"Did the earth move for anyone else?" came Wallas's voice from somewhere nearby.
"It's the fifth cylinder," I croaked, very surprised to be still alive. "It must have landed right on top of the tavern. Can anyone else hear me? Call out."
"Constable Riellen! Reporting! Sir!"
"Constable Wallas, pleased to be alive, sir."
"Pelmore, and ... I'm bruised and cut."
"Lavenci. I think I am all right."
"Azorian, antil tellik m'tibri," called Azorian, correctly deducing that this was a verbal head count.
"Constable Solonor, requestin' that you get this bleedin' cat's arse orf me back—sir!"
Silence followed for some moments.
"Anyone else?" I asked the darkness, but there was no response. "Wallas, what can you see with your cat's eyes?"
"Part of the roof seems to have stayed in one piece, and it is directly above us, sir."
'The fighting tripods will soon arrive to protect the cylinder as it opens," I explained urgently. "We have to be gone by then."
"Easier said than done, sir," replied Wallas. "I can see no openings big enough to admit a person."
"Gnomes is persons."
"Constable Solonor, shut up. Wallas, go exploring. See if you can find a way out with a short path, and one that we can dig wider quickly."
"I shall check, sir."
Whenever Wallas was seriously concerned about anything, he called me "sir." He had just called me "sir" three times in three replies, so things did not seem good at all. I felt in my pocket, and found a small sponge and two phials.
"I am going to make a light," I said between coughs from the dust. The sponge began to glow green with some drops of the two philtres poured onto it and mixed. Riellen was a couple of yards away, lying on the floor. Nearby were our packs, and everything was covered in dust.
Chapter Twelve
WHAT WE SAW FROM THE RUINED TAVERN
Wallas had good news, bad news, disastrous news, and catastrophic news. There was a single, narrow path to the open air, which was good. However, it came out facing the pit formed by the fifth cylinder, which was bad. A Lupanian fighting tower had already arrived to stand guard, which was disastrous. The catastrophic news
was that another of the towers was striding about annihilating what was left of the little port with its heat weapon. What saved us was the fact that the cylinder had splashed earth over the collapsing tavern, so that it did not resemble even the ruins of a building.
Leaving the others, I followed Wallas, widening the gaps in the wreckage until I could wriggle through. As we reached the open air, I saw that we were definitely on the edge of the pit gouged by the fifth cylinder. I could see smoke drifting about from the burning remains of Mallow Landing, while the green lights from a tripod tower played down on the fifth cylinder. Its tentacles were apparently helping those inside to unscrew the hatch.
"They must have got here within a dozen minutes," I whispered as we looked out over the pit. 'They must have known where it would land."
"Then we are trapped, sir?" asked Wallas.
"Not for long. Two Lupanians seem to be in each cylinder. They will build two more fighting towers for them, then be gone by tomorrow evening to wait for the next cylinder."
As we were speaking, the access hatch of the cylinder came away. I saw a thing that looked rather like a large, wet leather sack waving a dozen or so tentacles emerge from the hatch and flop to the surface of the pit. Next came
... what looked like a man. He seemed normal, even unexceptional, and was dressed in a dark blue coat that was trimmed with braid and had lots of gilt buttons.
"They—some of them are like us," gasped Wallas.
"From a distance," I added. "Wallas, I want you to tell nobody of this."
"But why, sir?"
"Because I know something you do not."
As we watched, the Lupanian took hold of a sort of harness on the tentacled creature and steered it back to the hatch. Two tentacles reached inside and drew out a body. This was carried some yards from the cylinder.
"Must have died on the trip through the void," I whispered.
"Which are the real Lupanians, sir?" asked Wallas.
"The thing with the tentacles seems only to be a beast of burden."
"It must be very strong, it handles great loads with ease."
"Call it a handling beast, then," I joked halfheartedly. With no hesitation or ceremony the guard tower's Lupanian deployed its heat weapon on the dead Lupanian. Moments later nothing remained of the body but a molten puddle in the soil.
"Obviously sensitive about us knowing that we are passably similar to them," Wallas suggested. "Will they build a fighting tower for the survivor?"
"I expect so," I replied.
But the Lupanian did not begin building another tower. A short time later two more towers arrived. Their tentacles were linked together, and they walked together in a sort of lock-step motion. I recognized one of them as the damaged tower from the battle in Gatrov. The damaged tower and its companion bent their legs and lowered themselves into the pit. Now the Lupanian that had just arrived set to work with his tentacle machine, repairing the damage to the cowl of the tower I had helped to topple. This involved the cowl being split open like a sea shell, and I could see that there was a jumble of things inside that were totally beyond my experience. Nevertheless, I made an attempt to sketch the incomprehensible.
After perhaps an hour of chanting, incantations, arm waving, castings, and roiling energies, the tower was fully repaired. The handling beast was led back inside the cylinder, and seemed to screw the hatchway cover back from within. Meantime the other towers patrolled slowly, and from time to time there were screams and shrieks from somewhere out of my line of sight. The newly arrived Lupanian mounted the repaired tower and sealed the hood shut. At a distance, the Lupanians looked very much like us, although a little thinner and taller. Lupan is a slightly smaller world than ours, so I would have expected them to be smaller. I have since learned that smaller worlds have less ground-force to pull objects downward, and this lesser force allows Lupanians to grow tall more readily.
Although they had no immediate use for the cylinder, they did not leave at once. Each fighting tower had a cylindrical cage at the back of its hood, and in this there was room for a half dozen adults. The cages were full, and at first I thought
that those inside were prisoners of war. How very wrong can a person be? As we watched, one of the towers stepped behind a companion, lifted the lid of its cage with one tentacle, and reached in with another. This set the people in all the cages screaming and shrieking in terror, for they had apparently witnessed what was to happen at some earlier time. A struggling body was drawn out, and with my farsight I recognized Duke Lestor. He was still dressed in his mail and surcoat, and I could see the coat of arms on his chest. Two days ago he was a man of great authority and consequence, with the power of life and death over those brought before him. As an Alberi-nese noble he was still worth a huge ransom, but the Lupanians did not care for our sort of wealth. The duke was held up before the hood of the fighting tower, with the tentacle wrapped around him several times to pin his arms. The faceplate of the tower now hinged downward, revealing the Lupanian who commanded it. He reached out, and took the duke's head between his hands. Whatever was happening, it must have been painful, for the duke screamed almost continually. It took a half-dozen minutes before the duke fell silent, and for most of the time I could see fluid dripping from his body. At first I assumed that he had lost control of his bladder, but I was wrong. His body was literally falling apart, the skin becoming like wet paper and the flesh turning to jelly. When the tentacle finally flung his body aside, it came apart in midair before hitting the ground. The next meal was selected, amid another riot of shrieking. The Lupanians feasted on life force for over two hours, until their cages were empty. I managed to watch while another kavelar was drained, but when a girl was lifted from a cage I had to turn
away and hide my face.
"They are vulnerable while feeding," I observed to Wallas. "From here you could kill one with a well-aimed crossbow."
"That would be suicide," he replied. "The others are always on guard."
"I suppose you are right," I muttered reluctandy, for I was certainly in a mood to kill.
The towers suddenly began hooting, then formed a line and strode off. Wallas and I merely lay still, too shocked and sickened to move. That was just as well, as a fighting tower came
hurrying back, looking for any survivors that might have emerged from the ruins. Satisfied that all were indeed dead, it left again.
>: >: >:
I had the others crawl out to join us, and in the case of Pel-more the passage had to be widened farther before he could pass. Wallas was sent out into the pit first, in spite of his protests, but he was a cat and so far less likely to be noticed. I could see the smoke from a fire somewhere to the south, and Miral was low in the sky. I estimated that dawn was perhaps three hours away, but there was a moonworld high in the sky which added to Miral's light. Very cautiously, we emerged from the ruins and looked down at the cylinder. There was a faint green shimmer about the hatchway.
"Some type of guard auton," said Lavenci at once. Wallas returned, and reported that there were no other obvious traps or autons left to ensnare us.
"Riellen, keep everyone near the opening, and get them back inside if anything unusual approaches," I said, glancing about to get my bearings and wishing that I were about to crawl into bed for about twelve hours of sleep instead of crawling about in a ruined village.
Fires burned here and there, adding to the light from the sky. Apart from the stone piers, the wharfside area had ceased to exist. Looking down into the water, I tried to guess where our barge might have been moored. After scuttling along for several dozen yards, I finally caught sight of the bellows pump mechanism, still just above the surface. The barge had sunk again once Halland and the others had stopped pumping, and thus the Lupanians had missed its submerged bulk.
I crept down the stone steps and eased myself into the water, then waded along the sunken decking of the barge. With my hands on the lever of the bellows pump I waited for several minutes to make sure that everything was indeed silent and unmoving, then began to work the lever. The sound seemed as deafening as a trumpet fanfare beside one's ear,
and every so often I stopped to listen for the jingle-clink of approaching Lupanian towers before continuing. After half an hour a strip of cloth that I had tied to the stock of the pump had risen perhaps a half inch clear of the water. The barge was indeed undamaged, and could be refloated! Miral was long down by the time I started back for the cylinder. A few hours of pumping would have the barge raised, and this time I was not going to allow a stop until we reached Alberin.
Dawn was lighting up the eastern horizon as I set off to return to the others. On the way back, I passed the twelve bodies left by the Lupanians' feeding. They were literally in pieces, their flesh like wet pastry, their bones crumbling. Duke Lestor's torso was held together only by his chain mail. They all looked as if they had been dead for weeks, yet they did not smell of decay. Something had been leached out of their bodies, something both physical and etheric. I could not bring myself to take samples, but like a good inspector I gathered impressions and scribbled notes with a char stick. When I returned to the pit, the others were huddled together, and were staring and pointing.
"Has a Lupanian returned?" I hissed.
"No, but Azorian is down with the cylinder," replied Wallas.
"What?" I exclaimed in relief laced with exasperation. "Well why doesn't someone fetch him back?"
"None of us are feeling very brave, sir," Riellen replied. I saw that Azorian had descended to the cylinder, and was standing at the rear hatchway with his hands held out. Without another word I scrambled down after him. The guard auton was sure to be able to kill any potential intruder trying to enter the cylinder, but before I reached him I saw the glow of the auton fade into nothingness. Azorian began chanting as I stood beside him, and to my astonishment, the hatchway began to unscrew again. As we stood watching, I took one of Azorian's hands and held it up. The fingertips were covered in tiny suckers. Beside us, the hatchway continued to unscrew. The hatchway came away from the hull, and was lowered to
the soil by three tentacles from within. Azorian beckoned to me to enter with him as he clambered into the hatchway.
I approached the hatchway slowly, mindful of what I had seen when the first voidcraft's hatchway had opened. There was a screw thread about six inches deep around the circumference, while the hull's thickness would not have exceeded six inches. Somehow I had thought that it would have been thicker, given that it had flown between worlds and withstood great stresses. Suddenly the thought came to me that I was about to become the first of my world to enter a voidcraft, and with that I became almost eager. I heaved myself up and clambered through the hatchway.
The air inside was stuffy, and bordering on foul. I heard Azorian speak what might have been a minor spell, and lights came to life. I crawled along a narrow shaft between racks of cloth bags, then came out into an open space. Azorian was already farther along. He beckoned for me to join him, but I was too preoccupied with what was near the hatch to pay much attention to anything else. A handling beast was there. It reminded me of a terrestrial octopus, and looked to be about the weight of a small horse. A stirring amid the shadows beside it revealed that there were two of them. They regarded me steadily but without menace while Azorian rummaged beyond my field of vision. Azorian now gave me a quick tour of the voidcraft's interior, miming the functions of various mechanisms. For me it was an unsettling experience, as I quickly realized that there was no floor; in fact, I had no sense of up and down at all. This left me feeling even more disorientated. At the rear were racks of porous bags. Each bag contained both crystals and a jar of some fluid. Pressing his hands to my head, Azorian explained that when the fluid and crystals were mixed they apparently generated breathable air. Every so often the voidfarers would bleed a little foul air into the nothingness beyond the hull, while new, breathable air was being generated by the crystals. Azorian also explained that the bags had cushioned him during the great stresses of the launching and landing.
We crawled forward along the curved hull until we came to a pair of seats held by flying buttresses. On a panel before
each seat were glowing globes, levers, keys, amulets, and other things that I could not even begin to describe. Small, semitransparent autons stood above some of the amulets, their arms folded and their eyes following us. At the center of the forward seat's panel were four glass plates mounted in ornate frames. The plates were blank.
"Blood," said Azorian in Alberinese, pointing to a dried, green substance that was smeared over the rear seat. "Murderings."
The interior had all the magnificence of an emperor's cabin aboard a luxury galley. There were several racks of scrolls and charts, two chests of robes and boots, more chests of devices whose purpose I could only guess at, and a rack containing two shields painted with heraldic devices. Along with the last named was a pair of long levers with handles. The walls were painted with scenes from Lupanian history, depicting cities, temples, important-looking Lupanians, complex devices of gleam and glitter, and even a voidship. There was a battle scene on a tapestry attached to the hull with studs, and I recognized a pair of fighting tripods among the various war engines. Interestingly, they appeared to be wrestling with their tentacles rather than using heat weapons.
I climbed up along a buttress and into the front voidfarer's seat. What I had taken to be two lateral struts were not actually connected to the seat, but had sleeves and handles for the Lupanian's arms. They were made of a violet, translucent material that I did not recognize. Azorian clambered up beside me, and I gestured for him to put his hands to my temples.
"This is the steersman's seat," he explained within my thoughts. "The voidfarer sorcerer who
sits here generates etheric wings that extend beyond the outer hull."
"But why?" I thought back. "There is no air for flying between moonworlds."
"Put two eggs in a wine jar, then drop it from a high tower. What happens?"
"A shattered wine jar and two broken eggs."
"The same would happen with a voidcraft, if it had no wings. Wings are of no use between worlds, but all four moonworlds are enshrouded in air. Thus wings are of great use for landing a voidcraft softly."
Azorian took his hands from my head, then reached out and worked a lever beside the active viewing plate in the panel before me. To my surprise the view on the panel moved, and I could see Lavenci in Miral's light.
"Magic!" I exclaimed.
"Mirrors," explained Azorian in Alberinese. 'Toy." I looked around for some moments, taking in the interior that was more like a work of jewelry than the inside of a craft that could fly between worlds. It seemed so advanced and exotic, yet whenever I stopped to marvel at a device, Azorian showed me that it was a clever but simple trick that even our own artisans or sorcerers could master. There was much to be learned here, but it was wasted on someone like me. I put Azorian's hands back to my head.
"This, er, voidship, it's magnificent," I thought, slowly and carefully. "Can you fly it? I would like to take it to my master in Alberin, he might learn from it."
'The voidship is like a crossbow bolt," thought Azorian in reply. "It needs a much larger machine to launch it."
"I see," I said, catching the analogy at once. "Pity, we might have learned a lot from it, and used that to fight back against the tripod towers."
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