Our streamer of smoke and flame trailing aft smudged across the sky. Truth to tell, there could be another thirty enemy hidden above that smoky tail, although I did not think so. We’d gained height in that first hectic escape and the Fish Faces were pressing on levelly and gaining height slowly so as not to fall back. From what now seemed only a few seasons ago when the Shanks had no vollers at all they had developed into competent aviators.
Back on deck Mevancy greeted me with: “You understand these flying boats. Surely you know a way to put out that fire?”
“Hell’s Bells and Buckets of Blood, woman,” I growled back at her. “I could spit on it, I suppose.”
“Oh, you!”
Rollo, very brightly, said: “I’ll check the controls.”
I said: “I have an itch. Kuong — I fancy there is a Kataki or a Fish Face hiding still.”
Instead of looking alarmed, Kuong brightened. “I agree with you, Drajak. I’ll get some of these people organized. We’ll smoke ’em out!”
“If we don’t get smoked out first,” sniffed Mevancy, very put out.
“Look, pigeon, in a wooden vessel like this all you can do is hope and pray. There isn’t even the sea to bucket up. We can press the flames back by the speed we go. But, eventually, they will eat forward.”
“Well, don’t expect me to pull you out again.”
Before I could stop myself, I’d rapped out: “No, thanks. I don’t want another crack on the skull that paralyses me.”
“What,” she said in a voice of ice, “do you mean?”
Oh, well, Dray Prescot has a mouth large enough — at times — to accommodate a king size foot.
I said: “Nothing, pigeon. I’m going to the armory.”
I didn’t mean the armory but the lord’s trophy room. If I didn’t get there soon the place would burn.
As I stepped through the door past the bodies of the two Whiptails, I turned to call back to Mevancy, standing there with her hands on her hips, her head thrust forward and a most diabolical expression on her face.
“Get some people into chucking the bodies overside, will you?”
If I was in command then this vessel, burning or not, was going to be cleaned up as best we could.
The trophy room held a few objects I felt would be useful. The matched set of rapier and main gauche had come from Hamal and were ornately fancy.
We’d worked the etching trick on the Shank blades and although I’d seen none snap in the fight on the deck, I trusted the Fish Faces’ weapons would break come the day. Just how long this fancy rapier set would last in a fight remained to be seen. A true Krozair brother or a Zeniccean Bladesman will allow only the most minimal of markings on his blade; the brudstern, a few secret marks and that is all. I don’t trust fancy etched blades.
The lestenhide scabbard in the krosturr fashion could now be rehitched to its belt lockets. Now I needn’t strut about with the brand naked in my fist. The coat of mesh mail was by a hand’s-breadth too narrow for my shoulders, which was a pity. The legends may tell of Dray Prescot rushing about naked save for a scarlet breechclout, the truth is I like a spot of armor between my shoulder blades. The powerful Canopian crossbow would come in handy, though, by Vox.
As for the torn half of a flag from a Vallian Green Coat regiment of spearmen, well, now, that ought to be saved if possible. If we got out of this scrape whole I’d have immense pleasure in ceremoniously presenting the tresh to its owner regiment. By Vox, what a stroke that would be!
By the same token, then, I ought to take the lance pennon from Hyrklana. My lad Jaidur, Vax Neemusjid, was the King of Hyrklana. He’d like the lance pennon back for its parent regiment, too.
A shadow appeared at the door and in the same instant I was across the trophy room, the longsword out and snouting.
Mevancy said: “You are twitchy, cabbage.”
I thrust the sword back into the scabbard.
“You’d better help yourself to what you want. This will all burn soon.”
“Yes. Very well. Look, Drajak, we’re both working for the Everoinye and you know I am in command. So just let me do the ordering about, right?”
There was absolutely nothing of sense I could say in reply.
Instead: “Decks all cleared?”
Her full and mobile mouth tightened. “There you go again. Just because you dress up like the Emperor of Vallia and have a large sword doesn’t make you Dray Prescot, does it? I’ve read the books. I told you. Dray Prescot is far too much of a gentleman to act in the uncouth way you do. You can play act all you like, Drajak, you’ll never be a Dray Prescot.”
Well now!
“Sink me!” I burst out. “Whoever told you Dray Prescot was a gentleman was a double-dyed—”
“Now, now, cabbage! I know what I read. Now call some of the freed slaves for these weapons. They look useful.”
“Very well. Oh — take this coat of mesh. It’ll fit you. You’ll find it useful.” I held out the beautiful coat of links.
“Oh, you!” But she took it. Then she said: “Ask San Cheng to step in.”
“San Cheng? Who’s he?”
“Kuong’s new Repositer. An odd little creature. Now, pigeon, move.”
Feeling half satisfied and half dissatisfied with that minor confrontation with my lady spitfire I took myself off. San Cheng was pointed out to me and I told him to cut along to the Lady Mevancy in the trophy room.
He drew himself up, sharp nose and round chin high, hands in the sleeves of his robe. He said: “Whoever you are, you address me as san. Do I make myself clear?” He smiled. “I shall see the lady when I am ready.”
This perked me up and a spot of deviltry entered my brain.
“You are not in Makilorn now. You are aboard a burning vessel under my command. You will obey the Lady Mevancy instantly, or I shall pick you up by the scruff of your grubby little neck and run you there. Dernun?”[2]
He flinched back. The old hateful Dray Prescot Devil Glare must have flashed across my face. He licked his lips. “Well, perhaps—”
“No perhaps about it, sunshine! Bratch!”[3]
Just then a shrieking started up and Kuong appeared along the deck with a crowd of the freed slaves. They were carrying something in a net.
They dumped their burden down, and it thrashed about with two arms and two legs and a daggered tail.
“You were right, Drajak! See!”
“I don’t exactly smell ’em. But it’s something like that.”
The Kataki was hauled upright still enmeshed in the net. No bookmaker would take odds that this fellow hadn’t used this very net to entrap and enslave ordinary decent people of Paz. And, now, the jibrfarils had sold their evil services to the Shanks. I stared upon this Whiptail with great disfavor. The fellow actually spoke and tried to bargain for his life.
“Look, doms — the Shanks made me do it — I’m a Pazzian like you—”
A shrieking chorus of hate burst from the slaves. I was pleased to note that Kuong had them under enough control that they hadn’t torn the Whiptail limb from limb already. And, by my referring to them all collectively as slaves betrays something of what Kregen can do to a fellow’s brains. Yes, some of these poor folk had been slaves before the Katakis took them up. Others had not. In my book they were all ex-slaves. But my book was not read down here in Tarankar. Some day, I trusted, it would.
Incidentally, I do not mean the books and plays and puppet shows regarding Dray Prescot of legend and song. Oh, no, I refer to the book with which we in Vallia were hoping to educate the rest of Paz.
Attracted by the commotion, Mevancy joined us. She carried the mesh coat over an arm, for the cunning of the armorers of the Dawn Lands with mesh iron has to be weighed to be believed. “Well, what’s amiss now — ah!” She saw the Whiptail and instantly understood.
In an aside, I said: “This is where Caspar the Peaker could shine.”
“Caspar? Oh, the Everoinye sent him off again.”
“Busy fe
llow.” Caspar was a kaogoinye, a licensed assassin for the Star Lords, and a remarkable artist into the bargain. “Where to?”
“He was warned and told me. Boromir of the Ashes.”
“By the Black Chunkrah!” I didn’t laugh aloud. But I felt the mirth. “That means either old Strom Irvil didn’t make it, or that Caspar will have that charming numim aristo to contend with. I wish him luck of it, by Krun!”
Mevancy didn’t know where away lay this Boromir of the Ashes.
The Kataki was trying to saw through the strands of the net with the dagger strapped to his tail. One of the ex-slaves, a hulking Brokelsh whose black body hair bristled vindictively, calmly leaned over and slashed the tail off.
“Now, now, Tuco!” exclaimed Kuong. “Plenty of time for that.”
“Yes, lord. The shint deserves more than he’ll get.”
The Whiptail had the stump of his tail gripped in both hands and did not scream but stood staring in utter horror at the bloody end.
“Kill! Kill!” The people were becoming restless to the point where Kuong might not be able to hold them.
“The shint can tell us a few things if we ask him,” suggested Mevancy.
“Such as?” I looked around. If something positive was not done at once then our authority was gone.
“Please!” the Kataki managed to gabble out. “Please. Spare me—”
This was a scene that I misliked intensely. There was, in reason, only one course of action left open to us. I said: “Whiptail. We shall show you the same mercy you showed Pazzian slaves.”
He screamed.
“Over with him!” I bellowed. I used a powerful ordering tone, bullying these vengeful people into instant obedience. Yelling and laughing, screaming with delight, they lifted the Whiptail on a forest of upraised arms. He was run to the side, shrieking.
I didn’t bother to step to the bulwarks to watch his long fall to the ground beneath.
Chapter three
Cleaning up the world of Kregen by disposing of one Kataki was all very well. It did not solve any of our pressing problems.
Our pursuers neither gained on us nor fell back. As the Shanks habitually built their flying ships to a single pattern this was not surprising. There had been two or three different designs on view lately; but if they differed in speed as well as layout it was not apparent yet. In addition we were all feeling hungry and thirsty.
Provisions and water from the fore parts of the vessel were broken out. There seemed little reason at this time to impose severe rationing and the cooks appointed themselves and we all ate and drank reasonably well. When the twin suns set, which would be in short order, our pursuers could still follow us, a burning torch scorching the sky.
The fire crept forward only slowly for we were making a good clip and the breeze blew back splendidly.
Thus our progress south was measured by our pursuers and by the fire.
Here in Loh the Suns of Scorpio are called Luz and Walig. They duly set in bands of crimson and viridian across the western sky and only a single lesser moon of Kregen hurtled low across the heavens. Tuco, who had been volunteered by Kuong to stand lookout, came forward in haste.
“They’ve put lights in them flying things — and they’re going away!”
Kuong, Mevancy and I went carefully down and aft to check and it was true. The Shanks had given up the chase. Clearly, they believed we would burn.
Back on deck I felt I had to be as tactful as possible in dealing with the susceptibilities of Mevancy, as well as Kuong. I said: “There is a plan—”
Mevancy snorted. “We all know about your plans, cabbage!”
“All the same, I think it will work. If you give it a try.”
“Speak on, Drajak,” said Kuong in his best trylonish manner.
“First of all, you’ll have to understand a little of how the flying ships work. Rollo will have to play a major part. And we will all have to act very smartly, very smartly indeed, by Chozputz!”
When I outlined the plan there were some long faces, some grim faces, and one or two blank faces.
“I’m for giving it a try,” quoth Rollo, stoutly.
“Very well. The fire will burn through before the night is out. So we must begin at once.”
Selecting personnel to perform the various tasks demanded by my so-wonderful plan was not too difficult. One absolutely vital factor was to determine the exact wind direction. If we fouled up on that we’d crisp.
Taking Rollo, Kuong, Llodi, Mevancy and Tuco below to where in a Pazzian craft the silver boxes of lift and motion would be located, we found no silver boxes. Instead, in the small armored space reposed bronze boxes. They were mounted in brass and balass orbits in a fashion almost identical to the mountings with which I was familiar. I explained succinctly.
“When the boxes move closer we rise. When they are pulled apart we go down. When they revolve in their orbits we go forward or turn to the side. Here are the control wires leading down from the levers in the conning tower.”
They digested this.
“Each one of you will be assigned a single task. You will have enough of the ex-slaves to help in carrying. The vital need is utmost speed. But that does not mean you drop a single item!”
“We’ll run, what with the fire at our heels, an’ all,” commented Llodi.
“The whole operation will be carried out in strict sequence so that nobody gets in anybody else’s way.”
Tuco in his uncouth Brokelsh manner said: “I’ll go last.”
“I appreciate your offer, Tuco.” Kuong was very much the grand noble. “But, as everyone realizes, that is a task devolving on me.”
Talk about noblesse oblige! Mind you, from Kuong’s point of view, if he did get himself killed he’d be born again in a new baby body.
That might be all right for him and his weird beliefs; if he dropped a vital element he’d shaft the rest of us. Shaft us rotten.
We sorted out the duties. Everyone was told twice what to do.
Then I had them recite what they had to do back to me.
Rollo was taking the control levers. He commented casually that he was becoming addicted to flying through thin air.
Each of the principals selected their assistants.
I said to Kuong: “Oh, trylon. Would you mind telling that Cheng fellow to get some people to carry out all the weapons they can?”
“Assuredly, Drajak. Still, he’s not altogether a lost cause.”
“I am heartened to hear it. Now. A few last words.”
They heard me out in a waiting silence. We were risking much; no one had a better suggestion. At last we were ready. Everyone went to their posts and I went up with Rollo to the conning tower.
Just as we reached the armored box the aft fighting tower, eaten away by flames, fell by the board with an almighty crash and spewing fountains of sparks. A tall Gon girl, her long silver hair wrapped about her bare waist, looked in one of the slits of the tower to say: “Master. The sparks all blew that way.” She pointed a few points off to larboard.
“Your name?”
“Glima, an’ it please you, master.”
“Thank you, Glima. That was smart work. I congratulate you.”
Her drawn face broke into a smile that I couldn’t see without a pang.
A glance through a top scuttle at the stars — those splendid stars of Kregen — located the wind direction for me. Now we had to find the right spot.
“Head her into the breeze, Rollo, my lad. I’ll go for’ard and see what I can find. Glima, you will relay messages to Master Rollo.”
“Yes, master.”
Glima and I went forward into the eyes of the ship. In less than half a bur the Maiden with the Many Smiles would be up and by her fuzzy pinkish moonlight I ought to be able to scan the land. When that radiance broke across the land I saw we were flying over scrubland similar to much to the south. By heading those few points to larboard we were trending south eastward, which was not the direction in which
I wished eventually to go.
Carefully studying the ground as it fleeted past, for we could not slow down, I waited as patiently as I could until a small river hove into view bordered by trees. Beyond it the ground looked flat. To try to touch down in the water would be of little use; the fire would rage contemptuous of the stream’s waters to extinguish it. And we’d have to wade or swim ashore.
A few last meticulous observations ahead to check that there were no obstructions, then: “Run, Glima. Tell Rollo. Now!”
She was gone on bare flashing legs.
More quickly than I’d expected the flier’s speed slackened and she nosed down with that reckless impetuosity I was coming to recognize as Rollo’s special way of expressing his addiction to flying through thin air.
Still, he did it cleverly. When we hit we were barely moving forward. Now, below, my friends and their assistants should be hard at work. I rushed off to make sure no one got in anyone else’s way. I gave a stentorian bellow as I hit the forward deck on my way to the conning tower.
“Cheng! Get your people moving! Bratch!”
The Repositer was standing staring at the roaring mass of flames engulfing the whole of the after part of the vessel. He jumped at my bellow. He had a sack of weapons slung over his shoulders and the people with other sacks were pushing past. He flung me a look compounded of hatred and fear and hurried to the side. He flung the sack over before following himself, which annoyed me. You don’t treat weapons as thoughtlessly as that, not on Kregen.
The ex-slaves tended to jostle as they rushed for safety. You could hardly blame them for that, for now the heat was appreciable. The breeze was not all that strong, and whilst the flames were being blown aft, tongues and evil creeping streamers were eating their way forward.
Here came Kuong and the others, all carrying their appointed pieces. Rollo scrambled down from the conning tower with the control levers. The wires were dragged out and Llodi hauled them along with a will. Mevancy and Tuco were carrying the bronze boxes. All in all, as we scuttled like rats from the burning vessel, we must have presented a macabre sight.
Flames crackled and hissed. Smoke blackened the stars. The Maiden with the Many Smiles shone down refulgently, and fuzzy pink moonlight washed over men and women, over the doomed vessel. We ran and panted away until the heat was such that we could haul up and catch our breaths and watch the end.
Scorpio Ablaze Page 3
