Small Gods

‘Ah, but it’ll work for you,’ said Brutha, ‘People will soon see that those other ones are no good at all, won’t they?’ He crossed his fingers behind his back.

VI. This Is Religion, Boy. Not Comparison Bloody Shopping! You Shall Not Subject Your God To Market Forces!

‘I’m sorry. I can see that you would be worried about—’

VII. Worried? Me? By A Bunch Of Primping Women And Muscle-bound Posers In Curly Beards?

‘Fine. Is that settled, then?’

VIII. They Won’t Last Five Minutes! … what?

‘And now I’d better go and talk to these men one more time.’

His eye was caught by a movement among the dunes.

‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘The idiots …’

He turned and ran desperately towards the beached fleet.

‘No! It’s not like that! Listen! Listen!’

But they had seen the army, too.

It looked impressive, perhaps more impressive than it really was. When news gets through that a huge enemy fleet has beached with the intent of seriously looting, pillaging and — because they are from civilized countries — whistling and making catcalls at the women and impressing them with their flash bloody uniforms and wooing them away with their flash bloody consumer goods, I don’t know, show them a polished bronze mirror and it goes right to their heads, you’d think there was something wrong with the local lads … then people either head for the hills or pick up some handy, swingable object, get Granny to hide the family treasures in her drawers, and prepare to make a fight of it.

And, in the lead, the iron cart. Steam poured out of its funnel. Urn must have got it working again.

‘Stupid! Stupid!’ Brutha shouted, to the world in general, and carried on running.

The fleet was already forming battle-lines, and its commander, whichever he was, was amazed to see an apparent attack by one man.

Borvorius caught him as he plunged towards a line of spears.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘Keep us talking while your soldiers got into position, eh?’

‘No! I didn’t want that!’

Borvorius’s eyes narrowed. He had not survived the many wars of his life by being a stupid man.

‘No,’ he said, ‘maybe you didn’t. But it doesn’t matter. Listen to me, my innocent little priest. Sometimes there has to be a war. Things go too far for words. There’s … other forces. Now … go back to your people. Maybe we’ll both be alive when all this is over and then we can talk. Fight first, talk after. That’s how it works, boy. That’s history. Now, go back.’

Brutha turned away.

I. Shall I Smite Them?

‘No!’

II. I Could Make Them As Dust. Just Say The Word.

‘No. That’s worse than war.’

III. But You Said A God Must Protect His People—

‘What would we be if I told you to crush honest men?’

IV. Not Stuck Full Of Arrows?

‘No.’

The Omnians were assembling among the dunes. A lot of them had clustered around the iron-shielded cart. Brutha looked at it through a mist of despair.

‘Didn’t I say I’d go down there alone?’ he said.

Simony, who was leaning against the Turtle, gave him a grim smile.

‘Did it work?’ he said.

‘I think … it didn’t.’

‘I knew it. Sorry you had to find out. Things have a way of wanting to happen, see? Sometimes you get people facing off and … that’s it.’

‘But if only people would—’

‘Yeah. You could use that as a commandment.’

There was a clanging noise, and a hatch opened on the side of the Turtle. Urn emerged, backwards, holding a spanner.

‘What is this thing?’ said Brutha.

‘It’s a machine for fighting,’ said Simony. ‘The Turtle Moves, eh?’

‘For fighting Ephebians?’ said Brutha.

Urn turned around.

‘What?’ he said.

‘You’ve built this … thing … to fight Ephebians?’

‘Well … no … no,’ said Urn, looking bewildered. ‘We’re fighting Ephebians?’

‘Everyone,’ said Simony.

‘But I never … I’m an … I never—’

Brutha looked at the spiked wheels and the saw-edged plates around the edge of the Turtle.

‘It’s a device that goes by itself,’ said Urn. ‘We were going to use it for … I mean … look, I never wanted it to …’

‘We need it now,’ said Simony.

‘Which we?’

‘What comes out of the big long spout thing at the front?’ said Brutha.

‘Steam,’ said Urn dully. ‘It’s connected to the safety valve.’

‘Oh.’

‘It comes out very hot,’ said Urn, sagging even more.

‘Oh?’

‘Scalding, in fact.’

Brutha’s gaze drifted from the steam funnel to the rotating knives.

‘Very philosophical,’ he said.

‘We were going to use it against Vorbis,’ said Urn.

‘And now you’re not. It’s going to be used against Ephebians. You know, I used to think I was stupid, and then I met philosophers.’

Simony broke the silence by patting Brutha on the shoulder.

‘It will all work out,’ he said. ‘We won’t lose. After all,’ he smiled encouragingly, ‘we have God on our side.’