‘The nebula you call Smith’s Burst,’ he said, ‘was formed by the collision of two clouds of cosmic gas, one of them composed of antimatter. This little planet condensed out of the resultant mixture. What you call antigrav material, that chalky stuff, is decayed AM which, when freed from its surroundings, is violently repelled by the material around it.’
‘Now you offer me a scientific explanation for what you previously called magic.’
‘Magic covers the entire cosmic system of functions,’ he replied. ‘Science covers only the small patch of that system we can rationalise.’ He told me how the strange composition of Glumpalt had affected the life developing upon it. The customary subdivisions of animal life never occurred. AM genes made it possible for a fish-man to produce bird-man progeny. Uncertainties of day and climate did nothing to regularise matters.
This mention of bird-men was the first I had heard of them. A derv later I saw one with my own eyes. It had begun to snow with a tranquil determination that took the heart out of me. I looked hopelessly up at the thick sky.
Poised a few feet above me was a skinny thing with flapping wings. I saw the wings were of skin, mottled now with gooseflesh and with dangling raw pink fingers at their outer edges. The eyes of this creature, like holes scooped in mud, were fixed upon me.
I flung a stone at it.
The flying creature, rattling its obscene pinions, swerved higher through the snow.
The Interpreter tilted up his rump and shot from it a line of that sticky strand I knew so well. It sailed up and curled about the flying thing’s ankle. Of all that I saw on Glumpalt, this incident stands out most vividly in my mind. The bird-man lost his equilibrium, toppling backward with hoarse cries.
The poor creature made a bad landing and sat a few yards from us in the snow, shivering. When we approached, he clucked for mercy in a bizarre tongue.
He was naked except for a helmet strapped to his skull. Untidy fur covered his body from the waist down. He was pigeon-chested. His face resembled a mole’s, with bristles sticking from his snout. His skin, including those disgusting wings that hung from his shoulders like two empty sacs, was blue or yellow. He looked near to death with cold and fright.
The Interpreter questioned him ferociously in the clucking tongue. He knocked the pathetic creature over into the snow before swivelling an eyeball at me.
‘This is bad, friend biped,’ he said. ‘The Ungulph of Quilch is now engaged in another season of looting. If he finds me, my gravestone is made. His men are hereabouts – this creature is one of them. We must take to the nearest village and hide.’
From what I had heard of the Ungulph from Thrash Pondo-Pons, I knew he would be unpleasant. I pressed on with the Interpreter, the bird-man dragging along behind us, tethered by his ankle and uttering chirps of woe.
The village we arrived at was the most disgusting I had come upon. Its inhabitants took their dominant characteristic from the rabbit; they had long ears and lived underground. We underwent the usual purification rites; fortunately I still had with me the silver casket containing the purification powder that had belonged to Thrash. When we had performed the ritual in the snow, we were allowed to go with stooped shoulders down a passage into the earth.
On either side of our way ran tunnels, some only cul-de-sacs that were filled with squalling families.
‘This place stinks!’ I gasped. Underfoot was like a refuse heap.
‘It is warm,’ replied the Interpreter. I wondered if a sense of smell existed on this forsaken planet.
The tunnel we were in seemed to be a main road. It ended in a broad cavern through which ran a river. Along the waterfront were hovels hanging onto the very edge of the water. To one of these we were led by a rabbit-man the Interpreter accosted.
We were shown a foul-smelling cupboard they called a room. Here the rabbit-man left us, taking the bird-man with him. The latter chirped in protest as he was dragged away.
‘What will happen to the bird-man?’ I inquired when we were alone.
‘I have sold him for our night’s board,’ said the Interpreter. ‘Proceed with my Rolfial lesson. We were on the subject of religions, but you will have to explain to me again what the Assumption was.’
So I talked. I pictured my Rolfial words being imprisoned by that incredible brain within which two thousand other languages already lay captive. I saw them lined up like bottles gathering dust in an attic.
When we were called to feed, we descended to a room full of long-eared and variegated creatures, who paid less attention to us than the meal. The meal tasted better than anything I had eaten on Glumpalt. It was a yellowy stew, bony and greasy perhaps, but with a savour.
‘Excellent!’ I said at last to my companion. ‘I am grateful to you for so excellent a feed.’
‘Direct your gratitude to the bird-man. He has provided.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Only the wings are not edible. And they can be tanned and will make someone an excellent cloak.’
V
To overcome my nausea, I forced the Interpreter to take me outside. We walked up and down. Several local inhabitants were listening to a fellow with long ears and whiskers who stood on a stool to address them. His gestures were violent and excited. I asked the Interpreter what was happening.
‘The talkative fellow is a politician. He says that if everyone supports him, he will banish short ears from the warren for ever.’
My companion, yawning furiously, dragged me back to our cupboard. Everyone else was going home. Lights were winking out, doors were closing. The underground town was preparing for hibernation.
For some while I slept. Waking with a headache, I lay motionless. A red light filtered through our window. A noise like a pistol shot roused me.
The Interpreter lay close by me. The great shell covering most of his body had split clean across. This was the noise I had heard. As I looked, peering through the red glow, I saw his shell gape wider. Frightened now, I called to him; he did not move.
The edges of shell were wide apart and still slowly opening. I became belatedly aware of a chorus of shrieks outside. For the first time it occurred to me to wonder what the red glow was.
Thrusting my head out of the window, I saw an alarming spectacle. Sailing down the river were a number of fire rafts loaded high with burning wood. Some of them drifted to the edge of the river, where they set fire to the closely-packed houses. The screaming increased as the people ran from the flames.
Again I turned to the Interpreter; we were in danger. Shaking did not rouse him. His carapace fell off with a clatter. Beneath it I saw a new soft shell and realised he was shedding the old one, remaining in a trance during the process.
Seizing the sticky rope that secured me, I cut it easily on the sharp edge of the old carapace. But why should I run away, when this poor bag of crab flesh was taking me to Ongustura and the TransBurst Traders’ rocket as swiftly as possible? Alone I should be at a loss.
Smoke billowed in through the window.
Glancing out, I saw a fire raft jammed against the river bank only a few yards away, setting light to the next house. I took hold of my companion by two legs, slung him over my shoulder, and hurried from the house.
A mob seethed around the waterfront, dashing that way and this in their alarm. Through the din of their voices one oft-repeated word came to me: ‘Ungulph!’
Now the Ungulph’s soldiers appeared. They had chosen the village for one of their raids. After the fire rafts, rafts loaded with warriors drifted down the underground river. The rabbit people fled, shrieking. I followed.
The tunnels were full of people, all rushing to escape. One could only press forward and hope to be ejected into the night. I had the Interpreter on my back and panic in my heart. At last the darkness seemed to thin. The crowds fell away ahead. The next moment I was out into the open.
At once, a crushing blow caught me over the shoulders. I fell to my knees. Looking up under the carapace I bore, I saw sil
houetted against the night sky two giant soldiers of the Ungulph. Posted at the entrance to the warren-village, they each bore a mighty axe with which they cleft in two all who emerged into the open. I had escaped death only because the Interpreter lay over me and took the blow. I found he was almost cut in half; his new shell had done nothing to protect him.
I was grabbed and flung to one side, onto a pile of bodies being searched for valuables. Beyond the pile, sitting in an open tent, was a swinish fellow in robes. He sat gazing at the trinkets laid before him.
I had no doubt this was the Ungulph of Quilch. His four tusks were capped with gold, and from them hung four little bells that tinkled when he turned his great head. Bristles covered his face. His lower jaw was an immense scoop; he had a yard of underlip. Long, dark robes covered his shaggy body.
Behind him, in the tent, stood a slighter figure. It was human! It was, indeed, a beautiful girl with dark, short-cropped hair. If this was the Ungulph’s daughter, I had heard of her from Thrash.
I lay where I was, shocked by the Interpreter’s death as much as anything. When my wits returned, dawn was breaking. The sky along one stretch of the horizon grew suddenly pale; a blazing white sun appeared.
Jumping up, I plunged down the mound of bodies. I ran past the Ungulph’s tent and towards open country. The Ungulph’s men instantly gave chase. Several bird-men took off and flew after me.
I would have escaped but for the abyss!
I pulled up on its very edge. There I stood shuddering, for I had almost plunged in. Before me lay a great gorge thousands of feet deep, its sides so sheer as to be unclimbable. I turned, but my pursuers were upon me, and I was hauled struggling before the Ungulph, who came striding up to inspect me.
Knowing it to be useless to ask such a swine for mercy, I took the opposite tack.
‘So, Ungulph, you come before me to ask for mercy!’ I cried in Galingua, though my voice shook. ‘I planned to lead your men into this great abyss of mine, but repented at the last moment. Let me go free or I will cause my abyss to open still further and swallow you all.’
The Ungulph’s savage face regarded me. Then he turned around and bellowed so that his four bells shook. His daughter timidly answered him. He barked at her; she replied and turned to me.
‘My father, the Ungulph, does not speak Galingua; he asks you to speak in the local court tongue.’
‘I am the great magician Bywithanfrom,’ I declared. ‘I speak in what language I prefer. Who else speaks Galingua here?’
‘Only I, sir.’
‘What is your name, fair one?’
‘I am dark, sir, and my name is Chebarbar.’
‘Tell your father my abyss will devour him unless he lets me go.’
When this was translated, the Ungulph gave a bellow of rage. His four hooves pawed the ground. Then he rushed forward and seized me by the waist. For a second I hung upside down – then he flung me forward into the abyss.
A dying man sees and knows many things. Among all the terrible details that stood out in my mind, one in particular was clear: as I plunged down, some stones fell too.
My descent slowed. I began to float up again. The AM material and the ballast had lain forgotten in my pockets; as I fell, some of the ballast dropped free, saving my life. Buoyed by the AM material, I rose again, righting myself as I went.
My head appeared over the lip of the drop. A groan came from the ragged crowd. As one man, they fell to the ground, the Ungulph and Chebarbar with them, and grovelled with superstitious awe. This gave me a chance to scramble to safety and weigh my pockets with fresh stones. Then I went to Cherbarbar, helped her to her feet, and motioned to her father to stand.
‘Tell your father the Ungulph,’ I said, ‘that despite his wickedness I bear him no malice, for he can do me no harm. If he will provide me with a steed, I will leave him in peace.’
She repeated this in her own tongue. I was nervous and uneasy. Still, I had to get away and find a guide and interpreter to lead me to Ongustura. While I worried, the Ungulph grunted.
‘My father the Ungulph says he regrets trying to harm so great a magician. He will furnish you with a steed. He will do anything you desire for the benefit of your great magic. He needs protection from his enemies.’
‘He is a wise man,’ I said. I thought rapidly. Chebarbar was hardly as pretty as I had believed at first. She had a snub nose, freckles, and uneven teeth – but I was fortunate that she had a normal face at all. She seemed intelligent and not too disagreeable; her figure was good. I spoke again, producing from my pack the silver powder casket I had taken from Thrash.
‘Tell your father the Ungulph that this casket is powerful magic. The thing it contains is what the most contented man on Glumpalt needs. It is something mightier than the whole universe. It is what will save the Ungulph even if he is faced with inevitable death. Tell him that he may have this casket and all it contains if I may have you, Chebarbar, in exchange.’
Her voice faltered as she translated this.
By now we had about us a jostling multitude of half-men in all varied shapes and sizes that made the Ungulph’s legions. I hated them for the cruel way they had destroyed the warren-village. They made me more determined than ever to get to Ongustura quickly.
Chebarbar turned back and addressed me. She was very pale.
‘My father the Ungulph says that since I am a woman I am of little value to him. He will happily exchange me for the magic casket, if it holds what you say.’
‘It contains just what I say. Tell him to open it only in emergency.’
Already a steed was being brought forward. It was striped like a tiger, though it had the horn of a rhinoceros and six legs. A ladder was set at its flank. I mounted, pulling up Chebarbar and setting her before me.
When I whacked the creature’s behind with a sort of paddle affixed to the saddle for that purpose, it burst immediately into a gallop – much to my relief. The soldiery fell back to let it through. Bearing away from the abyss, we headed for a track leading towards wooded country. I kept glancing back to see if we were pursued.
‘Why do you look back so often?’ Chebarbar protested. ‘My father the Ungulph will not follow unless you tricked him.’
‘I am afraid he may open the casket. It is empty, Chebarbar.’
‘Then what does it contain that the most contented man on Glumpalt needs?’
‘A contented man needs nothing.’
‘What is in it mightier than the universe?’
‘Nothing is mightier than the universe.’
‘What is in it that will save my father from inevitable death?’
‘Nothing can save a man from inevitable death. And that is what the casket contains – nothing!’
I saw that her shoulders were heaving. I regretted having played a trick on her father; then I realised that she was not crying, but laughing. It was the first pleasing laughter I had heard since materialising in Smith’s Burst.
VI
When we had put some distance between us and the Ungulph, I let the tiger-rhino rest. We stopped by a brook amid a clump of trees and climbed down.
‘I must have a drink,’ I said, dropping to the ground beside the brook. One of the trees lifted its root from the brook and squirted me with a jet of water. Chebarbar laughed. She explained that these trees were semi-sentient, capable of moving at will along a moisture supply. They had used a typical way of defending that supply.
I moved to a free section of the brook; there we drank and held a council of war. We had no food; my time was running out, making it imperative to reach Ongustura without further delay. Chebarbar told me she thought we could be no more than three days from the city, but confessed that she did not know the way. Her father had an old rivalry with the place, never visiting it except to attack its outskirts.
This news, just when success was almost within my reach, flung me into great depression. I buried my face in my hands and groaned. To my surprise, Chebarbar put an arm around my shoulder
s.
‘Don’t be unhappy,’ she said. ‘I cannot bear to see a brave man despair. I think I have something that may comfort you.’
Releasing me, she began to untie the cord that confined her breast to her tunic.
‘This is most womanly – ’ I began, but she was fishing out a small, dagger-shaped talisman that hung by a chain around her neck. She dangled the bauble before me.
‘With this we can summon Squexie Oxin. It will surely help us when it sees this talisman.’
I asked the obvious question, and she told me that her father the Ungulph had long ago saved the Squexie Oxin from death. Recognising it as a useful ally, he had given it a castle in his lands; there it lived in isolation, although it would come forth to aid the Ungulph when summoned by talisman.
‘Squexie Castle is only a short way from here,’ Chebarbar explained. ‘I will take you there, and then the Squexie will take us to Ongustura, protecting us all the way.’
I jumped up, ready to be moving. The Ungulph’s daughter added, ‘There are two hindrances to the plan. In the first place, the Squexie must not discover who I am, or it would deliver me forcibly back to my father. But it is hardly likely to find out, since it has never seen me.’
‘And the other snag?’
‘The Squexie only becomes available when the Black Sun rises. Fortunately, by the look of the sky, that will not be long now.’
I squinted upward. The dazzling white sun had already passed its zenith, though I judged it to be some hours from setting. The yellow and the pink-custard suns had risen again without my knowing. Between them, the three suns had driven every cloud from the sky; it was uncomfortably hot. The nearby tree-things ambled along by the brook, squirting water over themselves.
Recalling what Thrash Pondo-Pons had said about the TransBurst ship lifting off the day after the Black Sun set, I asked Chebarbar, ‘How long will the Black Sun remain above the horizon? We have to be in Ongustura when it sets, or very shortly after.’
‘It depends,’ she said. ‘The Black Sun’s orbits are so irregular that my father’s astronomers cannot compute them, for they are controlled by a magician in a far country.’
The Complete Short Stories- The 1950s - Volume One Page 89