'Sergeant of the Guard?' said Cohen. 'What, for pay?'
'Yep.'
'But . . . what, like, for pay?'
'He told me he might make Captain next year. He said . . . he said it's a job with a pension.' Cohen released his grip. 'There's not many of us now, Cohen,' said Truckle. Cohen spun around. 'All right, but there's never been many of us! And I ain't dyin'! Not if it means the world's taken over by bastards like Hong, who don't know what a chieftain is. Scum. That's what he called his soldiers. Scum. It's like that bloody civilized game you showed us, Teach!'
'Chess?'
'Right. The prawns are just there to be slaughtered by the other side! While the king just hangs around at the back.'
'Yeah, but the other side's you, Cohen.'
'Right! Right . . . well, yes, that's fine when I'm the enemy. But I don't shove men in front of me to get killed instead of me. And I never use bows and them dog things. When I kill someone it's up close and personal. Armies? Bloody tactics? There's only one way to fight, and that's everyone charging all at once, waving their swords and shouting! Now on your feet and let's get after him!'
'It's been a long morning, Ghenghiz,' said Boy Willie. 'Don't give me that!'
'I could do with the lavatory. It's all this rain.'
'Let's get Hong first.'
'If he's hiding in the privy that's fine by me.' They reached the city gates. They had been shut. Hundreds of people, citizens as well as guards, watched them from the walls. Cohen waved a finger at them. 'Now I ain't gonna say this twice,' he said. 'I'm coming in, OK? It can be the easy way, or it can be the hard way.' Impassive faces looked down at the skinny old man, and up at the plain, where the armies of the warlords fought one another and, in terror, the terracotta warriors. Down. Up. Down. Up. 'Right,' said Cohen. 'Don't say afterwards I didn't warn youse.' He raised his sword and prepared to charge. 'Wait,' said Mr Saveloy. 'Listen . . .' There was shouting behind the walls, and some confused orders, and then more shouting. And then a couple of screams. The gates swung open, pulled by dozens of citizens. Cohen lowered his sword. 'Ah,' he said, 'they've seen reason, have they?' Wheezing a little, the Horde limped through the gates. The crowd watched them in silence. Several guards lay dead. Rather more had removed their helmets and decided to opt for a bright new future in Civvy Street, where you were less likely to get beaten to death by an angry mob. Every face watched Cohen, turning to follow him as flowers follow the sun. He ignored them. 'Crowdie the Strong?' he said to Caleb. 'Dead.'
'Can't be. He was a picture of health when I saw him a coupla months ago. Going on a new quest and everything.'
'Dead.'
'What happened?'
'You know the Terrible Man-eating Sloth of Clup?'
'The one they say guards the giant ruby of the mad snake god?'
'The very same. Well . . . it was.' The crowd parted to let the Horde through. One or two people tried a cheer, but were shushed into silence. It was a silence that Mr Saveloy had only heard before in the most devout of temples.[24] There was a whispering, though, growing out of that watchful silence like bubbles in a pot of water on a hot fire. It went like this. The Red Army. The Red Army. 'How about Organdy Sloggo? Still going strong down in Howondaland, last I heard.'
'Dead. Metal poisoning.'
'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.'