Instantly the snaking white lines hissed past. They crisscrossed in a dazzling pattern. I swung and swerved about, feeling the momentary checks on speed as a line whipped across and held for an instant. Then the raft would lurch and the tendril snap and curl away and on we'd hurtle.
Straight down for the stranded voller I plunged. The white mass of tendrils festooning decks and superstructure looked as though a giant chef had gone mad with an icing bag and piped in maniac abandon. A clotted solid mass of the things clothed the ship. I aimed for my target and jinked and sideslipped and so in a wind-rushing storm slapped down hard.
The moment I touched the voller and sank some way into the clustered white tendrils line after line hissed past, wrapping the raft in a sticky cocoon.
Almost at once all vision ahead was lost. Only a faint gray light seeped past the flitchlaks’ tentacles across the forward observation slit.
There was no need to see. I could feel it all. The lash and thump across my fragile shelter, the way the raft jumped. I waited.
I waited.
By the stinking putrescent nostrils and dangling eyeballs of Makki Grodno! I waited.
Apart from the thud of lines slamming across the logs I could feel the steady and deadly sinking beneath my feet. There was no doubt about it. The shuckerchun was winning the contest. Before long the voller would be sucked down, all the lines broken, and nothing would remain on the surface of Kregen of all my friends here.
This was it. I could wait no longer. I was gambling, yes; but I was not gambling entirely blind. If the shuckerchun sucked the voller down far enough, dragged her deeply enough below the surface, my fine gamble might not pay off. Now was the time!
Gently—oh, so gently!—I eased the control lever over.
If I had miscalculated...
At first, nothing happened. We did not rise. I moved the lever a fraction more. The raft lurched. I could feel the heavier touch to her, the sense of weight. Another fraction. We lifted. I could still see nothing ahead. A vast tearing ripping sound was followed at once by a slobbering sucking noise. A filthy stench gusted up.
I felt the elation.
We were lifting! We were rising! The sucking sound and the stench confirmed the feel of the controls. The handling told me we were rising up with the voller stuck to us by the flitchlaks’ own tendrils.
Slowly we rose and then with a monstrous gush of effluvium we shot up into the air.
I took the combined crafts up and up and then thrust the levers over to take us away from that cursed clearing.
The first person to break out of the deck shelter and, sword in hand, slash away the white tendrils from my triangular haven was Kuong. With him were Mevancy and Llodi, and the others crowded up after. Suns shine broke across my face. I looked out at my new friends.
Then I simply ran for the raft's side and dropped over onto the confused mass of white tendrils, sword in fist.
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* * *
Chapter six
“Well, my grizzly graint. You do look a sight!"
So powerful were my emotions that after I'd hacked and hewed a way through the clinging sticky lines I'd simply burst into the control top and clasped her in my arms. I could feel her heart beating against mine. We trembled together, heart to heart, and nothing else mattered in all of Earth or Kregen.
Her face—radiant, radiant!—upturned to mine, that delicious half-smile, so mocking, so tender, so gut-rending, telling me that here she was, in my arms, all meant so much, so much—I managed to steady myself and become half aware of my surroundings.
“By Zair! All this sticky mess—and now it's all over you!"
She laughed, that laugh that sends razor blades up and down my spine, that makes my knees like bananas. Her brown hair with those outrageous chestnut tints, her eyes—her eyes!—her mouth of so soft and rich a red, smiling at me—by Vox, but what it is to be loved!
“We know about that sticky mess, dear heart, never worry."
She wore her russets, trim and compact about that superb figure. Rapier and main gauche swung from her belts, and her long Vallian dagger nestled in its own sheath. Her sandals were very plain and practical. A little jewelry, a little perfume, oh, no, she has no need to gild the lily.
There were other people in the control top. The armored box, round and warlike, housed the control levers. She gently disengaged herself, and said: “We tried to cut the lines and poor Nol the Arm was snatched up."
“Nol the Arm—a good lad, a Deldar in 1ESW—what a tragedy."
“Too right, my old dom,” said a strong familiar wonderful voice. “We had to haul Inch in, for he was flailing away with his axe like a—"
I swung about, blindly, choked with emotion.
“Seg! Inch!"
“Oh, aye, my old dom. We're here."
“As Ngrangi is my witness!"
I stared at them, my splendid blade comrades. Seg, with his fey ways, his wild black hair and blue eyes, the finest bowman in two worlds, and Inch of Ng'groga, thin as a lath, seven feet tall, absolutely lethal with his two-handed Saxon pattern axe. They knew me. We'd had wild adventures in the old days—and more to come, by Krun!—and without the need for words we knew we'd all die for the others. And here came Korero the Shield, four-armed and tail-handed, magnificent and golden, a Kildoi of remarkable powers who carried two shields at my back in battle. And Balass the Hawk, his superb black face shining with joy, the best sword and shield man in the business. And—would you believe—young Oby who was not so young these days, a lad who'd been a mischievous sprite desperate to enter the Arena, and now a voller pilot and captain of this vessel. And the others, many of whom you have met in my narrative—the lads of First Emperor's Sword Watch, who are a mighty independent set of rascals, who arrange their own hierarchy, day by day, so that all are, in my eyes, chiefs.
Seg said: “Turko was coming but at the last minute he couldn't make it. There were a lot of other folk pixilated they didn't come."
“They've missed this little lot,” said Inch. “My taboos—"
That broke the artificial situation. We all laughed. Dear old Inch and his taboos! He'd be standing on his head, or banging his head against a wall, to expiate his crime in breaking whatever taboo it was this time.
Seg said: “Milsi's below—"
“And so is Sasha,” added Inch.
These two comrades had sent their ladies below to a greater safety than here. I looked at Delia.
“Well!” she flashed.
Seg said: “Milsi and Sasha agreed to do what was sensible and as their husbands asked them. But who can tell the empress?"
“Seg, dear. I'm not the empress any more. Your daughter Silda is the Empress of Vallia now."
Seg made such a comical face that we all laughed again. Yes, all right. This laughter was reaction, a fearful danger was past and now we had to recover. All the same, it was hard to remember that we were not the Emperor and Empress of Vallia. But Seg's next remark showed a deeper understanding. “I mean, Delia dear, that you are the Empress of Empresses, the Empress of Paz. And I was thinking how all mighty puffed up we are with titles these days, when only a short time ago we didn't have a copper ob between us and were often chained up as slaves—"
“I don't forget those days,” said Inch, and his voice was, on a sudden, remarkably grim. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will be off to see about my taboos."
Now it is perfectly clear that all the people aboard were not in the control top. My memory may be perfect through the influence of the Savanti; all the same, in that moment emotion tended to make me jumble up the order of events. Most of the 1ESW lads and the other bright sparks who'd managed to wangle passage aboard were below. A head looked in the open door and a cutting voice said: “Cabbage! Rollo would rather like to know the course to steer. If you're not too busy, of course."
Everybody turned to look at the newcomer in the doorway.
The next instant and before anyone could say
anything, a tall figure appeared alongside Mevancy and—somehow—Mevancy was no longer in the doorway. Another figure appeared and both rushed at me. I was engulfed by two beautiful women, both of whom totally ignored the sticky gunk smeared over me. Now Sasha is nearly as tall as Inch, and although slender is not as thin as a lath. And Milsi is warm and wonderful and every inch a queen. I kissed them both and then said: “I am glad my comrades have sensible wives. Unlike some people—"
Now Delia might have interrupted in some wise as: “If you think, Dray Prescot, I'm going to skulk below then you've another think coming.” She did not. She was sensitive enough to the feelings of Milsi and Sasha, good comrades all. And that shows how stupid I can be—sensitive to feelings! My Delia, my Delia of Delphond, my Delia of the Blue Mountains, has so much of pure humanity I give thanks every day that she just is.
Well, we sorted ourselves out.
Making the pappattu took time. As you will easily comprehend, introducing so many people did take time; and I enjoyed it all. I had most certainly changed from the grizzly old graint of the Dray Prescot who had landed on Kregen all those seasons ago.
Eventually, I managed to say to Mevancy: “Pigeon—Rollo. Ask him to find a nice clearing by a stream. We all need to clean up."
Mevancy gave Delia a long long look. I think she realized now just what I had been trying to tell her. She maintained a nice cheery spirit and was pleasant all round. I found a great affection for her in those moments when she saw reality.
What she was really thinking and feeling I dreaded to know.
Rollo took us down into a clearing where the grass was not a bright and lethal green. We all went out to inspect the voller and the raft.
The tendrils had done their job. My elegant solution had worked. The flitchlaks had secured us to the flier safely. The lifting power in the Shank's bronze boxes had been more than ample to tear us free of the shuckerchun. Looking at some of the white tendrils, though, I saw how close a thing it had been. Many had broken and the rest were badly strained and ready to part.
Seg put his lips together, and puffed, and then he tut-tutted. He nodded to the serpentine weavings binding raft to voller. “That was a long chance, my old dom."
“A chance. Not too long. I'd already seen a voller haul herself out of a shuckerchun, a smallish ten-placer, and the Shank's bronze boxes are more powerful than that—more powerful than I'd thought."
Inch, over on my other side, was facing away and as Seg and I walked on in our tour of inspection, Inch walked backwards with us.
Now he said, lightly: “And we all know the story of that smallish ten place airboat! Your Guard Corps people are abrupt, to say the least."
Seg cut in: “They're a good-hearted bunch if you don't rub ‘em up the wrong way. But, look at the keel, here. I don't like that."
No more did I. Between sinuous tree-tendrils and greedy ground a chunk of the hull by the keel had been torn away. We could look up into the interior of the vessel when she flew. It was an important enough point for us to go back aboard and down the ladders to the orlop. Here the extent of the damage was plain. One of the four massive baulks on which the armored box containing the silver boxes was located had been strained and splintered. The miracle was the timber hadn't fallen out through the hole in the bottom. The armored box had been built up out of iron plates riveted together. Two of these plates had popped their rivets when the whole box had twisted. I looked inside.
Dim though it was, I could see the silver boxes were still silver. They had not gone black. I pulled my head out and said: “Anyway, what in a Herrelldrin Hell were you doing down there? You had no power."
Inch said in his sad-funny way: “The silver boxes let us down, like they used to do, and no one knew why.” His voice took on a defiant almost comic-bluster tone as he said: “Anyway, that clearing looked nice."
Seg said: “I thought you were expiating a taboo bust by walking backwards—"
“So?"
“So how did you get down the ladders?"
I knew what Seg meant. You can descend a ladder frontways or backwards; but if you have to walk backwards, what is the opposite of that in the ladder sense? Trust Seg and Inch to get themselves into a ludicrously trifling philosophical debate!
Inch looked shifty. “I cheated. That taboo bust will cost me a whole dish of palines at dinner."
“Oh, no!” I said. “Is there a crime bad enough to warrant the denial of palines after dinner?"
Inch said: “You come from Taboo Ng'groga and you'd better believe it."
The most wonderful voice in two worlds spoke from the hole in the hull: “Just how did you cheat, Inch, dear?"
“I slid down the ladders."
Seg roared his mirth and then broke out: “Frontwards or backwards?” whereat Inch made a cutting remark anent axes and bows, and they were off again, joyously slanging each other and teasingly refusing to be serious as is our custom in good times and bad. I turned to the rent in the hull.
“Where'd you get this voller? I've not seen her like before."
She pointed up. “Since neither you nor I can wriggle through the part of the hole visible, I will meet you on the deck. The cleaning goes on."
One does not need a second hint when Delia of Delphond hints. I grabbed a stick and pitched in with the rest in scraping and cleaning and getting the white sticky tendrils off. A deal of water and scrubbing would have to go on. Holystoning, well, that was a task of my boyhood and one I had myself ordered as the first luff of a ship of the line. I've remarked about cleanliness of decks apropos of the Fish Faces’ filthy habits. I am well aware I'm prejudiced in this matter; but early training sears the brain.
An interesting glimpse was afforded me of Llodi and Tuco working alongside a couple of my lads of 1ESW with Moglin and Larghos on the other and I had the sudden and enlightening conviction that all those rascals would get on one with another in friendly fashion. If they didn't then I'd have to knock a few heads together.
By the time the voller was cleaned up I was able to gain an appreciation of her lines and build. She was a surprise, all right.
“We had a visit from the ambassador of Tomecdrin in Balintol.” Delia brought out a dish of palines and we all dug in—all save poor Inch. She went on: “They'd heard we were over the Times of Troubles and wished to set up trading links. I must say, Drak and Silda received them in fine style."
“It was a good little shindig,” observed Seg.
“You didn't—” I said. “You didn't ... No. Of course not. Farris would have negotiated the purchase for the Air Service. No. Silly of me to imagine you needed to—"
“Farris is getting very old these days.” Delia spoke gravely.
“He refuses the solution,” said Inch. “In a funny way I can understand that. I don't blame him."
“But,” I persisted. “You didn't actually—"
“Not,” said Seg, “actually."
“A kind of loan before purchase,” said Delia.
They all smiled sweetly upon me.
I started to groan in despair of my comrades and the problems I'd have with the ambassador from Tomecdrin. Then, in a blaze of glory, I realized. “By the Black Chunkrah! It's not up to me! It's all Drak and Silda's!” I beamed upon them. “A loan before purchase!"
“And the dratted thing broke down,” said Delia, cuttingly.
“We will fix the Shanks’ bronze boxes in the orbits in place of the Tomecdrin silver boxes. The bronze ones are very efficient."
“Pity we can't open ‘em and find out how they differ."
“We'll do that, Seg, when we get home,” said Delia.
“The damned Shanks,” said Inch, with feeling. “Their ocean-going ships are superior to ours. Have the rotten Leem-Lovers better fliers, too?"
I gave him a quick glance. One did not hear that old expression ‘Leem-Lovers’ for the Shanks very much these days. It was still used. But in our circle Leem-Lover now really meant a degraded follower of the evil cult of Lem t
he Silver Leem—which remained still to be defeated.
“By the Veiled Froyvil! Even if they have, we'll still lick ‘em!"
Seg was not boasting; he was stating a fact in which he believed.
“Oh, aye, by Ngrozyan the Axe!” said Inch. “That's true. All the same, it's a pity we can't build ships and fliers as good.” As he spoke he made a dismissive gesture with his right hand, a movement at once violent and contemptuous. In the next instant his mass of long yellow hair tumbled free from its restraints and fell flowing about his shoulders. He gave an instinctive and rapid glance upwards. He needn't have bothered: the Maiden with the Many Smiles was not in the sky. Dear old Inch had not broken another of his unaccountable and inscrutable taboos.
After we'd done our bit in the cleaning exercise we'd gone down to the stream to wash. A kind of small pool had formed here above a raggedy tumble of boulders. The water looked most inviting. Across on the opposite bank the trees clustered, on this side we could see a tangle of fallen logs and the looseness of the stony soil. I heard a cheery call and Milsi and Sasha came walking down to us. As they passed some of my fellows of 1ESW the lads straightened up to attention. That was as much a tough old swod's tribute to beauty as to mere rank.
Milsi said: “And I suppose a swim is quite out of the question?"
There did not seem to be any danger in the water. None of us was deceived. Milsi was queen of lands along the River of Bloody Jaws. She understood only too well the terrors lurking beneath the placid surface.
“It's not worth the risk,” said Seg, giving Milsi a light kiss on the cheek. “But if you wish, why, then I'll—"
“You, you great oaf, will not!” said Milsi instantly. I hid my smile. Milsi had picked up our harum-scarum ways in fine style.
“Yes, dear,” said rough tough he-man Seg Segutorio.
There was a prodigious quantity of news to be learned. I gave them a quick run-down on my activities since, as Delia said in her sweetest and most cutting way: “Since you went out to fly a kite with Inky."
Now we blade comrades had been re-united and we'd talked and laughed and jabbed fun at one another, and every now and then others of our circle would join us—Balass the Hawk, Oby, Korero, any of the Chuktars of the regiment. The twin Suns of Scorpio passed across the heavens, and still we talked and laughed. We made, as I can attest, a brilliant company. I own it; I had become completely selfish. That I had every excuse does not really excuse me. I make no excuses for anything I may do that furthers the well-being of Delia, that goes without question. All the same, slowly—too slowly, really—I began to feel that little itch of unease.
Scorpio Ablaze [Dray Prescot #41] Page 6