some of the prisoners, too," said Glurk. "They ain't in any condition to fight, if you want my opinion."
"You're talking about Deftmenes, you know," said Brocando stoutly.
Glurk peered around a corner, and then beckoned them to follow him. "I know," he said. "And it's still true. What I'm saying is, it's not a case of stealing a bunch of keys and unlocking a few doors and shouting, "Har-har-har, my people, throw off your shackles". This is real. And I've been listening. You know why the mouls attacked Jeopard?"
"To subjugate and enslave a proud people," said Brocando.
"For grit."
"Grit?
"That's what Jeopard's built on, isn't it? Stone chisels, see. They use dozens of 'em just to hack out a bit of metal."
"My lovely city-"
"Grit," said Glurk.
"My palace-"
"Grit, too."
"Metal," said Bane. "They're trying to get as much metal as they can. Metal weapons'll beat varnish and wood any day."
"Why all this effort, I wonder?" said Pismire.
"Ware's only a few days away," said Bane. "That's why. We've got to warn people."
"Come on. In here," said Glurk.
" 'Here' was a long cave mined out of the bronze. Light filtered in from holes in the ceiling, showing dim shadows lining the walls. The air was warm and smelt of animal. The prisoners heard the shifting of great feet in their stalls, and deep breathing. There was a movement, and a pair of green eyes came towards them in the semi-darkness.
"What's your business here?" said the moul guard.
"Ah," said Glurk, "I have brought the prisoners! Har-har-har!"
The guard looked suspiciously at the four of them. "What for?" it said.
Glurk blinked at him.
"Enough of this talking, har-har-har," he said eventually, and hit the guard on the head.
The green eyes went out.
"I runs out of ideas after a while," said Glurk.
Pismire's eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom. It was a big cave, but it didn't look as big as it really ought to have done because of the enormous size of the things in it.
"These are pones, aren't they?" said Brocando.
"Not easy to mistake for anything else. Why are they here?" said Pismire.
"They turns the wheels for the lifting platform," said Glurk. "They're used for all the heavy work. Know something? They're intelligent."
"No, that's just a story," said Pismire airily. "They look bright, I'll grant you, but the head's tiny compared to the body. They've got a brain the size of a dried pea."
"But a very clever dried pea," said Glurk. "I lay low in here last night. They've got a language. All made up of thumps and nose honks. Watch."
A tiny head was lowered towards him out of the shadows, and two bright eyes blinked.
"Er ... if you can understand me, stamp twice," he said hoarsely.
Thud. Thud.
Even Glurk himself looked surprised.
"These are friends. You'll help, OK?"
Thud. Thud.
"That means yes," said Glurk.
"Really?" said Pismire.
"There's his saddle, by the stall."
It was more like a small castle. It had wide girths made of red cloth studded with bronze, and a roof over it, hung with curtains and bells. Inside were cushioned seats, and on the decorated harness was the word 'Acretongue' in tarnished bronze letters.
Pismire sidled closer to the pone while the others were manhandling the saddle, and held up his hand with the fingers spread out.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" he said suspiciously.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Aha! So much for-"
Thud.
"Lucky guess."
The pone lumbered down on to his knees to let them heave the saddle on to his back.
Then he opened his mouth and trumpeted.
It sounded like the creaking of a door, magnified a thousand times-but it waved and changed as well, and seemed to contain a lot of busy little other sounds. Language, thought Pismire. Language without words, but still language.
I wonder if the wights invented that, too? People used to have language without words. We still have. We say "Hmm?" and "Uh" and "Arrgh!", don't we?
What am I thinking? These are animals.
Just very bright ones, perhaps. Very
"You're talking about Deftmenes, you know," said Brocando stoutly.
Glurk peered around a corner, and then beckoned them to follow him. "I know," he said. "And it's still true. What I'm saying is, it's not a case of stealing a bunch of keys and unlocking a few doors and shouting, "Har-har-har, my people, throw off your shackles". This is real. And I've been listening. You know why the mouls attacked Jeopard?"
"To subjugate and enslave a proud people," said Brocando.
"For grit."
"Grit?
"That's what Jeopard's built on, isn't it? Stone chisels, see. They use dozens of 'em just to hack out a bit of metal."
"My lovely city-"
"Grit," said Glurk.
"My palace-"
"Grit, too."
"Metal," said Bane. "They're trying to get as much metal as they can. Metal weapons'll beat varnish and wood any day."
"Why all this effort, I wonder?" said Pismire.
"Ware's only a few days away," said Bane. "That's why. We've got to warn people."
"Come on. In here," said Glurk.
" 'Here' was a long cave mined out of the bronze. Light filtered in from holes in the ceiling, showing dim shadows lining the walls. The air was warm and smelt of animal. The prisoners heard the shifting of great feet in their stalls, and deep breathing. There was a movement, and a pair of green eyes came towards them in the semi-darkness.
"What's your business here?" said the moul guard.
"Ah," said Glurk, "I have brought the prisoners! Har-har-har!"
The guard looked suspiciously at the four of them. "What for?" it said.
Glurk blinked at him.
"Enough of this talking, har-har-har," he said eventually, and hit the guard on the head.
The green eyes went out.
"I runs out of ideas after a while," said Glurk.
Pismire's eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom. It was a big cave, but it didn't look as big as it really ought to have done because of the enormous size of the things in it.
"These are pones, aren't they?" said Brocando.
"Not easy to mistake for anything else. Why are they here?" said Pismire.
"They turns the wheels for the lifting platform," said Glurk. "They're used for all the heavy work. Know something? They're intelligent."
"No, that's just a story," said Pismire airily. "They look bright, I'll grant you, but the head's tiny compared to the body. They've got a brain the size of a dried pea."
"But a very clever dried pea," said Glurk. "I lay low in here last night. They've got a language. All made up of thumps and nose honks. Watch."
A tiny head was lowered towards him out of the shadows, and two bright eyes blinked.
"Er ... if you can understand me, stamp twice," he said hoarsely.
Thud. Thud.
Even Glurk himself looked surprised.
"These are friends. You'll help, OK?"
Thud. Thud.
"That means yes," said Glurk.
"Really?" said Pismire.
"There's his saddle, by the stall."
It was more like a small castle. It had wide girths made of red cloth studded with bronze, and a roof over it, hung with curtains and bells. Inside were cushioned seats, and on the decorated harness was the word 'Acretongue' in tarnished bronze letters.
Pismire sidled closer to the pone while the others were manhandling the saddle, and held up his hand with the fingers spread out.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" he said suspiciously.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Aha! So much for-"
Thud.
"Lucky guess."
The pone lumbered down on to his knees to let them heave the saddle on to his back.
Then he opened his mouth and trumpeted.
It sounded like the creaking of a door, magnified a thousand times-but it waved and changed as well, and seemed to contain a lot of busy little other sounds. Language, thought Pismire. Language without words, but still language.
I wonder if the wights invented that, too? People used to have language without words. We still have. We say "Hmm?" and "Uh" and "Arrgh!", don't we?
What am I thinking? These are animals.
Just very bright ones, perhaps. Very
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