"Smashed me bleedin' wall," declared the peasant. "I demands compreysation."
"I could fashion a saddle for you to ride the young dragon," suggested the ostler to the viscount. "Of course it would involve more work and materials than a common saddle."
"Ah, really? Would it be safe?"
"Lordship, my work's guaranteed."
"I 'ad seeds planted in this 'ere field, and now it's rooned!" interjected the peasant.
"I would want gold studs in the leather," said the viscount.
"And there's the damage to me wall, trees, an' hedgerows," insisted the peasant.
It was about now that I felt the first tremor through the soles of my boots. The viscount, ostler, and peasant felt it too, for
they fell silent at once. There was another tremor, or rather more of a heavy thud. The thuds became regular, at about the rhythm of someone chopping wood.
"It's a-hatchin'!" shouted the peasant, jumping from the cylinder and scrambling up the side of the ditch. "Run fer yer lives! Dragon hatchin'!" Many of the crowd had overheard our earlier conversation about mis being a dragon's egg, and our words had been spread to the others very quickly. Thus the peasant's cry of "Dragon hatchin'!" conveyed a pretty strong sense of alarm in an instant. The crowd shrank back—but it did not flee. The threat of danger was finely balanced by the chance to see something interesting happen in a place where the highlight of the social calendar was the beer-barrel race at the Gatrov Annual Fair.
It was now that I noticed that oxidation was falling away from the end of the cylinder. I stepped onto the soil beside it and looked more closely. The thing was actually a stretched teardrop, and a circular endpiece was gradually being screwed out of the structure. There was a hissing sound, and putting out my hand, I could feel air escaping. I could also smell the familiar reek of tar, and of something else. Tar was used to caulk the seams of ships, to make them watertight. Bodies, I thought suddenly. That's the other smell: stale sweat. Very unusual sweat, but definitely sweat. It had once smelled like that on the ship, when I had been bunked belowdecks with the other crewmen on the long voyage over from the doomed continent of Torea.
Suddenly I knew what the cylinder was. The thing contained air and was sealed tight with tar. It had flown between moonworlds, where there was little or no air, and the air that was now escaping smelled as if folk had been living in it for a score of days. It was just then that Riellen scrambled down to stand beside me.
"Sir, may I respectfully advise you to climb up to the edge of the ditch, then instruct everyone to run away very fast?" she said softly, while tugging at my arm.
"A voidship, carrying voidfarers," I whispered to her, coining the two words and speaking them for the very first time on our world. "This is an entrance hatch. There are voidfarers from Lupan inside, trying to get out." I reached out and picked up some flakes of oxidation that had fallen to the soil. Around the section that was unscrewing I could see what seemed to be gleaming white porcelain, and more was being exposed with every thud from within.
"First creature the chick sees, that's the one it will take for its mother," the ostler was saying to the viscount.
"Is that so?" the nobleman cried. "I say, you there! Wayfarer Constables! Get away from there, get out of the ditch! This dragon is mine, you hear? All mine!"
I climbed out with Riellen, keeping the hatchway in sight all the while.
"The Lupanians seem to be having trouble opening the hatch, sir," she commented.
"I've seen that with hatch seals aboard ships in the tropics. The tar seal softens in the heat of the day, then sticks tight in the night's chill. Some voidfarer is battering it open from inside with a hammer." My theory was confirmed when a dark band of tar became visible, then another, and then a third. Roughly half a foot of banded porcelain was by now visible. It was a voidship of porcelain, whose hull was a foot thick. I took out my farsight and focused on the hatch. At that very moment the hatch cover popped loose and tumbled onto the soil. On its underside I could see three pairs of heavy lugs, which had obviously been attached to levers inside during the voyage. The viscount peered into the opening.
"Cheepy, cheepy, cheepy, hullo!" he cried. "I'm your daddy. Don't be afraid." For some reason I had expected it to be dark inside the voidship, but it was internally lit and I could see a hint of mechanisms inside. For an instant I saw something moving; then a sort of tube on an articulated arm emerged. A flat mirror in the tube surveyed the scene around the opening. Even at this early stage I concluded that this was some sort of viewer device like a farsight or a children's periscope toy. Suddenly a tentacle lashed out of the opening, wrapped itself around the viscount's chest, then lifted him into the air. With a deft flick it then dashed his brains out against the side of the voidship.
It took a moment for the event to register with the onlookers, myself included; then a bedlam of screams, shouts,
and shrieks erupted all around me. Several hijmters from the forest hurriedly strung their bows as the ostler leaped for the side of the ditch and began scrambling up. The crowd shrank away from the edge, but did no| break and run. Unfortunately for the ostler, he was visible from the hatchway. Some thirty or forty feet of tentacle poured out to snare his leg, and he had time for a single, terrified shriek before he was dispatched in the same manner as the viscount.
Arrows shot by the hunters began to clatter against the hull, and at least two flew true to enter the hatch. More tentacles emerged, and two of them held a globe. This was perhaps eighteen inches in diameter. For some reason I had thought that the Lupanians would know nothing of magic} and merely be vastly superior in the cold sciences, but this globe was definitely a magical casting. It seemed to be a tangl^ of glowing orange and red worms, but unlike the bright blue castings of our own sorcerers, it gave off bright green smoke, along with a low, heavy rumble that hinted at titanic, pent-ub energies. There was a sizzling crackle, like a drop of fat falling onto hot coals; then the hunters on the edge of the ditch began to flash into flame and collapse. My soldiering iijistincts took over, and I turned to run. I saw Riellen some yards away, decided that the half second available before the weapon swung around to roast us was not enough for explanations, then leaped and brought her down. In deciding to save Riellen's life, it turned out that I saved my own life as well.
My tackle not only brought her down, it knocked the wind from her lungs. We lay still as those fleeing past us were burned down, and I felt something disturbingly hot passing just above me. Because my head had come dowd on its side, I could see the magical globe held high over the lip of the ditch, directed by the farsight as it turned in a full cifcle. The left side of my forehead had been cut open on Rielleh's ax, which was still in her belt. Abruptly the crackling sound stopped, leaving only the deep throbbing. The viewing-rube thing did another complete sweep of the field, and then both devices were lowered back into the ditch.
All was quite silent at first; then I heard fhudding and clanging from down in the ditch.
"Riellen, nod if you are all right," I whispered. She nodded. Very slowly, I turned my head. A year as a mercenary in Acrema and three more as a Wayfarer in Scalticar had taught me to always note the nearest cover wherever I happened to be, no matter where it was. At the Wayfarer's annual picnic I looked for trees to dodge behind if necessary, and in taverns I noted the closest table to dive beneath. Thus I was aware that there was a stream running through the field, and that it was about thirty yards away. The water was a foot below the level of the field, so it could be cover.
"Riellen, I want you to crawl for that stream ahead of us, directly north," I whispered. "Do not raise yourself up, and only move one limb at a time. I'll try to keep myself between you and that heat-weapon thing. Is all that clear?" She nodded again, and we began to crawl. It must have taken twenty minutes to reach cover, but finally we eased ourselves down into the chilly water.
"What happened, sir?" asked Riellen as we waded away, doubled over. "I saw tentacles come out of the
egg—er, voidship."
"The beings from Lupan may be intelligent beings, but they also seem to be particularly dangerous intelligent beings."
>; >: >:
After about half a mile of wading along in the stream, we reached a stone arch bridge. From the shelter of this we straightened and looked back across the field. A large part of the forest nearby was burning, as was every hedgerow, haystack, bush, tree, and cottage roof in a circle as far as we could discern. Nothing moved. Every person, horse, sheep, and cow had been cut down. Greenish smoke was rising from the ditch.
Suddenly I became aware of a third presence beside us.
"What sorts of friggin' magic were that?" rumbled a voice almost too deep for me to understand.
I turned, to be confronted by a bridge troll. It was about my height, but was far more powerfully built, and was covered in
coarse hair. About its loins was a scrap of something that looked a bit like tatters of decayed waterweed, but was probably leather. It carried... well, there is no word for a weapon that consists of a length of wood with a large rock tied to one end by whiskery rope.
"Those are sorcerers from the moonworld Lupan," I replied.
"Oooh. Don't they know sorcery's banned 'ere in Scalticar?"
"Feel free to pop over and tell them," I replied, turning back in the direction of the cylinder.
"Rather not. Melted a line in the stones of mp bridge, they did."
"I doubt they will be paying compensation," I suggested.
"They are imperialist Lupanian sorcerers, come to oppress the freedom-loving people—and trolls—of our moonworld," declared Riellen. j
"And kill them," I added. "That thing in the field is a void-faring ship."
"Oi Hrrglrrp, what's about up there?" called a voice from the reeds.
"Imperialist oppressors from Lupan," the troll called back. ^They look like ordinary folk to me." "Nah, they's those in the voidfarin' ship what ploughed in-tet Mucktailer's field last night."
We were joined by another six trolls, all of Whom looked much the same—apart from the varying amount^ of slime and mud adhering to them.
"What I want to know is what's the govvymeht doin' abaht it?" asked a newcomer. Riellen took a deep breath.
"The oppressive regime of the regent in Alberin has no interest in alleviating the sufferings of the freedom-loving people of—mmph!"
"The regent does not know about this yet,'1 I explained, keeping a hand firmly clamped over Riellen's mputh.
"Who's she then?" asked the one whose name sounded rather like a drunk being sick.
"We're Wayfarer Constables," I explained, then added, "Inspector Danolarian and Constable Riellen of the Wayfarer Constables."
"Are ye then? We're civil servants too. Customs, excise, and toll collectors, we are." "So you're toll trolls?" I asked.
"Aye. Collection's been contracted out. Why pay for a customs man who needs a cottage, firewood, holidays, an' all, when us bridge trolls is happy ter do the job fer five percent of takin's and live-in muck? Everyone gotta use bridges, and we already lives beneath 'em."
"Well take my advice and don't try to charge those characters from Lupan anything should they want to use the bridge," I said as I removed my hand from Riellen's mouth. "Come along, Constable, time to be leaving."
" 'Ere, Inspector, sir," Hrrglrrp called after me. "Ain't you the one who played the sun down on Alpindrak?"
>: :*:
We followed the stream until a low hill cut us off from the line of sight of the ditch and its cylinder from Lupan. Soaked, covered with reeking silt, and shivering with cold, we cut across a newly ploughed field to a road, then ran as hard as our lungs and legs would allow for the shelter of Bald Pate Hill. Here we requisitioned an elderly plough horse that had been hobbled and set out to graze. The horse was not happy about carrying the two of us, but for Riellen and I it was vastly superior to running.
There was an abandoned casde with a ruined tower a mile from the cylinder, and it was here that we stopped. Climbing the stone stairs that wound around the outside of the tower, I pointed out a line about an inch wide where the heat weapon had glazed the surface of the stone and reduced the moss growing on it to ash. With my farsight I was able to see the ditch, and I could just make out that the arm holding the viewing tube was now fully extended and keeping watch above the cylinder.
"Lucky we crawled away when we did," I told Riellen. "They've posted a sentry now."
I liave since learned that the tentacles' control tnechanism had still been inside the voidship and blocking the hatchway during the initial massacre. The heat-casting and viewing tube had been withdrawn so that the Lupanians could partly disassemble the thing to get it through the hatch. Had the tube remained on watch, Riellen and I could never have escaped. I chipped off some samples of melted stone from the tower with the back of my fencing ax while Riellen had a turn at the farsight. I made some sketches and notes in my fibld journal; then Riellen added her own amendments and observations.
"From Lupan, you say?" she asked.
"Yes, and I think I saw it launched, weeks ago, at the observatory on Alpindrak. Ten of them were sent."
"Ten, sir? One seems enough."
"The rest should arrive one day apart, every evening. When the others arrive, we must have flamethrowers ready to pump hellfire oil into the cylinders the moment that the hatches open. They caught us by surprise this morning, but they will never do it again."
We abandoned the horse and hired a ponycart for somewhat more than its worth at a nearby hamlet. We tried to warn the peasants to hide from the Lupanian invaders until we returned with the militia, but their reaction was along the lines of "Pull the other leg, it jingles."
"Why did our brothers from Lupan start killiikg people?" Riellen asked, glancing behind us nervously as I urged the pony to greater speed.
"Those are probably their rulers," I speculate^. "Knights, kavelars, whatever. They are here for conquest, and judging from the strength of their magic, they will have a^i easy time «of it."
"The Lupanian establishment'! Here?" "Yes, and don't even think about trying to go rjack and organize a protest rally with the bridge trolls." Riellen tore a strip from a relatively mud-free area of her I tunic and bandaged my forehead to keep the flies off the wound. For the rest of the trip she was strangely silent. On the positive side, however, I realized that I had been free of mo-i rose thoughts about Lavenci for the first time in weeks.
Chapter Six
HOW I REACHED MY ROOM
There was something surreal about Gatrov as we drove the cart through the west gate and into the busy streets. Women were hanging washing out to dry, artisans were at work in their open-fronted shops, peddlers trudged about with their wares on their backs, and children played in the roadside dust. Within a few minutes we were at the docks, and I sent Riellen to stable the cart and pony while I hurried on to the militia headquarters. I made my report, but I had the sense to put it in terms of some sort of local invasion with fantastic weapons. Predictably, the marshal on duty still thought that I might be exaggerating.
That done, there was no further role for me to play. Unless pressed into service, the Wayfarers have a civil rather than military role, and this was clearly a military matter. The authorities would send a few hundred men out with crossbows and hellfire-oil projectors, and it would all be over within an hour—or so I was assured. I made my way to the Bargeman's Barrel, and the town's single-handed escarpment clock was striking the hour past noon as I entered the taproom. It took some time for me to secure a sorely needed mug of beer because of the lunchtime crowd. During that wait, I heard snatches of conversation that concerned a silver-haired girl and a local wharfmaster with golden curls. What a strange thing it is that a girl who shares her favors is considered to be a slut, while the youth who mounts her is spoken of as a dashing young lad, even a hero. I had drained about half of my beer when I caught part of a nearby conversation that was rather more specific on the events of th
e night before. "... white-haired slut wipin' the tables." "He rolled her and ran, ye say?"
"Knocked the breath out of her, did it all night, then left her wi'out threads and asleep at dawnlight. Got out with her
purse, pack and threads, everything. Canny lad, our Pelmore. Heard he was in the market this morning. He's bought a new gown for his lass."
"Oh aye? Well, the lad put in a couple of hours of hard work for it." They chortled together, and I began to scan the taproom discreetly. I quickly caught sight of Lavenci. She was collecting mugs on a tray and wiping tables, and was wearing a dress that looked as if it had been borrowed from someone with a much fuller figure. Her,manner was somewhat hunted and miserable, yet also defiant.
I considered my options. Here was a woman in humiliating circumstances. That alone made me seriously angry. While I am rather too shy to be a great seducer, I do not coidemn such behavior by others. To me, sex is the ultimate act pf trust, and to betray such trust is occasion for serious punishment. I re-l called a dream of meeting the goddess Romance. Was this the ^time to abandon common sense? Here was a c^t who had i clawed me, and now she was surrounded by terriers.
Gathering back Lavenci's possessions would be difficult, j and restoring her good name would be traumatic for all con-' cerned, I decided. At the end of it all, she would despise me for showing mercy. Yes, common sense was definitely not involved here, not even personal honor. Only compassion ! seemed to be guiding me—but then I am a compassionate lad, s even though I try to hide it. I decided what I would do based 1 on honor as pure as the windblown snow ... yet as an added bonus, here was also an opportunity to be seriously horrible to a member of the Inquisition Constables.
Riellen entered, marched straight over to me, aftd asked if I had any orders for her.
"Remember a youth from last night, name of Pelmore?" I asked. 'The wharfmaster?" 'IWhat was his likeness, sir?"
'Terhaps twenty five, straw-blond curly hair, broad chest, blue eyes. He won the tournament dance."
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