Sargasso Skies by Allan Jones Page A

to his amazement, the two groups met face-to-face without so much as a single punch being thrown or a single tooth being gnashed. Trundle stared in puzzlement as the lizards calmly handed their bundles over to the hounds. Almost immediately the hounds zipped back down through the hatch and closed it behind themselves.
    Then the lizards turned tail and went scuttling off until they vanished into the creeping mists. But they were no longer leaping and bounding—they were moving along quite normally.
    Trundle closed the window and went and sat on his mattress. This needed thinking about!
    Despite feeling so sleepy, he racked his brains, trying to understand what he had just seen.
    Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Got it!” he crowed. “Those bundles must contain scraps of powerstone—that’s why the lizards were leaping along like that. The buoyancy of the powerstone made them much lighter. Somehow the commander has done a deal with the lizards—and he’s using them to collect enough powerstone to fly his windship!”
    Of course. That made perfect sense.
    One thing troubled Trundle as he stretched himself out on his mattress with his arms behind his head.
    â€œI can see what the commander is getting out of the deal,” he said to the pointed ceiling. “But what’s in it for those darned lizards? I can’t imagine them helping the commander out of the kindness of their hearts.” His eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t trust them, that’s for sure!” he said. “I wouldn’t trust them in a million years!”
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    Trundle was awakened by a rough paw shaking him by the shoulder and by a horribly cheery voice chirruping in his ear.
    â€œCome on, you slugabed!” Jack said. “I’ve brought you a cup of tea with an optional bun!”
    Trundle sat up, glad to see his friend despite the boisterous nature of the merry squirrel’s wake-up call.
    He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “How’s it going down there?” he asked.
    â€œEsmeralda has worked miracles,” Jack said. “Things are very nearly finished on the stage and in the auditorium. It looks a treat.” He sat down with a sigh. “But the music is a real problem. It’s wonderful stuff, but there’s so much of it. It goes on forever, and I can’t make ears nor tail of the plot of the opera—if it even has one!”
    â€œAh, but it does!” said Trundle. “It’s been hard work, and I had to get rid of some truly awful stuff—mostly to do with people moping about because they’re in love with other people who are in love with someone else. Really ghastly! There were pages and pages of it.” He pointed to the heap by the wall. “I dumped the lot! I can’t stand that whiny smoochy drivel.”
    â€œAnd is the rest any good?” asked Jack.
    â€œSurprisingly, it is,” declared Trundle. “Very good, most of it, now I’ve got the whole thing in the right order. Count Leopold writes like he speaks—with everything back to front and inside out and upside down!”
    â€œBut you sorted it?”
    â€œI did,” Trundle said quite proudly, gesturing toward the single neat stack of papers left on the desk. “It’s rather exciting, actually.” He frowned. “I just hope the count will agree with the cuts and the changes I’ve made.” He stood up and trotted over to the desk, where several spread-out sheets of paper were pinned together on the blotter. “Look,” he said. “I’ve made a flowchart of the acts and scenes, showing where they ought to come and how the whole story should work.”
    â€œAmazing!” said Jack, leaning over the chart. “Ahh! I see. Yes. It makes perfect sense to have Bruinhilda’s aria there, leading into the battle between the bad dogs and the noble bears. And there’s the ‘Ride of the