"Come on, boy," he said. Whistling cheerily he left the building, the bandur at his heels, smoking gently. Peter collared a cop—the same one who had first arrested him. "Now," he snarled. "Where do I find water?"
Stuttering with fright, and with two popping eyes on the bandur, the officer said, "The harbor's two blocks down the street if you mean—"
"Never mind what I mean!" Luxuriating in his new-found power Peter strode off pugnaciously, Hugo following.
IV
"I beg your pardon—are you looking for water?" asked a tall, dark man over Peter's shoulder. Hugo growled and let loose a tongue of flame at the stranger's foot. "Shuddup, Hugo," said Peter. Then, turning to the stranger, "As a matter of fact I was. Do you—?"
"I heard about you from them," said the stranger. "You know. The little people."
"Yes," said Peter. "What do I do now?"
"Underground Railroad," said the stranger. "Built after the best Civil War model. Neat, speedy and efficient. Transportation at half the usual cost. I hope you weren't planning to go by magic carpet?"
"No," Peter assured him hastily. "I never use them."
"That's great," said the stranger swishing his long black cloak. "Those carpet people—stifling industry. They spread a whispering campaign that our road was unsafe! Can you imagine it?"
"Unsafe," scoffed Peter. "I'll bet they wish their carpets were half as safe as your railroad!"
"Well," said the stranger thoughtfully, "perhaps not half as safe …No; I wouldn't say half as safe …" He seemed likely to go on indefinitely; Peter asked, "Where do I get the Underground?"
"A little East of here," said the stranger. He looked about apprehensively. "We'd better not be seen together," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "Meet you over there by the clock-tower—you can get it there."
"Okay," said Peter. "But why the secrecy?"
"We're really underground," said the stranger, walking away.
Peter rejoined him at the corner of the clock-tower; with an elaborate display of unconcern the stranger walked off, Peter following at some distance. Soon they were again in the forest that seemed to border the city of Mahoora. Once they were past the city-limits sign the stranger turned, smiling.
"I guess we're safe now," he said. "They could try a raid and drag us back across the line, but they wouldn't like to play with your bandur.
Here's the station."
He pressed a section of bark on a huge tree; silently it slid open like a door. Peter saw a row of steps leading down into blackness. "Sort of spooky," he said.
"Not at all! I have the place ghostproofed once a year." The stranger led the way, taking out what looked like a five-branched electric torch.
"What's that?" asked Peter, fascinated by the weird blue light it shed.
"Hand of glory," said the stranger casually. Peter looked closer and shuddered, holding his Stomach. Magic, he thought, was all right up to the point where it became grave-robbery.
They arrived at a neatly tiled station; Peter was surprised to find that the trains were tiny things. The one pulled up on the tracks was not as high as he was. "You'll have to stoke, of course," said the stranger.
"What?" demanded Peter indignantly.
"Usual arrangement. Are you coming or aren't you?"
"Of course—but it seems strange," complained Peter climbing into the engine. Hugo climbed up into the coal car and curled up emitting short smoky bursts of flame which caused the stranger to keep glancing at him in fear for his fuel.
"What's in the rest of the train?" asked Peter.
"Freight. This is the through cannonball to Mal-Tava. I have a special shipment for Almarish. Books and things, furniture, a few cases of liquor—you know?"
"Yes. Any other passengers?"
"Not this month. I haven't much trouble with them. They're usually knights and things out to kill sorcerers like Almarish. They take their horses along or send them ahead by carpet. Do you plan to kill Almarish?"
Peter choked. "Yes," he finally said. "What's it to you?"
"Nothing—I take your money and leave you where you want to go. A tradesman can't afford opinions. Let's get up some steam, eh?"
Amateurishly Peter shoveled coal into the little furnace while the stranger in the black cloak juggled with steam-valves and levers. "Don't be worried," he advised Peter. "You'll get the hang of things after a while." He glanced at a watch. "Here we go," he said, yanking the whistle-cord.
The train started off into its tunnel, sliding smoothly and almost silently along, the only noise being from the driving rods. "Why doesn't it clack against the rails?" asked Peter.
"Levitation. Didn't you notice? We're an inch off the track. Simple, really."
"Then why have a track?" asked Peter.
The stranger smiled and said, "Without—" then stopped abruptly and looked concerned and baffled. And that was all the answer Peter got.
"Wake up," shouted the stranger nudging Peter. "We're in the war zone!"
"Zasso?" asked Peter, blinking. He had been napping after hours of steady travel. "What war zone?"
"Trolls—you know."
"No, I don't!" snapped Peter. "What side are we on?"
"Depends on who stops us," said the stranger, speeding the engine.
They were out of the tunnel now, Peter saw, speeding along a couple of inches above the floor of an immense dim cave. Ahead the glittering double strand of the track stretched into the distance.
"Oh—oh!" muttered the cloaked stranger. "Trouble ahead!" Peter saw a vague, stirring crowd before them. "Those trolls?" he asked.
"Yep," answered the engineer resignedly, slowing the train. "What do you want?" he asked a solid looking little man in a ragged uniform. "To get the hell out of here," said the little man. He was about three feet tall, Peter saw. "What happened?" he asked.
"The lousy Insurgents licked us," said the troll. "Will you let us on the train before they cut us down?"
"First," said the engineer methodically, "there isn't room. Second, I have to keep friends with the party in power. Third, you know very well that you can't be killed."
"What if we are immortal?" asked the troll. "Would you like to live forever scattered in little pieces?"
"Second," said Peter abruptly, "you get out of it as best you can." He was speaking to the engineer. "And first, you can dump all the freight you have for Almarish. He won't want it anyway when I'm through with him." "That right?" asked the troll.
"Not by me!" exploded the engineer. "Now get your gang off the track before I plough them under!"
"Hugo," whispered Peter. With a lazy growl the bandur scorched the nape of the engineer's head.
"All right," said the engineer. "All right. Use force—all right." Then, to the leader of the trolls, "You tell your men they can unload the freight and get as comfortable as they can."
"Wait!" said Peter. "Inasmuch as I got you out of this scrape—I think—
would you be willing to help me out in a little affair of honor with Almarish?"
"Sure!" said the troll. "Anything at all. You know, for a surface-dweller you're not half bad!" With which he began to spread the good news among his army.
Later, when they were all together in the cab, taking turns with the shovel, the troll introduced himself as General Skaldberg of the Third Loyalist Army.
Speeding ahead again at full speed the end of the cavern was in sight when another swarm of trolls blocked the path. "Go through them!"
ordered Peter coldly.
"For pity's sake," pleaded the stranger. "Think of what this will do to my franchise!"
"That's your worry," said the General. "You fix it up with the Insurgents.
We gave you the franchise anyway—they have no right of search."