He snapped his fingers wildly at Glurk, who was standing open-mouthed at the spectacle of Pismire, still bent double in front of the dwarf warrior.

"Come on, come on. Protocol is very important. Bow down to the king!"

"What's a king?" said Glurk, looking round blankly.

"Show some respect," said Pismire.

"What for? Snibril rescued him, didn't he?"

Snibril saw Bane, standing at the back of the crowd with folded arms and a grim expression. He hadn't liked school in Tregon Marus, but he'd learned some things. The Dumii didn't like kings. They preferred Emperors, because they were easier to get rid of.

And on the way back from the temple he'd asked Brocando what he'd meant when he said his people didn't Count. It meant they had nothing to do with the Dumii.

"Hate them," Brocando had said, bluntly. "I'd fight them because they straighten roads, and number things, and make maps of places that shouldn't be mapped. They turn everything into things to Count. They'd make the hairs of the carpet grow in rows if they could. And worst of all ... they obey orders. They'd rather obey orders than think. That's how their Empire works. Oh, they're fair enough, fair fighters in battle and all that sort of thing, but they don't know how to laugh and at the end of it all it's things in rows, and orders, and all the fun out of life."

And now he was about to be introduced to one of them.

At which point, Brocando amazed him. He walked up to Glurk and shook him warmly by the hand. When he spoke, it wasn't at all in the way he'd used in the temple. It was the kind of voice that keeps slapping you on the back all the time.

"So you're the chieftain, are you?" he said. "Amazing! Your brother here told me all about you. It must be an incredibly difficult job. Highly skilled, too, I shouldn't wonder?"

"Oh, you know ... you pick it up as you go along ... " Glurk muttered, taken aback.

"I'm sure you do. I'm sure you do. Fascinating! And a terrible responsibility. Did you have to have some sort of special training?"

" ... er ... no ... Dad died and they just gives me the spear and said, you're chief ... " said Glurk.

"Really? We shall have to have a serious chinwag about this later on," said Brocando. "And this is Pismire, isn't it? Oh, do get up. I'm sure philosophers don't have to bow, what? Jolly good. And this must be ... General Baneus Catrix, I believe."

General! Snibril thought.

Bane nodded.

"How many years is it, your majesty?" he said.

"About five, I think," said the king. "Better make that six, in fact."

"You know each other?" said Snibril.

"Oh, yes," said Brocando. "The Dumii kept sending armies to see us and suggest, most politely, that we submit and be part of their Empire. We always told them we didn't want to join. We weren't going to be Counted-"

"I think it was the paying of taxes you objected to," said Bane, calmly.

"We did not see what we would get for our money," said Brocando.

"You would be defended," said Bane.

"Ah ... but we've always been quite good at defending ourselves," said Brocando, in a meaningful tone of voice. "Against anyone." He smiled. "And then the General here was sent to suggest it to us again, with a little more force," he said. "I remember he said that he was afraid that if we did not join the Empire, there would be hardly any of us to be Counted."

"And you said there'd be hardly anyone left to do the Counting," said Bane.

Snibril looked from one to the other. He realized he was holding his breath. He let it out. "And then what happened?" he said.

Bane shrugged. "I didn't attack," he said. "I didn't see why good people should die. I went back and told the Emperor that Brocando's people would make better allies than unwilling subjects. Anyway, only a fool would attack that city."

"I always wondered what he replied," said Brocando.

Bane looked down at his ragged clothes. "He shouted quite a lot," he said.

There was a thoughtful pause.

"They did attack, you know, after you ... been recalled," said Brocando.

"Did they win?"

"No."

"You see? Fools," said Bane.

"I'm sorry," said Brocando.

"You needn't be. It was only one of a number of disagreements I had with the Emperor," said Bane.

Snibril took each of them by the shoulder. "Anyway," he said, "just because you're sworn enemies doesn't mean you can't be friends, does it?"

When they were having the evening meal Glurk said to his wife: "He's very gracious. Asked all about me. I've met a king. He's very important. He's called Protocol, I think."

"Good name. Sounds royal," she said. "And Pismire's a philosopher, he says."

"I never knew that. What's a philosopher?"

"Someone who thinks, he says," said Glurk.

"Well, you think. I've often seen you sitting and thinking."

"I don't always think," said Glurk conscientiously. "Sometimes I just sits."

He sighed. "Anyway, it's not just thinking. You've got to be able to talk about it entertainingly afterwards."

CHAPTER 8

The people turned west. It was a cheerful journey to Jeopard, with Brocando riding by the leading cart. They were going somewhere that only a fool would attack.

Many of the Munrungs were frankly in awe of the small king, but Glurk was fast becoming an uncritical royalist. Brocando sensed his respectful audience, and chatted to him in that special way royalty has for commoners, which leaves the commoner feeling really cheered up without actually remembering very much about what was said to him.

Snibril jogged along on the other side of the cart, listening with half an ear for any signs of Fray and half to the Deftmene's chatter. "And then in the north wing of the palace my ancestor, Broc, built a temple to Kone the Founder. It took the wights seven years, carving pillars of varnish and wood and laying the great mosaic of the Carpet for Broc. We're still paying them for it. The walls were set with jet and salt, the altar of red wood inlaid with bronze. Really that was the centre of the present palace, which was built by my great-grandfather, the Seventh Broc, who added the Wood Gate when he was made king. And I mustn't forget the treasure rooms. I think there's at least nine. And only the reigning king may enter. Tarma the Woodcarver himself made the Crown. Seven pointy bits, with salt crystals on each one."

"We had a rug in our hut," said Glurk.

And so it went on, Glurk eagerly following the Deftmene through the treasury and the armoury, the banqueting halls and the guest bedrooms, while the carts got nearer and nearer to Jeopard.

Gradually the Carpet changed colour again, from red to deep purple and then dark blue. They camped under blue hairs, hunted the small shelled creatures that dwelt in dust holes, and wondered if Jeopard was as good as Brocando made out because if it was, it looked as though they'd better stop eating and drinking right now so as to leave room for the feasts they were going to have.

The track began to turn into a road, not a great white road like the Dumii built, but a neatly laid track of thick planks on a bank of dust. On either side the hairs grew thinner, and Snibril noticed many stumps. That was not all. No Munrung ever planted a seed. They liked vegetables when they could get them, and knew what grew where and which hairs dropped seeds that could be eaten, but except for Pismire's private herb garden everything that grew around them grew wild. The reason was quite obvious, to a Munrung: if you planted something you had to stop and watch it grow, fight off the animals and any hungry neighbour that happened to be passing, and generally spend your time, as Glurk put it, hanging around. Vegetables to a Munrung were something to give the meat a bit of a special taste.