” 'Civilized men,' are we?” Lukor spat, as if the very phrase left a bad taste in his mouth. “Well, maybe so, and maybe a wee touch of uncivilized behavior, would wring the truth from. this smooth-tongued assassin,” he fumed.
But Valkar would not listen to such words. He did, however, everything that could be done under such mysterious circumstances. The aerial galleon swung about and retraced the leagues she had traveled, regaining again her former position above the bright waves of the Greater Sea. Anxious eyes combed the waters for any sign of me, and armed parties prowled the nearer shores, but by then I imagine the waves in their ceaseless advance and retreat had smoothed away the footprints I had made when I had emerged from the sea, for my friends found nothing to suggest I had come ashore.
For many hours the gigantic flying machine hovered above land and sea, searching for the lost adventurer. Far into the night the sky ship floated above the grassy hills, alert for the slightest token of my presence. But, of course, I was not to be found, for by that time I was sound asleep on my rude pallet in the slave pens of Narouk.
Fuming at the frustration imposed by inactivity, the peppery little swordmaster was all for storming the walls and gates of Narouk―or, rather, he urged Valkar to descend upon the central market square of the city, demanding that I be turned over to the ship, if indeed I was being held captive by the Perushtarians. Valkar himself was rather given to this idea, for indeed it seemed logical that if I had somehow gone overboard while the sky galleon was lifting from the waters of the Corund Laj, I could well have been taken captive by a party of Perushtarian warriors.
But the responsibility of sole command had now devolved upon the strong shoulders of the Shondakorian prince, and he could not yield to the temptation. For the prime purpose of our voyage into peril was and must remain the setting free of Princess Darloona from her captivity among the Sky Pirates. And to imperil the entire quest on a hare-brained scheme was to jeopardize her safety, which was―and remained―of paramount concern.
Until the princess of Shondakor was safe among her friends, any man aboard the Jalathadar―even myself―must be considered expendable. And for one lone ship to attack a full-sized city was to risk the damage or destruction of the ship―and the doom of Darloona, warrior princess of the Ku Thad.
Valkar wrestled mightily with his decision. He and I were old comrades and many was the time we had fought side by side or back to back, holding death away at swords’ length. For him to desert me now in the hour of my greatest peril was the most horrendous decision he had ever been forced to make, but in the lonely eminence of his captaincy, he had to make that decision, although no other man can ever know the immense agony he endured in reaching his eventual choice of action.
Against the darkness of the night sky, where the great moons of Jupiter spread their multicolored rays across the silent landscape, the Jalathadar rose on silent wings, the last footsore and bone-weary search party having been taken aboard.
Then she turned her prow towards distant Zanadar and sailed off into the night, leaving me a doomed and helpless captive in the hands of the Perushtarians.
Sometime before dawn Valkar was rudely roused from his exhausted slumbers. He propped himself up on one elbow and peered blearily into the light of a swaying lamp held by Lukor.
“What… what is it? What’s wrong, Lukor?”
“`What is it?’ indeed, my fine prince!” chortled the spry old Ganatolian with a sort of fierce, grim enjoyment. “Perhaps, one of these days, when enough disasters have overtaken us, the excellent Lord Valkar will begin to pay some attention to the timely warnings of a garrulous old swordsman! Hah!”
Valkar blinked at him, understanding none of this. Behind the little Ganatolian loomed the silent Koja, lamplight striking highlights on the glistening, expressionless mask of his chitinous face, solemn eyes glittering.
“What are you talking about? What’s happened now?” demanded Valkar.
Lukor snorted. “Oh, nothing―nothing at all! It’s just that the trustworthy Zanadarian, who gave you his word of honor not to violate his parole or to do aught to interfere with the operation of the vessel―which word of honor you chose over my poor arguments―has cut the wing lines and wrecked the steering controls.”
“What?” Valkar demanded incredulously. His gaze flew past Lukor to meet Koja’s emotionless eyes.
“It is true, Valkar,” the arthopode intoned somberly. “The vessel can no longer be steered, and is plunging before a powerful tailwind, completely out of control.”
Valkar ground out a bitter curse between clenched teeth, swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, and came to his feet, snatching on the garments he had discarded at retiring.
“How… how did this happen?”
Lukor’s face was screwed into a smug expression that wavered between a scowl and a smile.
“Why, through treachery―treason―cunning lies!” he barked. ” `Pray, honorable Valkar, let me take this sneaking scum aside and question him a bit with a slight application of heated steel’ `Oh, no,’ quoth you, `we cannot do that to so fine and trustworthy a gentleman as the noble Ulthar! Be silent, you silly old Ganatolian! ‘Twould be rude―crude―criminous! Step aside, you white-bearded old barbarian, and permit the gently born Ulthar to go about his business―”’
“Oh, do be quiet, Lukor!” cried the exasperated Valkar. “What is our current situation? Are we losing altitude, or what? What’s our position―and have you apprehended Ulthar, or is he still on the loose?”
Koja’s face was devoid of expression and his voice was an emotionless monotone as he replied.
“That is another mystery, Valkar. For, having accomplished his dirty work, the Zanadarian traitor has vanished completely. We have searched the ship from stem to stern, and he is nowhere on board. He has vanished, just like Jandar….”
Chapter 8
THE MYSTERIOUS NORTH
Valkar scrambled into his clothes and ascended swiftly into the control cupola, where he was quickly brought abreast of their situation.
Duty officer for that watch of the night had been a young noble called Tomar. An impressionable, easily influenced youth, the boy had generally taken everyone at his word (a trait that Lukor had earlier ascribed to me, as well). Some of the men had noticed that our captive had exchanged friendly words with the impressionable youth on several occasions, but no one had thought much of it. And quite frequently, complaining he was unable to sleep, Ulthar had shared the lonely night-watch with the young Shondakorian noble.
Ulthar was forbidden the control cupola, but had taken his station in one of the observation belvederes nearby and, while scrupulously avoiding any interference with Tomar’s watch, had from time to time given him tips on navigation and some slight advice on trimming the wheel. No one had thought much of this, either.
On this particular night, however, again claiming he was unable to sleep, Ulthar had casually leaned against the balustrade of the observation belvedere, and had, in his friendly, unobtrusive way, quietly engaged the boy in desultory conversation during this loneliest of watches.
A strong wind had sprung up during the night, buffeting the Jalathadar to starboard and requiring constant attention to the wheel to avoid being driven off course by imperceptible degrees. It was not an emergency, but it demanded the duty officer’s fullest attention. Chatting casually, Ulthar had given the boy a few words of advice on holding the ship steady and a bit later had advised him that the craft might easily rise again above the buffeting winds by ascending a few hundred more feet. The trusting young officer had complied with these bits of advice, lifting the ship to a higher level, and at that altitude the vessel had encountered a powerful tailwind blowing due north.