'Fishbone,' said Caleb. 'Nurker? He once killed six trolls with a—'
'Choked on a fishbone in his gruel. I thought you knew. Sorry.' Cohen stared at him. And then at his sword. And then at the guards. For a moment there was silence, broken only by the sound of the rain. 'Y'know, lads,' he said, in a voice so suddenly full of weariness that Mr Saveloy felt a pit opening up, here, at the moment of triumph, 'I was goin' to chop your heads off. But . . . what's the point, eh? I mean, when you get right down to it, why bother? What sort of difference does it make?' The guards still stared straight ahead. But their eyes were widening. Mr Saveloy turned. 'You'll end up dead anyway, sooner or later,' Cohen went on. 'Well, that's about it. You live your life best way you can and then it don't actually matter, 'cos you're dead—'
'Er. Cohen?' said Mr Saveloy. 'I mean, look at me. Been chopping heads off my whole life and what've I got to show for it?'
'Cohen . . . ' The guards weren't just staring now. Their faces were dragging themselves into very creditable grimaces of fear. 'Cohen?'
'Yeah, what?'
'I think you should look round, Cohen.' Cohen turned. Half a dozen red warriors were advancing up the street. The crowd had pulled right back and were watching in silent terror. Then a voice shouted: 'Extended Duration To The Red Army!' Cries rose up here and there in the crowd. A young woman raised her hand in a clenched fist. 'Advance Necessarily With The People While Retaining Due Regard For Traditions!' Others joined her. 'Deserved Correction To Enemies!'
'I've lost Mr Bunny!' The red giants clonked to a halt. 'Look at them!' said Mr Saveloy. 'They're not trolls! They move like some kind of engine! Doesn't that interest you?'
'No,' said Cohen, vacantly. 'Abstract thinking is not a major aspect of the barbarian mental process. Now then, where was I?' He sighed. 'Oh, yes. You two . . . you'd rather die than betray your Emperor, would you? The two men were rigid with fear now. Cohen raised his sword. Mr Saveloy took a deep breath, grabbed Cohen's sword arm and shouted: 'Then open the gates and let him through!' There was a moment of utter silence. Mr Saveloy nudged Cohen. 'Go on,' he hissed. 'Act like an Emperor!'
'What . . . you mean giggle, have people tortured, that sort of thing? Blow that!'
'No! Act like an Emperor ought to act!' Cohen glared at Saveloy. Then he turned to the guards.
'Well done,' he said. 'Your loyalty does you . . . wossname . . . credit. Keep on like this and I can see it's promotion for both of you. Now let us all go inside or I will have my flowerpot men chop off your feet so you'll have to kneel in the gutter while you're looking for your head.' The men looked at one another, threw down their swords and tried to kowtow. 'And you can bloody well get up, too,' said Cohen, in a slightly nicer tone of voice. 'Mr Saveloy?'
'Yes?'
'I'm Emperor now, am I?'
'The . . . earth soldiers seem to be on our side. The people think you've won. We're all alive. I'd say we've won, yes.'
'If I'm Emperor, I can tell everyone what to do, right?'
'Oh, indeed.'
'Properly. You know. Scrolls and stuff. Buggers in uniform blowing trumpets and saying. “This is what he wants you to do.” '
'Ah. You want to make a proclamation.'
'Yeah. No more of this bloody kowtowing. It makes me squirm. No kowtowing by anyone to anyone, all right? If anyone sees me they can salute, or maybe give me some money. But none of this banging your head on the ground stuff. It gives me the willies. Now, dress that up in proper writing.'
'Right away. And—'
'Hang on, haven't finished yet,' Cohen bit his lip in unaccustomed cogitation, as the red warriors lurched to a stop. 'Yeah. You can add that I'm letting all prisoners go free, unless they've done something really bad. Like attempted poisoning, for a start. You can work out the details. All torturers to have their heads cut off. And every, peasant can have a free pig, something like that. I'll leave you to put in all the proper curly bits about “by order” and stuff.' Cohen looked down at the guards. 'Get up, I said. I swear, the next bastard that kisses the ground in front of me is gonna get kicked in the antique chicken coops. OK? Now open the gates.' The crowd cheered. As the Horde stepped inside the Forbidden City they followed, in a sort of cross between a revolutionary charge and a respectful walk. The red warriors stood outside. One of them raised a terracotta foot, which groaned a little, and walked towards the Wall until it bumped into it.
an, it's just like that myth about the man who sowed dragons' teeth and terrible fighting skeletons came up!'
'I don't believe that,' said Caleb, as they jogged after Cohen. 'Why not?'
'If you sow dragons' teeth, you should get dragons. Noot fighting skeletons. What did it say on the packet?'
'I don't know! The myth never said anything about them coming in a packet!'
'Should've said “Comes up Dragons” on the packet.'
'You can't believe myths,' said Cohen. 'I should know. Right . . . there he is . . .' he added, pointing to a distant horseman. The whole plain was in turmoil now. The red warriors were only the start. The alliance of the five warlords was glass fragile in any case, and panicky flight was instantly interpreted as sneak attack. No-one paid any attention to the Horde. They didn't have any coloured pennants or gongs. They weren't traditional enemies. And, besides, the soil was now mud, and the mud flew, and everyone from the waist down was the same colour and this was rising. 'What're we doing, Ghenghiz?' said Mr Saveloy. 'We're heading back for the palace.'
'Why?'
' 'Cos that's where Hong's gone.'
'But there's this astonishing—'