Anything else in the depths below would hardly have seen them, little specks inching along the roots of the hairs. Eventually Brocando called a halt on the edge of another abyss. There was a narrow bridge stretching across it, and Snibril could just make out a door on the far side.

The king held up the torch and said: "We are right underneath the rock now."

The roof of the cavern was gently curved towards its centre, bowed under the great weight above it.

"You are the only people apart from the kings of Jeopard to see this," Brocando went on. "After the secret passage was dug, Broc had all the workers personally put to death to stop the secret escaping."

"Oh? That's part of kinging, too, is it?" said Glurk.

"It used to be," said Brocando. "Not any more, of course."

"Hah!" said Bane.

When they had crossed the bridge Brocando pushed the little wooden door open, revealing a spiral staircase lit by green light filtering down from a tiny circle of light. It was a long climb up the winding staircase, which was so narrow that the boots of the ones in front tangled with the hands of the ones behind, and the torches made flickering shadows of giant warriors against the walls. Ghostly as it was, Snibril welcomed it. He hated the darkness under the Carpet.

Before it reached the circle of green light the stairway opened on to a little landing, just big enough to hold them all. There was another door in the wall.

"Where-" Glurk began.

Brocando shook his head and put his finger to his lips.

There were voices on the other side of the door.

CHAPTER 10

There were three voices, so loud that they could only be a metre or so from the hidden door.

Snibril tried to imagine faces. One voice was thin and whiny, already raised in complaint.

"Another hundred? But you took fifty only a few days ago!"

"And now we need another hundred," said a soft voice that made Snibril's hair prickle. "I advise you to sign this paper, your majesty, and my guards will gather together this hundred and be gone. They will not be slaves. Just ... assistants."

"I don't know why you don't just take them," said the first voice sulkily.

"But you are the king," said the second voice. "It must be right, if the king says so. Everything signed and proper."

Snibril thought he could hear Bane grinning in the darkness.

"But no-one ever comes back," said first Voice.

The third voice was like a rumble. "They like it so much in our lands we just cannot persuade them to return," it said.

"I don't believe you," said First Voice.

"That does not really matter," said Second Voice. "Sign!"

"No! I will not! I am king ... "

"And you think that I, who made you king, can't ... unmake you?" said Second Voice. "Your majesty," it added.

"I'll report you to Jornarileesh! I'll tell on you!" said First Voice, but he did not sound very confident.

"Jornarileesh! You think they care what is done here?" Second Voice purred. "Sign! Or perhaps Gorash here can find some other use for your hands?"

"Yeah," said Third Voice. "A necklace."

Brocando turned to face the others, while the voices on the other side of the door alternately threatened and whined.

"That's my brother," he said. "Such as he is. Here's the plan. We rush in, and we kill as many mouls as possible."

"You think that's a clever plan?" said Bane.

"Sounds sensible to me," said Glurk.

"But there's hundreds in the city, aren't there?" said Bane.

"My people will rise up and overthrow them," hissed Brocando.

"Have they got any weapons, then?" said Bane.

"No, but the mouls have. So they'll start by getting their weapons off them," said Brocando placidly.

Bane groaned. "We're all going to die," he said. "This isn't tactics. This is just making-it-up-as-you-go-along."

"Let's start now, then," said Brocando. He put his foot against the door and pushed. It moved a fraction, and then stopped.

"What's the matter?" said Snibril.

"There's something on the other side," hissed Brocando. "There shouldn't be. Everyone give me a hand here."

They put their shoulders to it. It resisted for a moment, and then flew open. There was a shriek.

For a second the hall was motionless.

Snibril saw a throne lying on the floor. It had blocked the door. Now it lay halfway down the steps and a thin Deftmene was struggling underneath it, making pathetic little noises. Beyond it two mouls were standing, staring at the open doorway. One was big, wide-shouldered, with a pale face almost hidden in his leather helmet. He held a coiled whip in one great paw. Voice Three, Snibril thought. He even looks as though he should be called Gorash. Beside him stood a thin moul wearing a long black cloak and a grin like a wolf that's just had dinner. Voice Two, said Snibril to himself. He looks like he ought to have a name with a lot of esses in it-something you can hiss.

Both groups stared at one another for a second.

Then Brocando whirred forward like an enraged chicken, waving his sword. The thin moul leapt backwards and drew its own sword with disheartening swiftness. Gorash uncurled his whip, but found that Bane was suddenly between him and the king.

The Munrungs watched. There seemed to be two ways of swordfighting. Brocando went at it like a windmill, pushing the enemy back by sheer effort. Bane fought quietly, like some kind of machine-tamp, thrust, parry ... tic toe tic.

"Shouldn't we help?" said Snibril.

"No. Ten to two isn't fair," said Glurk.

The doors at the end of the throne room burst open and a dozen moul guards ran towards them.

"Oh. This is better, then, is it?" said Snibril.

Glurk threw his spear. One of the guards screamed.

"Yes," he said.

Snibril found that spears fought well against swords, if you didn't throw them. They could prod, and they could parry. And as more guards poured into the room, he realized that it also helped if you were outnumbered. It made it easier to hit an enemy, for one thing. And since there were so many of them, each one wasn't too keen to get involved, taking the view that there was no point in running risks when there were all these other people to do it for them.

This must be how the Deftmenes think, he told himself as he broke a spear over the head of a moul. Always pick a bigger enemy, because he's easier to hit ...

He found himself pressed up against the back of Bane, who was still fighting in his tictoc way, like someone who can do it all day.

"I've broken my spear!"

"Use a sword!" said Bane, parrying a thrust from a desperate guard. "There's plenty of them on the floor!"

"But I don't know how to use one!"

"It's easy! The blunt end goes in your hand and the sharp end goes in the enemy!"

"There must be more to it than that!"

"Yes! Remember which end is which!"

And then it was over. The few remaining guards fell over one another to get out of the door. Gorash was dead. The skinny moul dodged a last wild slash from Brocando's sword and dived through the open doorway to the secret passage. They heard it running down the steps.

Snibril looked down at his sword. There was blood on it, and he hoped it wasn't his.

"Well, that wasn't too hard," said Glurk.

"There's hundreds more out there," said Bane, gloomily.

Brocando went to the balcony. Early morninglight was flooding across the hairs. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

"I'mmm baaaack! Brocandoooo!"

He picked up a dead moul, dragged it to the balcony, and pushed it over.

There were already some Deftmenes in the square below the palace. A shout went up.

The king rubbed his hands together.

"Help me with the throne," he said.