The Eye of Zoltar by Jasper Fforde Page B

grandmother. I guessed she was about twelve or thirteen, but it was hard to tell. Children grow up fast in the Empire. She may have been as young as ten.
    ‘Hungry?’ I asked, for Silurians value hospitality above everything, and the girl nodded. I dug some cheese out of my bag and offered it to her. The girl paused for a moment, approached warily with one hand on the hilt of her dagger, took the cheese and sniffed at it.
    ‘Hereford Old Contemptible,’ she said expertly, ‘with chives and extra-mature. My favourite. Thank you.’
    She sat down on a rock beside us, took a bite of the cheese, chewed for a moment, then said:
    ‘New in the Empire?’
    ‘Half an hour ago.’
    ‘Was that rubber dragon anything to do with you?’
    ‘Um – no.’
    ‘Ah-ha. Did I just see your Bugatti being towed away?’
    I nodded.
    ‘Not unusual,’ said the child. ‘Our Glorious Emperor is a bit of a petrolhead. He sees a car he likes, he takes it. But at least he’s willing to pay for it. He’s odd like that. He cries bitterly when signing execution orders and always pardons his victims afterwards.’
    ‘There’s a lot to be said for not holding a grudge.’
    ‘I suppose so. Why do you have “No more pies” tattooed on the back of your hand?’
    ‘It’s sort of like “nil by mouth” only with … pies,’ I replied, having no real idea why. ‘Actually,’ I added, ‘it’s not mine at all.’
    I took the Helping Hand ™ out of my cuff, and tweaked the second knuckle for two seconds to put it in sleep mode. The Helping Hand ™ made some rapid hand signals that were pre shut-down diagnostics, then went limp. The girl did not seem that taken aback, but then if you’ve been brought up in the strife-torn Cambrian Empire, seeing a hand without a body attached probably wasn’t such a big deal.
    ‘You’re a sorcerer?’ she asked.
    ‘I
know
sorcerers,’ I told her. ‘The hand is enchanted, but not by me.’
    ‘I see,’ said the girl, ‘and why do you want to find Sky Pirate Wolff?’
    I raised an eyebrow.
    ‘News travels fast,’ I said.
    ‘Gossip has been clocked at 47.26 mph out here,’ explained the child, ‘the fastest recorded anywhere in the Kingdoms. Gossip is so fast, in fact, that we have no need for newspapers or a postal service. The only place where news does not travel is across the border. I know nothing of your culture other than you seem mostly well meaning, are ridiculously wealthy by our standards, and regard anything dangerous as somehow fun.’
    She was right. Little crossed our nations’ borders in the way of information. A war might be raging in your own country, and the first thing you’d know about it was when you returned home to find your house a smoking ruin, with armed militia eating the contents of your freezer and ‘Viva el Presidente’ daubed on the walls.
    ‘So, said Addie, ‘what do you want with the captain?’
    ‘We’re curious,’ I said, not wanting to give too much away, ‘and we like an adventure. We hear Wolff rides the Cloud Leviathans, and we’d like to see one up close.’
    She stared at us for a moment, head cocked on one side, sizing us up.
    ‘The best place to start,’ she said ‘is the legendary Leviathans’ Graveyard, where the huge beasts go to die. Many have sought the ivory in the dead animals’ jaws, and many have been lost in the attempt. Actually,’ she added, ‘
all
have been lost in the attempt, which is why it’s kind of off the tourist trail. When can you leave?’
    ‘As soon as our transport arrives, and our guide.’
    ‘Your guide is here,’ said the girl with a smile. ‘My name is Addie Powell, and I agree to take you to Cadair Idris as long as you accept my terms.’
    ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ I said, ‘but you seem quite young for a guide.’
    Addie narrowed her eyes.
    ‘Don’t take
this
the wrong way, but the last person who said that ignored my advice and is now carrion in the Empty Quarter. If they’d done what