tinder caught and flared. In no time the combustible box perched on its slate slab was chucking out the heat.
The soup pot went onto the holder, and Seg sat back, rubbing his hands.
“Any bread?”
He rummaged around in the linen bag and came up with a squat, round, flat, brown loaf.
He sniffed.
“It is leavened, but only just.”
“Munsha bread, from one of those shops along Baker’s Alley, I’ll be bound. Well, it may not be done in the bols style, but it will go down a treat.”
“Aye.”
The soup began to warm up.
We had covered the forward angles with a flap of cloth, both to protect the combustible box from the slipstream and to conceal the glow. A narrow chink of light escaped aft where the box was beginning to corrode and break down.
The shaft of light, smoky orange, fell on the deck.
It glinted from the chape of a sword scabbard, and threw the grain of the wooden deck into relief. I sniffed the aroma of the soup as Seg broke the bread and looked for butter.
Into that narrow bar of smoky light waddled a scorpion.
“I thought,” I said in some disgust, “I’d cleared all the dratted things away.”
Seg took no notice.
He sat, half-bent, and the yellow butter on his knife remained unmoving just above the munsha bread.
I stared.
“Seg!”
The scorpion waddled forward.
He was russet and black, banded in glisten, and his sting curved up over his back, arrogantly.
I threw a frantic glance at the controls.
The levers were hooked up with their ropes onto a straight northerly course so that we could prepare our meal and eat in comfort. The voller would fly on. I stared back at the scorpion. He halted on the edge of that narrow band of orange light, glaring at me.
I felt sick.
I knew that my foot could not crush this scorpion.
He waved his sting over his back.
“Dray Prescot,” the scorpion said to me, “you are summoned to an audience of the Everoinye.”
I swallowed.
At least, this was new.
The Everoinye — the Star Lords — actually telling me they wanted to see me! Damned odd. Frightening, too, for usually the Star Lords just sent their damned scorpion, or their equally damned but hugely large blue Scorpion, and whisked me off.
I said, “Scorpion?”
“You are ready?”
I took a breath.
“You mock me, you must do so.”
“Perhaps. It is not for you to inquire into my—”
“Save it, you miniature monster, save it. I know all about my own ineptness and stupidity and how I must not pry into things far beyond my intelligence.”
The stinger curled and uncurled.
If that showed the scorpion’s anger I did not know or care.
“Get on with it, scorpion. Summon your big blue brother. Let’s get this thing over and done with.”
And, all the time, Seg remained frozen. He poised, static, and the yellow butter slicked on the knife.
That splendid yellow color took on an unhealthy green tinge. The world turned blue. Blue radiance fell about me.
Waiting for the cold, and the rushing wind, and the endless fall into emptiness, my main emotion was one of irritation. This surprised me. Oh, yes, there was fear in there. I was scared practically witless.
These unknowable people, the Star Lords, possessed awful powers. I was well aware of that. They could hurl me about Kregen, naked and weaponless, to fight for them. They could more dreadfully contemptuously fling me back to Earth, where I was born, four hundred light-years away. They could ruin my life — again.
I waited as the blue radiance dropped about me and the leering form of a giant Scorpion reared above me.
Irritated.
That was it. Through all my panic, irritation with the interruption to my own plans was my main feeling.
Deuced odd.
Usually I was mad clean through, filled with anger, roaring and raging against the Everoinye and their Scorpion, or their messenger and spy, the gorgeous bird, the Gdoinye, in his scarlet and golden feathers. As it was, I just felt like hurling my hat to the deck and jumping on it.
The
The soup pot went onto the holder, and Seg sat back, rubbing his hands.
“Any bread?”
He rummaged around in the linen bag and came up with a squat, round, flat, brown loaf.
He sniffed.
“It is leavened, but only just.”
“Munsha bread, from one of those shops along Baker’s Alley, I’ll be bound. Well, it may not be done in the bols style, but it will go down a treat.”
“Aye.”
The soup began to warm up.
We had covered the forward angles with a flap of cloth, both to protect the combustible box from the slipstream and to conceal the glow. A narrow chink of light escaped aft where the box was beginning to corrode and break down.
The shaft of light, smoky orange, fell on the deck.
It glinted from the chape of a sword scabbard, and threw the grain of the wooden deck into relief. I sniffed the aroma of the soup as Seg broke the bread and looked for butter.
Into that narrow bar of smoky light waddled a scorpion.
“I thought,” I said in some disgust, “I’d cleared all the dratted things away.”
Seg took no notice.
He sat, half-bent, and the yellow butter on his knife remained unmoving just above the munsha bread.
I stared.
“Seg!”
The scorpion waddled forward.
He was russet and black, banded in glisten, and his sting curved up over his back, arrogantly.
I threw a frantic glance at the controls.
The levers were hooked up with their ropes onto a straight northerly course so that we could prepare our meal and eat in comfort. The voller would fly on. I stared back at the scorpion. He halted on the edge of that narrow band of orange light, glaring at me.
I felt sick.
I knew that my foot could not crush this scorpion.
He waved his sting over his back.
“Dray Prescot,” the scorpion said to me, “you are summoned to an audience of the Everoinye.”
I swallowed.
At least, this was new.
The Everoinye — the Star Lords — actually telling me they wanted to see me! Damned odd. Frightening, too, for usually the Star Lords just sent their damned scorpion, or their equally damned but hugely large blue Scorpion, and whisked me off.
I said, “Scorpion?”
“You are ready?”
I took a breath.
“You mock me, you must do so.”
“Perhaps. It is not for you to inquire into my—”
“Save it, you miniature monster, save it. I know all about my own ineptness and stupidity and how I must not pry into things far beyond my intelligence.”
The stinger curled and uncurled.
If that showed the scorpion’s anger I did not know or care.
“Get on with it, scorpion. Summon your big blue brother. Let’s get this thing over and done with.”
And, all the time, Seg remained frozen. He poised, static, and the yellow butter slicked on the knife.
That splendid yellow color took on an unhealthy green tinge. The world turned blue. Blue radiance fell about me.
Waiting for the cold, and the rushing wind, and the endless fall into emptiness, my main emotion was one of irritation. This surprised me. Oh, yes, there was fear in there. I was scared practically witless.
These unknowable people, the Star Lords, possessed awful powers. I was well aware of that. They could hurl me about Kregen, naked and weaponless, to fight for them. They could more dreadfully contemptuously fling me back to Earth, where I was born, four hundred light-years away. They could ruin my life — again.
I waited as the blue radiance dropped about me and the leering form of a giant Scorpion reared above me.
Irritated.
That was it. Through all my panic, irritation with the interruption to my own plans was my main feeling.
Deuced odd.
Usually I was mad clean through, filled with anger, roaring and raging against the Everoinye and their Scorpion, or their messenger and spy, the gorgeous bird, the Gdoinye, in his scarlet and golden feathers. As it was, I just felt like hurling my hat to the deck and jumping on it.
The
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