The Eye of Zoltar

‘As for me,’ said Wilson, ‘that brush with the Cloud Leviathan has really got my ornithological blood racing. Okay, it’s not a bird, but the notion of lighter-than-air flight in the animal kingdom is the scientific discovery of the century. I’ll be on the cover of National Geographic, so long as that woman with the gorillas hasn’t done anything exciting that month. Listen, wild Buzonjis wouldn’t keep me from this part of the expedition.’

I thanked them all, and asked how everyone had done since we last met. The short answer was ‘not very well’. Addie had found us transport in the guise of a battered jeep that was now waiting for us fuelled and oiled at the North Gate.

‘The jeep is a bit clapped out,’ said Addie, ‘but it should get us to Cadair Idris. I’ve also got eight goats in a trailer to barter safe passage with the Mountain Silurians.’

‘Good. Mr Wilson?’

Wilson explained that he had tried a small test bribe on the clerk of the court but was simply met with stony defiance.

‘I then went and told Judge Gripper O’Rourke that Laura was a princess.’

‘How did that work out?’

‘The judge laughed and told me that “everyone tried that” and “to come up with something a little more imaginative”.’

‘I could try magic to spring her,’ said Perkins, ‘but this is a tricky one. I’ve never used it against the accepted rule of law and … and that might cause some morality blowback.’

‘Some what?’ asked Wilson.

‘Morality blowback. Using magic to accomplish something against the natural order of justice can do serious damage. To use magic for wrong you have to believe the wrong is correct, and I’m kind of thinking that because the Princess was trading fraudulently, somewhere in all of this is a form of justice – even if execution itself is unjustified.’

‘Morality and magic is a minefield,’ I said. ‘It’s why wizards never spell death – just newting or stone transformations and stuff. It’s why Evil Sorcerer Geniuses always employ minions to do their dirty work. Even someone like Shandar would risk everything if he tried to actually kill someone or something directly using magic. Perkins is right. It’s too risky.’

We all fell silent for a while. We heard the gates of the town swing shut, and a second or two later the warring railway companies commenced their 18.02 teatime ‘Express Battle’ special.

We had a good view as the two railway armies locked in combat once more, this time with tanks and flame-throwers. Within a very short time two Trans-Wales Rails armoured bulldozers advanced to lay ballast for the tracks. They might have succeeded, had the earth not collapsed beneath them, the result of some secret tunnelling by Cambrian sappers. As the battle increased in intensity, the Cambrian railwaymen brought out a completed sixty-yard section of track while under cover of a diversionary ‘pincer movement’ to the south.

As we watched the proceedings, the assistants of Honest Pete and Rock-Steady Eddie communicated by a series of bizarre hand signals to their masters in the street below as to how the battle was faring, and with every sleeper or length of rail that was added or removed, the company’s share value rose or fell accordingly. By the time a short volley of mortars heralded the destruction of any small gains twenty-two minutes later, the shares had settled at about the same level as when the battle started. The railway tracks, it should be noted, had not progressed so much as an inch.

The railway enthusiasts who were with us made notes in their books as the dead and wounded were carried off, the town gates opened again and everything returned to Llangurig’s version of normal.

‘Senseless waste of time, effort and life,’ said Perkins.

‘So,’ I said, checking my watch, ‘any ideas on how to spring the Princess?’

There weren’t, which was discouraging.

‘Okay, then,’ I said, ‘we’ll just have to improvise.’

We paid for the tea and scones and made our way towards the combined bakery and courthouse to take our seats for the trial. It was hot in the courthouse – it would be, since the bread ovens had only just completed the afternoon bake – and the public were busy fanning themselves.

‘Where’s Perkins?’ I said to Wilson, as I’d lost sight of him coming in. He told me he didn’t know, and offered to find him, but I said not to worry. I wanted the Princess to see at least two of us there.