"Probably you won't find anything, or anyone. Just fly up
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and check out one or two caves, see if this place is really as
deserted as it looks. If it is, maybe you'll leam the reason
why."
"Maybe one of da reasons is hiding in one of dose caves!"
snapped the worried bat, gesturing upward with a wing
thumb.
"If so then don't hang around to argue with it," said
Talea. "You're going up to look, not to fight. Get your butt
back down here as fast as you can."
Pog hovered just above the ground, lit on top of the boulder
he'd been hiding behind. "No need ta worry 'bout that, Talea
lady." He pulled his knife from its back sheath and slipped it
between his jaws.
"Wish me luck," he mumbled around the blade.
"There is no need for luck when intelligence and good
judgment are exercised," said Clothahump.
Pog made a rude noise, flapped his wings, and launched
himself from the crest of the rock. He dropped, skimmed
inches above sharp gravel, and then began to climb, using the
warm currents rising from the bare plateau to ascend in a
steady spiral.
"You think he'll be okay?" Flor shielded her eyes from the
glare and squinted at the sky where a black shape was
growing gradually smaller. Pog now looked like a toy kite
against the pure blue curtain overhead.
"Instinct is a powerful aid to self-preservation."
"Oh?" she said with just a hint of sarcasm. "What book
did that come out of?"
Jon-Tom was also leaning back and looking toward the lip
of the iron cloud. He just swallowed Flor's remark.
Hemarist, da tall human lady had called it. No, dat
wasn't right. Hema... Hematite. Like in a tight spot, which
is what you gots yourself into, Pog thought to himself. He
was high above the rocky plain now. The figures of his
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companions were sharp and distinct against the gray gravel. He
could tell they were watching him.
Waiting ta see how I get it, he thought miserably.
He circled before the lowest of the globular projections.
His personal sonar told him nothing moved inside any of the
several caves he'd flown past. That at least was a promising
sign. Maybe the place was deserted.
Black iron, huh? It looked like a vast black face to him,
with no eyes but lots of little mouths ready to swallow you,
swallow you whole. Pretty soon he was going to have to stick
his head into one of 'em.
Why couldn't ya have listened ta your mudder, he berated
himself, and gone inta da mail soivice, or crafts transport; or
aerial cop work?
But nah, ya had ta fall hard for a pretty piece o' fluff who
won't give ya da time o' night, den get stinking drunk and
apprentice yourself ta a half senile, sadistic, hard-shelled,
hard-headed old fart of a wizard in da faint hope he'll
eventually turn ya inta something more presentable ta you
lady love.
He thought of her again, of the smoothly elegant blend of
feathers from back to tail, of the slightly cruel yet delicate
curve Of beak, and of those magnificent, piercing yellow eyes
which turned his guts to paste when they passed over him.
Ah, Uleimee, if ya only knew what I'm suffering for ya!
He caught himself, broke the thought like a ceramic cup. If
she knew what you was suffering she wouldn't give a flyin'
fuck about it. She's the type who appreciates results, not
well-meaning failures.
So gather what's left of your small store of courage, bat,
and be about your job. And don't think about whether when
your time's up, old Clothamuck will have forgotten da formu-
la for transforming ya.
But, oh my, dat cave mouth looming just ahead is dark!
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Empty, dough. His eyes as wen as his sonar told him that. He
fluttered next to the opening for a while, wrestling with the
knowledge that if he didn't explore at least one of the caves
his mentor would simply force him to return and try again.
He drifted cautiously inside. He sensed the echo of his
wing beats pushing air off the tunnel walls. Then he settled
down to walk.
The floor of the cave was carpeted with clean straw, carefully
braided into intricately patterned mats. They appeared to be
in good repair. If this iron warren was abandoned, it hadn't
been so for long.
The tunnel soon expanded into a larger, roughly oval-
shaped chamber. It was filled with a peculiar assortment of
furniture. There were lounges but no chairs, and high-backed
perches. The lounges suggested creatures that walked, as did
the climbing vines dangling outside each cave opening, but
the high-backs pointed to arboreals like himself. He shook his
head. Deductive thinking was not his strong suit.
The utensils were also confusing rather than enlightening.
A little light reached the chamber from the cave opening, but
his sonar was still searching the surroundings as though it
were pitch dark. His heart beat almost as rapidly. Finish dis,
he told himself frantically. Finish it, and get out.
Several additional chambers branched from the back of the
one he was studying. He would begin with the one immedi-
ately on his right and work his way through them. Then
Clothahump couldn't say he'd made only a superficial inspec-
tion and order him to return.
It turned out to be a pantry-kitchen arrangement. It was
discouraging to find that whoever had lived in the cave was
omnivorous. In addition to instruments for preparing meat
and fruit there was also a surprising garbage pile of small
insect carcasses and empty nuts.
It was an eclectic and indiscriminate diet. Perhaps it also
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included bats. He shuddered, drew his wings tighter around
his small body. One more room, he told himself. One more,
and den if da boss wants more info he can damn well climb
up and look for himself.
He entered the next chamber, found more furniture and
little else. He was ready to leave when something tickled his
sonar. He turned.
A pair of huge, glowing yellow eyes stared down at him.
Their owner was at least seven feet tall and each of those
luminous orbs was as big around as a human face. Pog
stuttered but couldn't squeeze out word or shout.
"Hooooooo," said the voice beneath those fathomless eyes
in a long, querulous, and slightly irritated tone, "the hell are
yoooooo?"
Pog was backing toward the chamber exit. Something
sharp and unyielding pricked his back.
"Tolafay asked you a question, interloper! Better answer
him." The new voice was completely different from the first,
high and almost human.
Pog glanced over his shoulder, saw eyes not as large as the
first pair he'd encountered but larger still in proportion to the
body of their owner. Four yellow eyes, four malevolent little
angry suns, swam in a dizzying circle around his head. He
started to slump.
The sharp thing moved, poked him firmly in the side.
"And don't faint on us, interloper, or I'll see your body
leaves your gizzard behind...."
'^What the devil's keeping him?" Jon-Tom stared with
concern up at the cave where Pog had vanished.
"Maybe they go very deep into the mountainside," Talea
suggested hopefully. "It may take him a while to get all the
way in and all the way out again."
"Perhaps." Bribbens stared longingly at a small creek that
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flowed from the base of an icefall across the barren little
plateau. "How I long for a boat again." He lifted one of his