He was right. Dennis had never flown even a fixed-wing glider, not to mention one of these kite things. But he had taken a few private flying lessons in single-engined prop planes. He had always intended to go back and get his license.
The two kinds of flying couldn’t be that different, could they?
Anyway, he had seen lots of movies and talked to hang-glider pilots about how it was done. And he had taken courses in the physics of aerodynamics. The principles seemed simple enough.
“Have you managed to pick a way in and out of your room yet?” he asked Arth.
“Of course.” The small thief sniffed. “They bolt th’ door, but you can’t keep a fellow like me in a room that hasn’t been practiced as a jail.”
“Especially with the help of a little slippery oil.”
Arth shrugged. They had been careful to collect the stuff when nobody was looking, so they only had a little. Still, just a little bit of the perfect lubricant could go a long way.
“I can get about the cruder parts of th’ castle pretty well after dark. The hard part’s the outer walls, where they’ve got dogs, an’ sniffer beasts, an’ lights and guards by the dozens. I could pilfer half the stuff in Kremer’s banquet room if I knew I could get off the castle-mount with it.”
“Do you think you could snatch one of those?” Dennis nodded toward the shed where they had watched the pilots carefully fold their machines earlier.
Arth looked at Dennis nervously. “Uh, I dunno. Those gliders are kinda bulky.…” He bit his lower lip. “Your question’s just … uh, hypothetical.” He carefully spoke the word Dennis had taught him. “Isn’ it? It doesn’ have nothin’ to do with your idea on how to escape from here, does it?”
“It does, Arth.”
Arth shuddered. “I was afraid you’d say that. Dennizz, do you know how many men Kremer lost before they learned to handle those things? They still lose nearly half their new pilots. Can you actually fly one?”
Dennis needed Arth’s help. To get it he would have to inspire faith. “What do you think?” he asked confidently.
Arth smiled slightly, tentatively. “Yeah, sure. I guess only an idiot would try to take off in one of those things, in th’ dark, without knowin’ what he’s doin’. I’m sorry, Dennizz.”
Dennis managed not to wince visibly at his friend’s way of putting it. He clasped Arth’s shoulder. “Right. Now, do you think you’ll be able to hide the glider until we need it? Kremer’s people don’t seem to understand inventory control, but they may miss it anyway.”
“No problem.” Arth grinned. “My room’s stuffed with heaps of cloth and lumber for our ‘experiments.’ The servants’ve got orders to give us any junk we want, whatever’s not sharp or made of metal. I can hide it in there easy.”
“Will you want me to help in the heist?”
Arth shivered. “Uh, no, Dennizz. Some things are best left to experts. You walk like a bull rickel tha’s lookin’ for a female under a house. No offense, but I’ll do it m’self. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“All right, then.” Dennis looked at the settling twilight. “Maybe you’d better retire a bit early this evening, Arth. You look pretty tired.”
“Huh? But it’s only … oh.” Arth nodded. “You want me to do it tonight.” He shrugged. “Ah, well, why not? That means we make th’ break tomorrow night?”
“Or the night after.” Dennis was under a time limit. Kremer would not be stalled much longer.
“Okay.” Arth had picked up the expression from Dennis. The little thief yawned exaggeratedly for the benefit of the guards. He spoke out loud. “Well, I think I’ll work on improvin’ my cot for a while!” He nudged Dennis with his elbow and winked. “See you in the mornin’, boss!” Then he added under his breath, “I hope.”
“Good luck,” Dennis said softly as Arth walked away, followed by his guard. Dennis felt bad asking him to risk his neck like this. But the fellow knew his job and would do it cheerfully. Dennis counted himself lucky to have him as his friend.
Nearby, a small stream of pungent liquor had begun to drip from the end of the condenser. If that kept up, the crew’s main job would be simply to watch and practice the distillery as a unit. The hard part was teaching them to change the wine mix properly.
Dennis found his thoughts drifting several parapets higher. Now that he was committed to trying an escape soon, he would have to settle his feelings about Princess Linnora.
If he was really serious about doing something for her, somehow during the next twenty-four hours he would have to get in touch with her, somehow regain her trust, and find a way to get her away from her guards for a rendezvous with the glider at the castle peak.
It sounded next to impossible.
He only hoped that she would give him a chance to explain if the time ever came.
The distillery crew huddled around the condenser, watching the slow drip-dripping of brandy into a flask.
Dennis caught some brandy on his fingers and shuddered as he sniffed, wishing nostalgically for the bottle of thirty-year-old Johnny Walker Swing that presumably still sat in his closet back at Sahara Tech.
He popped a few drops into his mouth and then sucked air. The stuff did have a bite to it, he had to admit.
The evening shift of practicers arrived to relieve the day crew. It was time to change the pot anyway, so he ran the Coylian prisoners through the routine several times to make sure they had it down right.
By the time they had finished, the stars were coming out. He made sure all was in order, then picked up his cloak from the railing. “I want to stretch my legs,” he told his guards.
The northmen bowed slightly and followed behind. Although his privileges had been sharply reduced, he was still at least officially a quasiguest … and a wizard. He had freedom of the yard so long as he was accompanied.
He strolled the long way, past the glider sheds and then the main gate. As he neared the section of the castle where the L’Toff Princess had her rooms, his doubts returned. Every parapet was rimmed with sharp stakes, practiced every day by teams of soldiers armed with slabs of meat. To land a glider upon one and take off again would be as impossible as climbing those sheer walls appeared to be.
Should he take an already risky plan and reduce its chance to negligible by trying to free Linnora as well? Would that be fair to Arth?
Dennis rounded a corner and felt his pulse rise. In the light from the flickering wall cressets, he saw a slim girl dressed in white holding onto the bars three levels up. The L’Toff Princess stared into the starry night, the breeze tugging at her filmy gown. As Dennis approached, his guards keeping a steady five paces behind, he saw the girl turn. Someone else had come out onto her balcony.
Dennis bent in the shadows to tie the laces of his boots, and he looked up as casually as he could. He saw Baron Kremer come forth and confront Linnora. She looked terribly small before him.
The warlord spoke to her and she shook her head in reply. She tried to turn away, but he grabbed her arm and spoke again, more sharply. Dennis still couldn’t make out what was being said, but he could catch the tone.
Linnora struggled, but Kremer only laughed and pulled her close, holding her against his broad chest in spite of her resistance.
One of the guards behind Dennis made a rough joke. Obviously they thought their Lord was giving the haughty tirbeswoman only what she had coming.
Dennis felt under his waistband. Four carefully selected smooth stones made a lump there. He hadn’t had any opportunity to practice his crude weapon. It would only be as good as he had made it. All told, it was not much better a makeshift sling than the cummerbund he had used for the same purpose at that last Sahara Tech party.
Still, he could probably get one or two stones off before the guards brought him down. And Kremer was a big target.
If I were one of Shakespeare’s characters I’d consider it worthwhile to die for a lady’s virginity, he thought. Or at least her honor.
Dennis?
??s shoulders sagged. Most of Shakespeare’s characters had been poetic idiots. Even if he succeeded in striking down Kremer, it would only buy Linnora a respite. At the cost of his own life.
It wasn’t worth it. Not when he might be able to get her out of here tomorrow if he were patient. He was willing to risk his life for her, but he would not throw it away uselessly.
There was the sound of ripping cloth.
He turned away so he wouldn’t have to witness it. At least by forcing the guards to follow him, he could spare the girl an audience to her humiliation. He walked away quickly, shoulders hunched. The guards chuckled as they followed.
He got ten paces, then a hint of motion in the sky caught his eye.
Dennis stopped. He looked to the south.
Something in the southern sky was blocking a small patch of stars. It moved in the night, faster than a cloud and more regular in outline, growing larger as it came closer. He squinted, but with his night vision ruined by the tower torches, he couldn’t make it out.
Then a smile came unexpectedly. Could it be …?
At the southern edge of the encampment there was a sudden outcry, then a clamor of anxious shouts. Men came running out of the barracks, struggling into armor as an alarm bell began to clang.
Out of the night gloom, into the light of the tower torches, a giant round shape suddenly loomed. It had two great eyes that shimmered and glared angrily. At the bottom of the huge, looming face was a great maw. A fire burned within.
“Ha-ha!” Dennis jumped and struck at the air with his fist. “Kremer didn’t catch the others! They practiced it, and it flies! It really flies!”
A giant globe of fabric and hot air hissed and bobbed over the outer wall, slowly gaining altitude. In a wickerwork gondola below the globe, the dim shapes of his friends were vague shadows against the flames.
Still, something seemed to be wrong with the balloon. It wasn’t rising as fast as Dennis would have hoped. And worse luck, it was headed right for Kremer’s castle! It looked like it would barely clear the palace peak!
“Come on, guys,” he muttered while his guards pointed fearfully, their eyes outlined white in fear. “Up! Rise up and get out of here!” Dennis stared hard at the balloon, practicing it at climbing.
And it did seem to rise faster now, gaining slowly. Tiny faces peered from the gondola down into the courtyard below. A few soldiers threw spears and stones but none quite reached the majestic, silent craft.
Dennis turned to see how Kremer was taking this. It would be great for something to stick in the tyrant’s imperturbable craw.
The Baron had let go of Linnora, who huddled against the wall, rubbing her bruised arms and weeping silently.
But unlike his men, Kremer did not appear frightened at all. Instead, a smile spread across his lips as he reached into his tunic.
“Oh,” Dennis said, realizing. “Oh, no you don’t, you son-of-a-bitch.”
He hurriedly unraveled his waistband as his guards cowered underneath the glowering shadow of the balloon. There was a thumping sound as two bags of sand exploded into spray nearby, sending men fleeing.
Dennis’s carefully selected stones popped into his hand. He ran toward the first parapet, stretching out his sash and praying he would be in time.
Kremer was savoring the moment, bless him, letting the crude aerostat approach as he fondled the Earthmade needler. Dennis measured out a length of waistband, dropped a stone into the fold, and began swinging the makeshift sling over his head.
Except for that evening at S.I.T., he hadn’t used a sling much since his Boy Scout days. If only he had been able to practice!
Kremer raised the needler and languidly aimed it at the great balloon just as Dennis cast loose.
The stone struck a parapet spike just in front of the Baron and ricocheted noisily into the night. Kremer jumped back in surprise. He looked about for a second, then saw Dennis in the lighted courtyard below, struggling to ready another stone.
Kremer grinned and aimed downward, at the Earthman. Dennis knew, in that telescoped moment, that there wasn’t time to get off another stone. He had barely begun his second swing when Kremer fired.
A hail of deadly slivers tore up the ground a few meters to Dennis’s right. Dennis blinked in surprise as he found himself alive. The reason was readily apparent. A small storm of blond hair and fingernails had struck the Baron, spoiling his aim a second time.
A little amazed but not yet counting his luck, Dennis swung the sling, looking for a clear shot. But now Linnora was in the way. The Princess was all over her captor, struggling to take the handgun from him.
Dennis’s arm was beginning to tire. If only she’d move aside now!
The balloon was directly overhead and moving fast. All the aeronauts needed was maybe another half minute to get away.…
Kremer got a grip on Linnora’s arm and flung her down. There were scratch marks on his face, and at last he looked perturbed. Kremer cast Dennis a look that seemed to say his turn would come, and he lifted the needler to bear on the balloon.
Dennis’s guards must have caught on at last. He finished swinging even as he heard them running toward him. He felt a rightness as he let go of the second stone just in time.
The stone struck Kremer’s left temple at the same moment as the balloon reached the zenith, and several hundred pounds of guard tackled Dennis from behind.
As the ground came up to meet him, Dennis thought, I’ve got to stop meeting people like this.
8
“Eurekaarrgh”
1
It was getting monotonous, this waking up not knowing where you were, feeling like something dragged in from a refuse heap.
He could tell without even opening his eyes that he was back in the dungeon again. Sharp bits of straw stabbed his naked back, thwarted only where bandages covered his worst cuts and bruises.
Still, someone in authority apparently had decided to keep him alive for the present. That was something.
Strangely, in spite of the greater severity of his welts—and they seemed really to have worked him over this time—Dennis felt better than he had on the other occasions when he had been beaten up here on Tatir. This time, at least, he had gotten his own licks in. The brief memory of Baron Kremer tipping over like a fallen tree seemed to lessen the pain.
He shivered and sat up slowly, wincing, and gingerly examined himself until he was fairly certain nothing had been permanently damaged.
Yet, he reminded himself.
From somewhere down the dank hallway he heard a faint “thunking” sound … like someone chopping something with a sharp object. Perhaps the headsman was practicing his ax.
Time passed, measurable only by his sparse meals, by his thoughts, and by punctuated screams from some poor devil down the hall.
Dennis passed some of the time wondering at his bandages, which seemed never to need changing. They breathed easily, remained clean, and were comfortable to wear. Of course, he realized, they were probably well practiced. No doubt the baron gave his people free emergency care during peacetime so the medicinal supplies would be up to par when war came along. Here in the castle the dispensary would have dressings hundreds of years old.
It was a peculiar thought.
Bandages were among the things he would bring home to Earth if he ever got the chance—not gemstone tools, or works of art that would presumably only decay once they were released from the field of the Practice Effect, but things whose properties could be analyzed and then duplicated by the making wizards of Earth.
In the dark hours he made lists of things to take back. To help pass the time, he rehearsed the report he would give to the dubious folks back home.
He concluded that even if he ever did escape this place, and somehow managed to fix the zievatron and get home, he had better bring back some pretty convincing novelties. Otherwise nobody would ever believe him.
They fed him a thin gruel at infrequent intervals. Dennis lost all track of time. For
a day or so the screams from down the hall ceased. Then some unfortunate new victim seemed to have been recruited to practice certain specialized tools.
Dennis tried to do anomaly calculations in his head. He brought up long-untended memories of home. He listened hard for anything to relieve the monotony.
Once he heard the jailers talking excitedly out in the corridor.
“… first here, then high in the tower, then out in the yard, and now down here again! And nobody knows what it is!”
“It’s a monster is what ’tis!” the other retorted. “It’s the spawn of that great demon who struck down the Baron four nights ago. I tell you it’s unlucky to keep wizards and L’Toff under a roof! I can’t wait ’til the Baron’s recovered and makes a judgment.…”
The voices passed down the hallway.
Dennis got up to grab the bars in his door’s tiny window. “Guard!” he called. “Guard! Did you say Kremer lives?”
The jailers had answered none of his questions before, but this pair sounded different. Perhaps they had just been rotated down to the dungeon.
They looked at each other in the flickering light from a wall cresset. One of the jailers shrugged and gave Dennis a snaggle-toothed grin. “Yeah, Wizard. No thanks to that demon you conjured up to drop rocks on his Lordship. Baron Kremer should be up an’ aroun’ in a few days. ’Til then Lord Hern’s in charge.”
Dennis nodded. So. He had figured that these cavemen never even invented the sling. It was a miracle they had bows and arrows. Probably no one but Kremer himself knew exactly what Dennis had done.
Everyone else quite correctly blamed him for the Baron’s condition, but for the wrong reason, thinking he had managed it by metaphysical means. They wouldn’t do anything further to him until Kremer was ready to choose an appropriate fate himself.
Dennis didn’t doubt it would include a protracted visit to the technicians down the hall.