But in the blue land of Jabonya, around the little city of Jeopard, the Deftmenes had turned the Carpet into a garden. There were hairs there that even Pismire had not seen before, not the great sturdy trunks that crowded the rest of the Carpet, but delicate stems, their branches laden with fruit. Dust had been carefully banked up beneath them to make soil for all sorts of shrubs and vegetables. The travellers were shown ripe purple groads, that tasted of pepper and ginger, and big Master Mushrooms that could be dried and stored for years and still kept their delicate flavour. Even the track had been raised above the gardens, and small shrublike hairs grew along its border in a low hedge. It was an ordered land.

"I never noticed that it looked like this," said Bane.

"It certainly looks better without Dumii armies camped on it," said Brocando.

"The men under my command were always instructed to treat the country with respect."

"Others were less respectful."

"Where are the people?" asked Glurk. "I'll grant you that a nice baked root goes down well, but all this didn't grow by being whistled at. You're always having to hang about poking at the ground, when you're a farmer."

There were no people. The fruit hung heavy in the bushes along the roadside, but there were none to pick it, except the Munrung children, who did it very well. But there was no-one else.

Snibril took up his spear. This was like hunting. You learned about the different kinds of silence.

There was the silence made by something frightened, in fear of its life. There was the silence made by small creatures, being still. There was the silence made by big creatures, waiting to pounce on small creatures. Sometimes there was the silence made by no-one being there. And there was a very sharp, hot kind of silence made by someone there-watching.

Bane had drawn his sword. Snibril thought: soldiers learn about silences, too.

They looked at one another.

"Shall we leave the carts here?" said Snibril.

"Safer to stick together. Don't divide forces unnecessarily. First rule of tactics."

The carts moved on, slowly, with everyone watching the hairs.

"The bushes just up on the right there," Bane said, without moving his head.

"I think so, too," said Snibril.

"They're in there watching us."

"Just one, I think," said Snibril.

"I could put a spear into it from here, no trouble," said Glurk.

"No. We might want to ask it questions afterwards," said Bane. "We'll circle around it on either side."

Snibril crept towards the bush around one side of a hair. He could see it moving slightly. Bane was on the other side of it and Glurk, who could walk very quietly for such a big man, appeared as if by some kind of magic in front of it, with his spear raised.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

"Yeah."

Bane took hold of a dust frond, and tugged.

A small child looked up at three trembling blades.

"Um," it said.

And ten minutes later ...

A small group of Deftmenes were labouring in the vegetable lines between the hairs. They did not look happy or, for that matter, very well-fed. Several guards were watching them. Even from here, Snibril could see the long snouts.

Among the hairs was Jeopard itself.

It was built on a piece of grit. The actual city was a cluster of buildings at the very top; a spiral roadway wound several times around the grit between the city and the floor. It had a gate at the bottom, but that was just for show. No-one could have got up that road if the people at the top didn't want them to.

There was a movement in the dust, and Glurk crawled up beside Snibril.

"The boy was right. There's mouls and snargs everywhere," he said. "The whole place is crawling with them."

"They've got the city?" said Snibril.

Glurk nodded. "That's what comes of running around looking for treasure when he ought to have been at home, reigning," he said, disapprovingly.

"Come on," said Snibril. "Let's get back to the camp."

The carts had been dragged into the undergrowth some way off, and people were on guard.

Pismire, Bane and Brocando were sitting in a semi-circle, watching the little boy drinking soup. He had a bottomless capacity for food but, in between mouthfuls, he'd answer Brocando's questions in a very small voice.

"My own brother!" growled Brocando, as the others slipped into the camp. "But if you can't trust your own family, who can you trust? Turn my back for a few days-"

"A year," said Bane.

"-and he calls himself king! I never did like Antiroc. Always skulking and muttering and not keen on sports."

"But how did mouls get into the city?" said Snibril.

"He let them in! Tell the man, Strephon!"

The boy was about seven years old, and looked terrified.

"I ... I ... they were ... everyone fought ... " he stuttered.

"Come on! Come on! Out with it, lad!"

"I think," said Bane, "that perhaps you ought to wander off for a minute or two, perhaps? He might find it easier to talk."

"I am his king!"

"That's what I mean. When they're standing right in front of you, kings are a kind of speech impediment. If you'd just, oh, go and inspect the guard or something ... ?"

Brocando grumbled about this, but wandered off with Glurk and Snibril.

"Huh. Brothers!" he muttered. "Nothing but trouble, eh? Plotting and skulking and hanging around and usurping."

Glurk felt he had to show solidarity with the unofficial association of older brothers.

"Snibril never kept his room tidy, I know that," he said.

When they got back Strephon was wearing Bane's helmet and looking a lot more cheerful. Bane sent him off with an instruction to do something dangerous.

"If you want it in grown-up language," he said, "your brother took over the throne when you didn't come back. He wasn't very popular. There was quite a lot of fighting. So when a pack of mouls arrived one day-he invited them in."

"He wouldn't!" said Brocando.

"He thought he could hire them as mercenaries, to fight for him. Well, they fought all right. They say he's still king, although no-one has seen him. The mouls do all the ruling. A lot of people ran away. The rest are slaves, more or less. Quarrying grit. Forced labour in the fields. That sort of thing."

"The mouls don't look as if they'd be interested in vegetables," said Snibril.

"They eat meat."

Pismire had been sitting against one of the cartwheels, wrapped in the blanket; travel was not agreeing with him. They'd almost forgotten about him.

His words sunk in like rocks. In fact it wasn't the words themselves that were disturbing. Everyone ate meat. But he gave the word a particular edge that suggested, not ordinary meat ...

Brocando went white.

"Do you mean-?"

"They eat animals," said Pismire, looking more miserable than Snibril had ever seen him before. "Unfortunately, they consider everything that's not a moul is an animal. Um. I don't know how to say this ... do you know what the word 'moul' means in moul language? Hmm? It means ... True Human Beings."

This sunk in, too.

"We'll attack tonight," said Brocando. "No-one's eating my subjects."

"Er," said Glurk.

"Oh yes," said Bane. "Yes, indeed. Fine. Five thousand soldiers couldn't attack Jeopard."

"That's true," said Brocando. "So we-"

"Er," said Glurk.

"Yes?" said Brocando.

The chieftain appeared to have something on his mind. "I've heard one or two references just recently to 'we'," he said. "I just want to get this sorted out? No offence. As a reward for rescuing you, we're now going to attack this city that no amount of Dumii soldiers could capture and fight a lot of mouls? You want my tribe, which hasn't got a home now, to save your city for you, even though this is impossible? Have I got it right, yes?"