The Eye of Zoltar

  ‘They shot him down because all aerial traffic in the Cambrian Empire is banned.’

  I turned to see who was speaking, and that was when we first met Addie Powell.

  Addie Powell

  Her face was dirty, she had no shoes, and she was dressed in a loose, poncho-style jacket that was tied at the waist by a leather belt upon which hung a dagger. It was the costume favoured by the Silurians, a tribe who lived on the lower slopes of the Cambrian Mountains. She had three small stars tattooed on the left side of her face that told me she was a daughter of middle rank, a braid in the left side of her hair denoting no parents, and a ring on the third toe of her left foot – she held financial responsibility for someone, likely a younger sibling, or a 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 I’d said they’d be inheriting a kingdom about now. Besides, it’s not the age, it’s the mileage that counts.’

  She definitely looked as though she had seen the mileage. Her eyes had a hard look in them, and I noticed a scar on one cheek, and one of her fingers was missing.

  I apologised, told her I had complete confidence in her abilities, and we all shook hands. I introduced everyone, even the Princess, who made an awkward half-curtsy.

  ‘Will it be risky?’ I asked as we sat down to negotiate her fee.

  ‘Risky?’ said Addie. ‘Put it this way: statistically speaking, you’re dead already, your bones gnawed by wild animals and now bleached in the sun, your life only fractured lost moments, memories in those who knew you best.’

  ‘Very … jolly,’ I said.

  Addie shrugged.

  ‘There are many dangers and I don’t want you to start whining when someone gets eaten or drowned or something. But here’s the deal: a Golden Moolarine each for wherever you want to go for the next week, and for that I can promise you a fifty per cent survival rate.’

  ‘I thought the official Fatality Index was eighty-six per cent?’

  Addie smiled.

  ‘I can offer better odds than the official rate. It is a gift passed down from one tour operator to the next – a sixth sense that tells me how many we will lose. I am never wrong. But let’s be clear on this: half of your party will die, or be lost or eaten. Are you sure you want to shoulder that responsibility?’

  I looked at Perkins, who nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Then we have a deal,’ said Addie, and we shook on it.

  At that moment an ex-military half-track turned up in a cloud of yellow Marzoleum fumes. I’d not seen one of these up close before. The front two wheels were for steering, and at the rear there were caterpillar tracks, like on a landship. It was also protected by a quarter-inch of armour plate on the sides and bottom, but not the top, which was open, but could be covered by a canvas tarpaulin. Perkins and I looked at it doubtfully.

  ‘Where we’re going, there are no roads,’ said Addie. ‘This was a good call. We leave in half an hour. Wait here.’

  ‘Fifty per cent casualties?’ said Perkins as soon as Addie had gone and we had signed the half-track’s rental agreement. ‘That’s …’

  ‘… one and a half of us, plus two and a half fingers if you count the Helping Hand™,’ said the Princess. ‘Bags I not be the one half-dead, especially in Laura’s body.’

  ‘You should be more serious, Princess,’ said Perkins.

  ‘And you should hold your tongue when talking impertinently to royalty, Mr Porkins.’

  ‘It’s Perkins.’

  ‘Perkins, Porkins, Twitkins – like I give a monkey’s.’

  ‘No one is dying or losing fingers,’ I said, ‘and we’ve got a few magical moves that should help us get home safely. And Princess, hold your tongue. You’re Laura Scrubb right now, and will be until we get you back to the palace.’

  We chucked our baggage inside the half-track and I climbed into the driver’s seat to figure out how to drive the vehicle. It didn’t seem much different to the Bugatti, in fact, and I was just reading the bit in the instruction manual about track
maintenance procedures when a voice made me look up.

  ‘Hey!’

  It was Curtis and two others. All young, all dressed kind of hip, all looking a bit smug, confident and stupid.

  ‘Hey, Dragonslayer dude,’ said Curtis, grinning at me, ‘heard you were heading off through the Empty Quarter towards Cadair Idris to do some Cloud Leviathan spotting. Sounds dangerous, and well, we’re like totally up for it.’

  ‘This is a private expedition,’ I said sharply, ‘you’re not coming.’

  ‘Too late,’ he said, ‘we’ve already okayed it with your tour guide, and she’s taken our money.’

  ‘Is that right?’ I asked Addie, who was walking up with a bedroll on her shoulder.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ she said, ‘a larger party fares better for all manner of reasons, and if it comes to a scrap, seven people are better than four.’

  ‘I really don’t think—’

  ‘I’d like you to trust my judgement on this one, Miss Strange.’

  We stared at one another for a moment. There was something she wasn’t telling me, but I had to trust her – only a fool ignores a local guide.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘welcome aboard.’

  ‘Awesome,’ said Curtis, readying himself for introductions. ‘These are my buddies. Meet Ignatius Catflap.’

  He indicated the shorter of the two. Ignatius had a shock of black hair and seemed to be trying a little too hard to grow a beard. He was chewing gum and his red-rimmed hungover eyes blinked stupidly as he was introduced.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘This is just like going on a trip to some weird and awesome dangerous place.’

  ‘It’s not like it, you dope,’ said the Princess, ‘it is.’

  Ignatius stared at her in surprise.

  ‘A little bit forward for a handmaiden, aren’t you?’

  ‘She’s kind of a bodyguard as well,’ I said. ‘Try and be nice to the morons, Laura.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Ignatius’ family own the Catflap Corporation,’ piped up Curtis, as though it were exciting and relevant. ‘They make novelty placemats.’

  ‘They do what?’ I asked.

  ‘Placemats,’ said Ignatius, ‘mats to put your plates on at mealtimes. I’m here doing research into our planned “Extreme Jeopardy Range”. Each mat will depict a frightful end suffered by someone here in the Cambrian Empire. What do you think?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I think: that “tasteless” was a word invented just for you.’

  ‘… and over here is Ralph,’ said Curtis, eager to move on and indicating the second of his friends, ‘another of my old school chums.’

  The third traveller was tall and slender, and rubbed his hands together nervously when he spoke. He seemed the least idiotic of the trio and looked to be here as a hanger-on, probably against his better judgement.

  ‘Hello,’ he said quietly, ‘Ralph D. Nalor. Pleased to meet you. I’m – um – twenty in June.’

  ‘Anything else?’ I asked.

  He thought for a moment.

  ‘Nothing springs to mind.’

  After shaking hands – it was best to at least attempt to get along, I felt – and after they’d stored our baggage in the back of the half-track, Addie told us she wanted our attention.

  ‘Right,’ she said, climbing on to the half-track’s bonnet to address us, ‘the first thing to remember is there is only one rule: do as I tell you, no matter how insane. If we are held up by armed bandits, I do the talking. If we are all kidnapped, I do the talking. If you are kidnapped, then make polite conversation with your captors until I come to bargain for your release. That might take up to a year but I will come. Trying to escape is considered unspeakably rude, as is wailing, crying and pleading for your life, and is the quickest and easiest way to get yourself killed. The tribes who populate the Cambrian Empire are a murderous bunch of cut-throats, bandits and ne’er-do-wells, but they are polite, hospitable and won’t tolerate bad manners. Does everyone understand?’

  ‘Yeah, little girl, anything you say,’ said Curtis with a smirk.

  Addie looked at him for moment, made a quick movement and in a moment her dagger had punctured Curtis’ collar and pinned him to the tree upon which he leaned.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Addie, ‘did you say something?’

  ‘I said,’ replied Curtis, firmly rattled, ‘that you’re totally the boss-dude.’

  ‘Okay. Now, altogether: what’s the one rule?’

  ‘Do as you say,’ we all said in unison.

  ‘Stand on one leg,’ said Addie, and we duly complied.

  ‘Good,’ she said, and five minutes later we pulled the half-track onto the road and headed off into the interior of the Cambrian Empire.

  Addie explains

  We headed north along the main Cambrianopolis road. I was driving with the Helping Hand™ making easy work of the half-track’s ridiculously heavy steering. Perkins was in the passenger seat with Addie sitting between us, with the Princess just behind. The fields we drove past contained cultivated almond tree groves, from which refined Marzoleum was derived, a syrupy oil that could be used for fondant icing, sunblock, window putty, aviation spirit – and pretty much anything else in between. Curtis and his friends had been standing up in the back because they thought it looked cool and manly until the dust, flies and road debris got in their eyes and mouths, so with eyes streaming and throats sore, they bravely sat in the rear instead.

  I looked back to make sure they weren’t within earshot, then said to Addie:

  ‘Why were you so keen for Curtis and his dopey friends to come along?’

  ‘Simple. We need those three to make up the fifty per cent fatalities.’

  This made me uneasy.

  ‘That’s not a great thing to hear.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but this is: you’ll go home safely and Curtis and his losers get to be the honoured dead. What’s not great about that?’

  ‘A lot,’ I replied. ‘Everyone matters, even those three.’

  ‘I don’t think that they do,’ said the Princess, who had been listening in to the conversation. ‘If they never came back it wouldn’t change much. Their families would be a bit glum but I dare say they’d get over it. Besides, you don’t come to Cambria without accepting at least the possibility of tragedy.’

  ‘I know you’re not actually a handmaiden,’ said Addie astutely, ‘what with your unservantlike manner and all, but you speak my language.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ I replied. ‘I’m not having those three used as cannon fodder.’

  ‘They knew the risks,’ said Addie, ‘and so did you when you agreed to the trip. I offered you a fifty per cent Fatality Index, and you accepted it. No point getting all precious about it now.’

  ‘We were taking the responsibility for ourselves,’ I said, ‘not other people.’

  ‘And you still are,’ said Addie with a shrug. ‘I can only guarantee the fifty per cent. I can’t say for certain who will live and who will die.’

  Addie’s logic was somewhat strange, but did ring true – sort of. We a fell silent for a few moments.

  ‘Have you lost many tourists?’ asked Perkins.

  ‘Hundreds,’ said Addie in a nonchalant manner. ‘I used to keep count but after a while, there were just too many. You always remember the first and the youngest and the one you liked the most, but after that they’re simply a blur.’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ said the Princess. ‘Jennifer, myself, Porkins, you, Ignatius, Ralph and Curtis only make up seven. If you expect a fifty per cent casualty rate, how’s that meant to work?’

  ‘We’ll pick up someone on the trip,’ said Addie, ‘we always do. It’ll pan out correctly, you’ll see. I have a gift.’

  ‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ said the Princess. ‘What’s that up ahead?’

  I looked out. On the road ahead someone had painted ‘SORRY’ in large letters.

  ‘Hunker down,’ shouted Addie and we all did as she said. The half-track h
ad a large armoured flap that could be swung down in front of the windscreen in case of attack. Addie reached up and released the catch; the flap swung down with a bang, leaving me a small slot to see through. A second or two later the first bullet hit the armoured half-track, followed by a second, then a third.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ said Addie.

  I did as she asked, and the air was suddenly heavy with the crack of rifle fire and the metallic spang of bullets as they bounced off.

  ‘Okay,’ said Addie as if we were doing nothing more unusual than driving through heavy hail, ‘here’s the plan: we’ll enter the Empty Quarter presently and stay at the Claerwin reservoir tonight; they have some Pod-poles. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll reach Llangurig and visit your friend. We’ll stay the night there and then head off into mountain Silurian territory to get to the foot of Cadair Idris. We’ll search for the Leviathans’ Graveyard on its rocky slopes until you give up – which you will, because the graveyard doesn’t exist – and then return.’

  ‘Good plan,’ I said, ‘although our movements really depend on what my friend in Llangurig says – I’m not mad keen on going any farther if I don’t have to.’

  I wasn’t wildly keen on climbing the mountain. Cadair Idris was known not just for its stark beauty – a soaring pinnacle of sheer rock almost six thousand feet in height, the highest in the Cambrian range – but for the number of people who had vanished on its rocky slopes. Despite numerous expeditions, no one had reached the summit in modern times, or if they had, no one had returned. I’d risk our lives if there was a chance of finding the Eye of Zoltar, but not if there wasn’t.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Addie, mistaking my silence for nerves, ‘Cadair Idris will be fun.’

  ‘Ever been there?’

  ‘No. That’s why it will be fun.’

  As we drove on, the rifle fire slowly diminished, and after a minute it stopped completely, and Addie gave us the all-clear so we could raise our heads above the armoured body of the half-track.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Perkins.

  ‘What was what?’

  ‘The rifle fire?’

  ‘Oh, that. I don’t know. A local warlord who is annoyed they built a bypass around his village. It’s cut travel times by a third and reduced congestion, but it also means he can’t extract money from travellers – so he fires on any car that passes. It’s nothing really serious.’