 10 He had no trouble at all except for making his way through the thick traffic. The explosions and shouting coming from the castle had aroused the whole town, so that everybody who could stand on his two feet or could get somebody to carry him was outside milling around, asking questions, talking excitedly and in general trying to make as much chaos as possible and to enjoy every bit of this excuse to take part in a general disturbance. Green strode through them, his head bent but his eyes probing ahead. He made fairly good progress only being held up temporarily a few times by the human herd. Probably the flat plain of the windbreak lay before him, and the many masts of the great wheeled vessels were a forest around him. He was able to get to the bird of fortune unchallenged by any of the dozens of guardsmen that he passed. The roller herself lay snugly between two docks where a huge gang of slaves had towed her. There was a gangway running up from one of the docks and at both ends stood a sailor on guard clad in the family colors of yellow, violet and crimson. They chewed Grickster nut, something like beetle, except that it stained both teeth and lips and gave them a green color. When Green stepped boldly upon the gangway, the nearest guard looked doubtful and put his hand on his knife. Evidently he'd had no orders from Miran about a priest, but he knew what the mask indicated and that ought him enough so that he did not dare oppose the stranger, nor was the second guard any quicker in making up his mind. Green slipped by him, entered the middecks and walked up the gangway to the foredeck. He knocked quietly on the door of the captain's cabin. A moment later it swung violently open, light flooded out, then was blocked off by Miran's huge round bulk. Green stepped inside, pressing the captain back. Miran reached for his dagger, but stopped when he saw the intruder take off the mask and spectacles and throw back the hood. Green! So you made it! I did not think it was possible. With me all things are possible, replied Green modestly. He sat down at the table, or rather crumpled at it, and began repeating in a dry voice halting with fatigue the story of his escape. In a few minutes the narrow cabin rang with the captain's laughter, and his one eye twinkled and beamed as he slapped Green on the back and said that by all the gods here was the man he was proud to have aboard. Have a drink of this slick spoxy and wine, even better than Shalu's mom, and one eye bring out only for honored guests, said Miran, chartling. Green reached out a hand for the proper glass, but his fingers never closed upon the stem. For his head sank onto the tabletop, and his snores were tremendous. It was three days later that a much-rested Green, his skin comfortable, even glowing, tight with superb spoxion, sat at the table and waited for the word to come that he could finally leave the cabin. The first day of inactivity he slept and eaten and paced back and forth, anxious for news of what was going on in the city. At nightfall Miran had returned with the story that a furious search was organized in the city itself and the outlying hills. Of course the Duke would insist that the rollers themselves be turned inside out, and Miran was cursing because that would mean a fatal delay. They could not wait for more than three more days. The fish tanks had been installed. The provisions were almost all in the hold. His roistering crewmen were being dragged out of the taverns and sobered up. Two days after tomorrow the great vessel would have to be towed out of the windbreak and sail set for the perilous and long voyage. I wouldn't worry, said Green. You will find that tomorrow word will come from the hills, that Green has been killed by a wild man of the clan, Axe-a-Questcon, who will demand money before handing the dead slaves head over. The Duke will accept this as true and will conveniently forget all about searching the rollers. Miran rubbed his fat orly palms, while one pale eye glowed. He loved a good intrigue. The more elaborate, the better. But the second day, even though what Green had predicted came true, Miran became nervous and began to find the big blonde man's constant presence in his cabin, Urxum. He wanted to send him down into the hold, but Green firmly refused, reminding the captain of his promise of haven within these very walls. He then calmly appropriated another bottle of the merchant's lexpoxion, having located its hiding place and drank it. Miran clawed, and his face twitched with repressed resentment, but he said nothing because of the custom that a guest could do what he pleased within reasonable limits. The third day, Miran was positively a tub of nerves, jittery sweating, pacing back and forth. The last he left the cabin, only to begin pacing back and forth on the deck, Green could hear his footsteps for hours. The fourth day he was up at dawn and bellowing orders to his crewmen. A little later, Green felt the big vessel move and heard the shouts of the foremen of the towing gangs and the chants of the slaves as they bent their backs hauling at the huge ropes attached to the roller. Slowly, oh so slowly it seemed to Green, the craft creaked forward. He dared open a curtain to look out the square porthole. Before him was the rearing side of another roller, and just for a second it seemed to him that it, not his vessel, was the one that was moving. Then he saw that the roller was advancing at a pace of about fifteen or sixteen feet a minute. It would take them an hour to get past the towering brick walls of the windbreak. He sweated out that hour and unconsciously fell into his childhood habit of biting his nails, expecting at any time to see the docks suddenly boil with soldiers running after the bird of fortune shouting for it to stop because it had a runaway slave aboard. But no such thing occurred. Then at last the tug gang stopped and began carling up their ropes and Green quit chewing his nails. Miran shouted orders. The first mate repeated them, there was a slap of many feet on the docks above, the sound of many voices chanting. A sound as of a knife cutting cloth told that the sales had been released. Suddenly the vessel rocked as the wind caught it, and a vibration through the floors announced that the big axles were turning. The huge wheels with their tires of chakarota, a kind of rubber, were revolving. The bird was on the wing. Green opened the door slightly, took one last look at the city of Quats. It was receding rapidly at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, and at this distance it looked like a toy city nestled in the lap of a hillock. Now that the danger from it was gone and the odour is too far away to offend his nose, it looked quite romantic and enticing. And so we say farewell to exotic Quats, murmured Green in the appropriate travel log fashion. So long, you son of an eyesot! Then though he was supposed to stay inside until Miran summoned him, he opened the door and stepped out, and almost fainted dead away. Hello, honey, said Amra. Green scarcely heard the children grouped around her, also extend their greetings. He was just coming out of the dizziness and blackness that had threatened to overcome him. Perhaps it was the wine coupled with the shock. Perhaps, he was to think later. It was just that he was plain scared as he had not been in the castle. Ashamed, too, that Amra had found out his plans to desert her, and deeply ashamed because she loved him anyway, and would not allow him to go without her. She had a tremendous pride that must have caused her a great effort to choke down. Probably he was to say to himself later on, it was sheer fear of her tongue that made him quail so. There was nothing that a man dreaded so much as a woman's tongue lashing especially if he deserved it, oh, especially. That was to come later. At the moment Amra was strangely quiet and meek. All she would say was that she had many business connections, and that she knew well Zingaro, the thieves' skilled business agent. They had been childhood playmates, and they'd helped each other in various shady transactions since. It was only natural that she should hear about the exurater, a slave hiding on the bird of fortune, had given Zingaro to take back to the duke. Cornering Zingaro, she had worked out of him enough information to be sure that Green had escaped to the roller. After all, Zingaro was under oath only to be reticent about certain details of the whole matter. From there she had taken the business into her own hands, had told Miran that she would inform the duchess of Green's whereabouts unless he permitted her and her family to go along on the voyage. Here I am, your faithful and loyal wife, she said, opening her arms in an expansive gesture. I am overwhelmed with emotion, replied Green, for once not exaggerating. Then come and embrace me, she cried, don't stand there, as if you'd seen the dead return from the grave. Before all these people, he said, hast stunned, looking around at the grinning captain and first mate on the foredeck beside him, and at the sailors and their families on the middeck below. The only ones not watching him were the goggled helmsmen, whose backs were turned because they were intent on wrestling with the great spoke wheel. Why not, she retorted, you'll be sleeping on the open deck with them, eating with them, breathing their breath, feeling their elbows at every turn, cursing, laughing, fighting, getting drunk, making love, all, all on the open deck. So why not embrace me, or don't you want me to be here? The thought never entered my head, he said, stepping up to her and taking her in his arms, or if he had, he reflected, you can bet that I dare not say it. After all, it was good to feel her soft, warm, firmly curved body again and know that there was at least one person on this god-forsaken planet that cared for him. What could have made him think for one minute that he could endure a life without her? Well, he had. She just would not, could not, fit into his life if he ever got back to earth. CHAPTER X Miron coughed and said, You too and your children and maid must get off the deck and go in midships. That is where you will live. Never again must you set foot upon the steering-deck unless you are summoned. I run a tight ship and discipline is strictly adhered to. Green followed Amra and the children down the steps to the deck below, noticing for the first time that Insox, the pretty blonde slave who took care of the children, was also aboard. You had to give credit to Amra. Wherever she went she traveled in style. He also thought that if this was a tight ship, a loose one must be sheer chaos. Pets and dogs were running here and there, playing with the many infants, or else fighting with each other. Women sat and sewed or hung up washing or dried dishes or nurse babies. Hens clucked defiantly from behind the bars of their coops scattered everywhere. On the port side there was even a pig-pin holding about thirty of the tiny rabbit-eared porcines. Green followed Amra to a place where an awning had been stretched to make a roof. Isn't this nice, she said? It has sides which we can pull down when it rains, or when we want privacy, as I suppose we will, you being so funny in some ways. Oh, it's delightful, he hastened to assure her. I see you even have some feather mattresses and a cook-stove. He looked around. But where are the fish tanks? I thought Miron was going to boat them to the deck. Oh, no! He said that they were too valuable to expose to gunfire if we encountered pirates, so he had the deck cut open wide enough to lower the tanks inside the hold. Then the deck-planking was replaced. Most of these people here would be sleeping below if it weren't for the tanks, but there's no room now. Green decided to take a look around. He liked to have a thorough knowledge of his immediate environment so that he would know how to behave if an emergency arose. The wind-roller itself was about two hundred feet long, its beam was about thirty-four feet. The hull was boat-shaped, and the narrow keel rested on fourteen axles. Twenty-eight enormous solid rubber-tired wheels turned at the ends of these axles. Thick ropes of the tough rubber-like substance were tied to the ends of the axles and to the tops of the hull itself. These were to hold the body steady and to keep it from going over when the roller reeled under too strong a side wind and also to provide some resiliency when the roller was making a turn. Being aboard at such times was almost like being on a water sailing ship. As the front pair of wheels, the steering wheels, turned and the longitudinal axis of the craft slowly changed direction. The body of the vessel, thrust by the shifting impact of the winds, also tilted. Not too far, never as far as a boat in a similar case, but enough to give one an uneasy feeling. The cables on the opposing side would stretch to a degree and then would stop the side-wise motion of the keel, and there would be a slight and slow roll to the other direction. Then a shorter and slower motion back again. It was enough to make a novice green. Roller sickness wasn't uncommon at the beginning of a voyage or during a violent windstorm. Like its aqueous counterpart it affected the sufferer so that he could only hang over the rail and wish he would die. The bird of fortune sported a curving bow and a high foredeck. On this was fastened the many-spoked steering wheel. Two helmsmen always attended it, two men wearing hexagonal goggles and close-fitting leather helmets with high crusts of curled wire. Behind them stood the captain and first mate, giving their attention alternately to the helmsmen and to the sailors on deck and the loft. The mid-deck was sunken and the poop-deck, though raised, was not as high as the foredeck. The four masts were tall, but not as tall as those of a marine craft of similar size. High masts would have given the roller a tendency to capsize in a very strong wind, despite the weight of the axles and wheels. Therefore, the yard arms, reaching far out beyond the sides of the hull, were comparatively longer than a seaships. When the bird carried a full weight of canvas, she looked to a mariner's eye, squat and ungainly. Moreover, yards had been fixed at right angles to the top of the hull and to the keel itself. Extra canvas was hung between these spars. The sight of all that sail sticking from between the wheels was enough to drive an old sailor to drink. Three masts were square-rigged. The aft mast was four and aft-rigged and was used to help the steering. There was no bowsprit. Altogether it was a strange-looking craft. But once one was accustomed to it, one saw it was as beautiful as a ship of the sea. It was as formidable, too. For the bird carried five large cannon on the mid-deck, six cannons on the second-deck, a lighter-swivel cannon on the steering-deck, and two swivels on the poop-deck. Going from davits were two long life-rollers and a gig all wheeled and with folding masts. If the bird was wrecked it could be abandoned and all the crew could scoot off in the little rollers. Green wasn't given much time for inspection. He became aware that a tall, lean sailor was regarding him intently. This fellow was dark-skinned, but had the pale blue eyes of the tropot hillsmen. He moved like a cat and wore a long, thin dagger sharp as a claw. The nasty customer thought Green. Presently the nasty customer, seeing that Green was not going to notice him, walked in front of him so that he could not help being annoyed. At the same time the babble around them died and everybody turned his head to stare. Friend, said Green, affably enough, would you mind standing off to one side, you are blocking my view. The fellow spat grickster juice at Green's feet. No slave calls me, friend. Yes, I am blocking your view and I would mind getting out of the way. Evidently you object to my presence here, said Green. What is the matter? You don't like my face? No, I don't, and I don't like to have as a crewmate a stinking slave. Speaking of odors, said Green, would you please stand to leave it of me. I've been through a lot lately and I have a delicate stomach. Silence! You, son of an isot, roar the sailor red-faced. Have respect toward your betters or I'll strike you down and throw your body overboard. It takes two to make a murder, just as it takes two to make a bargain, said Green in a loud voice, hoping that Miran would hear and be reminded of his promise of protection. But Miran shocked his shoulders. He had done as much as he could. It was up to Green to make his way from now on. It is true that I am a slave, he said, but I was not born one. Before being captured I was a freeman who knew liberty as none of you here know it. I came from a country where there were no masters, because every man was his own master. However, that is neither here nor there. The point is that I earned my freedom, that I fought like a warrior, not a slave, to get aboard the bird. I wished to become a crewmember, to become a blood brother to the clan of Finnecan. Ah, indeed! But what can you contribute to the clan that we should consider you worthy of sharing our blood? What indeed, Green thought. The sweat broke out all over his body, though the morning wind was cool. At that moment he saw Miran speak to a sailor, who disappeared below Duxen, came out almost at once carrying a small harp in his hand. Oh, yes, now he remembered that he had told the captain what a wonderful harpist and singer he was. Just the man that the clan eager for entertainment on the long voyages would be likely to initiate. The unfortunate thing about that was that Green couldn't play a note. Nevertheless, he took the instrument from the sailor and gravely plucked its strings. He listened to the tones, frowned, adjusted the pegs, plucked them again, then handed the harp back. Sorry, this is an inferior instrument, he said haughtily. Haven't you anything better? I couldn't think of degrading my order in such a cheap monstrosity. God's above, screamed a man standing nearby. That is my harp you are talking about. The beloved harp of me, the barred grad-zoot, slave, tone-decked son of a laryngeetial mother, you will enter to me for that insult. No, said the sailor, this is my affair. I, Iskher, will test this lubber's fitness to join the clan and be called brother. Over my dead body, brother. If so, you wish it, brother. There were more angry words, until presently Miran himself came down to the mid-deck. By Minna-rocks, this is a disgrace, he bellowed. Too fennecann quarreling before a slave. Calm, make a decision quietly, or I will have you both thrown overboard. It is not too far to walk back to Quartz. We will cast dice to see who is the lucky man, said the sailor, Iskher. Being gap-toothedly he reached into the pouch that hung from his belt, and pulled out the hexagonal ivories. A few minutes later he rose from his knees, having won four out of six throws. Green was disappointed more than he cared to show, for he had hoped that if he had to fight anybody it would be the pudgy, soft-looking harpist, not the tough sailor. Iskher seemed to agree with Green that he could not have had worse luck. Seeing Gritzter so rapidly that the green-flicked slaver ran down his long chin, Iskher announced the terms that the blonde slave would have to meet to prove his fitness. CHAPTER XII For a moment Green thought of leaving the ship and making his way on foot. Miron protested loudly. This is ridiculous. Why can you not fight on duck like two ordinary men and be satisfied if one gives the other a flesh wound? That way I won't stand the chance of losing you. Iskher, one of my top-top men, if you just slip, who could take your place? This green hand here? Iskher ignored his captain's indignation knowing that the code of the clan protected him. He spit and said, "'Anybody can wield a dagger. I want to see what kind of a man this green is aloft. Walking a yard is the best way to see the color of his blood.' "'Yes,' thought Green, his skin goose-pippling. "'You'll likely see my blood all right, splashed from here to the horizon when I fall.' He asked Miron if he could withdraw a moment to his tent to pray to his gods for success. Miron nodded, and Green had Amra let down the sides of his shelter while he dropped to his knees. As soon as his privacy was assured, he handed her a long turban cloth and told her to go outside. She looked surprised, but when he told her what else she was to do, she smiled and kissed him. "'You are a clever man, Ellen. I was right to prefer you above any other man I might have had, and I could have had the best.'" Saved the compliments for afterwards when we'll know if it works, he said. "'Hurry to the stove and do what I say. If anybody asks you what you are up to, tell them that the stuff is necessary for my religious ritual. The gods,' he said as she ducked through the tent opening, often come in handy. If they didn't exist it would be necessary to invent them." Amra paused and turned with an adoring face. "'Ah, Ellen, that is one of the many things for which I love you. You are always originating these witty sayings. How clever and how dangerously blasphemous!' He shrugged, eerily dismissing her compliment as if it were nothing. Within a minute she returned with the turban wrapped around something limp but heavy. And within two minutes he stepped out from the tent, clad in a loincloth, leather-belt, dagger, and turban. Silently he began climbing the rope ladder that rose to the tip of the nearest mast. Behind him came Iskher. He did get some encouragement from Amra and the children. The duke's two boys cried out to him to cut the so-and-so throat, but if he was killed instead they would avenge him when they grew up, if not sooner. Even the blonde maid, Insoc, wept. He felt somewhat better for it was good to know that some people cared for him, and the knowledge that he had to survive and make sure that these women and children didn't come to grief was an added stimulus. Nevertheless, he felt his momentarily gain courage oozing out of his sweat-pours with every step upward. It was so high up here, and so far down below. The craft itself became smaller and smaller, and the people shrank to dolls to upturned white faces that soon became less faces than blanks. The wind howled through the rigging, and the mast which had seemed so solid and steady when he was at its base now became fragile and swaying. It takes guts to be a sailor and a blood-brother of the clan of Finneken, said Iskor. Do you have them, Green? Yes, but if I get any sicker I'll lose them and you'll be sorry being below me, muttered Green to himself. Finally after what seemed endless clambering into the very clouds themselves, he arrived at the topmost yard. If he had thought the mast thin and flexible, the arm seemed like a toothpick posed over an abyss, and he was supposed to inch his way out to the whipping-tip, then turn and come back fighting. If you were not a coward you would stand up and walk out, cried Iskor. Sticks and stones will break my bones, replied Green, but he did not enlighten the puzzled sailor as to what he meant. Going down on the yard he put his legs around it and began working his way out. Halfway to the arm he stopped and dared to look down. Once was enough. There was nothing but hard grassy ground directly beneath him, seemingly a mile below and the flat plain rushing by and the huge wheels turning, turning. Go on, shouted Iskor. Green turned his head and told him in indelicate language what he could do with the yard and the whole ship for that matter if he could manage it. Iskor's dark face rettened and he stood up and began walking out on the yard. Green's eyes widened. This man could actually do it. But when he was a few feet away the sailor stopped and said, No, you are trying to anger me so I will grapple with you here and perhaps be pushed off since you have a firmer hold. No, I will not be such a fool. It is you who must try to get past me. He turned and walked almost carelessly back to the mass against which he leaned while he waited. You have to go out to the very end, he repeated. Else you won't pass the test even if you should get by me, which of course you won't. Green gritted his teeth and humped out to what he considered close enough to the end about two feet away. Any more might break the arm as it was already bending far down or so it seemed to him. Then he backed away, managed to turn and to work back to within several feet of Iskor. Here he paused to regain his breath, his strength and his courage. The sailor waited one hand on a rope to study himself, the other with its dagger held point out at Green. The earthman began unwinding his turban. What are you doing? said Iskor, frowning with sudden anxiety. Up to this point he had been master because he knew what to expect, but if something unconventional happened, Green shrugged his shoulders and continued his very careful and slow unwrapping of his headpiece. I don't want to spill this, he said. Spill what? This, shouted Green, and he whipped the turban upward toward Iskor's face. The turban itself was too far from the sailor to touch him, but the sand contained within it flew into his eyes before the wind could dissipate it. Amra, following her husband's directions, had collected a large amount of the fireplace's sandpile to wrap in it, and though it had made his head feel heavy, it had been worth it. Iskor screamed and clutched at his eyes, releasing his dagger. At the same time, Green slid forward and rammed his fist into the man's groin. Then as Iskor crumpled toward him, he caught him and eased him down. He followed his first blow with a chopping of the edge of his palm against the fellow's neck. Iskor quit screaming and passed out. Then rolled him over so that he lay on his stomach across the yard, supported on one side by the mast, with his legs, arms, and heads dangling. That was all he wanted to do for him. He had no intention of carrying him down. His only wish was to get to the deck where he'd be safe. If Iskor fell off now, too bad. Amra and Inzoks were waiting at the foot of the shrouds when Green slowly climbed off. When he set foot on the deck, he thought his legs would give way. They were trembling so. Amra noticing this quickly put her arms around him as if to embrace the conquering hero, but actually to help support him. Thanks, he muttered, I need your strength, Amra. Anybody would who had done what you've done, she said, but my strength and all of me is at your disposal, Ellen. The children were looking at him with wide, admiring eyes and yelling, That's our daddy, big, blond, green. He's quick as a grass-cat, bites like a dire-dog, atlospit, poison in your eye like a flying snake. Then in the next moment he was submerged under the men and women of the clan, all anxious to congratulate him for his feet and to call him brother. The only ones who did not crowd around trying to kiss him on the lips were the officers of the bird and the wife and children of the unfortunate seller, Isker. These were climbing up the rigging to fasten a rope around his waist and lower him. There was one other who remained aloof. That was the harpist, Grazut. He was still sulking at the foot of the mast. Green decided that he'd better keep an eye on him, especially at night, when a knife could be slipped between a sleeper's ribs and the body thrown overboard. He wished now that he'd not gone out of his way to insult the fellow's instrument, but at the time that had seemed the only thing to do. Now he had better try to find some way to pacify him. CHAPTER XIII Two weeks of very hard work and little sleep passed as Green learned the duties of a top salesman. He hated to go aloft, but he found that being up so high had its advantages. It gave him a chance to catch a few winks now and then. There were many crows' nests where musket men were stationed during a fight. Green would slip down into one of these and go to sleep at once. His foster son, Grisquetter, would stand watch for him, waking him if the foretop captain was coming through the rigging toward them. One afternoon, Gris's whistle startled Green out of a sound sleep. However, the captain stopped to give another sailor a lecture. Unable to go back to sleep, Green watched a herd of hoobers take to their hoofs at the approach of the bird. These diminutive equines, beautiful with their orange bodies and black and white manes and fetlocks, sometimes formed emits herds that must have numbered in the hundreds of thousands. So quick were they that they looked like a bobbing sea of flashing heads and gleamy hoofs stretching clear to the horizon. To stretch it to the horizon was something on this planet. The plain was the flattest Green had ever seen. He could scarcely believe that it ran unbroken for thousands of miles. But it did, and from his high point of view he could see in a vast circle. It was a beautiful sight. The grass itself was tall and thick-bodied about two feet high and a sixteenth of an inch through. It was bright Green, brighter than earthly grass, almost shiny. During rainy seasons he was told it would blossom with many tiny white and red flowers and give a pleasing perfume. Now, as Green watched, something happened that startled him. Abruptly, as if a monster-mowing machine had come along the day before, the high grass ended and a lawn began. The new grass seemed to be only an inch high, and the lawn stretched at least a mile wide and as far ahead of the bird as he could see. What do you think of that? He asked Amra's son. Grisquetter shrugged. I don't know. The sailors say that it is done by the woo-roo, an animal the size of a ship, that only comes out at night. It eats grass, but it has the nasty temper of a dire dog and will attack and smash a roller as if it were made of cardboard. Do you believe that? Green said, watching him closely. Grisquetter was an intelligent lad in whom he hoped to plant a few seeds of skepticism. Perhaps some day those seeds might flower into the beginnings of science. I do not know if the story is true or not. It is possible, but I've met nobody who has ever seen a woo-roo. And if it comes out only at night, where does it hide during the daytime? There is no hold in the ground large enough to conceal it. Very good! said Green, smiling. Happily, Grisquetter smiled back. He worshipped his foster-father and nursed every bit of affection or compliment he got from him. Keep that open mind, said Green, neither believe nor disbelieve until you have solid evidence one way or another, and keep on remembering that new evidence may come up that will disprove the old and firmly established. He smiled wily. I could use some of my own advice. I, for instance, had at one time absolutely refused to put any credence in what I have just seen with my own eyes. I put the story down as merely another idle story of those who sail the grassy seas. But I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps there couldn't be an animal of some kind, like the woo-roo. Both were silent for a while as they watched the animals race off like living orange rivers. Overhead the birds wheeled in their hundreds of thousands of numbers. They too were beautiful and even more colorful than the Hoopers. Occasionally, one lit in the rigging in a burst of dazzling feathers and a fury of melodious song or raucous screeches. Look, said the boy, eagerly pointing, a grass-cat. He's been hiding, waiting to catch a Hooper, and now he's afraid he'll be trampled to death by them. Green's gaze followed the other's finger. He saw the long-legged, tiger-striped body loping desperately ahead of the thundering hoofs. It was completely closed in a pocket of the orange-maid beasts. Even as Green saw him, the sides of the pocket collapsed and the big cat disappeared from sight. If he remained alive he would do so through a miracle. Suddenly Griskwater cried, God! What's the matter, cried Green? On the horizon, a sail. It shaped like a wing sail. Other saw it too. The ship ran with shouts. A trumpeter blew battle stations. Miran's voice rose above those of others as he bellowed through a megaphone. Chaos dissolved into order and purpose as everybody went to his appointed place. The animals, children, and pregnant women were marshaled into the hold. The gun crews began unloading barrels of powder with a crane from a hatch. Musketmen swarmed up the rigging. The entire top-mast crew tumbled aloft and took their places. As Green was already in his, he had some leisure to observe the whole outlay of preparations for fight. He watched Amra hurriedly give her children a kiss, make sure that all gone below, then began tearing strips for cloth for bandages, and of wadding for muskets. Once she looked up and waved at him before turning back to her task. He waved back and got a severe ripper man from the top captain for breaking discipline. An extra watch for you, Green, after this is over. The earthmen groaned and wished that the martinet would fall off and break every bone in his body. He lost any more sleep. The day wore on as the strange ship came closer. Another sail appeared behind it and the crew grew even tenser. From all appearances they were being pursued by vings. Vings usually went in pairs. Then there was the shape of the sails, which were narrower at bottom than at top. And there was the long, low, streamlined hull in the over-large wheels. Nevertheless, discipline was somewhat relaxed for a time. The pets and children were allowed to come up and meals were prepared by the women. Even when the swifter craft came close enough so that the color of the sails was seen to be scarlet, thereby confirming their suspicions of the stranger's identity, battle stations weren't recalled. Miron estimated that by the time the vings were within cannon range night would fall. This is what they hate and what we love. He said, pacing back and forth, fingering his nose, wringing and blinking nervously his one good eye. It'll be an hour before the big moon comes up. Not only that, it looks as though clouds may arise. See? He cried to the first mate. By Merinox is that not a wisp I detect in the northeast quarter? By all the gods, I believe it is, said the mate, peering upward, seeing nothing but clear sky but hoping that wishing would make the clouds come true. Ah, Merinox is good to his favorite worshipper, said Miron. He that loves thee shall profit. Book of the true gods, chapter 10, verse 8. And Merinox knows I love him with compound interest. Yes, that he does, said the mate, but what is your plan? As soon as the last glow of the sun disappears completely from the horizon, so our silhouette won't be revealed, will swing and cut across their direct path of advance. We know that they'll be travelling fairly close together, hoping to catch up with us and blast us with crossfire. Well, we'll give them a chance, but we'll be gone before they can seize it. We'll go right between them in the dark and fire on both. By the time they're ready to reply, we'll have slipped on by. And then, he whooped slapping his fat thigh, they'll probably cannonade each other to flinders. Each thinking the other is us. Ho, ho, ho, ho! Merinox had better be with us, said the mate, peeling. It'll take damn tight calculating, and more than a bit of luck. We'll be going by dead reckoning. Not until we're almost on them, will we see them. And if we're headed straight at them, it'll be too late to avoid a collision. A room smash, boom, we're done for. That's very true, but we're done for if we don't pull some trick like that. They'll have caught us by dawn, they can't outmaneuver us, and they've more combined gunfire. And though we'll fight like grass-cats, we'll go down and you know what'll happen then. The Vings don't take prisoners unless they're at the end of a cruise and going into port. We should have accepted the duke's offer of a convoy of frigates, muttered the mate. Then one would have been enough to make the odds favor us. What? And lose half the profits of this voyage because we have to pay that Robert duke for the use of his warships? Have you lost your mind, mate? If I have, I'm not the only one," said the mate, turning into the wind, so his words were lost. But the helmsman heard him and reported the conversation later. In five minutes it was all over the ship. Sure, he's greedy, guts himself, the crew said. But then we're his relatives. We know the value of a penny. And isn't the fat old darling the daring one, though? Who but a captain of the clan, a Finnecan, would think of such a trick and carry it through too? And if he's such a money grubber, why then wouldn't he be afraid to risk his vessel and cargo, not to mention his own precious blood, not to mention the even more precious blood of his relatives? No, Miron may be one eyed and big-bellied and short of temper and wind, but he's the man to hold down the foredeck. Brother, dip me another glass from that barrel, and let's toast again the cool courage and hot avariciousness of Captain Miron, master merchant! Grodsuit, the plump little harpist with the effeminate menors, took his harp and began singing the song the clan loved the most, the story of how they, a hill-tribe, had come down to the plains a generation ago, and how there they had crept into the windbreak of the city of Chulsage, and stolen a great wind-roller, and how they had ever since been men of the grassy seas of the vast flat Zormador, and had sailed their stolen craft until it was destroyed in a great battle with a whole rink and spunger fleet, and how they had boarded a ship of the fleet and slain all the men and taken the women prisoners, and sailed off with the ship right through the astounded fleet, and how they had taken the women as slaves and bred children, and how the affinicand blood was now half crink and sprueger, and that was where they got their blue eyes, and how the clan now owned three big merchant ships or had until two years ago when the other two rolled over the green horizon during the month of the oak and were never heard of again, but they come back some day with strange tales and holes brimming with jewels, and how the clan had sailed under that mighty, grasping, shrewd, lucky, religious man, Miran. Whatever else you could say about Grazut, you could not deny that he had a fine baritone. Green, listening to his voice rise from the deck far below, could vision the rise and fall and rise again of these people, and could appreciate why they were so arrogant and close-fisted and suspicious and brave. Indeed, if he had been born on this planet, he could have wanted no finer, more romantic, gypsy-ish life than that of a sailor on a wind-roller, provided that is that he could get plenty of sleep. The boom of a cannon disturbed his reverie. He looked up just in time to see the ball appear at the end of its arc and flash by him. It was not enough to scare him, but watching it plow into the ground about twenty feet away from the starboard steering-wheel made him realize what damage one lucky shot could do. However, the ving did not try again. He was a canny pirate who knew better than to throw away ammunition. Doubtless he was hoping to panic the merchantmen into a frenzy of replies, powder-wasting and useless. Useless because the sun set just then, and in a few minutes dusk was gone and darkness was all around them. Miron didn't even bother to tell his men to hold their fire, since they wouldn't have dreamed of touching off the cannon until he gave the word. Instead he repeated that no light should be shown and that the children must go below decks and must be kept quiet. No one was to make a noise. Then, casting one last glance at the positions of the pursuing craft, now rapidly dissolving into the night, he estimated the direction and strength of the wind. It was as it had been the day they set sail, an east wind, dead a stern, a good wind pushing them along at eighteen miles an hour. Miron spoke in a soft voice to the first mate and the other officers, and they disappeared into the darkness shrouding the decks. They were giving pre-arranged orders, not by the customary bellowing through a megaphone, but by low voices and touches. While they directed the crew, Miron stood with bare feet upon the foredeck. He held a half-crouching posture and acted as if he were detecting the moves of the invisible sailors by the vibrations of their activities running through the wood of the decks and the spars in the masks end up his feet. Miron was a fat nerve-center that gathered in all the unspoken messages scattered everywhere through the body of the bird. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and if he hesitated or doubted because of the solid blackness around him, he gave the helmsman no sign. His voice was firm. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Now, swing her hard a-port. Hold her. Hold her. To green, high up on the topmost bar of the foremast, the turning about seemed an awful and unnatural deed. He could feel the hull, and with it his mast, of course, leaning over and over, until his senses told him that they must inevitably capsize and send him crashing to the ground. But his senses lied, for though he seemed to fall forever, the time came when the journey back toward an upright position began. Then he was sure he would keep falling the other way forever. Suddenly the sails fluttered. The vessel had come into the dead spot where there was no wind acting upon her canvas. Then, as her original impetus kept her going, the canvas boomed, seeming to his straining and oversensitive ears like cannon-firing. This time the wind was catching her from what was for her a completely unnatural direction, from dead ahead. As a result the sails filled out backwards, and their middle portions pressed against the masts. The roller came almost to a stop at once. The rigging groaned, and the masts themselves creaked loudly. Then they were bending backwards while the sailors, clinging to them in the darkness, swore under their breaths and clamped down desperately on their hand-holes. "'Gods!' said Green. What is he doing?' "'Quiet!' said a nearby man, the fore-top captain. "'Muron is going to run her backwards.' Green gasped, but he made no further comment, trying to visualize what a strange sight the bird of fortune must be, and wishing it were daylight so he could see her. He sympathized with the helmsmen, who had to act against their entire training. It was bad enough strain for them to try to sail blindly between two vessels. But to roll in reverse they would have to put the helm to port when their reflexes cried out to them to put it starboard and vice versa, and no doubt Muron was aware of this and was warning them about it every few seconds. Green began to see what was happening. By now the bird was rolling on her farmer course, but at a reduced rate because the sails bellowing against the masts would not offer as much surface to the wind. Therefore the vain vessels would by now be almost upon them, since the merchant ship had also lost much ground in her maneuver. In one or two minutes the vain would overtake them, would for a short while ride side by side with them, then would pass. Provided, of course, that Muron had estimated correctly his speed and rate of curve in turning, otherwise they might even now expect a crash from the foredeck as the bow of the vain caught them. Oh, Bookstor, prayed the foretop captain, steer us right else you lose your most devout worshipper, Muron. Bookstor, Green recalled, was the god of madness. Suddenly a hand gripped Green's shoulder. It was the captain of the foretop. Don't you see them? he said softly. They're a blacker black than the night. Green strained his eyes. Was it his imagination or did he actually see something moving to his right? And another something. The hint of a hint moving to his left. Whatever it was, roller or illusion, Muron must have also seen it. His voice shattered the night into a thousand pieces and it was never again the same. Canoneers, fire! Suddenly it was as if Fireflies had been hiding and had swarmed out at his command. All along the rails little lights appeared. Green was startled even though he knew that the punks had been concealed beneath blankets so that the veins would have no warning at all. Then the Fireflies became long-glowing worms as the fuses took flame. There was a great roar and the ship rocked. Iron demons belched flame. No sooner done than musketry broke out like a hot rash all over the ship. Green himself was part of this, blazing away at the vessel momentarily and dimly revealed by the light of the cannon fire. Darkness fell, but silence was gone. The men cheered, the decks trembled as the big wooden trains holding the cannon were run back to the ports from which they'd recoiled. As for the pirates, there was no answering fire. Not at first. They must have been taken completely by surprise. Muron shouted again. Again the big guns roared. Green, reloading his musket, found that he was bracing himself against a tendency to lean to the right. It was a few seconds before he could comprehend that the bird was turning in that direction even though it was still going backwards. Why is he doing that? He shouted. Fool, we can't roll up the sails. Stop, then set sail again. We'd be right where we started sailing backwards. We have to turn while we have momentum, and how better to do that than reverse our maneuver. We'll swing around until we're headed in our original direction. Green understood now. The Vings had passed them, therefore they were in no danger of collision with them, and they couldn't continue sailing backwards all night. The thing to do now would be to cut off at an angle so that at daybreak they'd be far from the pirates. At that moment cannon fire broke out to their left. The men aboard the bird refrained from cheering only because of Muron's threats to maroon them on the plane if they did anything to reveal their position. Nevertheless, they all bared their teeth in silent laughter. Rafty old Muron had sprung his best trap. As he'd hoped, the two pirates, unaware that their attacker was now behind them, were shooting each other. Let them bang away until they blow each other sky high, charmed the four-top master. Ha, ha, ha, Muron, what a tale we'll have to tell on the taverns when we get to port. CHAPTER XIV For five minutes the intermittent flashes and bellows told that the Vings were still hammering away. Then the dark took hold again. Apparently the two had either recognized each other or else had decided that night-fighting was a bad business and had steered away from each other. If this last was true then they wouldn't be much to fear, for one Ving wouldn't attack the merchant by itself. The clouds broke and the big and the little moons spread brightness everywhere. The pirate vessels were not in sight, nor were they seen when the dawn broke. There was sail half a mile away, but this alarm no one except the untutored Green, because they recognized its shape as a sister. It was a merchant from the nearby city of Dim, of the dukedom of Patsahili. Green was glad. They could sail with it, safety in numbers. But no! Muron, after hailing it and finding that it also was going to Astoria, ordered every bit of canvas crowded on in an effort to race away from it. Is he crazy, groaned Green, to a sailor? Like a Xilmar, replied the sailor, referring to a fox-like animal that dwelt in the hills, we must get to Astoria first if we would realize the full value of our cargo. Utter feather-brained folly, snarled Green. That ship doesn't carry live fish. It can't possibly compete with us. No, but we have other things to sell. Besides, it's in Muron's blood. If he saw another merchant pass him, he'd come down sick. Green threw his hands into the air and rolled his eyes and despair. Then he went back to work. There was much to do yet before he'd be allowed to sleep. The days and nights passed in the hard routine of his labour, and the alarms and excursions that occasionally broke up the routine. Now and then the gig was launched while the roller was in full speed and it sped away under the power of its white four-and-aft sail. It would be loaded with hunters who would chase a hoober or deer or pygmy hog until it became exhausted, then would shoot the tired animal. They always brought back plenty of fresh meat. As for water, the catch tanks on the deck were full because it rained at least half an hour at every noon and dusk. Green wondered at the regularity and promptness of these showers. The clouds would appear at twelve. It would rain for thirty to sixty minutes. Then the sky would clear again. It was all very nice, but it was also very puzzling. Sometimes he was allowed to try target practice from the crow's nest. On the grass-cats are the huge dire-dogs. These latter run in packs of half a dozen to twenty and would often pace the bird, howling and growling and sometimes running between the wheels. The sailors had quite a few tales of what they did to people who fell overboard or were wrecked on the plains. Green shuttered and went back to his target practice. Though he ordinarily was against shooting animals just for the fun of it, he had no compunction about putting a ball through these wolfish-looking creatures. Ever since he'd been permitted by Alzo he'd hated dogs with a passion unbecoming to a civilized man. Of course the fact that every canine on the planet instinctively loathed him because of his earthmen odor and did his best to sink his teeth into him strengthened Green's reaction. His legs were always healing from bites of the pets aboard. Often the roller would cruise through grass tall as a man's knee. Then suddenly it would pass on to one of those tremendous lawns which seemed so well-kept. Green had never ceased puzzling about them, but all he could get from any one was one or more variations of the fable of the Wuru, the herbivore bigger than two ships put together. One day they passed a wreck. Its burned hulk lay sideways on the ground and here and there bones gleamed in the sun. Green expressed surprise that the masts, wheels, and cannon were gone. He was told that those had been taken away by the savages who roamed the plains. They used the wheels for their own craft which are really nothing but large sailing platforms, land rafts you might say, Amra told him. On these they pitched their tents and their fireplaces, and from them they go forth to hunt. Some of them, however, disdain platforms and make their home upon the roaming islands. Green smiled but said nothing about that fairy story because disbelief excited these people, even Amra. You'll not see many wrecks, she continued. Not because there aren't many, for there are. Out of every ten rollers that leave for distant breaks, you can expect only six to get back. That few? I'm amazed that with such a casualty ratio, you could get anybody to risk his fortune in life. You forget that he who comes back is many times richer than when he sailed away. Look at Miron. He is taxed heavily at every port of call. He is taxed even more heavily in his home port, and he has to split with the Klansmen, though he does get a tenth of the profit of every cargo. Despite this he is the richest manning quats, richer even than the Duke. Yes, but a man is the fool to take risks like these just for the remote chance of a fortune, he protested. Then he stopped. After all, for what other reason had the Norsemen gone to America and Columbus to the West Indies? Or why were so many hundreds of thousands of earthmen daring the perils of interstellar space? What about himself, for instance? He left a stable and well-paying job on earth as a specialist in raising sea-crops to go to push over a planet of albureto. He'd expect it to make his fortune there after two years of not-so-hard work and then retire. If only that accident hadn't happened. Of course, some of the pioneers weren't driven by the profit motive. There was such a thing as love of adventure, not a pure love, however. Even the most adventurous saw El Dorado gleaming somewhere in the wilds. Greed conquered more frontiers than curiosity. You'd think the ruins of rollers would not be rare, even if these plains are vast, said Amra, breaking in on his reflections. But the savages and pirates must salvage them as fast as they're made. Your pardon, mother, for interrupting, said Grisquetter. I heard a sailor, Zube, remark on that very thing just the other day. He said that he once saw a roller that had been gutted by pirates, he supposed. It was three days' journey out of Yeskayavach, the city of Quartz in the far north. He said their roller was a week there, then returned on the same route. But when they came to where the wreck had been it was gone, every bit of it. Even the bones of the dead sailors were missing. And he said that reminded him of a story his father had told him when he was young. He said his father told him that his ship had once almost run into a huge uncharged hold in the plain. It was big, at least two hundred feet across, and earth had been piled up outside like the crater of a volcano. At first that was what they thought it was, a volcano just beginning, even though they'd never heard of such a thing on the Zormador. Then they met a ship whose men had seen the hole made. It was cause they said by a mighty falling star, a meteor, commented green, and it had dug that great hole. Well, that was as good an explanation as any. But the amazing thing was that when they came by that very spot a month later the hole was gone. It was filled up and smoothed out, and grass was growing over it as if nothing had ever broken the skin of the earth. Now, how do you explain that, foster father? There are more things in heaven and earth than ever your philosophies dreamed of, Horatio. Green nonchalantly replied, though he felt as though he wasn't quoting exactly right. Amra and her son blinked. Oh, Horatio? Never mind. The 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 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. Jored out of his reverie he automatically apologized in English. Don't curse at me in your foreign tongue, snarled Grazut, the plump little harpist. Esker was standing behind Grazut. He spoke out of the side of his mouth urging the bard on. He thinks he can walk all over you, Grazut, because he insulted your harp once and you let him get away with it. Grazut puffed out his cheeks, reddening in the face and glared. It is only because Midan has forbidden duel that I have not plunged my dagger into this son of an isot. 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 Grazut. Do you think Midan carries it 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. Grazut 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 hotheaded that 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, Grazut called out, O 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 Grazut, bless for me. He turned to those around him. Did you hear that? Yes, said Iskher, stepping out from the crowd. I heard him and I am shocked. Men have burned for less. O my patron god, T'nu Scala, 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. Ah, guy! 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 Iskher and Grazut, she'd get little justice. As for Medan, the fellow would probably weave 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 Tropot. He climbed up to the crow's nest and settled gloomily to staring off at the horizon. Just before sunset, Grisquetter 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 Grisquetter, trying hard to keep your 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. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of The Green Odyssey by Philip Jose Farmer This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Chapter 15 A rocket flare Yes, Mother says that you are to release it when you hear the Boson's whistle from the deck. Now, why in the world would I do that? Won't I get in 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 him. Mother said for me to tell you that nobody will be able to prove who set 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 Iskher and Grazoud 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 storeroom, and what a search is conducted, and one flare is found hidden in Iskher's trunk then. Well, you see. Oh, beamish boy, Chardle Green. 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 Bosun'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 Azaksu, Grisquetter said, referring to his younger brother. We'll be watching Iskher and Grazoud, and when they start to climb aloft we'll notify her. She'll wait until she thinks they're about half way 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 him. 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, did she? Did she whistle? Well, yes, well... Thoroughly ashamed of himself, yet angry at Amra for her estimate of him, Green miserably watched Grisquetter climb down the red lines. 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 crammed 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 Esker and Grazut knew the locations of these. So dark was it that 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 helmsman 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 about 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. 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 horse 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 eyesots! 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 Gritzquetter 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 tenderbox 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 tender 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 protective cover. He couldn't see what he was doing, but if he held the tender 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's flares, a 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 Iskher and Grazut 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 damnedest! 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 tender caught it 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 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 for many 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 prerative 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 Iskher and Grazut 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 ricking 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 of 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. CHAPTER XVI 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 rotor 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 didn't just run along on 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 mass 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 mass falling down, thundered, intermingled with all that were the screams of the people below the deck and in the holes. Green himself was screaming as he felt the four-mast 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 mass 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 of 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 into, and most of the mid-deck 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. Growning, 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 Poxie and her other children were in there, that is, unless they had 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 day's 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 that 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. Oh, 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 killed indiscriminately and hysterically, like all indiscipline primitives, they spared the younger women and the little girls. Those able to walk were lined up and marched off under the guard of a half a dozen spearmen. The two 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 Poxy 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 a peasant or prince. Insox, her maid, stood behind her. Green decided that he'd better try to follow her and her captors at a discrete 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 an 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. CHAPTER XVII. Green stayed far enough behind the prisoners and savages to keep out of sight of 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 communal 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 rainwater. 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 him south 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 found at the wreck. Some of the old crones then began piling brushwood and small logs under one of the large iron kettles. Presently they had a fire blazing brightly. Others brought out glasses and cups of precious metals looted from wrecks. These were 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 in 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 him trailing along in the dark, though the warriors may 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 longhouses. He slipped inside and stood by the side of the doorway. It was more illuminated than he thought at first because of the several large and open windows which admitted moonbeams. Hins sleepily clucked at him and one of the midget pigs grunted questioningly. Suddenly something soft brushed across his ankles. Startled he jumped 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 mewing 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 reminding 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 him 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 and 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 leave-taking, had laid 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 stair 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 everyone'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 ricking. 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. He put his mouth to one of the holes and said softly, Amra! Somebody gasped. A little girl began to cry, but was quickly hushed up. Amra answered, faint with joy. Alan, it can't be you! I am not thy father's ghost, he replied, and wondered at the same time how he could manage to inject any levity at all into the midst of this desperate situation. He was always doing it. Perhaps it was not the product of a true humor, but more like the giggle of a person who was embarrassed or under some stress, more the result of hysteria than anything else, his particular type of safety valve. Here's what I'm going to do, he said. Listen carefully, then repeat it after me, so I'll know you have it down. She had only to hear it once to give it back to him letter perfect. He nodded. Good girl, I'm going now. Alan! Yes, he replied, impatiently. If this doesn't work, if anything should happen to you or me, remember that I love you. He sighed. Even in the midst of this, the eternal feminine emerged. I love you too, but that hasn't got much to do with this situation. Before she could answer and waste more valuable time, he slid away, crawling on all fours around the corner of the hut. When he was where one more pace would have brought him into view of the guard and the old crones, he stopped. All this while he'd been counting the seconds. As soon as he clocked five minutes, which he thought would never pass, he rose and stepped swiftly around the corner, spear held in front of him. The guard was drinking out of his mug with his eyes closed and his throat exposed. He fell over with green spear plunged through his windpipe just above the breastbone. The mug fell onto his lap and gushed its amber and foam over his legs. Green withdrew the blade and whirled, ready to run upon anybody who started to flee. But the old women were huddled on their knees, around a large board on which they were rolling some flour, cackling and talking shrilly. The blind boy continued tapping his open eyes glaring into the fire. Only one saw Green, a boy of about three. Thumb in mouth he stared with great round eyes at this stranger, but he was either too horrified to utter a sound or else he did not understand what had happened and was waiting to find out his elder's reactions before he offered his own. Green lifted one finger to his lips in the universal sign of silence, then turned and lifted up the bar over the door. Amra rushed out and took the guard's spear from her husband. The dead man's knife went to Insox and his other knife to Aga, a tall muscular woman who was captain of the female deckhands and who had once killed a sailor while defending her somewhat dubious honor. At the same time the chattering of the hag stopped. Green whirled around and the silence was broken by shrieks. Frantically the hags tried to scramble up from their stiffened knees and run away, but Green and the women were upon them before they could take more than a few steps. Not one of them reached the forest. It was grim work, one in which the Iphinecan women took fierce joy. Without wasting a look on the poor old carcasses, Green rounded up the children and the blind boy and put them in the prisoner's hut. He had to hold Aga back from slaughtering them. Amra, he was pleased to see, had made no motion to help them in their intended butchery. She, understanding his brief look, replied, I could not kill a child, even the spawn of these fiends. It would be like stabbing Paxi. Green saw one of the women holding his daughter. He ran to her, took Paxi out of her arms, and kissed the baby. Soon Amra's ten-year-old child by the sculptor came shyly and stood by his side, waiting to be noticed. He kissed her too. You're getting to be a big girl soon, he said. Do you suppose you could tag along behind your mother and carry Paxi for her? She has to carry her spear. The girl, a big-eyed, red-headed beauty, knotted and took the baby. Green eyed the long houses with the idea of setting them a fire. He decided not to when it became apparent that the wind would carry sparks to the hut in which the savage's children were. Moreover, though a fire would undoubtedly create consternation among the roisterers at the wreck and keep them busy for some time, it would also cause them to start tracking down the refugees just that much sooner. Besides, there was the possibility of setting fire to the forest, wet though it was. He didn't want to destroy his only hiding place. He directed some women to go into the long house and load themselves with as much food and weapons as they could carry. In a few minutes he had the party ready to leave. We'll take this path that leads out of the village away from the path that goes to the wreck, he said. Let's hope it goes to the other edge of the island where we may find some small rollers on which we can escape. I presume these savages have some kind of sailing-craft. This path was as narrow and winding as the other one. It worked in the general direction of the western shore and the savages were on the eastern shore. Their way at first led upward, sometimes through passes formed by two large rocks. Several times they had to skirt little lakes, catch basins for rain. Once a fish flopped out of the water scaring them. The island was fairly self- sufficient what with its fish, rabbits, squirrels, wild fowl, pigs, and various vegetables and fruit. He estimated that if the village was in the center of the island then the mass should have a surface area of about one and a half square miles. Rough though the land was and thickly covered with grass, the place should offer cover for one refugee. For one, yes, but not for six women and a children. End of Chapter 17