'How?'
'Three swords through the stomach.' The Red Army! 'Slasher Mungo?'
'Presumed dead in Skund.'
'Presumed?'
'Well, they only found his head.' The Red Army! The Horde approached the inner gates of the Forbidden City. The crowd followed them at a distance. These gates were shut, too. A couple of heavy-set guards were standing in front of them. They wore the expressions of men who'd been told to guard the gates and were going to guard the gates come what may. The military depends on people who will guard gates or bridges or passes come what may and there are often heroic poems written in their honour, invariably posthumously. 'Gosbar the Wake?'
'Died in bed, I heard.'
'Not old Gosbar!'
'Everyone's got to sleep some time.'
'That's not the only thing they've got to do, mister,' said Boy Willie. 'I really need the wossname.'
'Well, there's the Wall.'
'Not with everyone watching! That ain't . . . civilized.' Cohen strode up to the guards. 'I'm not mucking about,' he said. 'OK? Would you rather die than betray your Emperor?' The guards stared ahead. 'Right, fair enough.' Cohen drew his sword. A thought seemed to strike him. 'Nurker?' he said. 'Big Nurker? Tough as old boots, him.'
'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.'