“liven Zavotle is going to be here soon, provided the messenger has found him all right,” Toller said.’’ And I warn you that he is going to laugh at your story.”
“There is no need for him to believe it,” Bartan replied. “The part about my wife is of concern to me alone, and I related it only to show that I have personal reasons for wanting to voyage to Farland. I could not expect others to undertake such a journey on my account, whatever my reasons. But it is my hope that the King will wish to succeed where Rassamarden failed—by extending his domain to another world—and that, as originator of the scheme, I will be granted a place on the expedition if it becomes a reality. All I ask of your friend Zavotle is that he devise a means of making the journey possible.”
“You don’t ask much.”
“I ask more than you will ever know,” Bartan said, a brooding expression appearing on his young-old face. “I am responsible for what happened to my wife, you see. Losing her was bad enough, but carrying the burden of guilt…”
“I’m sorry,” Toller said. “Is that why you drink?”
Bartan tilted his head as he considered the question. “It’s probably the reason I started drinking, but after a while I found that I simply prefer being drunk to being sober. It makes the world a pleasanter place to live in.”
“And on the night you had the vision? Were you…?”
“Drunk? Of course I was drunk!” Bartan gulped some more brandy as if to reinforce his statement. “But that has no bearing on what happened that night. Please, my lord…”
“Toller.”
Bartan nodded. “Please, Toller, feel free to regard me as insane or deluded on that particular point—it is irrelevant, after all—but I beg you to take me seriously on the question of the expedition to Farland. I must go. I am an experienced airship pilot, and if necessary I will even stop drinking.”
“That would be necessary, but—much though I am intrigued by the idea of flying to Farland—I can’t speak seriously about it, to the King or anybody else, until I hear what Zavotle has to say. I will meet him downstairs and take a private parlour where we can have some refreshment and discuss the matter in comfort.” Toller stood up and set his empty beaker aside. “Join us when you have completed your toilet.”
Bartan signalled his assent by raising his drink in a salute and taking a generous swallow. Shaking his head, Toller let himself out of the room and went along a shadowy corridor to the stair. Bartan Drumme was a highly disturbed young man, not to say a madman, but when he had first spoken of a mission to Farland something deep within Toller had responded immediately and with a passion akin to that of a traveller who had just glimpsed his destination after an arduous journey lasting many years. A yearning had been born in him, accompanied by a powerful surge of excitement which he had repressed for fear of disappointment.
Wild, extravagant and preposterous though the idea of flying to Farland was, Chakkell could be in favour of it for the reasons Bartan had suggested—but only if liven Zavotle considered the mission feasible. Zavotle had won the King’s confidence in anything to do with the technicalities of interplanetary flight, so if the little man with the clenched ears considered Farland to be unreachable then Toller Maraquine would indeed have to accept the prospect of becoming a commonplace mortal awaiting a commonplace death. And that could not be allowed to happen.
I’m behaving exactly as Gesalla says I behave, he thought, pausing on the stair. But, at this stage of our lives, what would be the point in my trying to do anything else?
He completed the descent to the inn’s crowded entrance hall and saw Zavotle, clad in civilian clothes, making enquiries of a porter. He called out a greeting and within a few minutes he and Zavotle were installed in a small room with a flagon of good wine on the table between them. Lamps were burning steadily in the wall niches, adding a bluish haze to the air, and by their light Toller noticed that Zavotle was looking tired and introspective. Instead of being obviously premature, the whiteness of his hair was now making him look old, although he was some years younger than Toller.
“What ails you, old friend?” Toller said. “Is your stomach still misbehaving?”
“I get indigestion even when I haven’t eaten.” Zavotle gave him a wan smile. “It hardly seems fair.”
“Here’s something to take your mind off it,” Toller said, pouring out two glasses of green wine. “You recall the talk we had with the King this morning? Our disagreement about what should be done with the defence stations?”
“Yes.”
“Well, only this aftday I met a young man called Bartan Drumme who put forward an intriguing thought. He is permanently soused and quite mad—you’ll see that for yourself in a short time—but his idea has a certain appeal to it. He suggests taking one or more of the stations to Farland.”
Toller had kept his tones light and almost casual, but he was watching Zavotle’s reactions closely and felt a pang of alarm as he saw his lips twitch with amusement.
“Did you say your new friend is quite mad? I’d say he’s a raving lunatic!” Zavotle smirked into his wine.
“But don’t you think it just might ,.’.?” Toller hesitated, realising he would have to deliver himself into his friend’s hands, come what may. “liven, I need Farland. It is the only thing left for me.”
Zavotle eyed him speculatively for a moment.
“Gesalla and I have parted for ever,” Toller replied to the unspoken question. “It is all finished between us.”
“I see.” Zavotle closed his eyes and delicately massaged the lids with the tips of a finger and thumb. “A lot would depend on Farland’s position,” he said slowly.
“Thank you, thank you,” Toller said, overwhelmed with gratitude. “If there is anything I can do to repay you, you have but to name it.”
“There is something I expect in repayment—and I do not have to name it. Not to you, anyway.”
It was Toller’s turn to try reading his friend’s face. “The flight is bound to be dangerous, liven—why do you want to risk your life?”
“For a time I thought my digestion was too weak, then I discovered it is too strong.” Zavotle patted his stomach. “I am being digested, and the incestuous banquet cannot be prolonged indefinitely. So you see, Toller, I need Farland as much as you do, perhaps even more. For myself, it would suffice to plan a one-way journey, but I suspect that the other members of the crew would not take kindly to such an arrangement, and therefore I will have to tax my brain and make provision for their safe return. The problem will provide an excellent distraction for an hour or two, and I thank you for that.”
“I…” Toller glanced around the room, blinking as his tears surrounded the wall lights with spiky haloes. “I’m so sorry, liven. I was too wrapped up in my own worries even to consider that you might be…”
Zavotle smiled and impulsively caught his hand. “Toller, do you remember how it was on the skyship proving flight all those years ago? We flew into the unknown together, and were glad to do so. Let us now put our personal sorrows aside and be thankful that ahead Of us—just when we need them—are an even greater proving flight and an even greater unknown to explore.”
Toller nodded, gazing at Zavotle in affection. “So you think the flight is possible?”
“I’d say it might be done. Farland is many millions of miles away, and it is moving—we mustn’t forget that it moves—but with plenty of the green and purple at our disposal we could overtake it.”
“How many millions of miles are we talking about?”