Corbus nodded wryly. “You need something of the sort.” He turned to Nymaster. “Fill a tub. Get some clothes.”
Nymaster turned away wordlessly.
“They hauled me to their abbatoir,” said Glystra. “They threw me in a bin full of corpses. When the head-boiler came with his knife, I jumped out at him, and he went into a fit. I escaped through the wall.”
“Did they pump you full of nerve-juice?”
Glystra nodded. “It’s quite an experience.” During his bath he gave Corbus and Nymaster an account of his adventures.
“And now what?” Corbus asked.
“Now,” said Glystra, “we do Charley Lysidder one in the eye.”
Half an hour later, slipping through the gardens, they looked out on the marble courtyard where the Bajarnum’s air-boat rested. A man in a scarlet tunic and black boots lounged against the hood. An ion-shine at his waist.
“What do you think?” whispered Glystra.
“If we can get in it, I can fly it,” said Corbus.
“Good. I’ll run around behind him. You attract his attention.” He disappeared.
Corbus waited two minutes, then stepped out into the court-yard, levelled his ion-shine. “Don’t move,” he said.
The guard straightened, blinked angrily. “What’s the—” Glystra appeared behind him. There was a dull sound; the guard sagged. Glystra took his weapon, waved to Corbus. “Let’s go.”
Myrtlesee Fountain dwindled below them. Glystra laughed exultantly. “We’re free, Corbus—we’ve done it.”
Corbus looked out across the vast dark expanse. “I won’t believe it until I see Earth Enclave below us.”
Glystra looked at him in surprise. “Earth Enclave?”
Corbus said tartly. “Do you propose to fly to Grosgarth?”
“No. But think. We’re in a beautiful position. Charley Lysidder is marooned at Myrtlesee Fountain—without his air-car, without his radio to call for another, if he owns one.”
“There’s always the monoline,” said Corbus. “That’s fast enough. He can be back in Grosgarth in four days.”
“The monoline—exactly. He’ll use the monoline. That’s where we’ll have him.”
“Maybe easier said than done. He won’t venture out unless he goes armed to the teeth.”
“I don’t doubt it. He might conceivably send someone else back to Grosgarth, but only if he owns another air-car. We’ll have to make sure. There’s a spot, as I recall, where the monoline passes under a bluff, which should suit us very well.”
Corbus shrugged. “I don’t like to play a string of luck too far—”
“We don’t need luck now. We’re not the poor hagridden fugitives that we were; we know what we’re doing. Before the Bajarnum was hunting us; now we’re hunting him. Right down there—” Glystra pointed “—that bald-headed bluff. We’ll settle on top and wait out the night. Early tomorrow—if he’s coming at all—we should see Charley Lysidder scudding west under full press of sail. He’ll want to get back to Grosgarth as soon as possible.”
20
Vacancy in Beaujolais
Some two hours after dawn a white speck of sail came drifting across the desert from the green smudge that was Myrtlesee Fountain.
“Here comes the Bajarnum,” said Glystra, with evident satisfaction.
The trolley drew closer, swinging and swaying with the changing force of the wind. It was a long pack-car, equipped with two long lateen booms, and flew down the line gracefully as a white swan.
With a hum and spin of great wheels the contrivance of wood and canvas slid under them, whirled on into the west. Four men and one woman rode the platform: Charley Lysidder, three Beaujolain nobles in scarlet tunics, elaborate black felt hats and black boots—and Nancy.
Glystra looked after the diminishing sail-car. “None of them wore pleasant expressions.”
“But they all wore ion-shines,” Corbus pointed out. “It’ll be a risky business going near them.”
“I don’t intend to go near them.” Glystra rose to his feet, started back toward the air-car.
Corbus said with mild testiness, “I don’t mind chasing after you if I know what you’ve got on your mind; but if you ask me you’re carrying this superman business a little too far.”
Glystra stopped short. “Do I really give that impression?” He looked reflectively across the sandy wastes toward the green paradise of Myrtlesee. “Perhaps it’s the normal state of the psyche after such a traumatic shock.”
“What’s the normal state?”
“Introversion. Egocentricity.” He sighed. “I’ll try to adjust myself.”
“Maybe I’ll take a dose of that poison too.”
“I’ve been thinking along the same lines. But now— let’s catch Charley Lysidder.” He slid into the air-car.
They flew west, over the tortured hills of obsidian, the mounds of white sand, the rock flat, over the verge of the great cliff. They slanted down, skimmed low over the tumble of rock and scrub, already shimmering in the morning heat.
The monoline rising to the lip of the cliff etched a vast flat curve, a spiderweb line against the sky. Glystra veered west, flew a mile past the bottom platform, landed under one of the stanchions. “Here we violate the first of Clodleberg’s commandments: we cut the line. In fact we excise a hundred feet—the length between two of the stanchions should be enough.”
He climbed one pole, slashed the line; Corbus did the same at the second.
“Now,” said Glystra, “we double the line, tie the bight to the under-frame.”
“Here’s a swingle-bar; that suit you?”
“Fine. Two round turns and a couple half-hitches should do the trick—” he watched while Corbus made the line fast. “—and now we go back to the bottom anchor.”
They returned to the platform from which the monoline rose to the lip of the cliff. Glystra landed the air-car in the shadow of the platform, jumped to the landing. “Pass up one of those ends from under the boat.”
Corbus pulled one of the trailing lengths clear, tossed it up.
“Now,” said Glystra, “we make fast to the monoline with a couple of rolling hitches.”
“Ah,” said Corbus. “I begin to catch on. The Bajarnum won’t like it.”
“The Bajarnum is not being consulted… You get into the car, in case the weight of the monoline starts to drag… Ready?”
“Ready.”
Glystra cut the monoline at a point four feet past the first of his hitches. The line sang apart, the connection to the air-car took hold, and a long wave swerved up the line and out of sight. The air-car now served as the bottom anchor to the monoline.
Glystra joined Corbus. “I give them about an hour. A little less if the wind is good.”
Time passed. Phaedra shouldered huge and dazzling into the dark blue Big Planet sky. Off into the brush a few albino savages lurked and peered. Insects like eels with a dozen dragonfly wings slid easily into the air, threading the harsh gray branches. Round pink toads with eyes on antennae hopped among the rocks. At the top of the cliff appeared a spot of white.
“Here they come,” said Corbus.
Glystra nodded. “The ride of their life coming up.”
The white spot at the top of the cliff dipped over the edge, started down the long curve. Glystra chuckled. “I’d like to watch the Bajarnum’s face.”
He pushed down the power-arm. The car lifted from behind the platform, climbed into the air—up, up, as high as the lip of the cliff. The trolley rolled down into the lowest section of the loop, slowed, hung suspended, helpless. Five black dots were the passengers—agitated, outraged, uncertain.
Glystra flew above the trolley to the monoline landing at the top of the cliff, settled on the platform. The second length of line under the air-car he made fast to that section of the monoline which led over the cliff. He cut it, and now the trolley with its five occupants hung entirely suspended from the air car.