Small Gods (37 page)

I
SEE A HUNDRED THOUSAND PEOPLE
, he said, swinging himself into the saddle.

“Where? Where?”

H
ERE
. W
ITH YOU
.

“I can’t see them!”

Death gathered up the reins.

N
EVERTHELESS
, he said. His horse trotted forward a few steps.

“I don’t understand!” screamed Vorbis.

Death paused. “Y
OU HAVE PERHAPS HEARD THE PHRASE
, he said,
THAT HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE
?

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Death nodded. I
N TIME
, he said,
YOU WILL LEARN THAT IT IS WRONG
.

The first boats grounded in the shallows, and the troops leapt into shoulder-high surf.

No one was quite sure who was leading the fleet. Most of the countries along the coast hated one another, not in any personal sense, but simply on a kind of historical basis. On the other hand, how much leadership was necessary? Everyone knew where Omnia was. None of the countries in the fleet hated the others worse than they did Omnia. Now it was necessary for it…not to exist.

General Argavisti of Ephebe considered that he was in charge, because although he didn’t have the most ships he was avenging the attack on Ephebe. But Imperiator Borvorius of Tsort knew that
he
was in charge, because there were more Tsortean ships than any others. And Admiral Rham-ap-Efan of Djelibeybi knew that
he
was in charge, because he was the kind of person who always thought he was in charge of anything. The only captain who did not, in fact, think that he was commanding the fleet was Fasta Benj, a fisherman from a very small nation of marsh-dwelling nomads of whose existence all the other countries were in complete ignorance, and whose small reed boat had been in the path of
the fleet and had got swept along. Since his tribe believed that there were only fifty-one people in the world, worshiped a giant newt, spoke a very personal language which no one else understood, and had never seen metal or fire before, he was spending a lot of time wearing a puzzled grin.

Clearly they had reached a shore, not of proper mud and reeds, but of very small gritty bits. He lugged his little reed boat up the sand, and sat down with interest to see what the men in the feathery hats and shiny fish-scale vests were going to do next.

General Argavisti scanned the beach.

“They must have seen us coming,” he said. “So why would they let us establish a beachhead?”

Heat haze wavered over the dunes. A dot appeared, growing and contracting in the shimmering air.

More troops poured ashore.

General Argavisti shaded his eyes against the sun.

“Fella’s just standing there,” he said.

“Could be a spy,” said Borvorius.

“Don’t see how he could be a spy in his own country,” said Argavisti. “Anyway, if he was a spy he’d be creepin’ around. That’s how you can tell.”

The figure had stopped at the foot of the dunes. There was something about it that drew the eye. Argavisti had faced many an opposing army, and this was normal. One patiently waiting figure was not. He found he kept turning to look at it.

“S’carrying something,” he said eventually. “Sergeant? Go and bring that man here.”

A few minutes later the sergeant returned.

“Says he’ll meet you in the middle of the beach, sir,” he reported.

“Didn’t I tell you to bring him here?”

“He didn’t want to come, sir.”

“You’ve got a sword, haven’t you?”

“Yessir. Prodded him a bit, but he dint want to move, sir. And he’s carrying a dead body, sir.”

“On a battlefield? It’s not bring-your-own, you know.”

“And…sir?”

“What?”

“Says he’s probably the Cenobiarch, sir. Wants to talk about a peace treaty.”

“Oh, he does? Peace treaty? We know about peace treaties with Omnia. Go and tell…no. Take a couple of men and bring him here.”

Brutha walked back between the soldiers, through the organized pandemonium of the camp. I ought to feel afraid, he thought. I was always afraid in the Citadel. But not now. This is through fear and out the other side.

Occasionally one of the soldiers would give him a push. It’s not allowed for an enemy to walk freely into a camp, even if he wants to.

He was brought before a trestle table, behind which sat half a dozen large men in various military styles, and one small olive-skinned man who was gutting a fish and grinning hopefully at everyone.

“Well, now,” said Argavisti, “Cenobiarch of Omnia, eh?”

Brutha dropped Vorbis’s body on to the sand. Their gaze followed it.

“I know him—” said Borvorius. “Vorbis! Someone killed him at last, eh? And will you stop trying to sell me fish? Does anyone know who this man is?” he added, indicating Fasta Benj.

“It was a tortoise,” said Brutha.

“Was it? Not surprised. Never did trust them, always creeping around.
Look
, I said no fish! He’s not one of mine, I know that. Is he one of yours?”

Argavisti waved a hand irritably. “Who sent you, boy?”

“No one. I came by myself. But you could say I come from the future.”

“Are you a philosopher? Where’s your sponge?”

“You’ve come to wage war on Omnia. This would not be a good idea.”

“From Omnia’s point of view, yes.”

“From everyone’s. You will probably defeat us. But not all of us. And then what will you do? Leave a garrison? Forever? And eventually a new generation will retaliate. Why you did this won’t mean anything to them. You’ll be the oppressors. They’ll fight. They might even win. And there’ll be another war. And one day people will say: why didn’t they sort it all out, back then? On the beach. Before it all started. Before all those people died. Now we have that chance. Aren’t we lucky?”

Argavisti stared at him. Then he nudged Borvorius.

“What did he say?”

Borvorius, who was better at thinking than the others, said, “Are you talking about surrender?”

“Yes. If that’s the word.”

Argavisti exploded.

“You can’t do that!”

“Someone will have to. Please listen to me. Vorbis is dead. He’s paid.”

“Not enough. What about your soldiers? They tried to sack our city!”

“Do your soldiers obey your orders?”

“Certainly!”

“And they’d cut me down here and now if you commanded it?”

“I should say so!”

“And I’m unarmed,” said Brutha.

The sun beat down on an awkward pause.

“When I say they’d obey—” Argavisti began.

“We were not sent here to parley,” said Borvorius abruptly. “Vorbis’s death changes nothing fundamental. We are here to see that Omnia is no longer a threat.”

“It is not. We will send materials and people to help rebuild Ephebe. And gold, if you like. We will reduce the size of our army. And so on. Consider us beaten. We will even open Omnia to whatever other religions wish to build holy places here.”

A voice echoed in his head, like the person behind you who says, “Put the red Queen on the black King,” when you think you have been playing all by yourself…

I. What?

“This will encourage…local effort,” said Brutha.
II. Other Gods? Here?

“There will be free trade along the coast. I wish to see Omnia take its place among its fellow nations.”

III. I heard You Mention Other Gods
.

“Its place is at the bottom,” said Borvorius.

“No. That won’t work.”

IV. Could We Please Get Back To The Matter Of

Other Gods?

“Will you please excuse me a moment?” said Brutha, brightly. “I need to pray.”

Even Argavisti raised no objection as Brutha walked
off a little way up the beach. As St. Ungulant preached to any who would listen, there were plus points in being a madman. People hesitated to stop you, in case it made things worse.

“Yes?” said Brutha, under his breath.
V. I Don’t Seem To Recall Any Discussion About Other Gods Being Worshiped In Omnia?

“Ah, but it’ll work for you,” said Brutha. “People will soon see that those other ones are no good at all, won’t they?” He crossed his fingers behind his back.

VI. This Is Religion, Boy. Not Comparison Bloody Shopping! You Shall Not Subject Your God To Market Forces!

“I’m sorry. I can see that you would be worried about—”

VII. Worried? Me? By A Bunch Of Primping Women And Muscle-bound Posers In Curly Beards?

“Fine. Is that settled, then?”

VIII. They Won’t Last Five Minutes!…what?

“And now I’d better go and talk to these men one more time.”

His eye was caught by a movement among the dunes.

“Oh, no,” he said. “The idiots…”

He turned and ran desperately toward the beached fleet.

“No! It’s not like that! Listen!
Listen!
”

But they had seen the army, too.

It looked impressive, perhaps more impressive than it really was. When news gets through that a huge enemy fleet has beached with the intent of seriously looting, pillaging, and—because they are from civilized countries—whistling and making catcalls at the women and impressing them with their flash bloody uniforms
and wooing them away with their flash bloody consumer goods, I don’t know, show them a polished bronze mirror and it goes right to their heads, you’d think there was something wrong with the local lads…
then
people either head for the hills or pick up some handy, swingable object, get Granny to hide the family treasures in her drawers, and prepare to make a fight of it.

And, in the lead, the iron cart. Steam poured out of its funnel. Urn must have got it working again.

“Stupid! Stupid!” Brutha shouted, to the world in general, and carried on running.

The fleet was already forming battle-lines, and its commander, whichever he was, was amazed to see an apparent attack by one man.

Borvorius caught him as he plunged towards a line of spears.

“I
see
,” he said. “Keep us talking while your soldiers got into position, eh?”

“No! I didn’t want that!”

Borvorius’s eyes narrowed. He had not survived the many wars of his life by being a stupid man.

“No,” he said, “maybe you didn’t. But it doesn’t matter. Listen to me, my innocent little priest. Sometimes there has to be a war. Things go too far for words. There’s…other forces. Now…go back to your people. Maybe we’ll both be alive when all this is over and
then
we can talk. Fight first, talk after. That’s how it works, boy. That’s
history
. Now, go back.”

Brutha turned away.
I. Shall I Smite Them?

“No!”

II. I Could Make Them As Dust. Just Say The

Word
.

“No. That’s worse than war.”

III. But You Said A God Must Protect His People
—

“What would we be if I told you to crush honest men?”

IV. Not Stuck Full Of Arrows?

“No.”

The Omnians were assembling among the dunes. A lot of them had clustered around the iron-shielded cart. Brutha looked at it through a mist of despair.

“Didn’t I say I’d go down there alone?” he said.

Simony, who was leaning against the Turtle, gave him a grim smile.

“Did it work?” he said.

“I think…it didn’t.”

“I knew it. Sorry you had to find out. Things have a way of wanting to happen, see? Sometimes you get people facing off and…that’s it.”

“But if only people would—”

“Yeah. You could use
that
as a commandment.”

There was a clanging noise, and a hatch opened on the side of the Turtle. Urn emerged, backward, holding a spanner.

“What is this thing?” said Brutha.

“It’s a machine for fighting,” said Simony. “The Turtle Moves, eh?”

“For fighting Ephebians?” said Brutha.

Urn turned around.

“What?” he said.

“You’ve built this…this thing…to fight Ephebians?”

“Well…no…no,” said Urn, looking bewildered. “We’re fighting Ephebians?”

“Everyone,” said Simony.

“But I never…
I’m
an…I never—”

Brutha looked at the spiked wheels and the saw-edged plates around the edge of the Turtle.

“It’s a device that goes by itself,” said Urn. “We were going to use it for…I mean…look, I never wanted it to…”

“We need it now,” said Simony.

“Which we?”

“What comes out of the big long spout thing at the front?” said Brutha.

“Steam,” said Urn dully. “It’s connected to the safety valve.”

“Oh.”

“It comes out very hot,” said Urn, sagging even more.

“Oh?”

“Scalding, in fact.”

Brutha’s gaze drifted from the steam funnel to the rotating knives.

“Very philosophical,” he said.

“We were going to use it against Vorbis,” said Urn.

“And now you’re not. It’s going to be used against Ephebians. You know, I used to think
I
was stupid, and then I met philosophers.”

Simony broke the silence by patting Brutha on the shoulder.

“It will all work out,” he said. “We won’t lose. After all,” he smiled encouragingly, “
we
have God on our side.”

Brutha turned. His fist shot out. It wasn’t a scientific blow, but it was hard enough to spin Simony around. He clutched his chin.

“What was
that
for? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“We get the gods we deserve,” said Brutha, “and I think we don’t deserve any. Stupid. Stupid. The sanest man I’ve met this year lives up a pole in the desert. Stupid. I think I ought to join him.”