‘If this goes on these thugs will be coming right here into Okrum!’ Prince Okhramora declared angrily.
Major Inwing, a normally self-confident young man with wheat-coloured hair and a brisk moustache, stood to attention, his face pink with embarrassment. ‘Everything is being done that possibly could be done, Highness. The Guards can’t be everywhere at once.’
‘What a pathetic reply!’ stormed the Prince. ‘I’m taking this unfortunate subject to the King himself, and I’ll have you drummed out of the service, you see if I don’t! It was one of your companies that should have defended this man’s family, but where were you?’
And Prince Okhramora swept away, the dejected farmer in train. Jasperodus had noticed that he was zealous in seeing that incompetent officers were stripped of their rank; their replacements were usually friends of his or relatives on his mother’s side. This time Jasperodus was certain he would get nowhere, however; Major Inwing was so popular with his men that the King would never agree to cashier him or even to demote him.
He sidled up to the discomfited officer. ‘What is the problem with these raiders, Major?’ he enquired politely. ‘Could they not be tracked to their lairs and destroyed?’
‘That’s something we’ve tried to do a score of times,’ Inwing retorted in exasperation, ‘but the West Forest stretches for hundreds of miles and it’s practically impossible to sniff them out – one might as well go hunting the antelope,’ he added, adducing the ancient mythical beast. ‘Ours is not the only kingdom to be harried by these gangs and no one else has managed to flush them out either.’
‘Surely something is known about them,’ Jasperodus persisted. ‘How many groups of these men are there?’
‘Several. But the largest and fiercest of them is led by a man called Craish, that much we do know. A clever devil he is too, by all accounts.’
And Jasperodus remembered the railway track, the journey through the forest, and the natural amphitheatre.
But he said nothing of this to Inwing. More was to be gained by speaking to King Zhorm himself…
… His private joke over, the King looked glum. ‘A monarch must protect his people or he won’t remain monarch for long,’ he fretted. ‘A few days ago these villains took over a hamlet and terrorised it for a day and a night – tell me, my clever construct, what would you do about these pests?’ Zhorm eyed him half jokingly, half hopefully.
Jasperodus said diffidently, ‘I think I could undertake to wipe out this nest of troublemakers altogether.’
‘How so, Jasperodus?’ Zhorm’s eyes widened. He listened attentively to Jasperodus’ story, then nodded judiciously.
‘You are sure you can find this place again?’
‘Certainly, Your Majesty. They could have moved since, of course, but I very much doubt it. The camp had all the appearance of being permanent.’
Zhorm rang a bell, summoning a page. ‘Bring me Captain Grue.’
Jasperodus laid aside his blueprints and spoke in a low, confidential voice. ‘Your Majesty, engineering is not my true bent. I aspire to a military career. Let me command the attack on the bandit camp. After you see my performance perhaps you will think me fit to be granted a commission in the Guard, which is my most earnest desire.’
In the act of draining his goblet, Zhorm almost choked. ‘What? Where in the name of the Almighty do you find the audacity for a request like that? Be careful I don’t return you to the furnace!’
‘Consult Padua, Your Majesty. He will assure you the idea is perfectly feasible. In fact I could not be put to better use. I will make an excellent officer.’
‘Padua has already made plenty of representations on your behalf,’ Zhorm snapped. ‘I am almost tired of hearing him sing your praises.’
He frowned. He had never made use of robots as soldiers, for the simple reason that their obedience was such that the enemy could easily turn them round against their own side. One way round this was a robot with a command language known only to its masters, but such robots were expensive and Zhorm did not own any. Men were cheaper…
Admittedly Jasperodus answered neither of these cases and though not controlled by a command language seemed not to suffer from extreme obedience either. Padua had explained it thus: his command structure was unusually elaborate and he was able – strange though it seemed – to ignore orders altogether sometimes. Zhorm took this to mean that Jasperodus would disobey an order that contradicted a previous order – or something like that.
‘Flexible end-game,’ he murmured.
‘Your Majesty?’
‘Flexible end-game. Padua was talking about it the other day. It’s the strategy your brain is based on.’
He glanced up as Captain Grue entered and saluted smartly.
‘Captain Grue here will command the force,’ he said incisively. ‘You will accompany it as guide. Now, let us discuss the expedition itself.’
‘Damn you, metal man, damn you!’
Craish’s raging imprecations were music to Jasperodus’ ears. Hands on hips, he stood on a rise in the ground. Below him in the dell the bandit leader’s men were being roped together by Gordonian troops, cringing away from the ring of guns.
The foray had worked out even better than Jasperodus had hoped. Captain Grue had set out with a force of a hundred men, riding the transcontinental railroad on a flimsy, primitive train powered by an oil-burning engine. The train possessed a look-out tower to give warning if a long-range express approached, so as to give its passengers a chance to take to the ground and perhaps get the train off the rails as well. Nothing of this kind occurred, and the expedition quickly reached the spot designated by its robot guide.
From then on events had followed with rapidity. Since Jasperodus had last seen it Craish’s gang had expanded and itself numbered well over a hundred well-armed ruffians, so that the attackers found themselves evenly matched. These desperadoes’ first ambush had been a near-disaster for the expedition, due in part to the way Jasperodus had led it openly through the forest without any caution or reconnoitre.
It was during this ambush that Captain Grue had been killed. In the ensuing confusion the other officers had yelled conflicting orders and the troops had milled around hopelessly. Then Jasperodus had come into his own. Leaping on to a rock, bullets ringing off his impervious body, he had made an imposing figure, his voice booming out over the scene like thunder. He had rallied his men, brought them through withering fire, and then had assumed full command to lead them on to victory.
‘Hurry it up!’ he bellowed now. ‘Get them to the train!’
A subaltern approached and hesitated. Jasperodus cast him a fierce look; hastily the subaltern saluted. Lazily Jasperodus returned the salute.
‘Why don’t we just slaughter this rabble where they stand?’ the officer asked. ‘That was Captain Grue’s intention.’
‘Their fate is for the King to decide,’ Jasperodus growled. ‘We will take them back to Okrum.’ He turned away, shouting stentorian instructions across the amphitheatre.
Shortly they set out for the railway, the long file of prisoners in their midst. Lieutenant Haver, who by rank should have taken command on the death of Grue, persisted in issuing orders every now and then; each time Jasperodus bellowed a contradictory order, and the men, whose lives Jasperodus had already saved, instinctively tended to obey the stronger personality.