In the beginning, there was nothing but endless flatness. Then came the Carpet...
That's the old story everyone knows and loves (even if they don't really believe it). For now the Carpet is home for many different tribes and peoples -- from the empire-building Dumii, to the nomadic Munrungs, the proud Deftmenes, and the terrible creatures from the Unswept Regions.
And there's a new story in the making.
The story of the time when Fray begins to move, sweeping a trail of destruction across the Carpet.
The story of the power-hungry mouls, saddling up their snargs and riding to the attack.
The story of Glurk and Snibril, Munrung brothers, who set out on an adventure to end all adventures when their village is flattened.
The story that will come to a terrible end -- if someone doesn't do something about it. If everyone doesn't do something about it...
The Carpet People was published in 1971. It had a lot of things wrong with it, mostly to do with being written by someone who was seventeen at the time.
-- Everyone's a critic, even the author
* * *
So this is it. It's not exactly the book I wrote then. It's not exactly the book I'd write now. It's a joint effort but, heh heh, I don't have to give him half the royalties. He'd only waste them.
* * *
They called themselves the Munrungs. It meant The People, or The True Human Beings.
It's what most people call themselves, to begin with. And then one day the tribe meets some other People or, if it's not been a good day, The Enemy. If only they'd think up a name like Some More True Human Beings, it'd save a lot of trouble later on.
* * *
"Though Fray, who hates life in the Carpet, may tread upon us, though shadows grow over us, we are the soul of the Carpet, and that is a mighty thing. We are the fruit of the loom."
* * *
On the fifth day the Governor of the town called all the tribal chieftains to an audience in the market square, to hear their grievances. He didn't always do anything about them, but at least they got heard, and he nodded a lot, and everyone felt better about it at least until they got home. This is politics.
* * *
Some of them didn't like the Dumii much, usually because the Empire discouraged the small wars and cattle raids which, in the outlying regions, were by way of being a recreational activity.
* * *
"He's a man of few words, and he doesn't know what either of them mean," people said, but not when [Glurk] was within hearing.
* * *
Most tribes had one [shaman], although Pismire was different. For one thing, he washed all the bits that showed at least once every month. This was unusual. Other shamen tended to encourage dirt, taking the view that the grubbier, the more magical.
* * *
Other shamen ate the yellow-spotted mushrooms that were found deep in the hair thickets and said things like: "Hiiiiyahyahheya! Heyaheyayahyah! Hngh! Hngh!" which certainly sounded magical.
Pismire said things like, "Correct observation followed by meticulous deduction and the precise visualization of goals is vital to the success of any enterprise. Have you noticed the way the wild tromps always move around two days ahead of the sorath herds? Incidentally, don't eat the yellow-spotted mushrooms."
* * *
[Pismire] was also the official medicine man. He was a lot better ... than the last one they had, whose idea of medicine was to throw some bones in the air and cry "Hyahyahyah! Hgn! Hgn!" Pismire just mixed various kinds of rare dust in a bowl, made it into pills, and said things like "Take one of these when you go to bed at night and another one if you wake up in the morning."
* * *
"He shouldn't have said the Unutterable Words," said Pismire, more or less to himself. "It's all superstition, of course, but that's not to say it isn't real."
* * *
"Worse than snargs," said Pismire. "Got much worse weapons than teeth and claws. They've got brains."
* * *
The Munrungs didn't have gods. Life was complicated enough as it was.
* * *
Keep 'em busy. That was one of the three ruls of being chief that old Grimm had passed on to him. Act confidently, never say "I don't know," and when all else fails, keep 'em busy.
* * *
"He should stay in bed for at least two days, so I told Bertha six. Then he'll fret and bully her into letting him up the day after tomorrow, and feel a lot better for having outwitted me."
* * *
"...I wish that the people who sing about the deeds of heroes would think about the people who have to clear up after them."
* * *
"Are they intelligent?" said Snibril.
"Together they are. Individually, they're stupid. Hah! The opposite of us, really."
* * *
Snibril: "It would help a lot to know the future."
Noral: "It wouldn't. It makes living very hard."
* * *
He tapped the pig with his spear. It went boinnng.
"Should go 'oink'," he told them. "Not boinnng."
Pismire took Snibril's knife and rapped the moul on the chest. It went ping.
"Should go 'Aaaggh!'" said Glurk.
* * *
They had worshipped him because he was so destructive, which is what often happens, but that sort of religion never works out in the long term.
* * *
It wasn't only terrifying. It was also embarassing. Nothing should have that many tears in it.
* * *
"We Deftmenes are correctly-built," said Brocando. "It's no business of ours if everyone else is ridiculously overgrown."
* * *
"Doesn't anyone of your muddle-headed people know how to welcome a king?"
"I don't think so," said Snibril. "He's quite brave and a bit excitable and doesn't really listen to what you say."
"Sounds like a king to me, right enough," said Pismire.
* * *
Brocando: "So you're the chieftain, are you? Amazing! Your brother here told me all about you. It must be an incredibly difficut job. Highly skilled, too, I shouldn't wonder?"
Glurk: "Oh, you know ... you pick it up as you go along..."
Brocando: "I'm sure you do. I'm sure you do. Fascinating! And a terrible responsibility. Did you have to have some sort of special training?"
Glurk: "...er ... no ... Dad died and they just gives me the spear and said, you're chief..."
* * *
"Anyway, just because you're sworn enemies doesn't mean you can't be friends, does it?"
* * *
"What's a philosopher?"
"Someone who thinks ... [and] You've got to be able to talk about it entertainingly afterwards."
* * *
Many of the Munrungs were frankly in awe of the small king, but Glurk was fast becoming an uncritical royalist. Brocando sensed his respectful audience, and chatted to him in that special way royalty has for commoners, which leaves the commoner feeling really cheered up without actually remembering very much about what was said to him.
* * *
Vegetables to a Munrung were something to give the meat a bit of a special taste.
* * *
"When they're standing right in front of you, kings are a kind of speech impediment."
* * *
"I just want to get this sorted out? No offence. As a reward for rescuing you, we're now going to attack this city that no amount of Dumii soldiers could capture and fight a lot of mouls? You want my tribe, which hasn't got a home now, to save your city for you, even though this is impossible? Have I got it right, yes?"
"Good man!" said Brocando, "I knew we could depend on you! I shall need half a dozen stout-hearted men!"
"I think I can let you have one astonished one," said Glurk.
* * *
"Have we just volunteered for practically certain death?" he said.
"I think we may have, yes."
"This kinging is amazing," said Glurk. "If we get out of this, I think I'm going to try to learn it."
* * *
"There's another way into the city," said Brocando.
"I didn't know that."
"Didn't you?" said Brocando. "Amazing. All that trouble to build a secret passage and we forgot to tell the Emperor. Remind me to send him a note."
* * *
"You've got to trust one another sooner or later. Who are you going to trust instead? You're men of honour, aren't you?" said Snibril.
"It's not as simple as that," said Brocando.
"Then make it simple!"
* * *
"Come on, lads. Last one in's a--"
"Never mind about the last one," muttered a voice somewhere towards the back of the group. "We want to see what happens to the first one."
* * *
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...
* * *
Snibril: "I've broken my spear!"
Bane: "Use a sword! There's plenty of them on the floor!"
Snibril: "But I don't know how to use one!"
Bane: "It's easy! The blunt end goes in your hand and the sharp end goes in the enemy!"
Snibril: "There must be more to it than that!"
Bane: "Yes! Remember which end is which!"
* * *
"I can't have you subjects throwing my family over the balcony, that would never do."
"Good," said Snibril.
"I'll do it myself."
* * *
"But now ... let's round up the last of the mouls. I shouldn't think they'll put up much of a fight now."
"What shall we do if we capture them alive, your majesty?" said one of the Deftmenes.
Brocando looked tired. "Well, we haven't got many dungeons," he said. "So perhaps if you can avoid capturing any alive that would help."
* * *
"You mustn't kill an enemy who has thrown down his weapons," said Bane.
"Can't you? We live and learn. I always thought that was the best time," said Brocando.
* * *
Pismire always said there were some things you should care about enough to do badly.
* * *
He thought of the deep crevasses and windy caves of Underlay, and the stories of the creatures that dwelt there. Of course, he didn't believe in them. He'd told them, because the handing on of an oral mythology was very important to a developing culture, but he didn't believe in supernatural monsters. He shivered; he hoped they didn't believe in him.
* * *
"If we keep together and test every step, we should be safe," came Brocando's unsteady voice. "There's four of us. What would dare attack us?"
"Lots of things."
"Apart from them."
* * *
"They're our mortal enemies," said Brocando.
"I thought the Dumii were your mortal enemies," said Pismire.
"We like to have several mortal enemies at one time," said Brocando. "Just in case we run out."
* * *
"Whose side are they on?" said Brocando.
"Sides? Their own, I suppose, just like everyone else."
* * *
"When we get out of here I'm going to find you and kill you," said Bane, in quite normal conversational tones. "I think I ought to tell you now. I wouldn't want you to say afterwards that you hadn't been warned."
* * *
The Dumii don't think like that. They think that if an enemy is too big, you should find a smaller enemy.
* * *
"People don't hit one another over the head with clubs as much as they did when I was a boy. There's more arguing."
"That doesn't mean we're better people!" said Plint.
Crooly Wulf rubbed his head. "I dunno," he said. "People are taller now. They don't groan so much, either."
* * *
"It's amazing how things rub off, even when you fight people. Ideas like ... like not just killing people all the time, that sort of thing."
* * *
A Deftmene stood up. "Will there be fighting against impossible odds?" he said.
"Probably," said Snibril.
"Right! Count us in!" A lot of Deftmenes nodded. Another one said: "And will we get a chance to fight to the death?"
"You might get a chance to fight to the enemy's death," said Snibril.
"Is that as good?"
"Better."
"Right, then. We're with you!"
* * *
"Nothing has to happen. You can let them happen. But that's not the same."
* * *
"The future can be all different things--?"
"Pick your own," said Snibril.
"But destiny--"
"That's something you make up as you go along," said Snibril.
* * *
"Stop that!" he shouted. "You're soldiers! You're not supposed to fight!"
* * *
"I don't understand you!" Snibril shouted. "There's enemies all around us, and you just attack each other! Why?"
"They're closer," said a voice from the Dumii ranks.
* * *
...the Deftmenes were beginning to think that anyone who could lose their temper that badly was probably a king...
* * *
Most armies are in fact run by their sergeants -- the officers are there just to give things a bit of tone and prevent warfare becoming a mere lower-class brawl.
* * *
The Deftmenes are mad and the Dumii are sane, thought Snibril, and that's just the same as being mad except that it's quieter.If only you could mix them together, you'd end up with normal people.
* * *
"To arms, everyone!" the sergeant yelled.
A Deftmene raised his hand. "What does that mean?" he said. "We've all got two arms."
"Means you've got to fight!"
"Oh, right."
* * *
It was only seconds later that the mouls attacked. But seconds were enough. A hundred of them galloped into what should have been a camp of bewildered, wounded and unprepared victimes. They found instead bewildered, wounded and extremely well-prepared and moreover enraged fighters.
* * *
It's hard to feel so bad about someone when last night he was stopping other people hitting you with axes and things.
* * *
The little army swung down the road to Ware, singing. Admittedly there were three different marching songs, all to different tunes, but the general effect was quite harmonious if you didn't mind not being able to make out any of the words.
* * *
Normally its narrow streets were crowded with stalls, and people from all over the Carpet. They'd all be trying to cheat one another in that open-and-above-board way known as "doing business."
* * *
Before money, people had bought things with cows and pigs, which were not very efficient for the purpose because you had to feed them and keep them safe all the time and sometimes they died. And suddenly the Dumii turned up with this money stuff, which was small and easy to keep and you could hide it in a sock under the mattress, which hardly ever worked with cows and pigs.
* * *
Also, [money] had little pictures of Emperors and things on it, which were interesting to look at. At least, more interesting than cows and pigs.
* * *
Pretty soon, you were doing things the Dumii way, because it made life better. Oh, you went on about how much better life was in the old days, before there was all this money and peacefulness around, and how much more enjoyable things were when people used to get heavily-armed in the evenings and go out and make their own entertainment -- but no-one was anxious actually to go back there.
* * *
Pones could hide quite easily in the Carpet. They were so big. People think that it's easiest to hide things that are small, but it's almost as easy to hide things that are too big to see. The pones just looked like mounds, except that they were chewing the cud and burping occassionally.
* * *
The sign outside the shop said Apothecary, which meant that the shop was owned by a sort of early chemist, who would give you herbs and things until you got better or at least stopped getting any worse.
* * *
"Well ... welcome. My house is your house", his brow suddenly furrowed and he looked worried, "although only in a metaphorical sense, you understand, because I would not, much as I always admired your straightforward approach, and indeed your forthright stance, actually give you my house, it being the only house I have, and therefore the term is being extended in an, as it were, gratuitous fashion --"
Owlglass was clearly having some trouble getting to the end of the sentence.
* * *
"Actually, he got sentenced to death for apologizing," said Owlglass.
"How can you be sentenced to death for apologizing?"
"He said he was sorry, but on reflection he realized that the Emperor had got the sense of a meat pie," said Owlglass.
* * *
"Oh, no," said Pismire. "What are you going to do? Barge into the palace waving your sword and kill any mouls you see?"
Brocando stood up too. "Good thinking," he said. "Good plan. Glad we've got that sorted out. Come on--"
"That's ridiculous!" said Pismire. "That's not a plan! Tell them, Glurk. You're a level-headed man."
"Yes, it is ridiculous," said Glurk.
"Right," said Pismire.
"We'll finish our tea," said Glurk, "and then attack the palace. It's no good attacking on an empty stomach."
* * *
A human voice, but with a sulky whine in it that suggested that its owner had been given too many sweets when he was young and not enough shoutings-at. It was the kind of voice that's used to having its life with the crusts cut off.
* * *
"What would Deftmenes be if we went around obeying orders all the time?"
"They might be ruling the Carpet," said Pismire.
"Ha!" said Brocando, "but the trouble about obeying orders is, it becomes a habit. And then everything depends on who's giving the orders."
* * *
"There's seven of us and four of them," he said. "It's not fair. Three of us won't have anyone to hit."
* * *
"Don't be stupid," said Bane. "Women don't know how to fight."
"Deftmene women do," said Brocando.
"Oh, yes? Who with?"
"Deftmene men," said Brocando.
* * *
"What's going to happen afterwards?"
"Do you think there's going to be an afterwards?" said Bane.
"There's always an afterwards," said Snibril. "Glurk said that's what Culaina told you. The point is to get the afterwards you want."
* * *
Not many people had even seen Dumii archers in action -- or rather, they had, but since arrows had been heading towards them they'd never had much of a chance to make detailed notes.
* * *
"We're outnumbered and outweaponed."
"Good," said Brocando. "We like a challenge."
* * *
"Waiting is the worst part," said Pismire.
"No it isn't," said Owlglass, who wasn't even being trusted to hold a sword. "I expect that having long sharp swords stuck in you is the worst part."
* * *
The maps can't show the fear, and the noise, and the excitement [of battle]. Afterwards it's better. Because if there's an afterwards, it's because you're still alive.
* * *
They were strange people, the Dumii. They thought they were as level-headed as a table, as practical as a shovel -- and yet, in a great big world full of chaos and darkness and things they couldn't hope to understand, they acted as though they really believed in their little inventions, like "law" and "justice." And they didn't have enough imagination to give in.
* * *
"Throw him in a cell somewhere," said Bane. "Ihaven't got time to listen to him."
"I don't think there are any cells," said Glurk.
"Then get him to build a cell and then throw him in it."
* * *
"But we should kill him!"
"No. You've been listen to Brocando too often," said Bane.
Brocando bristled. "You know what he is! Why not kill--" he began, but he was interrupted.
"Because it doesn't matter what he is. It matters what we are."
* * *
"We tried this, this ... deciding. We listened to Athan. He told about the way of making choices. We have tried it. It is terrible. How can you do it? Living and not knowing what will happen. Unsure at every waking morning that you will see the night. It would drive us mad! ... What powere you must all have, to face such uncertainty."