"Never mind."
"This sailor said that it was probably the work of the gods, who labor
secretly at night that the plain may stay flat and clean of obstacles
so their true worshipers may sail upon it and profit thereby."
"Will the wonders of rationalization never cease?" said Green.
He rose from his pile of furs. "Almost time for my watch." He kissed
Amra, the maid, the children, and stepped out from the tent. He walked
rather carelessly across the deck absorbed in wondering what the effect
would be upon Amra if he told her his true origin. Could she comprehend
the concept of other worlds existing by the hundreds of thousands, yet
so distant from each other that a man could walk steadily for a million
years and still not get halfway from Earth to this planet of hers? Or
would she react automatically, as most of her fellows would do, and
think that he must surely be a demon in human disguise? It would be
more natural for her to prefer the latter idea. If you looked at it
objectively, it _was_ more plausible, given her lack of scientific
knowledge. Much more believable, too.
Somebody bumped him. Jarred out of his reverie, he automatically
apologized in English.
"Don't curse at me in your foreign tongue!" snarled Grazoot, the plump
little harpist.
Ezkr was standing behind Grazoot. He spoke out of the side of his
mouth, urging the bard on. "He thinks he can walk all over you,
Grazoot, because he insulted your harp once and you let him get away
with it."
Grazoot puffed out his cheeks, reddened in the face and glared. "It
is only because Miran has forbidden duels that I have not plunged my
dagger into this son of an _izzot_!"
Green looked from one to the other. Obviously this scene was
prearranged with no good end for him in view.
"Stand aside," he said haughtily. "You are interfering with the
discipline of the 'roller. Miran will not like that."
"Indeed!" said Grazoot. "Do you think Miran cares at all about what
happens to you? You're a lousy sailor and it hurts me to have to call
you brother. In fact, I spit every time I say it to you, brother!"
Grazoot did just that. Green, who was downwind, felt the fine mist wet
his legs. He began to get angry.
"Out of my way or I'll report you to the first mate," he said firmly
and walked by them. They gave way, but he had an uneasy feeling in
the small of his back, as if a knife would plunge into it. Of course,
they shouldn't be so foolish, because they would be hamstrung and then
dropped off the 'roller for the crime of cowardice. But these people
were so hot-headed they were just as likely as not to stab him in a
moment of fury.
Once on the rope ladder that ran up to the crow's nest, he began to
lose the prickly feeling in his back. At that moment Grazoot called
out, "Oh, Green, I had a vision last night, a true vision, because my
patron god sent it, and he himself appeared in it. He announced that he
would snuff up his nostrils the welcome scent of your blood, spilled
all over the deck from your fall!"
Green paused with one foot on the rail. "You tell your god to stay away
from me, or I'll punch him in the nose!" he called back.
There was a gasp from the many people who'd gathered around to listen.
"Sacrilege!" yelled Grazoot. "Blasphemy!" He turned to those around
him. "Did you hear that?"
"Yes," said Ezkr, stepping out from the crowd. "I heard him and I am
shocked. Men have burned for less."
"Oh, my patron god, Tonuscala, punish this pride-swollen man! Make your
dreams come true. Cast him headlong from the mast and dash him to the
deck and break every bone in his body so that men may learn that one
does not mock the true gods."
"_Tahkhai_," murmured the crowd. "Amen."
Green smiled grimly. He had fallen into their trap and now must be on
guard. Plainly, one or both of them would be aloft tonight during the
dark hour after sunset, and they'd be content with nothing less than
pitching him out over the deck. His death would be considered to have
come from the hands of an outraged god. And if Amra should accuse Ezkr
and Grazoot she'd get little justice. As for Miran, the fellow would
probably heave a sigh of relief, because he'd be rid of a troublesome
fellow who could carry damaging stories of a certain conspiracy to the
Duke of Tropat.
He climbed up to the crow's nest, and settled gloomily to staring off
at the horizon. Just before sunset Grizquetr came up with a bottle of
wine and food in a covered basket.
Between bites Green told the boy of his suspicions.
"Mother has already guessed as much," said the lad. "She is a very
clever woman indeed, my mother. She has put a curse upon the two if you
should come to harm."
"Very clever. That will do a great deal of good. Thank her for her
splendid work while you're picking up my pieces from the deck, will
you?"
"To be sure," replied Grizquetr, trying hard to keep his sober face
from breaking into a grin. "And Mother also sent you this."
He rolled the kerchief all the way off the top of the basket. Green's
eyes widened.
15
"A rocket flare!"
"Yes. Mother says that you are to release it when you hear the bos'n's
whistle from the deck."
"Now, why in the world would I do that? Won't I get into tremendous
trouble by doing that? I'll be run through the gauntlet a dozen times
for that. No sir, not me. I've seen those poor fellows after the whips
were through with them."
"Mother said for me to tell you that nobody will be able to prove who
sent up the flare."
"Perhaps. It sounds reasonable. But why should I do it?"
"It will light up the whole ship for a minute, and everybody will be
able to see that Ezkr and Grazoot are in the rigging. The whole ship
will be in an uproar. Of course, when it is discovered that somebody
has stolen two flares from the store-room, and when a search is
conducted, and one flare is found hidden in Ezkr's trunk, then ...
well, you see...."
"Oh, beamish boy!" chortled Green. "Calloo, callay! Go tell your mother
she's the most marvelous woman on this planet--though that's really not
much of a compliment, now I think of it. Oh, wait a minute! About this
bos'n's whistle. Now, why should he be warning me to send up a flare?"
"He won't. Mother will be blowing it. She'll be waiting for a signal
from me or Azaxu," Grizquetr said, referring to his younger brother.
"We'll be watching Ezkr and Grazoot, and when they start to climb aloft
we'll notify her. She'll wait until she thinks they're about halfway
up, then she'll whistle."
"That woman has saved my life at least half a dozen times. What would I
do without her?"
"That's what Mother said. She said that she doesn't know why she went
after you when you tried to run away from her--from us--because she has
great pride. And she doesn't have to chase a man to get one; princes
have begged her to come live with them. But she did because she loves
you, and a good thing, too. Otherwise your stupidity would have killed
you ten times over by now."
"Oh, she did, did she? Well, hah, hum. Yes, well...!"
Thoroughly ashamed of himself, yet angry at Amra for her estimate of
him, Green miserably watched Grizquetr climb down the ratlines.
During the next half-hour, time seemed to coagulate, to thicken and
harden around him so that he felt as if he were encased in it. The
clouds that always came up after sunset formed, and a light drizzle
began. It would last for about an hour, he knew, then the clouds would
disappear so swiftly that they would give the impression of being
yanked away like a tablecloth by some magician over the horizon. But
he'd cram a highly nervous lifetime into those minutes, wondering
if perhaps there wouldn't be some unforeseen frustration of Amra's
schedule.
The first webby drops struck his face, and he wondered if perhaps that
wouldn't be what the two would wait for. They'd probably taken the
first step up the rigging, but he mustn't expect her whistle for some
time yet. If they were clever they wouldn't climb up directly beneath
him, but would go aft, ascend to the top, then climb over to him. It
was true that they'd have to pass others who, like Green, were also
stationed aloft on watch. But Ezkr and Grazoot knew the locations of
these. So dark was it they could pass within touching distance and not
be seen or heard. The wind in the rigging, the creak of masts, the
rumble of the great wheels would drown out any slight noise they might
make.
The 'roller did not stop sailing just because the helmsmen could not
see. The _Bird_ followed a well-charted route; every permanent obstacle
along here had been memorized by helmsmen and officers alike. If
anything formidable was expected in their path during the dark period,
a course would be set to avoid it. The officers on duty would advise
the helmsmen on their steering by means of an ingenious dial on a
notched plate. His sensitive fingers, following its flickerings back
and forth, and comparing them with the directional notches, would tell
him how close to the course they were keeping. The dial itself was
fixed to the needle of a compass beneath it.
Green hunched his shoulders beneath his coat and walked around the
walls of his nest. He strained his eyes to make out something in the
blackness that wrapped him around like a shroud. There was nothing,
nothing at all.... No, wait! What was that? A vague outline of a white
face?
He stared hard until it disappeared, then he sighed and realized how
rigidly he'd been standing there. And of course he'd been open to
attack from behind all that time.
No, not really. If he couldn't see an arm's length away, neither could
the other two.
But they didn't have to see. They knew the ropes so well that they
could grope blindfolded to his nest and there feel him out. A touch of
a finger, followed by a thrust of steel. That would be all it would
take.
He was thinking of that when he felt the finger. It poked into his back
and held him like a statue for just a second, quivering, paralyzed.
Then he gave a hoarse cry and jumped away. He snatched out his dagger
and crouched down close to the floor, straining his eyes and ears,
trying to detect them. Surely, if they were breathing as hard as he, he
couldn't fail to hear them.
On the other hand, he realized with a sudden sickishness, they could
hear him just as well.
"Come on! Come on!" he said soundlessly, through clenched teeth. "Do
something! Make a move so I can pin you, you sons of _izzots_!"
Perhaps they were doing the same, waiting for him to betray himself.
The best thing was to hug the floor where he was and hope they'd
stumble over him.
He kept reaching out in front of him, feeling for the warm flesh of a
face. His other hand held his dagger.
It was during one of his tentative explorations that he felt the basket
where Grizquetr had left it. At once, seized with what he thought was
an inspiration, he pulled out the flare. Why wait for them to close in
on him and butcher him like a hog? He'd send up the flare now, and in
the first shock of its glare he'd attack them.
The only trouble was, he'd have to put down his dagger in order to take
his flint and steel and tinderbox from his pocket. He hated not to have
it ready for thrusting.
Solving this problem by putting the dagger between his teeth, he took
out his firebox, paused, and swiftly put them back. Now, how was he
supposed to get the tinder going when it was drizzling? That was one
thing Amra, with all her cleverness, hadn't thought of.
"Fool!" he whispered to himself. "I'm the fool!" And in the next
moment, he was removing his coat and putting the flint and steel and
box under its protecting cover. He couldn't see what he was doing, but
if he held the tinder close enough a spark should fall on it. Then he'd
have a flame hot enough to touch off the fuse of the flare.
Again, he froze. His enemies were waiting for him to reveal himself
through noise. What better giveaway than flint scraping against steel?
And what about the sound of the rocket flare's spiked support being
driven into the wooden floor?
He suppressed a groan. No matter what he did he was leaving himself
wide open.
It was then that the shrillness of a whistle below startled him. He
rose, wondering frenziedly what he should do next. So convinced was he
that Ezkr and Grazoot were poised just outside the nest, he could not
believe that Amra had not misjudged the time it had taken them to climb
to him or that she had not been held up for some reason and now was
frantically trying to warn him.
But, he realized, he couldn't just stand there like a scared sheep.
Whether Amra was right or not, whether they were within dagger's thrust
or not, he had to take action.
"Do your damndest!" he growled at whatever might be in the dark, and he
struck steel against flint. The materials were under his coat, blocking
his view, but he lay down again so he could see between his arms and
under the coat held over them. The tinder caught at once and blazed
up, then began a small but steady glow in the harder wood of the box.
Without waiting to look around, Green rammed the flare's spike into
the deck of the nest. Swiftly he brought the punk up, still holding
the coat over it for protection from the drizzle and also from any
watching eyes. He held it against the fuse, saw the cord catch flame
and sizzle like a frying worm. Then he had ducked around the other side
of the mast that supported the nest, for he knew how unpredictable
these primitive rockets were. Like as not it would go off in his face.
Hardly had he rounded the big pillar of the mast when he heard a soft
whooshing sound. He looked up just in time to see the rocket explode in
a white glare. The moment it dispelled the darkness he jerked his head
to the right and the left in an effort to see if Ezkr and Grazoot were
on him, as he'd _known_ they must be.
But they weren't. They were still half a ship's length away from him,
caught by the light in the rigging, like flies in a spider's web. What
he had thought was a finger poking him in the back must have been the
bolt that held the support for the muskets which were to be fired from
the nest during combat.
So relieved was he, he would have broken into loud laughter, but at
that moment a great cry broke from the decks below. The mate and the
helmsmen were shouting in alarm.
Green looked down, saw them pointing, and his gaze followed the
direction of their extended fingers.
A hundred yards ahead, rushing at them on a collision course, was a
towering clump of trees!
16
Then the flare had died and had left nothing but its after-image on the
eye--and panic on the brain.
Green did not know what to make of it. In the first instant he had
thought that it was the 'roller alone that was speeding toward an
uncharted forest-grown hill. Immediately after, he'd seen that his
senses were deceiving him and that the mass was also moving. It had
looked like a hill, or several hills, sliding across the grass toward
them. But even as the darkness came back he'd seen that there were
other hills behind it, and that the whole thing was actually a sort of
iceberg of rocks and of soil from which grew trees.
That was all he could make out in that confusing moment. Even then he
couldn't believe it, because a mountain just didn't run along of its
own volition on flat land.
Credible or not, it was not being ignored by the helmsmen. They must
have turned the wheel almost at once, for Green could feel the leaning
of the mast to port and the shift of wind upon his face. The _Bird_ was
swinging to the southwest in an effort to avoid the "roaming island."
Unfortunately it was too dark for the men to have worked swiftly in
trimming the sails even if a full crew had been aloft. And there were
far too few on the top, as it was not thought necessary to have them on
duty when the 'roller was running in the post-sunset drizzle.
Green had time for one short prayer--no nonsense about punching a god
in the nose, now--and then he was hurled against the wall of the nest.
There was the loudest noise he'd ever heard--the loudest because it was
the crack of doom for him. Rope split like a giant's whip cracking;
spars, suddenly released from the rigging, strummed like monster
violins; the masts, falling down, thundered; intermingled with all
that were the screams of the people below on the deck and in the holds.
Green himself was screaming as he felt the foremast lean over, and
he slid from the floor of the nest, which had suddenly threatened to
become a wall, and fought to hold himself on the wall, which had now
become a floor. His fingers closed upon the musket-support with the
desperation of one who clings to the only solid thing in the world.
For a minute, the mast stopped its forward movement, held taut by the
tangled mass of ropes. Green hoped that he was safe, that all the
damage had been done.
But no, even as he dared think he might come out alive, the mighty
grinding noise began again. The island of rock and trees was continuing
its course and was smashing the hull of the ship beneath it, gobbling
up wheels, axles, keel, timber, cargo, cannon and people.
The next he knew, he was flying through the air, torn from his hold,
catapulted far away from the 'roller. It seemed as if he actually
soared, gained altitude, though this must have been an illusion. Then
the hard return to earth, the impact on his face, his body, his legs.
The outstretched arms to soften the blow that must surely splinter
his bones and pulp his flesh. The pitiful arms, the last warding-off
gesture before annihilation. The series of hard blows, like many fists.
The sudden realization that he was among tree branches and that his
fall was being broken by them. His trying to grab one to hang on and
its slipping away and his continued rapid and punishing descent.
Then, oblivion.
He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but when he sat up he
saw through the trunks of the trees the shattered hull of the _Bird_
about a hundred feet away. It was lying on its side on a lower level
than he was, so he supposed that he was sitting on the slope of a
hill. Only half of the craft was in sight; it must have been broken in
two, and most of the middeck and stern ground into rubble beneath the
advancing juggernaut of the island.
Dully, he realized that the drizzle had stopped, the clouds had cleared
and the big and little moons were up. The seeing was good, too good.
There were people left alive in the wreck, men, women and children who
were trying to climb through the tangle of ropes, spars and broken,
jagged, projecting planks. Screams, moans, shouts and calls for help
made a chaos.
Groaning, he managed to rise to his feet. He had a very painful
headache. One eye was so swollen he couldn't see with it. He tasted
blood in his mouth and felt several broken teeth with his lacerated
tongue. His sides hurt when he breathed. The skin seemed to have
been torn off the palms of his hands. His right knee must have been
wrenched, and his left heel was a ball of fire. Nevertheless he got up.
Amra and Paxi and her other children were in there; that is, unless
they'd been caught in the other half. He had to find out. Even if they
were beyond his help there were others who weren't.
He started to hobble through the trees. Then he saw a man step out from
behind a bush. Thinking that he must be a survivor who had wandered off
in a dazed condition, Green opened his mouth to speak to him. But there
was something odd about him that imposed silence. He looked closer.
Yes, the fellow wore a headdress of feathers and held a long spear in
his hand. And the moonlight, where it slipped through the branches and
shone upon an exposed shoulder, gleamed red, white, blue-black, yellow
and green. The man was painted all over with stripes of different
colors!
Green slowly sank down upon his hands and knees behind a bush. It was
then that he became aware of others who stood behind trees and watched
the wreck. Then these emerged from the darkness under the branches.
Presently, at least fifty plumed, painted, armed men were gathered
together, all silent, all intently inspecting the wreck and the
survivors.
One raised a spear as a signal and gave a loud, whooping war cry. The
others echoed him, and when he ran out from beneath the branches they
followed him.
Green could watch only for a minute before he had to close his eyes.
"No, no!" he moaned. "The children, too!"
When he forced himself to look again, he saw that he had been mistaken
in thinking that everybody had been put to spear. After the first
vicious onslaught, in which they'd killed indiscriminately and
hysterically, like all undisciplined primitives, they'd spared the
younger women and the little girls. Those able to walk were lined up
and marched off under the guard of half a dozen spearsmen. The too
badly injured were run through on the spot.
Even in the midst of this scene, Green felt some of his intense anguish
eased a little. Amra was still alive!
She held Paxi in one arm and with the other pulled Soon, her daughter
by the temple sculptor. Though she must have been terribly frightened,
she faced her captors with the same proud bearing she'd always had,
whether in the presence of peasant or prince. Inzax, her maid, stood
behind her.
Green decided that he'd better try to follow her and her captors at a
discreet distance. But before he could get away he saw the women and
older children of the savages appear, bearing torches. Fortunately none
came his way. Some of these mutilated the dead, dancing around the
hacked corpses and howling in imitation of the adult men. Then began
the work in earnest, the carving up of the flesh. These painted people
were cannibals and made no bones about it. Fires were being lit for a
midnight snack before the bulk of the meat was brought back to wherever
their homes were.
17
Green stayed far enough behind the prisoners and savages to keep out
of sight if any man should turn. The path was narrow, winding between
crowding trunks and under low branches. The soil underfoot was rich
and springy, as if composed of generations of leaves. Green estimated
he must have gone at least a mile and a half, not as the crow flies,
but more like a drunk trying to find his way home. Then, without
warning, the forest stopped and a clearing was before him. In the midst
of this stood a village of about ten log houses with thatched roofs.
Six were rather small outhouses serving one purpose or another. The
four large ones were, he guessed, long houses for community living.
They were grouped about a central spot in which were the remains of
several large fires beneath big iron pots and spits. Clay tanks were
scattered here and there; these held rain water. Before each house was
a twenty-foot-high totem pole, brightly painted, and around it many
slender poles holding skulls.
The prisoners were led into one of the outhouses and the door barred.
A man stationed himself at the front, squatting with his back to the
wall and holding a spear in one hand. The others greeted the old women
and younger children who had been left behind. Though they spoke in a
language Green didn't understand, they were obviously describing what
they'd found at the wreck. Some of the old crones then began piling
brushwood and small logs under one of the huge iron kettles; presently
they had a fire blazing brightly. Others brought out glasses and cups
of precious metals--loot from wrecks. These they filled with some sort
of liquor, probably a native beer, judging from the foam that spilled
over the sides. One of the young boys began idly tapping upon a drum
and soon was beating out a monotonous simple rhythm. It looked as if
they were going to make a night of it.
But after a few drinks the warriors arose, picked up jugs of liquor and
walked into the woods, leaving one man to guard the prisoners' hut. All
the children over the age of four left with them, trailing along in
the dark, though the warriors made no effort to slow their pace so the
children could keep up.
Green waited until he was sure the spearsmen were some distance away,
then rose. His muscles protested at any movement, and pains shot
through his head, knee and ankle. But he ignored them and limped around
the edge of the clearing until he came to the back of one of the long
houses.
He slipped inside and stood by the side of the doorway. It was more
illuminated than he'd thought at first, because of the several large
and open windows which admitted moonbeams. Hens sleepily clucked
at him, and one of the midget pigs grunted questioningly. Suddenly
something soft brushed across his ankles. Startled, he jumped to one
side. His heart, which had been beating fast enough before, threatened
to hammer a hole in his ribs. He crouched, straining to see what it
was. Then a soft meowing nearby told him. He relaxed a little and
stretched out a hand, saying, "Here, kitty, kitty, come here."
But the cat walked by, his tail raised and a look of disdain on his
face as he disappeared through the door. Seeing the animal reminded
Green of something about which he was anxious. That was whether the
natives kept dogs or not. He hadn't seen any and thought that surely if
there were some he'd have long ago heard the noisy beasts. Undoubtedly,
by now, he should have a whole pack of the obnoxious monsters snarling
at his heels.
Silently, he walked into the long single room with its high ceiling.
From thick rafters hung rolled-up curtains, which he supposed would
be let down to make a semi-private room for any families that wished
it. From them also hung vegetables, fruit and meat; chickens, rabbits,
piglets, squirrels, _hoober_ and venison. There were no human parts, so
he guessed that the flesh of man was not so much a staple diet to these
people as a food for religious purposes.
All he did know was that he would have to take some meat with him. He
gathered strips of dried _hoober_, rolled them into a ball and stuffed
them in a bag. Then he took down an iron-headed spear and a sharp steel
knife from their rack on the wall. Knife in belt and spear in hand, he
went out the back door.
Outside, he stopped to listen to the far-off beating of drums and the
chanting of voices. There must be quite a celebration around the wreck.
"Good," he muttered to himself. "If they get drunk and pass out I'll
have time for what I want to do."
Staying well within the shadows of the trees, he picked his way to the
back of the hut in which the prisoners were. From where he stood he
could see that there were only six old women--about all the island's
economy could afford, he supposed--and some ten infants, all toddlers.
Most of these, once the excitement caused by the noisy warriors had
subsided with their leavetaking, had lain down close to the fire and
gone to sleep. The only one who might give real trouble, aside from
the guard, was a boy of ten, the one who was now tapping softly on the
drum. At first Green could not understand why he hadn't gone with the
others of his age to the wreck. But the empty stare and the unblinking
way he looked into the fire showed why. Green had no doubt that if
he were to come close enough to the lad, he'd see that the eyeballs
were filmed over with white. Blindness was nothing rare on this filthy
planet.
Satisfied as to everybody's location, he crept to the back of the hut
and examined the walls. They were made of thick poles driven into the
ground and bound together with rope taken from a 'roller's rigging.
There were plenty of openings for him to look through, but it was so
dark that he could see only the vague outlines moving about.