Hank thought, I'd crack up if I was a professional diplomat. I'd like to bust this guy in the chops. Maybe I will after it's all over. Only... that wouldn't be very intelligent. He could probably beat hell out of me with one hand tied behind his back. I might try it, anyway.
"We have to settle one thing before we get started," Sharts said. He glared around him. "There seems to be some confusion about who's in command here. Glinda's messenger told me that I was."
Hank's back was to Sharts because he had been removing the BAR box magazines from the front cockpit. He turned, unable to speak for a moment because of rage. Glinda had made it clear that he was the chief. Sharts was lying. Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe he really believed that the hawk had given him that message. He was such an egomaniac; he would reconstruct the past to fit his self-image.
"You know the territory," Hank said. "I don't. You're the leader. Lead on, Macduff!"
"Makduuf?"
"An English word. It means ‘son of a...' I forget of what. Macduff was a great man."
He walked over to Jenny and whispered, "If I don't come back, tell Glinda I died hating her because she fixed me up with these clowns."
"O.K." the airplane said. "However, I have complete confidence in you, Hank. I'll be ready when you come back."
"If I do, I'll probably be running like Charlie Paddock."
"Who?"
"The world's, my world's, greatest sprinter. Listen. I've instructed the farmer on how to prime your carburetor. It's a good thing you have enough energy to spin the propeller yourself. These Gillikins are too short; he'd have to stand on a stool, and he might get cut in half."
"I'm not stupid, you know. I won't forget."
Hank patted her cowling, said, "Another prima donna," and walked to the wagon. Sharts was on the seat, waiting. Hank climbed up and said, "Excelsior!"
"What?"
"Onward, ever onward and upward! You may fire when ready, Gridley! Let's go!"
Sharts spoke softly, for him, and the deer began pulling the wagon. He was silent for a moment, then said, "If you think you're showing off by speaking in that barbarous tongue of yours, if you think that doing it somehow makes me look less knowledgeable..."
"Heavens forbid!" Hank said. "It's just that I'm tense, and when I'm nervous, I tend to use my native language. No offense meant."
Sharts grunted and began whistling again. They passed from the meadow onto a narrow dirt road and headed south. Blogo the Rare Beast rode a deer ahead of the party and flashed his bull's-eye lantern on the road. The only other light was hanging from a hook in the body of the wagon. Hank, looking back into the wagon, saw some boxes and a large paper-covered package. One box held arrows; the second, his BAR ammunition; a third, three blackpowder grenades.
"What's in the package?" he said.
"My shirts."
"There's nothing like being clean," Hank said.
"Is that supposed to be sarcastic?" Sharts said.
"No, I sent my sarcasm out to the cleaners, and it didn't come back before I could leave," Hank said.
The dim light showed the giant's half-scowling, half-puzzled expression.
Finally, Sharts said, "I think you and I are going to have a talk when this is over."
"It'll be nice to know you better," Hank said.
After five miles, the party turned onto a broader but just as rough and rutted road. They began passing more farmers' houses, most of which were dark. Hank was glad that there weren't any dogs in this world. If there had been, the farmers' hounds would have been barking for miles around. Or would they? They would be sentient and so, supposedly, would wait until they were sure that they had something that needed barking at. On the other hand, instinct was stronger in the beasts, and the dogs might be barking their fool heads off.
When about ten miles had passed and another road taken, the caravan halted. Fresh deer came out of a woods to replace the tired ones.
Hank said, "The local animals must know these deer have been hanging around here. Didn't they ask questions?"
"They're not all as nosey as you," Sharts said. "However, these deer didn't come here in a body and so attract undue attention. They were recruited by Glinda's hawks long ago. When they got the word, they left their herds and assembled here."
"I wonder how long ago Glinda made these arrangements."
"I don't know. Probably before Erakna became queen."
The late Witch of the North had been Glinda's good friend. Yet Glinda had set up means to get into the castle undetected. Had Glinda gone by the precept that two rulers can only be friends as long as the political situation permits it? Or had Glinda really trusted Wulthag but had been wise enough to anticipate that her successor might be hostile? Whatever Glinda's reasons, she had been right to do what she had done.
But that made Hank wonder if Wulthag had also been foreseeing enough to have made similar arrangements for secret access into Glinda's castle. However, Glinda would have thought of that. She would have made an intensive search of the castle and the surrounding area.
But if Glinda could plan this, Erakna could suspect it. Thus, Erakna may have looked for secret routes into her castle, found them, and now have them well-guarded or booby-trapped or both.
At this thought, Hank began to sweat even though the mountain air was beginning to be chilly.
They were passing through land where the farms were side by side now, and they went through two small villages. Few of the houses were lit up; almost everybody was in bed. In the distance were some clusters of lights, the torches and big lamps on the towers and walls that surrounded Wugma.
They also passed a sight that made Hank even more nervous. It was a tree from which dangled the stinking bodies of six men and a raccoon.
"Spies or rebels," Sharts said, and he resumed whistling.
"I don't think so," Balthii said from Hank's shoulder. "If they'd been spies, they would have been taken to Wugma and tortured. They must be rebels. Or maybe they're just common criminals."
"What do you know about it, hawk?" Sharts said. "Common criminals are executed by beheading."
"What difference does it make?" Hank said.
"It makes a great deal of difference," Sharts said. "It's the difference between knowledge and ignorance. I'm very anxious to know what those dead people were and why they were hanged. Knowing that might have some influence on my conduct in the near future. It might mean the difference between my being killed or living. Besides, knowledge for its own sake is desirable."
"A brain can only hold so much," Balthii said. "What's the use with cramming it full of trivial junk?"
"Your brain can only hold so much," Sharts said, and he snorted. "Birdbrain!"
Balthii bristled her feathers. There was no telling what might have happened then, a fight perhaps, if they had not been interrupted. Hank heard a flapping, and he was startled when something landed on his other shoulder.
"Bargma! Damn it, you almost made me jump out of my skin!"
"There's a patrol coming toward us," the owl said. "About half a mile away."
"How many?" Sharts said.
"Twelve men on deer and two camels."
Sharts wet his finger and held it up.
"The wind's still coming from the northwest. Pass the word along to turn in at the first gate on our left. Quick, you two!"
The birds launched themselves from Hank's shoulder. His jacket was being ruined by talons, he thought, irrelevantly. Not to mention that it needed cleaning every day.
A minute later, Blogo's lantern was turned toward them, and its bright eye swung. The cavalcade went through a wood and wire gate which had been opened with only a little squeaking. The raiders quickly left the narrow road leading to the farmhouse and cut across the grass to a copse of trees. They waited under its darkness until the lanterns of the patrol had disappeared around the bend a quarter mile north of them.
Sharts asked Unwaz how far they had to go before they reached their hiding place for today.
"A mile."
They went slowly, not wishing to hurry and so make noise which might wake up some farmer or beast. Their destination was a farmhouse where the owner and his son waited for them inside a barn. Unwaz introduced the members inside the building after its doors had been closed. The Gillikins looked with awe at the two giants, Sharts and Hank.
"My family and animals are all right, they hate Erakna," Abraam the farmer said. "You'll be safe while you sleep here. Only..."
"Only what?" Sharts said fiercely.
"Only... there's a mouse in the barn. Barabbaz there," he pointed at a large black tomcat, "hasn't been able to catch it yet. I suppose I'm overly worried. After all, what does a mouse care who's queen or what we humans do as long as it can fill its belly with my stolen grain? But..."
"It might think that if it went to the queen and squealed on us, it would get free food for the rest of its life and not have to worry about cats, right?" Sharts said.
"It's not too worried about Barabbaz," Abraam said. "I'm telling you, that cat is the laziest critter this side of the mountains."
"I do all right," Barabbaz said, and he licked his leg.
"Yes, but not for me."
"Enough of this idle chatter," Sharts said. "The mouse might not be dangerous to us, but we can't take a chance. You, cat, get busy. Flush out that mouse."
"Mouse?" Bargma said. "Where? Where?"
The owl had just returned from a search for a high beam to sleep on.
"You can help the cat," Sharts said. "If he'll get off his dead haunches and do what he's supposed to do."
"I can appreciate your concern," Barabbaz said, his yellow eyes glowing redly in the lantern light, "but, just now, I don't feel like hunting. Some other time, perhaps."
"No perhaps!" Sharts roared.
Barabbaz licked a paw and then sauntered towards a dark corner. He said over his shoulder, "Go screw yourself."
"What? What?" Sharts said. "Look, cat, do you know whom you're speaking to?"
"A pile of manure with funny-looking eyes," Barabbaz said.
Sharts gargled something and ran towards the cat. Barabbaz sprinted up a pile of hay, leaped onto a beam, jumped to another, and flashed onto the loft. There he turned and snarled at Sharts.
"Blogo," Sharts said to the Rare Beast, "you get up in the loft and chase that damned pussy down here. I'll wring his neck like it's a bell."
Blogo was smiling, but whether it was in anticipation of the cat's demise or amusement because his arrogant chief had been insulted, no one could determine. He started up the ladder to the loft, but Hank said, "Hold it!"
Sharts turned and glared at him.
"You've probably scared the mouse out of the barn with all that noise," Hank said. "And if it overheard us, you can bet that it's hotfooting it now towards Wugma with an interesting story for the queen. The cat doesn't matter; the mouse does."
"I'm the chief here!" Sharts said. "I give the orders!"
Hank spoke to the owl. "Bargma, you should get outdoors and see if there is a mouse there."
Hank walked past Sharts, who was standing stiffly, fists clenched. He pushed open one of the barn doors, and the owl flew out. Hank turned and said, "Sharts, my people have a saying. ‘A cat may look at a queen.' One of its meanings is that cats are privileged, and their natures are not to be judged by human standards. Anyway, you're too big a man to take notice of such a creature. What would people say if they heard that our mission was jeopardized because you were chasing a cat?"
"That's telling him," Barabbaz said.
"You shut up and keep out of this!" Hank roared. "You've done enough harm as it is!"
Blogo, halfway up the ladder, looked past his long knobbed nose at his leader. He said, "What do I do, boss?"
Sharts unclenched his fingers, and he spoke softly. "The Earthman is at least half right. The cat is only a minor nuisance, a pest. Why should I, Sharts, bother with it? Though I'll squeeze his head until his eyes pop out if I get hold of him! Very well. Everybody pitch in and look for the mouse. You hawks get up there where we can't go and look for it. We'll ransack the barn if we have to take the hay apart blade by blade."
In a sotto voce to Hank, he said, "We'll have to talk about your manners later on."
Hank suppressed his retort and began looking in a manger. The bull there said, "There's no mouse in here."
"You're probably right," Hank said politely, "but we can't risk overlooking anything."
The search had just started when Bargma spoke from outside. "Open the door. I got it."
A Gillikin, Smiirn, pushed the door out, and the owl flew in. Smiirn closed the door. Bargma lit on the edge of the loft. Her beak held a gray mouse. The creature, one-third smaller than a Terrestrial housemouse, was not struggling, but its eyes were bright with terror.
Bargma had no trouble talking clearly though her mouth was closed.
"It was just leaving the farm and turning onto the road when I swooped down and caught it. It must be your mouse."
"It could be any mouse," Sharts said. Hank did not like to agree with him, but this time the giant might be right.
The farmer, Abraam, looked up at the cat. He was sitting on the edge of the loft with his front legs folded.
"Barabbaz, is this the mouse?"
The cat yawned and said, "It's a mouse. Any fool can see that."
"Damn it!" the farmer said. "This is no time for your tomfoolery! Is it the one you couldn't catch?"
"Not couldn't," Barabbaz said. "Just wouldn't. I was saving it for when I got especially bored."
"Then it is the right one."
"The mouse doesn't think so, I'd say."
The farmer threw his hands up. "Godalmighty, why do I put up with him?"
"It's the other way around," Barabbaz said.
The mouse spoke then in a pitiful wavering voice.
"Don't let it eat me! Please! Please!"
Hank swore softly. The mouse was sentient and, therefore, feeling all the emotions and thinking all the thoughts of a doomed human.
"I'm innocent," the mouse said. "I wasn't going to tell anyone. I was just getting away from danger. If the queen's men caught you here, they'd burn down the barn."
"It may be telling the truth," Hank said. "Can't we just keep it in a cage until we come back?"
"The laborer is worthy of his hire," the owl said, quoting the Bible.
She opened her beak and caught the falling mouse in a razor sharp grip. She then degutted the creature, but not before it had cried, "Help me! Help me!"
"You've spoiled all my fun," Barabbaz said to the owl.
Bargma was too busy swallowing the mouse to reply.
They slept the rest of the night and part of the day in the barn. Hank took his turn as sentinel an hour after dawn. He had trouble getting back to sleep but finally managed. The deer had gone to a woods across the fields behind the farmhouse. They would stay there until the raiders (a euphemism for assassins, Hank thought) returned. If they returned.
Hank was awakened when the farmer's wife and daughter brought in breakfast. He ate the hot cabbage soup, bread, butter, jam, and nuts with gusto and drank the warm milk with less pleasure. The two women took out the chamber pots, emptied and washed them, and brought them back. The humans, a hard-looking bunch, sharpened their weapons and boasted of their exploits. The hawks went hunting but promised to be back by nightfall.
Hank, Blogo, and Sharts went over the diagrams provided by Glinda until they knew them by heart.
Supper was cabbage soup, canned corn, bread, butter, nut pastry, pie made from canned pumpkin, fruit, milk, and barley vodka. The hawks who had failed to catch enough to eat tore into the hard concoction made of nuts and sugar icing. They complained about its taste, but they ate it all.
During the day, Hank observed through a window the hordes of people and animals walking or riding toward Wugma. They were on their way to hear Erakna and others speak at a war rally in the city square. The raiders planned to use the cr
owds and the consequent confusion to sneak into the city when it got dark.
Hank had plenty of time to satisfy his curiosity about the Rare Beast. He gave him some Quadling tobacco since the fellow had run out of it during his trek from the south.
Blogo said, "Thanks. This Gillikin stuff rips out your throat."
Sharts was sitting cross-legged in a corner, his eyes closed, apparently going through some sort of mental exercises. Blogo felt free to be friendly with Hank while his chief did not notice them.
Blogo came from an area isolated by mountains in the west where the borders of Quadlingland and Winkieland met. As far as he knew, his people had always been there. They had never been very numerous because, he thought, the females bore only one child during their lifetime.
"I don't know why," Blogo said, looking like a chimpanzee when he grinned.
Hank thought that his original ancestors had been made by the Long-Gones. At least, that was the only explanation he had for this anomaly. He did not voice it, however. Blogo might be offended. Hank also thought that the extreme warlike tendencies of Blogo's people were partly responsible for their diminishing population.
"We seldom leave our kingdom," Blogo said. "But Kama and I, he was my very good friend though too given to practical jokes, he and I decided to see what the outside world looked like. Three months later, Kama was killed by a sow that thought he was after her brood. Actually, he was. Not to eat, understand. We weren't cannibals. I think he was going to stick one of the piglets in my sleeping bag as a joke. He was a great joker."
Tears ran down his hairy cheeks.
"If I may ask," Hank said, "how did it happen that you became an outlaw?"
"Oh, that!"
Blogo shook his head, and the red cock's comb waved.
"It was all because of a joke. After Hama died, I traveled on the road to Suthwarzha. I wanted to see Glinda so I could be one of her bodyguards. I'd heard that it'd be a cushy position, and there were plenty of good-looking women there. But on the way I fell in with some garrison troops, and we all got drunk. They decided they'd play a trick on their commanding officer. They didn't like him at all, and they knew he was with a woman. But when it came time to pull the joke, they weren't so drunk that they didn't have some second thoughts. So I told them what cowards they were and said I'd do it. It seemed like fun at the time. I sneaked into the hut where this officer was on top of a woman, and I squirted turpentine on his bare tail. That sure stopped his lovemaking, haw, haw, haw!"
A Barnstormer in Oz Page 20