"By Yudas, Ja!" exclaimed Herr Syrup. "I am sorry, Miss Croft. You really can help us. Sit down and have a glass of pure spring vater on me."
Emily listened raptly as he unfolded his scheme. At the end, she sprang to her feet, threw herself onto Herr Syrup's lap, and embraced him heartily.
"Hoy!" he said, grabbing his pipe as it fell and brushing hot coals off his jacket. "Hoy, dis is lots of fun, but—
"You have your crew right here already, you old silly," the girl told him. "Me."
"You?"
"And Herr von Himmelschmidt, of course." Emily beamed at the Martian. "Eep!" said Sarmishkidu in horror.
Emily bounced back to her feet. "But of course!" she warbled. "Of course! Don't you see it? You can't get really-truly spacemen anyway, I mean a garageman or a chef couldn't help you in your real work, so why let the secret go further than it has already? I mean, dear old Sarmishkidu and I could hand you your spanner and your ape wrench and your abacus or whatever that long thin calculating thing is called, just as well as Mr. Groggins down at the sweet shop, and if there are any secret messages, why, we can talk to each other in Attic Greek. And I do make tea competently, Mum admits it, even though I never drink tea myself because it tans the kidneys or something, and I can take along some dried apricots and bananas and apples for myself and won't that terrible Major McDonnell be just furious when he sees how we outsmarted him! Maybe then he will understand what all that whisky and bacon is doing to his brain, and will stop doing it and exercise himself in classical dance, because he really is quite graceful, don't you know—"
"Ooooh!" said Sarmishkidu. "No, wait, wait, wait, ach, wait just one moment! We are not qualified spacemen anyhow so O'Toole does not accept us for a crew."
"I t'ought dat over," said Herr Syrup, "and checked in de law books to make sure. In an emergency like dis, de highest ranking officer available, me, can deputize non-certified personnel, and dey vill have regular spacemen's standing vile de situation lasts. O'Toole vill eider have to let me raise ship vit' you two or else release two of my shipmates."
"Then you will take us along?" pounced Emily.
Herr Syrup shrugged. He might as well have a crew worth looking at. "Sure," he said. "You is velcome."
Sarmishkidu rolled his eyes uneasily. "Better I stay on de ground. I got mine business to look after." "Oh, nonsense!" said Emily. "If I go, we just about have to have a Martian for a chaperone, not that I don't trust Mr. Syrup because he really is a sweet old gentleman—oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Syrup, I didn't mean to make you wince—well, I mean to say, of course I'll have to go aboard without letting Father know or he would forbid me, but why distress the old dear afterward with the thought that even if I liberated Grendel I compromised my reputation? I mean, he is the vicar, you know, and it's been hard enough for him, my bringing home Duncanite teachings from Miss Carruthers' Select School for Young Ladies on Wilberforce. Though I didn't learn about it in class but from a lecture in the town hall which I happened to attend, and—And your tavern business, Mr. Sarmishkidu, isn't worth tuppence if we don't get rid of the Erse before vacation season begins, so won't you please come, there's a dear, or else I'll ask all my young men friends never to come in here again."
Sarmishkidu groaned.
CHAPTER SIX
Herr Syrup halted his bicycle and Herr von Himmelschmidt untied his tentacles from around the baggage rack. A small bright sun shone through small bright clouds on Grendel's spaceport, the air blew soft and sweet, and even the old Mercury Girl looked a trifle less discouraged than usual. Not far away a truckload of Erse solthers was bowling toward the geegee site to work, and however much one desired to throw them off this planetoid, one had to admit their young voices soared miraculously sweet.
"—Ochone! Ochonel the men of Ulster cry. Ochone! Ochone! The lords an" lathes weepin'!
Dear, dear the man that nivver, niwer more shall be. Hoy, there, Paddy, see the colleen, ah, the brave broight soight iv her, whee-ee-whee-ew!"
The sentry at the ship berth slanted his rifle across Herr Syrup's path. "Halt," he said. "Vat?" asked the engineer.
"Or I shoot," explained the guard earnestly.
"Vat is dis?" protested Herr Syrup. "I got a right on my own ship. I got de General's written permission, by yiminy, to take her up."
"That's as may be," said the guard, hefting his weapon, "but I've me orders too, which is that ye're not trusted an' ye don't go aboard till your full crew an' the riprysintative of the Shamrock League is here."
"Oh, veil, if dat is all," said Herr Syrup, relieved, "den here comes Miss Croft now, and I see a Erser beside her too."
Still trailed by a receding tide of whistles, Emily came with long indignant strides across the concrete. She bore an outsize picnic basket which her green-clad escort kept trying to take for her. She would snatch it from him, stamp her foot, and try to leave him behind. Unfortunately, he was so big that her half-running pace was an easy amble for him.
Sarmishkidu squinted. "By all warped Riemannian space," he said at last, "is that not Major McConnell?"
Herr Syrup's heart hit the ground with a dull thud.
"Ah, there, greetin's an' salutations!" boomed the large young man. "An' accept me congratulations,
sir, on choosin' the loveliest crew which ivver put to sky! Though truth 'tis, she might be just a trifle friendlier. Ah, but once up among the stars, who knows what may develop?"
"You don't mean you ban our guard?" choked Herr Syrup.
"Yes. An' 'tis guardsmanlike I look, eh, what?" beamed Rory McConnell, slapping the machine pistol and trench knife bolstered at his belt, the tommy gun at his shoulder, and the rifle across his fifty-kilo field pack.
"But you ban needed down here!"
"Not so much, now that we're organized an' work is proceedin' on schedule." McConnell winked. "An' faith, when I heard what crew yez would have, sir, why, I knew at once where me real obligations lay. For 'tis five years an' more that me aged mither on Caer Dubh has plagued me to marry, that she may have grandchilder to brighten her auld age; so I am but doin' me filial duty." He nudged Herr Syrup with a confidential thumb.
When the engineer had been picked up, dusted off, and apologized to, he objected: "But does your chief, O'Toole, know you ban doing dis? I t'ought he would not like you associating vit' us."
"OToole is somewhat of a fanatic," admitted McConnell, "but he gave me this assignment whin I asked for it. For ye understand, sir, he is not easy in the heart of him, as long as ye are in orbit with any chance whatsoever to quare his plans. So 'tis happiest he'll be, the soonest ye've finished your repairs an' returned here. Now I am certificated more as a pilot an' navigator than an injineer, but ye well know each department must be able to handle the work of t'other in emergency, so I will be able to give yez skilled assistance in your task. I've enough experience in geegees to know exactly what ye're doin'."
"Guk," said Sarmishkidu. "What?" asked McConnell.
"I said, "Guk,"" answered Sarmishkidu in a chill voice, "which was precisely my meaning." "All aboard!" bawled the Erseman, and went up the berth ladder two rungs at a time.
Emily hung back. "I couldn't do anything about it," she whispered, white-faced. "He just insisted. I mean, I even hit him on the chest as hard as I could, and he grinned, you have to admit he's as strong as Herakles and if he would only study classical dance to improve his gait he would be nearly perfect." She flushed. "Physically, I mean, of course! But what I wanted to say is, shall we give up our plan?"