“Ah, cousin? The work goes well, eh? Good, good!”
It was the gallant old swordmaster, Lukor, said this. Dr. Abziz stiffened in his chair as if suddenly finding a cobra coiled up in his lap. He utterly and completely detested Lukor, for Lukor was a Ganatolian, and the only thorn in the side of the vastly inflated ego of the Soraban pedant was the fact that he was not of the purest Perushtarian blood. His mother had been a Ganatolian woman, and it was through her, of course, that he inherited the capacity for hirsute adornment, unknown to Perushtarians of pure descent. Lukor had discovered, quite early on, that while the irascible little geographer loved his thrusting tuft of beard with a rare passion, he distinctly disliked being reminded of his mixed heritage. It was therefore only natural for Lukor to bring up the subject of the Ganatolian side of Dr. Abziz’s lineage at every possible conversational turn, for he delighted in puncturing a swollen ego almost as much as he enjoyed pricking a foeman’s gullet with the point of his steel.
“If this … ah … gentleman could desist in claiming a familial relationship which could not conceivably exist, perhaps a scholar of some distinction could be permitted to resume his labors,” Dr. Abziz implored of the room at large in a strangled tone.
Lukor chuckled, eyes twinkling merrily.
“With the very greatest pleasure, I am sure!” he said heartily. “Nothing delights me more than to accommodate a fellow-countryman! Ah,” he breathed gustily, “how pleasant it is, here among all you Shondakorians and Perushtarians and Tharkolians and other such―like foreigners, for a poor, elderly, lonely, gentleman―adventurer from Ganatol to stumble upon a friendly face from home!”
And with that he dealt the fuming little doctor a stout thump between the shoulder blades that must have rattled his teeth. Abziz squeezed his eyes shut and pursed up his mouth as if in suffering so acute that words failed him.
Trying to conceal a grin, Valkar swooped down on Lukor, who was about to launch another conversational sally, and, firmly linking arm in arm with him, bore him away.
“Will you visit my cabin and share a rare old bottle of quarra, swordmaster?” the tactful prince asked. “I’d appreciate your expert opinion on the vintage …”
Lukor smacked his lips, eyeing Dr. Abziz doubtfully, but permitted the young prince to bear him off down the corridor. Next to a good fight, or to tormenting the waspish little Perushtarian geographer, the gallant old master-swordsman from Ganatol relished a fine vintage of quarra.* Valkar had foresightedly laid in a sizable supply of the beverage, as soon as he had seen how things lay between the peppery little cartographer and the silver-haired Ganatolian swordmaster.
As the door closed behind them, Dr. Abziz cautiously opened one eye and peered about, almost as if expecting Lukor to pop up from behind a chair and yell “boo”; ascertaining to his satisfaction that his tormentor had quit the premises, the little pedant uttered a snort and a loud sniff―a combination of sounds which somehow managed to convey at once disgust, relief, and satisfaction.
“Your forgiveness, my lords,” he snapped. “But I cannot endure the presence of that―that―swaggerer! Seizing upon a fancied likeness to his late great-uncle, the fellow has thrust himself upon me at every turn, reeking of quarra, smirking, unreeling interminable family histories and genealogies, obdurately refusing to so much as listen to my patient, irrefutable arguments that we could not conceivably, by any stretch of the imagination, be related! Insufferable lout! That a mature gentleman of his years should swagger about like a young bravo, that―that terrible weapon slapping about his spindly shanks …. ohh!”
The doctor shuddered and closed his eyes again as if to blot the horrendous image from his memory.
The youthful Tomar, perhaps too young to see the humor in the scene, spoke up anxiously.
“Doctor, I, I’m sure Sir Lukor meant nothing by it; he’s a wonderful old gentleman, and―and Prince Jandar says he is the finest swordsman in all the world, even though he is so very old. But he really shouldn’t annoy a great scholar like yourself, because we’re depending on you to figure out our route to Kuur, and we know it must be very hard to do, and that only a great intellect could have the knowledge …”
The plump features of Dr. Abziz, which had been pursed into a tight expression as if he smelled something vile, relaxed at the boy’s earnest words. He beamed on the youngster with something resembling a fond eye. Stiffly cold and formal with the rest of the officers, including myself, Dr. Abziz―unlikely as it may seem―had conceived of a certain fondness for the brave, manly, good-natured youth.
As he made quiet thanks to Tomar for his words, I reflected there might be hope for the old pedant yet. If Tomar could elicit a word of thanks from the stiff-necked old fellow, there might be a chance we could persuade him to join the human race after all!
Since the doctor had appropriated the stateroom for his studies, we tactfully left it to him and reascended the winding stair to the windy balustrade. Before long the clustered towers of Tharkol rose over the horizon, and, as we drifted nearer, we saw that the Conqueress and the Empress were already aloft, waiting for our arrival. Aboard the former would be Princess Zamara herself, for the beautiful young Tharkolian queen was a swordswoman of no mean repute, and eager to match her steel against the villainous Mind Wizards.
Also aboard the Conqueress I expected to find my old friend Glypto, the wily and cunning Soraban master-spy who had so brilliantly masqueraded, on our last adventure together, as a cowardly, sniveling, whimpering lickspittle of a starveling thief. The remarkably homely little fellow had played the part to consummate perfection, and never once during the days and weeks we adventured together had I the slightest suspicion his groveling, whining, self-pitying manner was assumed; nor that his beaked nose, stubbled and hollowed cheeks and glittering, wary eye concealed a calm, cool intelligence, agile, resourceful, fearless, and clever.
Streaming with banners, the Conqueress came about with majestic grace as we approached the city. As had been the case in royal Shondakor, the citizenry of Tharkol had turned out in strength for this momentous and historic occasion, and the broad avenues and mighty plazas and forums of the Scarlet City were gaily bedecked as if for holiday, and thronged with massed thousands who waved at us the flags of our own kingdom in friendly salute.
For several minutes the four galleons of the clouds circled about the city, gliding in a stately procession, tracing a circuit of the walls of Tharkol. To those thousands who viewed the amazing and beautiful aerial procession from below in the streets and squares of the city, it must have resembled a stately slow-motion ballet in the skies.
Then, assembling according to previous arrangements, the four mighty frigates formed an arrowhead or chevron formation, with the Jalathadar, as flagship of the armada, taking her position in the point of the arrowhead.
Now joined together in this high emprise, the armada glided from the circle and soared grandly off into the west, leaving the flag-bedecked city of Tharkol to cheer itself hoarse in our wake.
And thus began what promised to be the most incredible and momentous of my many adventures on the Jungle Moon, as we set forth on our expedition to the edge of the world and beyond ….
Chapter 5
Journey to the World’s Edge
At the height of nearly half a mile above the surface of Callisto, the aerial armada of the Three Cities sailed majestically into the unknown west of the world.
On the glass-enclosed bridge of the Jalathadar, I mused yet once again on the mighty airships and the marvel of human ingenuity they represented. Nothing remotely akin to them had ever cruised through the blue skies of my native world, save in the fantastic romances of Jules Verne and the cryptic notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci. I suppose the ponderous and stately dirigibles of my planet’s transient era of lighter-than-air flight must have seen something faintly akin to these majestic clippers of the clouds, but those days were long since past.