saddle. But the convoy progressed west, away from the hills. They were making distance steadily, if slowly. But every kilometre gained was an invaluable margin of safety.
There were no further sounds of Screamers in the dark. Night time on the plains was a good time for wandering giga-moths, but Snapper could see none of the annoying creatures silhouetted in the sky. Night beasts ran and flitted through the scrub, and a few predators called far off in the dark, but all seemed normal enough. It was a quiet night in the wilds.
After the third ridge was passed, the land dropped down to great fields of scree, crossing shattered old roads. Ruins hereabout had all been combed through long ago, providing metal, scrap and artefacts to bring life to good old Spark Town. The first stark, grey light of pre-dawn found Snapper and Captain Beau riding side by side across a gravel field, their shadows stretched long across the dust. Flocks of dandelion birds wheeled somewhere off against the coming dawn. A few huge walker trees were migrating across the plains. To the west, tree lines showed the presence of a meandering watercourse. Snapper reined in, and the exhausted Onan halted on a rocky crest. Beau’s budgerigar clattered up beside them, and the fox-pheasant stood to quietly survey all about. The air was fresh – charged with the scent of petrichor as dust mingled with the morning dew. The first hint of gold began to edge above the eastern horizon, lighting up parched brown hills.
Beau pushed back his cap and joined Snapper in gazing off towards the dawn.
“Magnificent.” His voice was hushed. For once, he seemed utterly absorbed. “I do see why you love it so. I do indeed.”
A honk from above announced the genteel arrival of Throckmorton. The flying plant circled gently down, wings fluttering merrily. Odd little floral heads peered down, some smiling and others merely looking hungry.
The plant signed a polite hello, and passed a flat little blackboard down into Snapper’s hands. The blackboard had been written upon in chalk, using a sweeping, expressive hand. Snapper held the message in one hand and looked at it over the rims of her glasses.
“From the mantis, I would presume.”
“Ah – the intrepid scholar!” Beau breathed in a sigh like a contented connoisseur. “She has a certain delicious energy about her. A most becoming creature.”
“Yeah – you might want to forgo romancing that one. Could be a good way to get your head bitten clean off.” The shark read the message. “It says here: ‘Dustcloud behind us on wagon trail. Distance ten kilometres.” Snapper looked back towards the caravan. “Bugger.”
The Screamers were on the move.
Throckmorton seemed unruffled, not being especially high on the Screamer’s list of potential hosts, and also quite capable of drifting up out of reach. The plant played with a hardwood yoyo carved out of magnificent red burl, waiting for the ground creatures to finish their deliberations. Snapper turned Onan back to the west and checked the tree line. Wiping clean the blackboard with her sleeve, she accepted a piece of white chalk from the plant and hastily scribbled a note back to the wagon train.
“Right, we want them across the open ground and out of sight, quick as we can! We’re going to tell them to charge the wagons! Run – fast as they can, straight to the creek line.” She signed to the floating plant. “They must charge here to the creek! At the gallop. Hurry!”
Throckmorton saluted, ceased playing with his yoyo, and bore the message off, back across the ridges towards the wagon train. Beau blinked, looking from the creek line to the rock ridges behind them – a distance of five kilometres or more.
“Madam! What are you thinking? Do you plan to somehow defend the creek?” The man waved his taloned finger, very much disturbed by the idea. “No no no no no! The Screamers will simply find another place to cross!”
“Yeah – I reckon they might
There were no further sounds of Screamers in the dark. Night time on the plains was a good time for wandering giga-moths, but Snapper could see none of the annoying creatures silhouetted in the sky. Night beasts ran and flitted through the scrub, and a few predators called far off in the dark, but all seemed normal enough. It was a quiet night in the wilds.
After the third ridge was passed, the land dropped down to great fields of scree, crossing shattered old roads. Ruins hereabout had all been combed through long ago, providing metal, scrap and artefacts to bring life to good old Spark Town. The first stark, grey light of pre-dawn found Snapper and Captain Beau riding side by side across a gravel field, their shadows stretched long across the dust. Flocks of dandelion birds wheeled somewhere off against the coming dawn. A few huge walker trees were migrating across the plains. To the west, tree lines showed the presence of a meandering watercourse. Snapper reined in, and the exhausted Onan halted on a rocky crest. Beau’s budgerigar clattered up beside them, and the fox-pheasant stood to quietly survey all about. The air was fresh – charged with the scent of petrichor as dust mingled with the morning dew. The first hint of gold began to edge above the eastern horizon, lighting up parched brown hills.
Beau pushed back his cap and joined Snapper in gazing off towards the dawn.
“Magnificent.” His voice was hushed. For once, he seemed utterly absorbed. “I do see why you love it so. I do indeed.”
A honk from above announced the genteel arrival of Throckmorton. The flying plant circled gently down, wings fluttering merrily. Odd little floral heads peered down, some smiling and others merely looking hungry.
The plant signed a polite hello, and passed a flat little blackboard down into Snapper’s hands. The blackboard had been written upon in chalk, using a sweeping, expressive hand. Snapper held the message in one hand and looked at it over the rims of her glasses.
“From the mantis, I would presume.”
“Ah – the intrepid scholar!” Beau breathed in a sigh like a contented connoisseur. “She has a certain delicious energy about her. A most becoming creature.”
“Yeah – you might want to forgo romancing that one. Could be a good way to get your head bitten clean off.” The shark read the message. “It says here: ‘Dustcloud behind us on wagon trail. Distance ten kilometres.” Snapper looked back towards the caravan. “Bugger.”
The Screamers were on the move.
Throckmorton seemed unruffled, not being especially high on the Screamer’s list of potential hosts, and also quite capable of drifting up out of reach. The plant played with a hardwood yoyo carved out of magnificent red burl, waiting for the ground creatures to finish their deliberations. Snapper turned Onan back to the west and checked the tree line. Wiping clean the blackboard with her sleeve, she accepted a piece of white chalk from the plant and hastily scribbled a note back to the wagon train.
“Right, we want them across the open ground and out of sight, quick as we can! We’re going to tell them to charge the wagons! Run – fast as they can, straight to the creek line.” She signed to the floating plant. “They must charge here to the creek! At the gallop. Hurry!”
Throckmorton saluted, ceased playing with his yoyo, and bore the message off, back across the ridges towards the wagon train. Beau blinked, looking from the creek line to the rock ridges behind them – a distance of five kilometres or more.
“Madam! What are you thinking? Do you plan to somehow defend the creek?” The man waved his taloned finger, very much disturbed by the idea. “No no no no no! The Screamers will simply find another place to cross!”
“Yeah – I reckon they might
Similar Books
