Moist had never before travelled with such silent men; they seemed to absorb all noise and as they jumped down from the coaches with flannel feet they melted instantly into the landscape. Content to leave this part to the specialists, Harry and Moist settled back to wait.
It was a black night, and the whole party had made its stealthy way to the edge of the bandits’ camp. They were now in the depths of the wretched wilderness of the Quirmian maquis, a nightmare of dense blackthorn that could strip the skin from your bone. It was a garden from hell, especially in the darkness. They could see the fitful flames of the cooking fires and hear the unmistakable sound of alcohol-assisted snoring. These outlaws ought to be ashamed, Moist thought, not one single lookout!
With his associates strategically deployed around the perimeter, Harry made his way quietly into the centre of the camp.
‘Good morning, gentlemen! We are the Goblin Preservation Society and all of yous has got two minutes to get up and be out of here. Got it? Nice and smart, chums!’
A bandit stumbled out of his tent and sneered, ‘We don’t care who you are, and you can shove all of that right up your jacksie, monsieur.’
And Harry said, ‘Good! We like shoving it anywhere! Go on, lads, but no goblins get hurt, okay?’
Moist took a careful step backwards and watched. Harry had stipulated that murdering people wasn’t really on the cards tonight, but most of the bandits were either lying on the ground or running away within a couple of minutes of Harry’s chums being unleashed. It was gang warfare, but one gang had no sense of strategy. Harry’s men were surgical and methodical and very, very professional, even somewhat sombre. This was a job of work and they did it with care and precision. It was what you did, didn’t you, and they were flattering themselves that for once they were the good guys, an experience, Moist thought, that they seldom ever had.
Harry took a look around the battleground to assure himself that nothing more than a little concussion and the occasional broken leg had been achieved and was satisfied on all points.
‘What do you plan to do with them?’ Moist asked.
‘Deliver them to the local justice, like the honest citizens we are. I suppose that’ll be your Marquis.’
‘Very good, but can I suggest we leave one or two behind, to make sure the rest of the bandit population get to hear what happens if they make honest citizens upset?’
‘Suppose so,’ Harry grunted. ‘But I’ll get the lads to do a few further … excursions in the area first, see if we can’t mop up some more of ’em. Actions speak louder than words, Mister Lipwig.’
At the chateau later that night the Marquis emerged in his dressing gown to receive them, accompanied by two servants.
‘Monsieur Lipwig, mon ami, what an unexpected pleasure to see you again so soon. And with companions.’
Harry stepped forward before Moist could speak and said, ‘We’ve a parcel of miscreants here we’ve brought to you, my lord, since I reckoned you were the closest figure of authority in these parts.’
The Marquis cast a bright eye over the prisoners. ‘I see at least two appear to ’ave “’ARRY KING” stamped across the temples. Can it be I ’ave the ’onour to address Sir ’arry King in person? Don’t be surprised. My wife has told me much about ze King of ze Golden River, including his famous rings. You are most welcome, monsieur, and I ’ope we will be doing much business together. May I offer you some refreshment?’
‘’scuse me, sir, but what d’you want done with this lot?’ said the toolbox-holding associate.
‘Put them in the oubliette, if you would be so kind, we’ll fish them out sooner or later.’
‘What’s an oubliette, sir? Is it like a privy?’
‘Yes,’ the Marquis laughed, ‘I suppose it is in this instance! These garçons ’ave been a thorn in our side for quite a while, but I don’t think we’ll be getting any further trouble from them.’
When Moist, Harry and associates reboarded the coaches in the small hours and started on the long journey home, this time the crates of beer were brought out for the victors.
‘Well done, lads,’ Harry boomed as he cracked the top off a bottle. ‘You did all I expected and more, gentlemen. And you know Harry King is a generous man and so I look forward to working with you again soon. You can rely upon it.’
He lay back on the seat and starting smoking one of his cigars, every so often chatting to one or other of his chums about the escapades they had had long ago when the Watch was a laughing stock.
Adora Belle eventually woke Moist with a cup of tea around about four o’clock in the afternoon. As he supped the tea his wife puffed up his pillows and said, ‘Come on, then, tell me, how did it go? I wasn’t woken by any big bangs last night, which I consider a result, don’t you?’
‘Well, it wasn’t a massacre and it wasn’t a lot of smacked bottoms, as far as I could tell, but the good guys won, well, to a given value of good guy. Harry King’s cronies are very sprightly for old guys, and devious as well.’
Placing a tray of food on his knees she said, ‘I suppose breakfast in bed just can’t present the same frisson for Mister A Life Without Danger Is A Life Not Worth Living, yes?’
Puncturing a sausage, Moist said, ‘How well you know me, Spike. Now listen, it seems there are a lot of goblins in the maquis and the people of Quirm haven’t found out yet how useful they can be even though they apparently do a good line in wine made from snails.’ Moist grimaced and continued, ‘Do you mind if I take Of the Twilight the Darkness to Quirm with me?’
His wife looked astonished. ‘I didn’t think you liked him?’
‘Well, he grows on you, you know, like a fungus, and there’s going to be a lot of puzzled goblins around now so they might like to see a friendly face.’ He hesitated. ‘If you can call it that.’
In darkness far from Moist in just about every sense that could be imagined, including the metaphysical, deliberations were taking place in a cavern that was paradoxically glittering and dark when tested by a different eye. It was illuminated, in so far as there was illumination, by one solitary candle, whose light was, as the saying goes, just there to show you the darkness. Nevertheless, its trembling little light was refracted in a veritable hoard of gems, the like of which, if you added up the sad little glimmerings, gave off entirely less light than could be delivered by a humble tallow candle.
It was, in short, a light that hid from light, and it had a reason to hide. Just as the unfortunate dwarf now sitting uncomfortably in the centre of the cavern had reason to wish to be elsewhere. Elsewhere, he thought, was the operative word; anywhere would surely be a better place than here.
On the other hand, he was under a religious obligation. He had first heard it on his father’s knee, or possibly his mother’s, because he had never seen or heard either of them clearly and their voices were always muffled, because silence was as much of a virtue as darkness among the grags, and as he recalled the undeniable fact, he almost tried to cut and run, stopping himself in a nanosecond because there was nowhere to hide. He was in it too high![41] Never a good place to be for a dwarf, and the grags had the measure of him.