“Very much hmmm! Marry a woman who doesn’t speak your language, and you’ll be chatting away merrily in less than a year. Our conversations with the odex began in my father’s day. We still don’t know how to say hello.”

  “At this rate, you never will,” said Togura. “So why bother?”

  “Because of the treasure, my boy. The treasure!”

  Brother Troop took him to the treasury so he could see. A day’s conversation with the odex would usually produce at least one real, solid, genuine piece of treasure.

  By the time they reached the treasury, Togura was eagerly expecting to see miracles. He was bitterly disappointed at the motley assortment of oddments which was actually on view.

  “This is it?” he said.

  “Won with great pain, my boy,” said Brother Troop. “Won with great pain.”

  There were two lightweight diamond-shaped objects with holes in them — possibly buttons, and possibly not. There was a disk of thin metal stamped with concentric circles; it had jagged edges, and was rusting. There was a pale, slightly translucent object, very thin and sharp, about the length of a finger, which Togura was almost certain was a fishbone.

  Next there was a curious square box, blue in colour, which was riddled with holes. Togura was about to explore the holes with his fingers when Brother Troop slapped his hand down.

  “No, my boy, don’t do that. Brother Dorban lost a finger to that little box.”

  Togura stared into the holes and saw a wavering, everchanging light inside. The box was humming.

  “I’ll tell you one thing for certain,” he said. “You’ll never find out what this is for.”

  “Ah, my boy,” beamed Brother Troop. “We know already. It’s an insect trap. It lures them and kills them — or, at least, they go inside and they’re never seen again. Fleas, flies, cockroaches — it doesn’t discriminate. Leave your clothes by the box overnight, and they’ll be free of lice by daybreak.”

  There were more things. A pile of old rags. A curious stone globe which appeared to be filled with stars. Some objects made of lead which might have been said to imitate the shape of knucklebones. A length of strong, translucent green cord which appeared to be made all of one seamless piece; it was slippery, and difficult to knot. A stone adze, bearing cryptic markings in red paint. A friable, lumpy grey object which Togura was far too polite to identify as a rather old and shabby dog turd.

  “All this comes from the odex?”

  “Yes,” said Brother Troop, nodding. “And other things, too dangerous to keep. Today’s monster was a case in point. Come, I’ll show you the reading room.”

  They went to the reading room where there was a single very old and ancient book. Its cover, and its individual pages, were coated with a hard, transparent substance; thus protected, they did not seem to suffer decay.

  “This is the Book of the Odex,” said Brother Troop. “It was discovered together with the odex itself in the Old City in the Valley of Forgotten Dreams, in Penvash.”

  “There’s no such thing as the Old City,” said Togura. “That’s just a tale to frighten children with.”

  The Brother shook his head.

  “No. There really is a city. Men went there seeking wealth. Many died. Even before they got to the city, one was turned into a monster after a flower swallowed him; they killed him after he killed five.”

  Togura nodded politely, though he scarcely believed a word of it, and the Brother continued.

  “Of those who went, three returned alive. One was my father. They gained three things in the Old City: the Book, the odex, and their nightmares. Open the Book.”

  Togura did so. The patterns within, splattered across the pages as if at random, made a bewildering maze of angles, corners and stunted lines.

  “Can you read, boy?”

  “A little. But not this.”

  “That’s scarcely surprising. It’s written in two languages. Part is written in the Voice of Jade and Gold, which the scholars of former times used both before and after the Days of Wrath. A travelling wizard was able to translate it for my father. Thus he learnt that the odex was used in former times to store both knowledge and objects. There is vast wealth inside the odex, boy.”

  “But you can’t get it out.”

  “Not unless we gain the index.”

  “The index?”

  “We summon things forth from the odex by talking to it. The ancients of former times used the index instead. The Book tells us that the index speaks in the Universal Language, whatever that might be. For want of an index, we’ve been trying to make our own Universal Language. That’s why we’ve been gathering together all the world’s languages, trying to make them one.”

  “And does that promise you success?” asked Togura, unable to conceal his doubts.

  “Nothing gives us any guarantee of success,” said Brother Troop. “But! Knowledge! Wealth! Power! It’s worth striving for, boy, it’s worth striving for.”

  “You said the Book was written in two languages.”

  “That’s right, my son. One’s the Voice of Jade and Gold, which I’ve spoken of already. The other’s the Cold Tongue, which even the wizards can’t read. Back before the Devaluation, we paid the wizard of Drum to make the attempt, to see if he could succeed where others had failed. He couldn’t. But he told us where we could find an index.”

  “He did?”

  “He did. After consulting his Catalogues, he told us where we could find a number of them. After the wizards became a power in the world, they discovered many things left over from the Days of Wrath; they didn’t understand most of them, but kept them nevertheless, for thousands and thousands of years.”

  “So where —”

  “I’m coming to that, boy. Give me time, give me time. Over the years, the wizards acquired a number of small, flat boxes, each marked with the sign of a hand and a heart. They could never find out how to open them, or what was inside. Now, thanks to the Book of the Odex, we know. Each contains an index. Each will open on a Word. That Word is Sholabarakosh.”

  “Shola —?”

  “Later, boy. You’ll have plenty of time to memorise it before we send you seeking.”

  The Brother’s words gave Togura something of a shock. They gave him a hint of what was in store for him. He thought of protesting, but held his tongue. As the old saying goes, it’s best to hear out the bargain before you break it.

  “Thanks to the wizard of Drum,” said the Brother. “We know where to find these boxes. The nearest is in the bottom of a green bottle in Prince Comedo’s Castle Vaunting, in Estar. A monster protects the bottle from those who would acquire it. The box itself lies at the very bottom of the bottle, and is Guarded.”

  “Guarded?”

  “I don’t know what is meant by that, and neither did the wizard of Drum. However, his Catalogue says it, emphatically, which means there’s death waiting nearby.”

  “Charming,” murmured Togura.

  “What’s that?” said the Brother.

  “I said, that would be a real challenge. Something I could get my teeth into.”

  “Yes — or something which could get its teeth into you. Anyway, to continue. There’s also a box in the Secret Store in Tormstarj Castle in the Ironband Mountains. That’s south of Estar, as you know.”

  “Yes,” said Togura, who didn’t, but didn’t like to say.

  “There may possibly be a third box in the Castle of Controlling Power. There is definitely one in the possession of the Silver Emperor in Dalar ken Halvar. But that, of course, is a step and a way.”

  “Yes,” said Togura, from habit.

  “Galsh Ebrek may hold another box.”

  “Who?”

  “It is not a who, it’s a where. It’s the High City in Yestron. You know where Yestron is, of course.”

  “Yes,” said Togura. “It’s west of here.”

  “No! East! Beyond Argan. Beyond Ashmolea. Beyond Quilth. The west has nothing of interest, not to us. Unless there’s a box in Chi’ash-lan, which is problematical. You know where Chi’ash-lan is, I hope.”

  “Yes,” said Togura, who had a vague inkling.

  He feared he had disappointed Brother Troop already, and that he would shortly have to disappoint the wordmaster again. For he suspected that he was about to be offered a job fit for a hero, and he had no intention whatsoever of accepting. He would rather stay alive.

  “Well, boy,” said Brother Troop, beaming. “I expect you know by now precisely what we want of you.”

  “Yes,” said Togura. “You want me to go to Estar to get the bottle which holds the box which holds the index.”

  “Excellent!” said Brother Troop, slapping him on the back. “I thought you’d accept. Let’s celebrate with some bread and wine, hey?”

  “Tai-ho!” said Togura, using a local idiom which meant something similar to “whoa!”, “wait” or “stop”.

  “What is it?” said Brother Troop. “You’re not going to decline the honour of questing for the index, are you?”

  Togura hesitated. He meant to say “yes”, but did not want to leave without indulging in the bread and wine he had been offered. With a swiftly-developing survivor’s cunning, he equivocated:

  “The question of payment arises.”

  “Payment? But, my boy — the glory! Isn’t that enough? No? If not ... no, this is neither the time nor the place. Come, let us eat and drink. The dinner table, my lad, is the civilised place for prolonged discussion.”

  Togura was gratified by the success of his stratagem. Over their meal, he rewarded Brother Troop for his hospitality by showing an eager interest in the odex, the index and related matters.

  Precisely what markings identified the box which held the index? Brother Troop sketched the heart and the hand for him.

  What was that Word which opened the box? Brother Troop gave him the Word once more, and he memorised it: Sholabarakosh.

  What did the index itself look like?

  “Ahaha,” said Brother Troop. “An astute question, truly. When you open the box, you’ll know. Remember, it speaks the Universal Language.”

  “Whatever that is.”

  “Yes,” said Brother Troop, with an unfamiliar hint of sadness and defeat in his voice. “Whatever that is.” Then, brightening: “Ah, the chicken! They’ve brought us the chicken. Beautiful. Come on, eat, eat. You’re not full already, are you?”

  “No,” said Togura, who was, but thought it wise to stock up a little. He started on a chicken wing. “What,” he said, “happened to everyone else who went questing for the index?”

  “An interesting question.”

  “Interesting indeed, as the chicken said to the chopper. Come on, I’ll know the truth sooner or later. It might as well be now.”

  “Then young man, since you insist, I must tell you that the truth is that we don’t know. Five have been sent so far. None have returned.”

  “Hmmm,” said Togura, thinking.

  He was trying to calculate how many more meals he could get out of the Wordsmiths before they forced him to make a decision and commit himself.

  “I see the quest takes your fancy, hey?” said Brother Troop. “Your young blood boils with hot excitement. Horizons call you! Oh, you’ll be a hit with the girls when you come back, young man. Every damsel loves a hero.”

  “Give me a day to think it over,” said Togura.

  And, after some further discussion, the good Brother did.

  However, Togura did not get the chance to spend that day in rest, reflection and decision-making. Events were moving swiftly now; unbeknownst to him, he was well and truly embroiled in the world’s turmoil. As he would soon find out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Disturbed by the manifestation of the monster which had escaped from the odex, the City Council of Keep met in an emergency session at noon that very same day, and passed a Resolution Regarding Care And Confinement Appertaining To Monsters. Subsection 5(c) of Schedule 9 of Annex 5 attached to the Resolution stated that:

  Any organisation which does or can or may or might buy breed produce summon forth unearth uncover tempt call attract or otherwise obtain any demon fiend bog-crawler crocodile griffin dragon death-lizard creature of the Swarms or related being or any similar or unsimilar scarth jinn brute beast or monster MUST protect the public security by obtaining the services of a suitably qualified and experienced hero sword-master death-dealer dragon-killer or similar.

  Aware that the manifestation of the monster had excited a certain groundswell of public disfavour, the Wordsmiths sought to comply. They offered Togura the job on a temporary basis, while he decided whether he would quest for the index. He accepted, fully aware that only one real monster had emerged from the odex in more than three decades of operation.

  The Wordsmiths then announced that they had recruited the young monster-slaughterer Togura Poulaan, who had proved himself by killing a monster for them earlier in the day, in full view of the public. This announcement was met with derision by the citizenry, who were by now fully aware that the monster had been killed by Barak the Battleman, assassin and swordfighter, previously a gladiator in the murk pits of Chi’ash-lan.

  “How many people in Keep know you to your face?” asked Brother Troop.

  “A couple of dozen,” said Togura.

  “Two dozen people can scarcely overturn the world’s belief. From now on, till further notice, you’re Barak the Battleman.”

  “Agreed,” said Togura.

  Armed with his new name, he stood taller and felt stronger; he began to walk with something of a swagger. The Wordsmiths equipped him with a sword, a stabbing knife and a helmet, and made an announcement correcting the name of their resident hero.

  Togura, remembering his encounter earlier in the day with the swordmaster-assassin who had prior claim to the name of Barak the Battleman, wondered with some trepidation what would happen if that rough, burly swordsman of middle years heard that his name had been usurped.

  The swordsman did hear.

  And he shrugged, for it was nothing to him. He should have changed his name leagues ago in any case. That evening, as he set off east, his business with King Skan Askander completed, he decided that henceforth he would call himself Genu Vay Chanay. He would identify himself as a free-lance executioner.

  Genu Vay Chanay gave no further thought to Keep or to its people or to the theft of his last roadname; he had plenty of things to worry about without troubling himself over trivialities like the use and abuse of his former name.

  That very same evening, an invitation arrived at the Wordsmiths’ stronghold for the Governor and the new monster-slaughterer to attend a Banquet of Celebration to be given by the Family Suet that very night. This gave Togura an attack of stage fright.

  As Brother Troop was attempting to calm his nerves, the calm of the night was interrupted by a roar from the odex, followed by the manifestation of a dragon’s head. Unfortunately, the head was very much alive. But, fortunately, it was not attached to any body, and consequently was soon dead.

  “It’s yours, boy,” said Brother Troop. “Proof positive to all the world of your ability.”

  “I can’t claim it,” said Togura blushing. “I cannot tell a lie.”

  That in itself was a lie, or at least an exaggeration; he could easily tell a small lie, and often had and did, but he was unable to tell a lie on such an exaggerated scale.

  “You needn’t say anything about it at all,” said Brother Troop. “We’ll have it carried to the Banquet of Celebration. If anyone asks about it, then murmur politely and say it’s beneath your dignity to discuss such trifles.”

  “That’s excellent advice,” said Togura, struck by the brilliance of this idea. “It’s very kind of you.”

  “Not at all.” said Brother Troop, dismissing his thanks with a wave of his hand. “It’s us I’m thinking of. We have to have the confidence of the community we live amongst. You’re a valuable asset to us, boy. Do us proud.”

  So it was that Togura went to the Banquet of Celebration in triumph, together with the dragon’s head, which took pride of place at the dinner, occupying a table all to itself.

  Togura was rather miffed when he discovered that the banquet was not to celebrate his own success at monster killing. It was, instead, to celebrate the engagement of young Roly Suet to the king’s daughter, Slerma, and to announce the launch of a new coinage in bronze, gold and silver. The coinage would bear the head of King Skan Askander but would be backed by the assets of the Family Suet.

  However, Togura’s ego was boosted by the fuss the young and beautiful Day Suet made of her hero. She was a little puzzled about his new name. He explained the misunderstanding which had forced it upon him. And, as he brought proof positive of his abilities in the form of the dragon’s head, she could not doubt his courage.

  “You’re a real man,” she said, breathing admiration.

  “I’m growing up,” Togura conceded.

  “Your father was round here earlier today, real man,” she said. “He was talking of spanking you.”

  “I doubt that he’ll get the chance,” said Togura, really cool and collected.

  “Yes,” said Day Suet. “But it would be interesting to watch one real man spank another.”

  “Minx!” said Togura, swatting her.

  She evaded him, and laughed.

  And, before very long, she had persuaded him to laugh with her.

  They ate.

  They drank.

  They danced.

  The musicians, robust and virile men, laboured and belaboured their instruments, pumping, hammering, stretching, scraping and churning, till their faces went beetroot-red and the sweat poured down to their beards and their broad moustaches. As Togura danced with Day, he dared, and she dared with him. Her breasts were soft. Her lips were hot and eager. Her eyes spoke just a little more than she would voice. His confidence grew. When he suggested they leave, she never asked him where. She led him to her room. As if in a trance, he stripped her to her skin. Her body, smooth and glabrous, glimmered in the light of a single candle. She closed with him, and gave him a drunken kiss. She smelt of sweat and musk, of perfume and spices, of hard liquor and youthful desire.