Ship of Dreams Page 18

  “Let’s go,” said Hero, and needlessly holding his breath, he followed on behind their guide.

  Eldin took a last look about the cubicle and his glance met the steady gaze of the three swordsmen where they waited for him to make his move. “Well?” he said. “What are we waiting for?” He kissed the hilt of his sword for luck, slid the weapon firmly home in its sheath, swung his legs into the vapor and bumped from view—

  —And from then on it was hand over hand through swirling pea-soup, with the feet of the man in front just visible and nothing more, and only the distant throb of engines to match the rapid pulse of adrenalin-enriched bloody.

  The journey on the rope took all of an hour, some of it straight down and some of it along, around and even up. By the time they were at the end of it, the five who followed the maintenance man could not have said for sure which way was where. But of a sudden they were piling into each other and their guide loomed out of the tinted mist, his finger to his lips.

  They were in a great pipe or duct all of five feet in diameter, and at this particular spot a glowstone lamp was fixed to the wall, its tired beam illuminating a hinged manhole about two feet across. Quietly, his voice barely discernible above the throb of the engines, the maintenance man began to speak:

  “As you can see, the manhole’s clamps are on the inside. That’s so the manhole can’t be opened accidentally from outside. If the engine room got flooded with flotation essence, there would be chaos in there. There will be chaos the second after you fellows burst in. You’ll be fighting in free-fall, but at least you’ll be used to it. Let’s hope it works in your favor …” He paused. “It must be almost dawn outside. You’ll have to hurry.” His hands reached tremblingly toward the clamps …

  There were six of Zura’s zombies in that all-important engine room. Six zombies, three female hostages, three frightened engineers (for the fourth had been brave and foolish and was now dead) and one King, the Lord of Serannian himself. The layout of the plant was more or less the same as all of the others; the engines were slightly larger and their pumps massive. There were two large injection valves, both of them open in readiness, and seated on the metal floor at the foot of each were carboys of green gas.

  The engineers, chained to the engines, sweated at their work; the zombies patrolled in pairs, restlessly to and fro, their swords at the ready. The elevator cage had been dragged from its mountings and was jammed firmly half in, half out of the shaft, forming a makeshift prison for Kuranes and the women. Its doors were chained shut and Kuranes stood with his hands tightly clenched on the lattice of diagonal bars. The door to the engine room being open, the Lord of Serannian had a clear view of most of the plant. In one corner, three bodies formed a haphazard pile …

  This was the scene immediately prior to the entry of the rescue squad … the scene immediately thereafter was something entirely different. Kuranes was witness to the whole thing, and afterward he would readily admit that he quite simply could not believe the evidence of his own eyes.

  The curve of a great pipe where it bulged from the wall suddenly fractured with a metallic squeal. A circular scab or flap of metal, the manhole cover, flew clangingly open, admitting a billowing cloud of gray-green, essence-filled vapor. Then there were strangers in the engine room—and more of them by the moment—near-naked strangers whose swords were flickering snake-tongues of steel.

  No, not strangers. Even through the gushing, rapidly thickening mist Kuranes instantly recognized the style of at least three of these men from nowhere. They were weapon masters, instructors from his own military academy. As for the other two … there could be no mistaking them!

  David Hero the one, Hero of Dreams, like some youthful, zestful god of dreamland’s earliest days—a god with the cold grin of a demon as his curved Kledan steel severed the gray and leathery neck of a fatally astounded zombie! Eldin the Wanderer the other—that great, scarfaced ape of a man, roaring his fury in a voice that drowned out even the throb of the mighty engines—his straight sword biting through the rotting wrist of an already dead man even as that animated corpse reached for one of the deadly carboys of green gas!

  After that, all was glorious mayhem and madness …

  CHAPTER XXV

  Vented!

  Madness and mayhem!

  Madness in the crazy way that everything suddenly became weightless; mayhem in the absolute abandon with which the avenging five hurled themselves into the attack on Zura’s dumbfounded zombie cohorts.

  An incredible vista opened to Kuranes’ eyes, as of some alien, fog-wreathed Tartarean landscape, demon-inhabited and now invaded by silver-limbed airborne forces from some fantastic higher realm. And as the volume of flotation essence increased in the engine room, so its effect became that much more grotesque. Both mist and fighting quickly spread into the elevator room, terrifying the women in their prison cage but at the same time affording Kuranes a clearer view of some of the hand-to-hand combat.

  A cartwheeling crush of arms and legs rolled slowly by in midair, leprous gray limbs entwined with healthy white; and rotting fangs were bared in menace against grim, firm-jawed determination. A zombie head bounded from nowhere, spinning like a Catherine wheel and spilling maggots as it caromed from wall to wall. Free-floating, detached limbs twitched as they were knocked about by the combatants; and the mounting sound of clashing swords, of savage cries, harsh breathing and throbbing engines rapidly grew deafening.

  Then Kuranes caught sight of something which caused the breath to catch in his throat and chilled him to the marrow. Floundering about in the misted entrance to the engine room, intact and uninjured, a zombie gropingly sought to fasten upon one of the carboys of green gas, which spun and floated free in the air mere inches from its eager hands! Hero had also seen the danger, however, and now he came wriggling and kicking into view like some merman of ancient myth. He swam in through the doorway and sought to catch hold of the zombie’s ankle, but—

  In the very next moment the zombie grasped the neck of the carboy and somehow contrived to turn on his pursuer. Hero, off balance, found himself thrown against the wall, all of the breath knocked out of him, his curved sword flying from his hand. Seeing his helpless condition, the zombie reached for his throat.

  Though Kuranes’ eyes were riveted upon Hero’s predicament, still his other senses took in all that was happening. He was aware of a lessening of the general din, and of someone—an engineer, he thought—shouting instructions. Something about the injection valves … how they must be closed immediately. Then—

  —The zombie took hold of Hero’s throat with one hand, and with the other it brought the heavy carboy arcing toward his head. Coming to his senses in the nick of time, Hero somehow managed to duck beneath the blow and the carboy shot from the zombie’s fingers and passed harmlessly over his shoulder. At the same time Eldin came diving in through the doorway, took in the scene at a glance and struck one final, killing blow.

  As the zombie’s head leapt from its neck, so the hurtling carboy crashed into the wall and shattered. Green gas immediately billowed up, expanding and filling the entire plant in a matter of seconds. There were astonished cries, loud clanging sounds, thuds and groans as gravity returned and floating men and materials regained their normal weight and fell back to the metal floor. Then someone thought to turn up the ventilation system and the green gas rapidly began to dissipate.

  Moments later, after a rapid and very satisfactory head count (of both living and detached heads alike!) Hero made his way unsteadily to the cage of the elevator. He nursed a great lump on his head—where he had landed when the green gas was released—and several lesser bruises on his back, but apart from these superficial injuries he was unhurt. Eldin was already at the cage, straining at the chains where they held the door shut. Then one of the three weapons masters came forward with an engineer’s bag of tools. He rapidly cut through the chains and the cage door was opened.

  Kuranes, stepping shakily from the cage, hugged each of
the five near-naked men in turn, then demanded to know what was happening and how Serannian fared. While the rest of the team tidied up and tended their mainly minor cuts and scratches, Hero quickly outlined the situation for the King. When he was done, Kuranes said:

  “But I must get back to the surface as quickly as possible. We all must. I want to see how Serannian fares against Zura’s armada. Damn it—I want to be part of it!”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible,” Hero answered. “The elevator is out of order for now, and we had to come down through an essence duct. It was unpleasant and it took us all of an hour. That’s all very well for us young ’uns, but—”

  “But there’s another way,” said a lively voice from behind the pair. They turned to look at the owner of the voice and Hero clapped the newcomer on the shoulder.

  “This is the maintenance man who brought us down here,” he explained to Kuranes. To the other he said, “You came through the fighting unscathed, I see.”

  “I wasn’t part of it,” came the answer. “I’m no swordsman. No, I stayed in the duct. But now that it’s all over—”

  “And you say there’s another way out?” Kuranes eagerly grasped the man’s arms.

  “Yes, your Majesty, there is. That was my job, you see: to get these fellows down here, and then to get them out again. And the way out is a sight faster than the way in, I can tell you!”

  “Explain,” Eldin gruffly demanded as he joined the group. “What is this exit you’re talking about, another duct?”

  “More a vent, really,” answered the maintenance man. He led them back into the engine room and across to the manhole cover, which was now clamped shut with a special tool. “This is a duct,” he said, rapping the bulge of the great pipe with his knuckles. “That’s the way we came in. This, on the other hand—” and he crossed the floor to the opposite wall and pointed to a similar manhole with a single clamp, “is an inspection tunnel. It leads to the great shaft through which all of Serannian’s excess essence is vented to the surface. Fortunately it’s the central shaft; it goes almost vertically to the surface. The shafts from the lesser plants all connect with this one at different levels.”

  “So what you’re really saying,” said Hero, “is that we’re to go along the inspection tunnel and into the shaft—”

  “—Where we’ll float up to the surface?” Eldin finished it for him.

  “Er—not quite,” answered the other. “When I go into the tunnel in the course of my work, I wear a harness and chains. You won’t be equipped like that. Down here, you see, where the essence is most concentrated, it imparts a tremendous bouyancy. No, you won’t float—you’ll shoot!”

  “We’ll shoot,” repeated Eldin with a single curt nod. “Yes, well, that was a good idea. Now let’s hear a few more.”

  “I see,” said Hero, stroking his chin. “So in fact we’ll be sucked out of the tunnel and hurled aloft …”

  “Right,” said the maintenance man.

  “And where will we emerge?”

  “I can answer that one,” said Kuranes. “The orifice is a huge natural crater just outside the city. It’s quite a spectacular sight when the engines are venting. You get a varicolored spray that goes up hundreds of feet into the air over Serannian.”

  “Hundreds of feet!” Eldin could contain himself no longer. “And after that, I suppose, anything sucked up comes down again—hard.”

  “Right again,” said the maintenance man with a grin. “But we’ve thought of that, too. You’ll be in good hands, believe me.” He unclamped the manhole and opened it with a loud clang.

  “Damn me,” said Eldin, scratching his beard. “Maybe I’m a madman but I really do believe you! Well, say on, my friend, while we’re still daft enough to hear you out. But watch what you say, eh? I’m sure my nerves won’t stand much more!”

  Circling high in the dawn sky to the north of the city, Gytherik sat astride the neck of his great gaunt and looked toward the east. There, beyond the sky-island’s rim, war already raged across a broad expanse of the Cerenerian Sea. Zura’s armada had been spied in the east an hour ago, and Serannian’s fleet had immediately sailed to meet and engage her. From where he circled above the mighty blowhole, Gytherik could plainly hear the boom of Zura’s cannon and see the bright flashing beams of Serannian’s less than effective ray-projectors. And already the aerial ocean was stained green where it lapped the sky-island’s rim, green-tinted with the taint of Zura’s gas.

  Even as the gaunt-master watched, he was sickened by the sight of one of Kuranes’ ships—already holed, listing badly and clearly out of the fight—shuddering under a further battering from a pirate’s cannon before spiraling down out of the sky. In the next instant, however, Gytherik was standing in his tiny saddle and cheering wildly. A gout of flame had erupted on the deck of a pirate and was devouring her sails and rigging. Blazing zombie figures fell like fiery ants from her roaring deck.

  Gytherik knew what that burning ship signified: namely that half of his grim of gaunts had joined the fray. Serannian’s chemists had been at work all night manufacturing firebombs: fragile bottles of incendiary liquid which the gaunts could carry in their prehensile paws and drop on the decks of the black ships. Four gaunts had been instructed in this tactic and were now beginning to employ it to devastating effect. A second ship burst into flame even as the first capsized and went plummeting to her doom.

  Gytherik watched the battle a moment longer, cast worried eyes far to the east, then breathed a sigh of relief. Though the sun was up, its beams were as yet hidden behind great banks of distant cloud. When those clouds dispersed or blew away, then the gaunts would run for cover. That would be a great pity and a great loss, for the gaunt-master could clearly see how his rubbery allies were causing Zura a great deal of concern. Two more ships were beginning to burn and smoke was now curling into the sky from all quarters of the battle.

  Then Gytherik felt a sudden uprushing of air, as if his mount had glided into a warm thermal, and his mind quickly returned to more immediate matters. He had been told that he would receive just such a warning before the great venting which would hurl his friends into the sky. Well, the warning had come and now he was ready. He called to his three free-flying gaunts and indicated that they should prepare themselves and be alert.

  Nor had they any time to spare, for no sooner had the gaunts positioned themselves equidistant in their circling than the crater gave a great belch and blew clouds of dust and pebbles high into the sky. That heralded the beginning of a long, continuous and rapidly increasing exhalation of variously tinted, mildly scented essence, a column of shimmering vapor that shot like some ethereal geyser high into Serannian’s atmosphere. And at the very height of that mighty mechanical snort, out from the crater hurtled a trio of semi-naked figures whose bodies turned in the air like a troupe of tumblers in a circus.

  These were those master swordsmen, the instructors from Kuranes’ military academy; and as they reached the meridian of their flight, passed out through the geyser’s shimmering well into normal air and began to fall back, so Gytherik’s gaunts darted in like great kingfishers to snatch them from mid-air and transport them in a series of dizzy swoops down toward Serannian’s bastion walls. Though there was only one gaunt to each man, the flights this time were of such short duration—and all “downhill”—that the gaunts found little difficulty in remaining aloft until their charges were safely deposited.

  And this time Gytherik’s cheering was as lively and lusty a sound as ever that youth had uttered; for the emergence of the three weapons masters, unhurt and on time as scheduled, told him that the counterattack on Serannian’s most important flotation plant had gone without a hitch. He knew now that it would be only a matter of seconds before the next eruption coughed up Hero, Eldin and—if he still lived—Lord Kuranes of Serannian himself.

  And indeed as the lesser gaunts rejoined him where he rode the rim of the aerial spout, so there came again that warning belch from the black throat o
f the crater, and again the mounting column of essence like some mythical geyser of the gods. More powerful than before, the vented essence rose even higher into the sky; and in another moment, tumbling aloft like ping-pong balls in a fountain—

  “Go get ’em!” yelled Gytherik to the gaunts, but his prehistoric pets had required no such instruction. With an independence most uncharacteristic of their kind, they zeroed in on their targets and snatched at them where they emerged from the rising column of shimmering essence.

  Hero, feeling rubbery paws grasp him firmly under the armpits, hung on for dear life and closed his eyes against the nauseous spinning on his battered senses. Kuranes too clung grimly to leathery limbs where he dangled beneath frantically beating bat-wings.

  And as for Eldin—

  “Hero!” came the Wanderer’s vibrating bull roar. “Hero, damn you! Hell’s teeth—will you look at me when I’m shouting at you?”

  Hero looked—Kuranes, too—and as they zoomed dizzily down and across Serannian’s skyline of spires and steeply sloping rooftops, so they joined Gytherik in uncontrollable, near-hysterical laughter.

  For Eldin’s gaunt had caught him by the legs! And heedless of life and limb—dangling in that singularly undignified position—the Wanderer heartily, systematically and indiscriminately cursed the creature, its master, Hero, Kuranes, Serannian, Zura and all of the dreamlands as he was rushed without pause toward the sky-island’s ballistae-burdened walls …

  CHAPTER XXVI

  Again, Curator

  Set down beside the sky-island’s walls close to the great harbor, the three had an excellent view of the battle. Gytherik’s gaunts were already taking a terrible toll of Zura’s ships, and now the gaunt-master sent the rest of the grim about their inflammatory duties. The black armada now numbered less than seventy ships, and Zura must surely be wondering what had become of her zombie saboteurs.