Hank dived to bring Jenny close to the battle. The roar of the engine would notify the Monkeys that they could quit fighting and go home. However, that was not so easy. If they turned tail, they might be cut down from behind. Also, they could not get into the air without a long run, and they had no room for that on the body-strewn road.
Hank could not worry about them. It was every man—every Monkey—for himself. He zoomed down the road and pulled on the cable. Both machine guns fired. Good. He had been worried that they might jam. They had always seemed to do so just when he needed them while dogfighting or strafing over France.
The road was packed with troops. To make consternation, disorder, and panic, he loosed four bursts among them. Those who had not been hit were diving onto the side of the road or trying to.
Ahead near the crossroads on a field was something that stood out. A big white coach with eight moose hitched to it.
"The queen's," Hank muttered.
He lifted up, then made a shallow dive. The people standing around it began running. No. One had not. She was dressed in a long all-white robe. Erakna. Only witches were allowed to wear a dress which was entirely white. She sat on a chair near the coach. The scarlet object propped against it had to be her umbrella, the sign and symbol of a red witch.
Erakna sat calmly, or seemingly so, until Hank fired. Seeing the twin line of bullets striking the earth and racing toward her, she abandoned the chair and her dignity. She threw herself to one side.
Hank brought Jenny up while he cursed.
"Missed!"
He turned and dived again. Erakna was not in sight. She must be hiding on the other side of the coach.
His bullets tore into the coach, and the moose, recovering from their paralysis, or perhaps they had been obeying the queen's orders to stand still until then, pulled the coach away in mad flight across the meadow. Erakna was exposed now, but she had time to run. Lifting her long skirts with both hands, she sped like a rabbit with a hawk after her. She did not make the mistake of trying to run across the open fields but headed towards the mass of soldiers lying on the ground. There, no doubt, she would order some soldiers to throw themselves over her.
When Hank had turned and started another strafing run, he saw that soldiers were indeed clustered around. But when he started firing, the soldiers scattered. The queen was left alone, a white target.
Her hair was so blonde that it looked almost as white as her garment. Hank thought, irrelevantly, Glinda is a white witch with red hair, and Erakna is a red witch with white hair.
The queen threw herself to one side and rolled.
Hank did not know whether or not he had missed again until he climbed and turned again. He felt vibrations behind him and turned his head quickly to see what was causing them. Sharts was pounding on the side of the fuselage and grinning. He pointed downwards. Hank looked down and saw that Erakna was lying on the ground with a red stain on her skirt. She had been hit in the leg.
"This should do it," Hank thought. "I'll put an end to her and the war!"
The queen had other ideas. She rose and lifted her skirts high, showing that she was standing on the unwounded leg. Then she began whirling like a ballerina, her arms stretched out.
"What the hell?" Hank muttered. He had the feeling that something had suddenly gone wrong, that he was dealing, with forces that he did not understand. Nevertheless, he pulled on the cable, and the machine guns chattered on the wing above him.
Erakna disappeared.
Groaning, Hank let loose of the cable. He had no idea where she was. He doubted that she had made herself invisible. If she had, she still would have been hit by the bullets. She was probably in her suite in the castle now.
He turned southward. There was no use wasting more time and fuel. Twisting around, he beckoned that Bargma should come to the front cockpit. He could not see Blogo because he was sitting in Sharts's lap, but the giant was evidently raving and ranting. The owl, when she had worked her way to him and clutched his shoulder, yelled, "Tough luck!"
"When I get back to Glinda, my name'll be mud!" he shouted.
"You did your best. Which, I don't mind saying, was better than most men would've done!"
They passed over the Monkeys, flying in a long ragged file, and then Hank saw Balthii below. She had been hanging around somewhere near the farm, observing. Now she'd be taking the message to Glinda that Erakna was still alive.
A half hour later, a storm came from the southeast the like of which Hank had never flown in and hoped he never would again. It was so bad that he momentarily had the crazy thought that Erakna had summoned it up against him. Whatever its cause, it surrounded him with wild black clouds in which he was not sure that he was not sometimes flying upside down. His compass whirled insanely. Updrafts and down-drafts seized Jenny, some holding her so long that he prayed that they would not be dashed against a mountain.
He had perhaps fifteen minutes before the fuel tank was empty when Jenny burst into an open sky and comparatively calm air. He did not know where he was. Neither did Bargma.
"That's the ruins of a city of the Long-Gones!" the owl said.
"Hell, we couldn't have been blown that far," Hank said. "Glinda told me that the ruins were in the extreme northwest corner of the land. In Nataweyland."
"I said a city. I've heard rumors and stories about other lost ruins."
Hank had been looking for ten minutes for a place to land in the mountains. He alone had a parachute, and so he could abandon ship if he did not find somewhere to set Jenny down. But he would not say goodbye to Jenny and his human passengers until he absolutely had to. There was also the possibility of a deadstick landing on top of the trees, but he did not know if he should chance killing himself for the sake of the unsavory characters in the rear cockpit. Anyway, Jenny was capable of doing that by herself.
Her destruction would make him feel far worse than the deaths of Sharts and Blogo.
"I'll be a hero for Glinda, but not for those two," he muttered.
Still, he was hanging on until he had three minutes of fuel left. But he may not have estimated the quantity correctly.
"There's a place to land," Bargma screeched in his ear.
Hank looked down and saw a level and relatively tree-free place which had suddenly appeared. He turned towards it, noted which way the wind was bending the treetops and bushes, and turned. He rapped on the panel for Jenny to take over. She could handle gusts better than he. Not to mention landings in calm air.
"Good luck," the owl said, and she launched herself up and out.
When the engine had turned off, Hank climbed to the ground, relieved himself, and then spoke to Jenny.
"Well, old girl, it looks as if your passengers will have to hoof it all the way back to Suthwarzha. Unless we can find some alcohol in this God-forsaken area. I didn't see a single village or house anywhere."
"You can't make any alcohol?" Jenny said plaintively.
"Maybe. We'll see. Don't worry. I won't desert you unless there's no other alternative. And I'll come back to get you. I swear I will."
The first thing to do was to push Jenny under the protection of the trees and stake her down. He started to tell the other two that, but Blogo, a minute tempest, stormed at him.
"Why in hell did you land here? Don't you know that the Very Rare Beast is supposed to haunt the Long-Gone ruins?"
"Shut up, stupid!" Sharts said. "If he hadn't landed here, we'd be dead!"
"Maybe we'd be better off," Blogo muttered.
Hank got Jenny taken care of and then asked Bargma if she would try to find her way back to Glinda.
"Who's going to guide you if you do get Jenny up again and do find a familiar landmark?"
"I don't know. But if Glinda knows where we are, she might be able to get us back somehow."
"A fat chance of that. She's a witch, but she's not a miracle-worker. I'm going now but not very far. I have to find something to eat."
That reminded Hank that he was
hungry. He took the last of the cheese, nuts, and raisins from the knapsack and devoured them. He was still hungry. Maybe he'd starve to death. No, not if he could kill an animal. He did not care if the others would be horrified. He was not going to die just because meat-eating was tabu. Anyway, they would not have to know about it.
He thought about the pleas of the mouse caught by the owl in Abraam's barn. Could he kill a sentient creature for food? The empty belly knows no conscience, he told himself.
The question would be answered when he was starving.
He walked to the edge of the plateau from the meadow. A thousand or more feet below the sheer cliff was a river. An equally high cliff rose on the other side two miles or so away. Mountains surrounded this area, those to the west seeming to be the highest. He had been lucky to come through a pass. A mile to the right, a mile to the left, and he'd be dead now. He fingered his mother's gift, the housekey.
To the southeast, near the lip of the plateau, were some hills on which were the ruins of the ancient city. Most of it must be buried under soil and vegetation, but there were enough exposed buildings to indicate that this had once been a populous area. He did not know why the Long-Gones had had a city in this high, remote, and isolated area. Perhaps for the same reason that the city of Machu Picchu, discovered twelve years ago in the Andes, had been built.
Hjs desire to explore the ruins was shelved by hunger. He joined the other two as they set out to hunt. Sharts walked towards the ruins, but Blogo insisted that they go north instead. Sharts said, "Very well. If you're afraid, we won't go there."
Blogo thumped his chest, and his cock's comb got even redder.
"I'm afraid of nothing, I tell you! However, I am man enough to admit that a few things do make me nervous. Only a little, you understand! And that is only because my mother, all the mothers, warned the children about the Very Rare Beast. I, the man, am not afraid. But there's a little child in me that's still afraid. It's that that makes me nervous."
"The child in you must be very little indeed if he can get inside your little body," Sharts said. His grin made his talon-ravaged face look even more horrible.
Hank and Sharts went side by side into the upsloping woods. Blogo was behind them because his short legs could not keep up with theirs. Also, he probably did not want to cause any more remarks about his bugaboo. Sharts was cursing because flies were settling on his open wounds, and then he stopped in the midst of a block-long blasphemous word that would have done credit to a German philosopher.
Hank stopped also. Blogo bumped into him and said, "Why don't you warn a fellow, Giant?"
"Shh!" Sharts said.
They listened and heard, faintly, some piglike gruntings. But when they proceeded stealthily through the brush for thirty yards, they found that the porcine noises came from a big black bear. He was tearing at the carcass of a female moose.
"Meat!" the two outlaws said at the same time.
The stories were true. These men were cannibals.
They were close enough that the short-sighted bear could see them. He stopped eating and rose to his hind legs, swaying, his paws held out, his chops bloody.
The bear probably would not have minded being outnumbered if the strangers had been unarmed. But two held loaded crossbows, and one had an object the purpose of which the bear would not know but would suspect was a weapon.
"Beat it!" the bear said. "I killed this moose, and it's all mine. Find your own food!"
Sharts said, "We don't usually kill animals for food. But since you've done us a favor by killing this moose, we'll eat it."
"Over my dead body, freak-eyes!"
"That may be," Sharts said. "However, why don't you just go away? We're not violent men; we'd just as soon not shed blood. There must be plenty of deer and moose in these woods."
"I like bear meat even better than moosemeat," Blogo said. "Why don't we dine on both, boss?"
"Now, wait a minute," Hank said. "That'd be murder!"
"Not if he attacks us," Sharts said. "And if he doesn't move on, that'll be the same as attacking us."
"How do you lamebrains figure that?" the bear said.
"If we start to cut off some of the moose, you'll attack us, right?"
"Right."
"We're going to slice off a hunk."
The bear snarled and said, "Try it!"
"You haven't got a chance," Hank said. "Why don't we compromise, work something out? There's plenty there for all of us. Let's share it. Half for you, half for us."
"I love bear meat," Blogo said, and he smacked his lips.
"And I love to eat monkeys and roosters," the bear said. "Which are you? Or are you a hybrid? Was your father a rooster? What isn't monkey looks like chicken. In fact, you're probably all chicken. Cut-cut-cuh-daw!"
"I'll show you who's chicken!" Blogo said, but he did not step toward the bear.
"I suppose," Sharts said to Hank, "that if we kill this animal, you'll tell Glinda about it?"
"It'd be murder," Hank said. "You'd be outlaws again."
"It isn't such a bad life, boss," Blogo said.
"I prefer the amenities of civilization," Sharts said. "Books, good wine, warm houses, a bath every day, beautiful women, concerts, a laboratory. I'm sick of living like a savage."
"Look, bear, what's your name?"
"It's none of your business, but it's Kwelala the Unbeaten."
"A tough guy, a champ, huh? Well, I'll make you a sporting proposition, you ursine bum. I'll fight you unarmed, no holds barred, and if I lick you, you walk off and leave the moose to us. If you beat me, we walk away. How's that?"
"Yeah? No treachery? Your friends won't shoot me no matter what I do to you?"
"I promise. The word of Sharts."
"I never heard of you, man. But if you want to die, and you must, I don't blame you, you're such an ugly miserable-looking pile of weasel poppy, well, let's have at it!"
Sharts dropped his crossbow and charged. The bear was so surprised that he backed away. Sharts leaped into the air and kicked with both feet. His wooden soles struck the bear's lower jaw, and the bear fell backward, partly stunned.
Sharts landed on his back but was up quickly. The bear got to his feet just as Sharts struck the bear again on the jaw. Cross-eyed, the bear fell once more. But when Sharts leaped at him again, the bear swiped his paw at him. Sharts was hurled whirling away and fell. On all fours now, the bear charged. Sharts, on his back, kicked the bear in the nose and rolled while the animal was bawling with pain. He got up and jumped on the bear's back and applied a full-nelson.
Hank's eyes widened, and he swore softly. He would have said that no man was strong enough to bend the massive neck of a bear. But it was moving downward, and it was going to crack if Sharts could keep the pressure up.
The bear rolled on top of Sharts twice. The giant did not loosen his grip.
"Give up," Sharts said in a strangled voice. "Or I'll break your neck like it's a toothpick!"
"I can't believe this," Kwelala said. "It just can't be happening to me!"
"I won't tell anybody I beat you," Sharts said. "You can keep your pride and your monicker."
"Promise?"
"My word is as strong as my muscles."
"O.K. You can have the damn moose. I think she was sick, anyway. I hope you get sick eating her."
"Shoot him if he tries anything," Sharts said, and he released the bear. Kwelala walked off, grumbling, but he did not look back.
Sharts, breathing hard, said, "That stupid beast tore off my shirt."
Blogo started to take off his knapsack. "I got another one for you, boss."
Their mouths watering, they skinned the moose and cut off a haunch and cut out the kidneys and heart. Sharts chopped off some branches and whittled their ends so they could hold pieces of meat over the fire that Blogo was building. Hank went back to the plane to get the salt and pepper shakers which he always carried because no one ever put on enough for him.
When he returned, he f
ound that Blogo was chewing ecstatically on a small and burnt piece. Hank held his own out over the fire, and, when it looked almost medium-done, he withdrew it until it had cooled off enough to bite into.
But when he brought the meat close to his open mouth, his gorge rose.
After looking at the meat for a long time, he threw it into the fire. He rose and said, "Hell, I can't do it!"
Sharts, grinning, said, "You've been conditioned."
"You might call it that," Hank said disgustedly. He walked into the woods to look for nuts and berries. Two hours later, he returned to the plane, his belly full. He was still dissatisfied.
Bargma was swallowing a small piece of meat which Blogo had brought for her. She got it down and said, "What now?"
"First, the ruins. Then we have to look for somebody or some place with alcohol."
"It's more important to find fuel," Blogo said. "I'll start looking for it first thing in the morning."
They spent the night under a ledge and next to a fire. In the morning, tired, stiff, and cold, they went out for food. Sharts and Blogo did not have far to go since the moose meat was still fresh enough for them. Hank went back to where he had found the berries and nuts and ate the now-monotonous food. When he got back, Sharts and Blogo were smearing a cream over their wounds. These were healing fast and were not, as he had supposed, going to be deep scars. New skin was growing over the wounds, and the two expected the scar tissue to fall off.
He asked Sharts about the cream. The giant explained that Blogo had brought it with him when he had left his people. Sharts was thinking about analyzing the ingredients and manufacturing it when he returned to civilization.
"He and I, we're going to become rich," Blogo said. "It's a secret remedy which only one of my people knows. But Sharts here, he'll find out what the recipe is and make some more."
Hank thought that if he could get the formula and take it to Earth, he could become a millionaire, too. But it was evident that there was not much chance for returning. Besides, he was not eager to do so.
Shortly thereafter, the Rare Beast set off northwestward along the plateau edge to look for signs of human life. Hank and Sharts walked to the ruins and poked around in the stones and the half-buried buildings. These were made of cyclopean blocks of some white mineral mortared together. Though erosion had crumbled the faces of the blocks, the mortar was untouched by time.
A Barnstormer in Oz Page 24
