Colden’s eyes gleamed with ancient pride as he told the story. “Vast those ships were, and running on power no planet knows of now. There used to be the framework of one, when I was a kid, up the coast at Dor, but it’s long since rusted away. Some say they could cross the space-ocean and visit other galaxies, though I don’t know how anyone could guess that. There is no written record from that time, for Ralph fell into barbarism for an age after Wiss fell. But it must have been something. That’s a picture of one of the old craft, there, hanging above the ale kegs.”
He pointed at a yellowed slab of ivory framed on the wall. Scrimshawed with a bold hand, it depicted a great bulbous ship, with odd flanges and sails of unguessed purport, floating in the void.
Spacebread’s cup tumbled, spilling foam across the wood floor.
She was standing suddenly, her breath coming short. The lines of the scrimshaw drawing echoed in her memory. Echoed of a vast ship she had once encountered floating beyond the hazy rim of the galaxy, a strange ship with unknown markings, and a sealed coffer floating twisted in cables, with a beautiful gem inside.
THE DAWN SPILLED cold and gray across the cliffs of Wiss-Ko, wringing clouds of fog from the frost-bitten ground. The city of Krath had been awakening for an hour. Its fishing fleet sailed each morning a bit after the sun rose, and now the shouts of fishermen and the vague sounds of ships being readied drifted on the crisp wind up the bluffs.
From where Spacebread and Sonto crouched behind a shard of rock, the cliff tops were clearly outlined by the lightening sky. Spacebread shivered against the wind and huddled closer to the black cat. He held a finger to his lips, and when she looked again, there was a figure emerging from the general murk along the line of cliffs. At first there was just the knob of cowl, then the shoulders silhouetted against the dawn. The gray figure glided over the rocks until its robes draped over the precipice, and it stood, gaunt and serene, surveying the Bay of Krath and all that might sail on it. Still, there was something odd in the way it had walked.
Spacebread put her hand on Sonto’s. “Wait,” she whispered, “I’ll go. Cover me.”
Walking on just her furry-booted toes, she crept up the rocky slope, eyes and senses perked. The sharp sea wind masked any sound her boots made in the frost. She held her cape close to her so it would not flap, as indeed, the priest’s robe was doing now. The sky was quite bright when she at last crouched behind the cloaked form. The sea stretched out beneath them, all shipping now clearly visible.
Spacebread tensed without rigidity, her hand hovering near her sword.
“Sir pilgrim …” she said quietly, just above the wind’s whine.
Too late she plunged to grab the robe, for swiftly the Gray Watcher stepped off the cliff. She had thrown her sword arm out to grab the stranger as he toppled, and when the cloak swirled around to face her, standing on air a hundred feet above the water, she was unprepared. Suddenly the gray cloth was thrown in her face, and a fist sent her to the rocks on her back. The steel tooth of a blade nestled against her breast. There was nothing for her to do but die.
But then, incredibly, a familiar voice rang out, and the knife withdrew. She scratched the robe aside and bounded up.
“Klimmit!”
“Mistress!” The figlet beamed. He floated, dagger drawn, over the edge of the precipice.
The framework of twigs and empty robe in her hand told the story. The figlet hiding in the cowl, towing the cassock behind, had been the Gray Watcher. Sonto dashed up from behind. For a moment they just regarded one another with astonishment.
The figlet was a bit leaner, and there was a new quality about his tiny eyes. Perhaps they were merely haggard. Perhaps they wore a look of authority, of concise judgment, or perhaps independence.
“I’ve been watching for you,” he said, sheathing his dagger. “I knew you would find a way to escape from them, just as I did. Dzackle-is he …”
Spacebread nodded, her smile fading. “Yes. An old debt is paid. But let’s get off these chilly rocks and into a warm tavern. You can tell us how it is you are not floating in a casserole.”
“And how you learned to best Spacebread the Wondercat,” chuckled Sonto.
But Klimmit’s face tightened, belaying the joke. “I have much more serious things to reveal. We are in much danger. The whole planet is.”
Down the slope they hurried and into the winding streets of Krath. Blue faces turned to see a floating green figlet with a space helmet on speeding along behind two cats. The three stumbled, breathless, into the inn, whose tavern had been converted into a fish shop, windows open and baskets loaded with ice and the day’s catch hanging out.
Colden Xarc’s one eye stared at the figlet.
“This is a friend,” gasped Sonto joyously. “A long lost one.” Then, spying Lucidan in the corner, enthusiastically, “Look who’s here, Lucidan!”
The old Ralphian seer leaned into a sunbeam, where her calcimine eyes gleamed as if they accepted Sonto’s invitation to look. She stiffened and sniffed, fluttering her long ray nose hairs toward Klimmit. Then she smiled, the most life she had shown in days.
“I smell a Warrior,” she whispered.
“Hail, Lucidan. May the darkness you see in flourish,” the figlet said gravely, the emotion in his voice wearing pride at her naming him Warrior.
Colden insisted on giving him a small cup of ale. They sat him in the center of the table and all gathered round. He extended a drinking tube from his helmet and ventured a sip of ale. He shuddered a little, and then looked at them steadily.
“We have two days to save this planet, friends,” he said. “If you had not appeared by today noon, I was going to go back alone. I could not trust the Wiss to carry me to you. After all, Basemore is in their land.”
“Where?” said Spacebread, halting Colden’s retort. “Where were you going back to, Klimmit?”
“To the Old Palace. The palace of crystal and ice of the Wiss.”
“Who dares to enter the sacred capitol of our fathers?” Colden shouted, pounding on a table.
“Basemore the Basilisk, false regent of Bothwil dares,” Klimmit responded. Then, his lip curling, “Lord Dezorn of Blik-Twell dares. A platoon of Royal Guards dare, and soon there will be hundreds.”
Spacebread raised her hand for calm. “Tell us, Klimmit. Everything.”
The figlet took another sip of ale, then sighed. “We flew here the last day I saw you free, but the saucer went low, many miles from any settlement, and it was night. No one saw us. We landed, and they made a cage for me while thirty or forty soldiers— that’s all they have with them—worked to make the palace habitable. It’s immense, and they could only clear out one area, some rooms adjoining a tall tower made of crystal and bright metal. Most of the palace is built of rock crystal, beautifully cut, but the ages of cold have added sheets of icicles to the ceilings and walls. They used the saucer to heat the area.
“I expected the worst, but Dezorn did not molest me. He even prepared bowls of nutrient for me—to fatten me up. I would have none of it. Soon I learned that he was saving me for a banquet. It is to be the day after tomorrow. It will be a day of celebration. All of Basemore’s court in Black-Black is to fly up, and there will be several off world backers. They are to celebrate the conquest of Ralph.”
“Are you mad?” hissed Colden, his patriotic zeal hackled.
“No,” answered the figlet soberly. “And neither are they.”
“But,” Spacebread interrupted, “surely Basemore does not have sufficient troops to challenge the entire planet …”
“He does not need them,” Klimmit continued. “I watched a team of experts using ancient maps reconstruct huge machines and repair old circuits throughout the complex but mainly in the crystal tower. Beneath the tower is a shaft that connects those machines with Ralph’s molten core. I understood none of the machines, they were too alien; sliding plastic shapes, shining metal tubes in intricate patterns, mirrors, and … lenses. But I understood their purpo
se. They control the natural forces of this planet. There were many lenses in the tower, but in the center of the shaft to the core there was an empty metal ring where the master lens should go.”
The figlet looked intently at Spacebread. “The missing master lens is your belt buckle.”
Spacebread nodded. “I surmised as much. The derelict freighter I got it from was an ancient Wiss craft, abandoned for a thousand years.”
“Yes,” the figlet continued. “I could overhear all of their talk. The master lens was stolen a millennia ago by a rebel faction hungry to destroy the old rule. They did. Without the central crystal, the Wiss machines, which controlled the entire planet through the magnetic field, failed. The poles spun to their present alignment, freezing the culture to death. The rebel craft was destroyed by an asteroid collision and floated dead until you stumbled onto it, Spacebread. Dezorn located the charts and instruments you sold from the coffer and searched for you, for you wore the master lens as a belt ornament, and without the lens, the machines are ineffective. Basemore knew you had the lens from his past dealings with you. Through his underworld contacts, they finally located you on Capella. You know the rest.”
Spacebread sank back. Now she recognized her fate truly. It was she who had brought this woe upon Ralph, she who had found the ancient instruments and recovered them. Now Basemore intended to conquer Ralph with them.
“This is a matter beyond my oath,” she said grimly. “How can I refrain from setting right what is wrong because of me?”
“But wait,” Sonto interrupted, “what did you mean about the day after tomorrow, Klimmit? Have they not installed the crystal yet?”
“It’s installed, all right. But they must wait for an optimum position of the moons, which will occur in two days. At that time, the machines will be activated and the Poles will shift once more. The North Pole will rest near King’slsle, Wiss-Ko will be warm, and the weather and volcanic forces will be in Base-more’s power and no force can stop him.”
“And you would have gone back to stop him alone?” Spacebread queried, smiling.
“I escaped alone. I figured I could do enough damage alone to delay them.” He smiled at their quizzical faces.
“It was easy. They thought I was stupid, which made them stupid. I waited until I had the full story, then used a filament from my helmet circuits to saw through the bars of my cage. They kept no guard on me, but they did post a watch on the tower, or I would have sabotaged it then. I found a frozen stair that led to caverns, old subterranean halls beneath the palace. I emerged miles from the palace and found my way here, after stealing a robe from a monastery laundry line.”
“We must go,” Spacebread said firmly, glancing at Sonto. “If there are only forty soldiers, and Klimmit knows a hidden way in, we can surprise them and destroy the machine.”
“What’s the hurry?” Sonto grimaced. “My muscles still ache from yesterday and the day before. Gallwort will be here in—”
“Three days,” Spacebread completed. “The machine will be operable in two.”
“She’s right,” the figlet agreed. “Yes,” added Colden, flushed with cold rage. “I and a dozen others I know will go with you. They heard your tale last night and were angered. I know where we can get sleds. We will be there near dusk tomorrow if we can begin now.”
Sonto relented. “I wish at least that I had my plasma rifle back. It will not be easy to overpower forty determined men. I have misgivings.”
“Take heart,” Colden said as he doffed his apron. “I will return in a moment with as many free Wiss as I can round up. Five Wiss can outfight any forty southerners I’ve ever seen.”
He hurried down the street shouting names and pounding on doors.
Spacebread put her hand on Klimmit’s shoulder. “You have proved yourself now. You are a true Sanguakkoid Warrior after your fathers. You have been through a lot. You should stay here and let us goon.”
He shook his head. “I have a score to settle, too. I have been prodded for plumpness once too often by Lord Dezorn. And I am your slave.”
Spacebread smiled indulgently.
“What was that?” Sonto said, turning toward Lucidan.
The old woman was leaning into unseen winds. Her fingers waved before her face as though she felt an invisible tapestry.
“Flames. Burning ice. And death, for one of us.” Like a polar whispering, her words chilled them to the bone.
Without speaking of her prophecy, each of them grew busy packing smoked fish and ale. Their eyes avoided each others’. Lucidan sat, still staring into nothing, mystery swimming in her dark vision.
Within fifteen minutes, clattering footsteps anounced Colden Xarc and a dozen other Wiss-Koth. Lightweight ivory sleds equipped with motors bounced on their shoulders.
Colden nearly ran into the inn wall. His face was flushed with urgency, and his voice trembled with fear. “The Bay of Krath is full of landing craft! The southern minions are coming after you to enslave this land! The fishing fleet is being swept away. Krath is doomed.”
Spacebread sighed deeply and looked at the others. The army was following them northward. “Let’s go.”
Silently and swiftly they loaded the sleds with provision and then loaded the sleds onto ox carts. The only weapons the Wiss-Koth could produce were crude gas-powered rifles, and sabers. Spacebread dug another blaster out of her Foldover Bag for Sonto and parts for another cryo-gun for Klimmit to tinker with. Blind Lucidan, her strength now returned, insisted on coming with them. She huddled beside Spacebread as Colden brayed at the oxen and whipped them into jarring movement.
Klimmit gave Spacebread a knowing smile, as if to say, “I know what you mean, now, about adventures, and the real adventure being living itself. But we must pay our debts if life is to continue adventurous, and accept whatever comes.”
She nodded at him, proud of her judgment in buying him. As they jostled along, she put her arm on Sonto’s and looked deeply into his violet eyes. She hoped desperately that Lucidan was wrong this time, for she loved this cat and figlet strongly. Yet no one could deny the danger that lay ahead.
She suddenly remembered Ten-Times-Two, but there was no response to her broadcast. She repeated a plea for the butterflies to join them over and over. The helmet crackled with static alone. Then, as the carts passed the last leaning huts, she spied the steel-winged flock speckling a low hill. The frost gleamed on their still wings. They were all dead, killed by Basemore’s magnetic tamperings. Spacebread’s heart grew colder.
They were out of Krath and rattling along a frosty country path when the first shells fell. By the time they reached the first snowfields and could unload the sleds, the city was a smudge of smoke behind them. Tears glistened in Colden’s eyes, and some of the Wiss-Koth sang ancient songs mournfully under their breaths.
The motors burst into a high whine, and they leaped along on the frozen snow. Colden silently handed out fur-lined jackets. Before they had been sledding an hour, snow began falling. Another hour, and it was a swirling daze of flakes. Spacebread huddled against her friends and rested in the thought that her quest on Ralph would soon be over, whatever might result.
Their droning sleds drove relentlessly into a curtain of snow and fear toward the North Pole, and the long-frozen palace of the Old Wiss, where their fate and the fate of the planet waited.
[10]
The Crystal Tower
THE FLAT LAND WAS WHITE. The sky stretched over it was gray, like a smoky pall. Fields of snow extended seemingly forever, the only break in the horizontal scape was an occasional primeval tree, iced and frozen into a bleak, claw-like relic.
The whine of the wind seemed to increase. It became a metallic grating buzz. Then a din.
They raced. The helmsmen, leather braces lashing them to the tiller, did not watch the speed. Their sharp goggled eyes simply scanned the horizon for cliffs or chasms or thinly frozen rivers. Those eyes could read the snowfield like a printed page. And the sleds were racing at hurricane
speeds through its ancient tracks to the Old Palace.
The rest huddled in a furry cluster behind the bronze windshield. The howl of the wind was too deafening for talk. Instead they all lay holding the security ropes, the different minds all revolving, no matter how eccentrically, upon one thought.
Two days, and yet now less than that. They must reach the Old Palace before the moons aligned. And they must outrun the armored column that occasionally became visible through the fog behind them. It traveled from conquered Krath, and it was remaining with them, a thin dark line at the edge of sight, plowing toward the Pole.
As the sleds streaked, bumping and sliding sickeningly, Spacebread clung to the ropes and watched her friends. She drank in their features, for she well knew that if one of them was to die, it might be her.
The figlet was across the deck from her, tucked inside a fur sleeve one of the men had rigged for him. He had wedged himself behind a rope and was busy building a new cryo-gun. At times a tongue of flame would lick out from a tube in his helmet, welding parts and lighting his face orange. That face had changed since she had first seen it at the bazaar in Black-Black. There were no new wrinkles or textures, no scars on it. But it had changed. Instead of the flighty, slightly dumb adolescent she had met, her friend was now a quietly determined figlet, the movements of his eyes purposeful instead of random. And there was a steady center to his actions. He had learned that his only security, his only true mistress, was inside himself. He was a slave no longer.
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