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* * * *
The cart rumbled and squeaked on and on, while Thribble tried to marshal
tendrils of reason into coherent thought. The wagon stopped several times, and
the grey imp heard hissing, banging sounds that sounded as if the gates of
Hades were being opened for him. He knew of the human superstition, and the
fear of eternal fire bloomed as strongly within the underworld as it did on
the plane of mortals.
The demon's stupefied, irrational state was not helped by the strong smell of
human perspiration and the low temperature within the cart. Thribble's journey
through the air ducts of Haven had cooled his body even more than this, but he
had not had to contend then with mortal body odour and all-consuming terror.
His senses were exceptional in comparison to those of a mere human, and he
felt swamped by all manner of unpleasant sensations, sapping him of the
capacity of logical thought.
A simple solution must be at hand. There must be some way to outwit these
simple, soggy, gooey, mortal morons, if only I could think of it!
* * * *
Grimm lay on the simple bed, dead to the world. Even in sleep, a Questor
could manipulate the processes of his mind. Instead of surrendering to the
dreamless impassivity born of exhaustion, the mage gathered and arranged his
innate power as best he was able in the few hours available to him. He knew a
battle lay ahead, and he vowed that he, a full Guild Questor, would not be
found wanting when the storm broke.
A wayward part of his mind screamed that he would not be ready, that he would
be discovered as a mage free of compulsion, and that he would be destroyed by
the General's powerful allies whilst still weak. He crushed the treacherous
fear with the adamantine will born of years of rigorous training, pushing
himself to the limit, even in the welcome arms of restorative sleep.
Tremble, Quelgrum; I am coming! Tremble, Quelgrum...
The repetitive mantra ran through Grimm's active mind as he slept.
Chapter 24
A Convivial Meal
"So who d'you reckon for the boxing next week, Cooper? the deeper-voiced
human said, as the cart rattled and bounced the minuscule sprite in his
wheeled prison.
"I've got a bundle on Mulambe, Cooper replied. That guy's got a left hook
like a bloodywrecking ball. "
"And a jaw like a plate-glass window, from what I hear. Naah, all my money's
on Gomez; he's a scrapper, a real street fighter."
Each mortal argued the merits of his champion and the failings of the
opposing pugilist with vigour. Their loud voices hurt Thribble's ears, and the
soldiers did not slow their progress in the least as they bickered.
Surrender seemed the only option; however, the demon remembered only too well
how Administrator Armitage had seemed so interested in the live dissection of
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the underworld creature. Thribble could not believe the feared General Q would
be any softer-hearted than the Haven chief, and the tiny demon, terrified of
fire as he was, preferred even that option to having his entrails opened and
inspected while he still breathed.
There must be something I can do, short of alerting the soldiers to my
presence!the imp thought, cudgelling his brain as he fought to stem the
destructive, disorientating panic threatening to swamp him. His only talents
werevery short-range teleportation, and mimicry. Swathed in malodorous cloth
as he was, Thribble knew his voice would never reach the clumsy, insensitive
ears of the soldiers, and the metal walls of the cart seemed somehow to
prevent his translocation abilities, or at least to pose severe limits on
them; he had already tried to pass through the iron partitions and failed.
As the humans vociferous argument raged above him, Thribble thought he might
be approaching the problem in the wrong manner, but it seemed as if the
processes of his mind were flowing like cold treacle. The cart rolled on with
slow but inexorable progress towards his doom, as he struggled to marshal his
reeling thoughts into rationality.
* * * *
Colonel Perfuco regarded his beloved General, unease causing his stomach to
gripe. Having at first asked the mage to attend the dinner meeting with the
Questors and their retinue, Quelgrum had now changed his mind, saying that he
preferred not to show his hand too early. Perfuco did his best to convince
his superior of just how severe a threat a pair of Questors could pose.
The Mentalist had taken part in three House Quests, and one of these had
involved an attack by a group of armed, trained renegades. On this occasion,
he had seen for himself the terrifying power of a lone Guild Questor; the
attacking force of some twenty experienced men had been routed in an instant,
as if the mage had swatted a fly. A handful of blinded, burning, shattered men
survived to flee the field, disorientated and maddened by pain, and the single
mage had pursued them with ruthless efficiency, blasting each of the attackers
into a spray of wet, bloody fragments.
The Questor spared a single warrior from the carnage, a grizzled, muscular,
battle-scarred veteran of some forty summers. Perfuco remembered how the burly
axe-man had trembled and pleaded for his life as the willow-thin mage had
stood over his scorched and bleeding foe, his eyes like shards of flint.
"You have witnessed the penalty for attempting to assault a Guild
Questor,"the slender thaumaturge told the hapless man in a cold, emotionless
voice."I spare you your miserable, cowardly existence, so you may spread the
word to others of your wretched kind; only death awaits those who would oppose
us. Get out of my sight, you crawling slug, and remember that you only live
because I chose to spare you."
Perfuco still shivered at the memory of the remorseless, brutal execution of
nineteen humans by a single Questor.
"General Quelgrum, the nervous Mentalist said, I urge you to allow me to
interview and assess these mages before you meet them; the risk is too great
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