The Eye of Zoltar (26 page)

The flickering light of the fireberry played upon the roof.

‘About time too,’ came Addie’s voice in the darkness.

That night, I dreamt of my parents again. They were scolding me for leaving my conch on the half-track and telling me that I couldn’t marry Perkins because he was ‘old enough to be my father’. Then I was dreaming of Kevin Zipp, who said he had come to say goodbye and to not ‘lose sight of all that is good’. After that I was chasing after Curtis and the half-track, and when I stopped and turned around, five Hotax were staring at me with their small pig-like eyes, and one of them was holding a surgeon’s saw and another a bag of kapok stuffing and a sewing needle. I’d turned to run but found I couldn’t for some reason, and that’s when I was shaken awake. It was Addie.

She put her fingers to her lips and beckoned me to the rhododendrons that were hiding the entrance to the cave. She gently pushed the branches apart to reveal two pale blue Skybus trucks parked on the road next to the waterfall, almost identical to the ones we had seen before. The drivers seemed to be comparing notes about the journey, and from the manner in which their large, four-wheel-drive trucks were parked, one seemed to be heading off in the direction of the Cadair range, and the other, mud-spattered and dusty, seemed to be returning.

As we watched they shook hands, climbed into the cabs of their trucks and drove off in the directions I had guessed.

I looked at Addie and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. She had no idea what they were doing here either.

‘There are no manufacturing facilities in this direction,’ she said, ‘or at least, nothing that I know about.’

‘Smuggling?’ I said.

‘It’s possible,’ said Addie, striding across to look at the tyre tracks. ‘The Mountain Silurians used to illegally export spice, but if they are still doing it, why use Skybus vehicles?’

‘I’ve counted at least six while I’ve been here,’ I said, ‘all heading to and from the border. Aviation parts, you say?’

‘So I’m told,’ said Addie, squatting down to study the tyre tracks, ‘but I’ve never looked inside the lorries, so I don’t know for sure. Notice anything odd?’

We were at a muddy section of the road, and Addie was pointing at the tracks. One was deep and well defined while the other vehicle had hardly made any imprint at all.

‘One’s laden and the other not,’ I said. ‘So what?’

‘Because,’ said Addie, ‘the one that’s heavy is the one going
towards
the mountains – the lighter of the two is coming
out
.’

‘They’re delivering components
to
the mountains?’ I said. ‘That makes no sense at all.’

It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed this. The first two Skybus lorries I’d seen had been halted while their drivers chatted. The one heading out accelerated away more easily than the one heading in.

‘These vehicles are delivering something to the Idris mountains,’ I said slowly, ‘but what?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Addie, ‘but I’d like to find out.’

‘What about Curtis and the half-track?’ I asked.

‘Just there,’ said Addie, pointing at a ghost of an imprint on the dusty roadway, ‘and by the look of it, he passed through here yesterday afternoon about midday. If he stopped for the night, he may be only six or seven hours’ drive ahead.’

‘It’s not so much his capture or punishment I’m interested in,’ I said, ‘even though such a thing would be welcome. I’m really after the half-track, or to be more exact, my bag and what’s in it.’

It was the conch, of course, the Helping Hand
^™
– I’d get hell from Lady Mawgon for losing it – and the letter of credit to negotiate for Boo’s release.

‘We better get a move on, then,’ said Addie.

Perkins rubbed his head when I woke him. His new age had established itself more firmly overnight. His voice was deeper, his face more lined, his hair greyer. He moved with the more measured certainty of someone entering their fifth decade, and seemed more thoughtful in his responses – and was painfully stiff after the cold night in the cave.

‘Ooh, bloody hell,’ he said, rubbing his legs.

‘Welcome to the club,’ said Wilson, who’d had longer to acclimatise to the myriad changes that advanced age wrought upon the human body, ‘and don’t worry if you start forgetting the names of things or being less sharp than you once were. You may even have trouble … have trouble, um …’

‘Finishing your sentences?’ put in Perkins.

‘Exactly so. All entirely normal. But with age comes wisdom.’

‘I think wisdom comes with years, not age,’ replied Perkins sadly. ‘I’ve managed to separate the two. I think I’m going to be old
without
wisdom.’

‘If that
is
the case,’ said Wilson, ‘you won’t be alone.’

Addie suggested we let the Skybus trucks have half an hour’s start so we would not be observed, but it took that long to get the goats herded into the trailer as they had a certain
bounciness
about them that didn’t permit easy herding.

‘They’re called ISGs,’ explained Addie once we had rounded up the goats and coaxed the ancient jeep’s engine into life, ‘for International Standard Goat. They’re a sort of one-size-fits-all-goat that does everything pretty well: climb, give lots of milk, soft fur, excellent meat. It was the legacy of Emperor Tharv’s father, who became convinced that what the world really needed was animal standardisation. He managed to standardise the goat, honey bee, badger and hamster, and was working on the bird kingdom when he died.’

‘It’s why so many birds are small and brown,’ explained Wilson, ‘so he had moderate success.’

We drove for two hours, stopping to fill up the jeep’s leaky radiator three times. We climbed steadily up the rough, winding track and once on the high Plynlimon pass we stopped for a moment to stretch our legs, change drivers and make a short devotion at the shrine dedicated to the once popular but now little known St Aosbczkcs, the patron saint of fading relevance. This done, we surveyed the scene that was laid before us.

Below us were bumpy foothills through which we could see the road slowly winding down towards the fertile valley floor, a random patchwork of natural woodland and open grassland. But beyond this valley and dominating our view was the place in which the Leviathans’ Graveyard and Sky Pirate Wolff’s hideout were most likely to be hidden: Cadair Idris. Although I’d seen pictures, the mountain was even more spectacular in real life. Sheer walls towered vertically from the valley floor, presenting a dizzying pinnacle of grey rock that was awe-inspiring and terrifying in equal measure. High waterfalls cascaded into space from high on the sheer rock walls where the water dispersed into clouds of water droplets that formed clouds that clung to the lower reaches of the mountain. Although it was reputedly the second-highest mountain in the unUnited Kingdoms after the peak named T4 in the Trollvanian range, the exact height of Cadair Idris had never been fully determined. The summit had never been out of cloud in living memory, making a triangulation survey impossible. ‘Between six and seven thousand feet’ was a pretty good guess. When the sun rose in the morning, the shadow of the rock would extend across three kingdoms.

‘From here on in we’re in Mountain Silurian territory,’ said Addie.

‘Can you see the others?’ asked Wilson as we gazed out across the landscape.

Perkins spelled himself a hand telescope by creating two ‘O’ shapes with his index fingers and thumbs and conjuring up a glass lens in each. Early versions of the spell required an operator to focus the telescope manually, but later releases had autofocus as standard, with a zoom feature and auto-stabilisation useful add-ons.

‘I can see the half-track. Looks like it’s a couple of miles from the base of the mountain. Think he’s still got your conch?’

‘He didn’t try and sell the Helping Hand
^™
in Llangurig,’ I said, for if he had he’d make several times the price of a handmaiden, ‘so I’m hoping.’

Perkins scanned the parts of the road that were visible among the low hills and wooded areas. ‘The Skybus truck is not far behind him.’

Because they were still moving, it seemed logical to presume that neither of them had encountered the Mountain Silurians, or if they had, goats had been successfully bartered.

We moved off soon after and as we descended into the dense woodlands of the Mountain Silurians’ land, we noted how the increased rainfall had made everything lush and moist. Bottle-green moss grew in abundance on the rocks and trees, lichen clung doggedly to anything it could find, and we were constantly fording small streams and rivers.

All this time, the overwhelming size of the bleak pinnacle of rock that was Cadair Idris loomed over us menacingly. A better place for a pirate hideout would be impossible to imagine.

‘Where are the Mountain Silurians?’ asked the Princess. ‘I thought you said they were fearless tribes-people who would kill us all for amusement unless we gave them goats?’

‘I was wondering that myself,’ said Addie. ‘To get this far into their territory without being threatened with dismemberment and asked to pay tribute is unusual – I hope nothing’s happened to them.’

‘I’m really hoping something
has
happened to them,’ said the Princess. ‘Any jeopardy we can avoid is one more step toward survival.’

‘I’ll just be glad to quietly sit down somewhere with my pipe and a pair of slippers,’ said Perkins, coming over a bit fiftyish, ‘and read the paper.’

‘You don’t have a pipe,’ I pointed out, ‘or slippers.’

‘Or a paper, yes, agreed – but there’s a first time for everything.’

‘Slow down,’ I said, pointing to where a light blue vehicle had stopped ahead of us in a clearing. Addie pulled the jeep off the road and parked behind an oak tree. It was the Skybus truck. The driver had climbed out and was stretching his legs, then he reached into his cab, took out a roll of loo paper and walked off into the forest.

‘Stay here,’ said Addie.

She jumped out of the jeep and darted forward noiselessly, stopped for a moment, looked around and then moved forward again. Within a minute she was at the back of the truck, had opened the rear doors and looked inside. Just as quickly she shut the doors again, and slipped into the undergrowth. The driver duly returned, the truck restarted and then drove off towards the mountain. Half a minute later Addie rejoined us. She didn’t look too happy.

‘Everything okay?’ I asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, pointing behind us, ‘and we’ve got company.’

I turned around to find that a dozen or so warriors riding Buzonjis had crept up on us completely silently, and were now less than twenty paces away. Each warrior was large, tanned and amply but not skilfully covered in blue warpaint. Every one of them was armed with a short sword and a lance, upon the point of which was a human skull, the steel tip of the lance piecing the top of the skullcap. These heads were traditionally harvested by lance in battle while in the charge, and remained there as a trophy. The warriors were all scowling at us in probably the most unpleasant and unwelcoming way I had ever witnessed. I heard Wilson swallow nervously. We didn’t need to guess who they might be. They were the feared Mountain Silurians.

‘All hail Glorious Geraint the Great,’ said Addie, bowing low, ‘the gutsy, gallant and gracious gatekeeper of the great green grassy northern grounds.’

It seemed, from Addie’s flowery and clearly overblown greetings, that the Silurian chief himself had graced us with his presence.

We all bowed as Geraint the Great looked on imperiously, while the Buzonjis stamped their feet impatiently. After a pause that felt like ten minutes but was probably less then twenty seconds, Geraint the Great looked at one of his advisers, a giant of a woman dressed in the skin of a Welsh leopard, who nodded.

‘Your alliteration is acceptable albeit mildly simplistic,’ said Geraint. ‘What do you seek, Addie the Tour Guide, champion of the blade, younger daughter of Owen the Dead, holder of the Tourist Good Conduct medal?’

‘Our lives are in your hands,’ continued Addie, bowing again and continuing the long-winded formal greeting. ‘We wish only peace and goodwill, and are merely travellers seeking to pass through your sacred grounds.’

‘To where?’ asked Geraint.

‘To seek the legendary Leviathans’ Graveyard on Cadair Idris, Your Greatness, to venture there and return, safely and without hindrance.’

‘The Rock Goddess shall not be defiled,’ he intoned angrily, while the rest of the warriors muttered darkly to themselves. ‘You shall be sacrificed to the mountain, your blood splashed about the rocks and your rotting carcasses picked apart by the condor. The mountain shall be appeased. You will die. I, Geraint the Great, have spoken.’

‘We have brought gifts,’ said Addie.

There was a pause.

‘The mountain may be appeased … in other ways,’ said Geraint the Great. ‘We accept your gifts … so long as they’re not more of those bloody goats. All we ever get given is goats, and let me tell you, we’re sick of them. Sick of the sight of them, sick of the smell of them, and sick of the taste of them. Isn’t that right, lads?’

The warriors gave out a hearty ‘Uuh!’ sort of noise and waved their spears in the air.

‘We have so many goats,’ continued Geraint the Great in an exasperated tone, ‘that we even have to sell them at below market value to those milksops in Llangurig. If anyone were ever to try and offload those same goats back to us, our anger would be great, our violence most savage.’

‘O-kay,’ said Addie. ‘Please wait, Your Greatness, while I consult with my fellow travellers.’

She turned to us.

‘Looks like I was misinformed over the whole goat thing,’ she said in a whisper.

‘It explains why cheap goats are flooding the Llangurig Commodities Market,’ said the Princess thoughtfully. ‘How fascinating.’

‘Not
really
important right now, ma’am,’ said Addie. ‘Has anyone got anything else we can barter?’

‘I have two thousand plotniks,’ said Wilson, opening his wallet. ‘It’s all I have in the world but you are welcome to it.’