived on Foul Ball. And now she has turned rabid.’
‘I’m not rabid,’ said the cow who was caked in brown mud but otherwise unharmed. ‘I’m dribbling from the exertions.’
‘I take full responsibility for the cow,’ said Cormack. ‘Dennis, I do apologise.’
But Dennis was too far gone to hear him.
‘We’ll have to take him back to his hut,’ said Proton. ‘Put the cow on a chain.’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Cormack. But it was apparent that Dennis’ injuries were more than superficial, and that Bernard was very upset. He kept looking at the cow and shivering, as he tended his cousin, wondering if she had marked him out as her next victim.
Cormack had to do as he was told, a chain was found, and she was harnessed and tied to a post for the night.
‘It’s up to you now, Cormack,’ she told him as he wished her goodnight. ‘Don’t let Proton know the Emperor is dead. I done me best.’
‘What is the big deal about Proton knowing the Emperor is dead?’
‘It will force his hand, Cormack. He will have to act precipitously.’
‘Precipitously - that’s a big word for you, cow.’
‘There’s more to me than straw and syllogisms, Cormack.’
‘I see that now.’
‘He’ll want to take you directly to Zargon 8.’
‘And we don’t want that?’
‘We don’t. We is biding our time. Waiting for our moment. Stanton Bosch needs to get his strength back. Trust in me.’
‘I do, cow.’
‘Good. You’re one of us, now. A real Pantheistic Syllogist,’ she said, and she gave him a little lick on his hand. It felt like a brillo pad, gently scouring him.
‘I know, cow. You’ve been good to me,’ he said when she’d finished
‘Loosen this here harness then. It’s right tight against me udders.’
Chapter Fifty-Five
The Opikarp was bored with the current arrangements and wanted an end to them. Either they should execute him, or they should dismiss the guards and let him get on with governing the Cramptonians as was his wont. He requested a meeting with the Senate so that his case could be resolved forthwith one way or the other, and they were loathed to grant it, because it would have meant the tying up of a transporter vessel big enough to carry his tank to Zargon 8 and they could ill afford such extravagances in these troubled times. In any case, they considered him something of an irrelevance, because what harm could a fish confined to a tank really do? If he was involved in the Emperor’s death, it was only by proxy, and his being confined on Crampton amounted to dismal exile anyway. Somebody would deal with him at a later date, but for now he could do as he pleased until due process could be restored.
They allowed him his freedom.
The Opikarp celebrated by meeting with Traction.
‘You have caused me some trouble, old man,’ he bubbled.
‘We were double-crossed, Governor.’
‘I was double-crossed.’
‘I suspect the Councillor.’
‘Enough of your lies! You outplayed me! You did well! Be thankful the Emperor died, because he would not be as merciful as me. But you cannot expect to live.’
‘I had nothing to do with it, Governor.’
‘No matter. I will kill you all the same. But first you will perform a service for me. You will travel to Foul Ball. I have word of some peculiar goings-on you will help me with.’
‘Foul Ball? If I refuse?’
‘It will not only be you that will die. I’ll kill your children too.’
Chapter Fifty-Six
Dennis was made comfortable with pillows, and his leg, which wasn’t broken but just badly bruised, was bandaged and tinctured, and he was primed with Horlicks that Bernard brought to him in a fusty mug from the cauldron over the fire; Proton and Cormack were allowed to bed down in the front room, their status of Negus and his sensei now having been made official; and the cow was muzzled as an extra precaution.
Proton suggested a snifter outside, to take their minds off the distressing day they had had, and Cormack readily agreed.
They sat on Dennis’ front step, breathing clouds of freezing water vapour into the chill night air, and raised a toast to their incapacitated host.
Then Proton said, ‘The cow is a problem, Cormack. You seem to have closed your mind to her, but she’s not mentioned anywhere in the prophecies and she’s close to fouling everything up.’
‘Leave the poor cow out of it, Proton.’
‘We’re so close, Cormack. Let us just get this thing done without any further complications…’
‘What is this thing that we’re to do? You never tell me anything.’
‘You never ask.’
‘Because if I did, you wouldn’t tell me.’
‘You know why I don’t tell you anything? Because you’re so full of frigging negativity. You don’t want anything to work out. I have to take all the decisions for you and hide everything from you because you’re so scared of what you are.’
‘I’m not the Negus, Proton.’
‘There you go again! Negativity! We are going to get through this thing, Cormack! Not Pranzi, not Bernard, not Dennis, not the frigging Emperor, not even you, yourself, are going to stop us! You and me, Cormack! From Day One, when I saw you literally dripping in shit outside the Prison Whale, from Day One, I believed in you! Don’t ever take that away from me, mate! Don’t ever forget that!’
Proton shuffled himself a little closer.
‘Look up there,’ he said. ‘Look at the stars, Cormack! Look at the blackness between them! When I was a little boy back on Zargon 8, I used to think about that blackness.’
‘You were ever a little boy, Proton?’
‘Yes. Yes, I was, Cormack. A frightened little boy. I used to think, that blackness, Cormack – it goes on forever. Forever. Just think about it. It used to scare me. I used to think it was impossible – it had to stop somewhere. There had to be a boundary - a wall where the Universe ended. But then I thought the wall would have to have a thickness. And the thickness would have to have an end to it. So the wall must have an end and there must be something behind that as well. And even if it was another wall, that would have an end too. So the thing goes on forever, mate! Even if there are walls! Think of it! There’s no end to it! And stars everywhere! The thing goes on forever and it’s full of stars everywhere…’
‘Gosh!’ said Cormack. He had never heard Proton wax so lyrical before.
‘So why the hell is it so black?’
‘Mmm…’
‘These are the things you could have asked Him, Cormack.’
‘Yes. I see what you’re saying.’
‘Things of mystery.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘Questions, Cormack. That need answering.’
‘I suppose.’
‘But you didn’t, did you?’
‘No.’
‘You were flummoxed.’
‘Yes.’
‘And a little rude.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘You poxy good-for-nothing Negus.’
He gave Cormack a little thump to his arm to show he was only joking.
‘He was only there briefly. And I wasn’t really sure it was actually Him.’
‘He was pissed with you. You told me that once.’
‘Yes, He was.’
‘God frig us all…’ said Proton and they stared gloomily up at the sky together, with their heads in their hands and their elbows on their knees, in supplication to the darkness that submerged them like a threat.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
When Traction arrived at the landing strip near Bartislard, dropped from a Cramptonian cruiser, he was not subjected to the usual touts as Cormack and the Guards had been because it was night and they had long since packed up and called it a day. Instead, there was a lone tuk-tuk, decorated with blue neon strips - a beacon for mosquitoes. Stanton Bosch took him onboard the Antibiotic and welcomed him to Foul Ball.
‘How is my friend the Governor?’
‘Slippery. He sends you this.’
Traction handed him a small kitbag that he stowed in the hold.
‘We has lots of work to do,’ said Stanton Bosch.
‘So I gather.’
‘Careful with that there rope. You almost tripped. And we don’t want that. Not on your first day…’
Traction was not at all dressed for Foul Ball. He had an idea it was tropical and had dressed down, settling on shorts and a t-shirt, as though he was on a retirement cruise, and was now regretting it. The weather had changed - there was an icy blast off the Leech that had him frozen and he sat in the back of the tuk-tuk rubbing hands that he could scarcely feel.
‘You’re name is Traction, right?’ said the Bosch, tugging at the lanyard and letting it fly back to the cowling.
‘It is.’
‘I feels you’re going to like Foul Ball, young Traction. We going to have ourselves so much fun together.’
Traction thought there must be a strange quality to the light on this odd planet for Stanton Bosch to have supposed him young, and wondered if the Bosch’s idea of fun could possibly bear any relation to his own. The man was dressed in yellow oilskins and slickers, his hair and pointy beard greased back, and he gripped and fought the tuk-tuk’s wheel as though he were navigating a great ocean current rather than the placid rhythms of a slow-moving river.
‘Me other agent is right in position,’ Stanton Bosch shouted to him. ‘Let the karp know that. She’s slithering with the mock Negus and the Captain of the Guard.’
‘OK.’
‘And you might not believes this, but the tracking device he gave me is acting as a phone link with the mock Negus heself. Want to try it?’
He reached into his oilskins and brought out a relay stick telephone, an exact copy of the one he had given Cormack.
‘Here,’ he said, giving it to Traction.
‘What am I suppose to do with it?’
‘Give him a call.’
Traction put the device to his ear. It was ringing.
Cormack answered almost immediately.
‘Hello,’ he said. He was in the hut with Proton preparing to go to bed and had stepped into the bathroom when he had felt the stick buzzing.
‘Hello,’ said Traction.
‘Stanton Bosch?’ said Cormack.
‘No, this is Traction.’
‘Traction?’
‘I think I have the wrong number.’
‘Yes, I think so too.’
‘Sorry to have bothered you.’
‘That’s quite all right.’
Cormack put the thing put in his pants and went to bed. Traction gave his back to Stanton Bosch.
‘Impressive, eh? We’ve got this thing in the bag. I is working them like puppets,’ said Stanton Bosch, and gave a maniacal cackle, throwing his head back into the wind and roaring to himself, till the spittle whipped by the wind from the River Leech hit the back of his throat, and the roar dropped, and then he began coughing and retching up over the wheel housing.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Proton was first up and put the kettle on.
‘You’re going to have to lead them off,’ he said to Cormack. ‘They’re going to expect the Negus to be at the head of the column.’
‘I’m not the Negus.’
‘No arguing, now. Lots to do today.’
‘Terrible news about the Emperor,’ said Bernard. ‘Dennis was telling me this morning.’
‘What news?’ said Proton with interest, and then Cormack stood up unexpectedly and poured coffee all over him.
‘What the…?’ said Proton, jumping up. The bodysuit was ruined. The coffee had gone right in the crotch and was steaming through the fabric. ‘I don’t even have a change right now.’
‘Looks like you’ve wet yourself,’ said Bernard helpfully.
‘Do you want me to go and stand outside, so that the villagers can assemble around me?’ said Cormack, hoping to change the subject.
‘Actually that’s not a bad idea,’ said Proton, forgetting at once about both the Emperor and the burn from the coffee in his excitement that the Negus at last seemed to be demonstrating leadership qualities.
‘They’ll want to assemble behind you though. Not around you. If they did that, it would be a bloody mess. You couldn’t lead them at all. You’d be right in amongst them and tripping over them…’
‘Quite so.’
Cormack found a spot at the head of the path that led out of Kabbal and down to Bartislard, and made sure that Proton was with him, as sensei, to marshal the new army into the serried ranks he thought were necessary. The cow was still in disgrace, but Cormack had wanted her close and was allowed to tie her to a tree nearby. She was having problems with the muzzle.
‘It’s very painful and I canst get at me straw,’ she said. ‘I’m so hungry.’
‘Don’t worry, cow,’ said Cormack. ‘I’ll feed you one stalk at a time.’
‘Ooo, you is so good to me.’
‘Somebody called me last night. On your stick telephone.’
‘Stanton Bosch, Cormack. He’s lookin’ after you.’
‘It wasn’t Stanton Bosch.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Totally different voice.’
‘Really?’
‘Can this thing get wrong numbers?’
The cow looked puzzled.
‘Don’t worry yourself, Cormack. Let me check it out. Look! Over there! Behind the gardenia! Such a big one!’
She had Cormack reached for the blade of grass and slot it through the muzzle, and she chewed at it delightedly even though it was tickling a nostril.