Lankar of Callisto
- Автор: Картер Лин Спрэг
- Серия: Callisto #6
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «Lankar of Callisto». Краткое содержание книги:
...in the mysterious and treacherous domain of the insidious Mind Wizards. Searching for him is a fearless armada of his loyal friends, and a stranger who knows him better than anyone on Callisto. The stranger, Lankar, is none other than Lin Carter, accidentally transported through the Gate Between the Worlds to the land of the Thanatorians. Aware of Jandar's plight, Lankar joins the search beyond the world's edge and suddenly finds himself battling for his own existence against the most nightmarish creatures on the planet - the gruesome flesh robots of Kuur and the fiendish Mind Wizards of Callisto themselves...
By this time it was early in the afternoon. The Xaxar hovered aloft, waiting for her sister-ships to return to the rendezvous point, while Dr. Abziz, from the pilothouse, eagerly scanned the terrain beneath our keel, comparing the view below with the conjectural landscape inked upon his charts.
“If once this accursed mist would part, perhaps I could ascertain our location by sighting a recognizable landmark,” the little savant huffed And fumed, tugging at his tuft of a beard in an ecstasy of indecision.
“That is certainly the mountain with three peaks over there,” said the jungle maid impatiently. “Or, if it isn’t the right one, it certainly looks like the one on the medallion!”
“Looks can be deceiving at this altitude, my dear child―if you could just manage, all of you, to leave these geographical decisions in the hands of a scholar uniquely experienced in making them, we would all be a lot happier!”
Ylana sniffed and turned a pouting face on the fussy little savant, but did not deign to reply.
“We could bring the Xaxar down another hundred yards,” Zantor said thoughtfully, “but only at considerable risk to the safety of the vessel. The updrafts are unpredictable in this mountainous country, and the wind currents have never been charted, since the Zanadarians never explored this far.”
“Well, neighbor,” Glypto chirped, rubbing his skinny hands together briskly and grinning as the fat little Soraban winced at this familiarity, “we could get a mite lower in the four-man gigs, could we not? Aye, and mayhap in that manner we could pierce beneath yon blanket of fog and gain a truly clear view of the terrain. What say my noble lordships to that?”
Abziz preened his waxed spike of beard, his features glum and petulant. It went sorely against his grain to. agree with anything suggested by his ruffianly tormentor, but the simple fact of the matter was that this was a good suggestion, and he knew it. You could read in his twitching features the internal struggle going on within him. At last he mumbled something by way of grudging assent.
“Aye, old Glypto thought as much!” chortled the wizened little Tharkolian. “Now, then, your lordships, it only remains to decide which of us shall have the honor of descending in the gig. Since ‘twere I as made the suggestion in the first place, I hope ‘twill not be thought impertinent of me to mention that, by rights, the honor belongs to poor Glypto?”
Zantor looked over at the brisk, bright-eyed little figure in black, a reluctant grin lightening his habitually gloomy expression. It was extremely difficult to keep a straight face around Glypto: he bubbled with good humor and exuded an aura of cheerful, impertinent merriment, and could be as’ enthusiastic and excited as a small boy.
“Very well, Master Glypto, the honor shall be yours. I suppose it is also up to you to designate the three others you wish to accompany you in the gig, as well. In this matter, the decision is up to you, but I must insist that Dr. Abziz be one of the three you select.”
Abziz groaned at this, for he hated to be exposed to Glypto’s company even under the best of circumstances, but he subsided after Zantor gave him a stern look. There was obviously no other choice but that the Soraban geographer must be one of those to descend below the fog-level in the gig.
“Aye, your Admiralship!” Glypto nodded cheerfully. “‘Tis always a pleasure to assist me dear neighbor in his geographical researches, that it is! For the rest, then, Glypto will select Prince Lankar and the wee lad Taran.”
Bozo pricked up his ears and uttered a questioning rumble. He sat up, turned mournful eyes upon me, and laid one great paw upon my knee as if in entreaty. I stroked his brow and said something to the effect that he should mind his manners and behave himself while I was gone―which would not be long, perhaps half an hour at most. But Bozo would have none of this and began cavorting clumsily about the cabin, setting the navigational instruments to shaking in their wall-brackets and nearly upsetting the chart-table.
Zantor cleared his throat. “May I suggest, Master Glypto, that you take the othode along with you, in the place of Taran, if only for the peace of the ship? You know how upset he becomes if parted from the Prince for long . .”
Dr. Abziz threw up his pudgy hands in horror.
“Oh, no! No! Really, Admiral―that is too much to ask! Is it not bad enough that I must share a cabin with the malodorous wild brute―who detests the very sight of me, I assure you!―but to try to cram myself into the narrow confines of a flimsy gig with the savage creature is asking too much of a weary, overworked scholar, who requires peace and a measure of quiet in order to perform his important scientific duties adequately?”
Mischief twinkled in the eye of the little Tharkolian. He opened his mouth to insist upon his choice, but I forestalled him.
“Listen, Glypto, I don’t mind staying here with Bozo; I know he upsets the Doctor and I don’t want to cause trouble. Finding the entrance to the hideout of the Mind Wizards is the most important thing right now. And I don’t mind being left behind.”
“Nonsense, Prince, Glypto will not hear of it! Why, the dear beast will come in handy, I’ll warrant, should any creature of the wild make bold enough to mistake the likes of us for tasty morsels … aye, the good Doctor here, well, he’ll just have to put up with the creature, that’s all there is to be said on it. We’ll be gone only a wee short time, after all, and it be Glypto his Admiralship here has put in command of this wee venture. If poor old Glypto can’t choose his own comrades, why, what be the purpose of it all?”
The savant from Soraba subsided, fuming, but even he could see that Glypto would not be swayed. So the end result was that we bundled our cloaks about us, saw to our weapons, and descended to the deck where several gigs were housed in small covered structures to protect them from the wind.
The deck-crew unlatched one gig from its housing, locked it into one of the hoists, and held it steady while we climbed aboard. Bozo was the last to scramble into the swaying craft, and it took a bit of persuasion before the big fellow reluctantly jumped into the seat next to mine. His weight made the’ small craft wobble from side to side sickeningly, and Dr. Abziz stifled a hollow groan and cuddled his precious instruments in his lap against damage.
“All secure aboard!” Glypto sang out cheerfully, with a brisk nod to the grinning deck-crew. “Hoist us over the sideaye, lively now, me lads!”
Wooden pulleys squeaked; lines drew taut. The hoist groaned. The little gig, wobbling from side to side, was elevated above the deck jerkily, then swung out over the side of the Xaxar. The wind caught the stiff wings of the little craft, which shuddered like a nervous horse at the starting-gate. Then at Glypto’s signal the latch was released and we dropped like a stone for a moment, then caught the wind with a buffet, and slid away to one side on a long, steep curve, as the little Tharkolian, in the front seat beside the shivering Dr. Abziz, worked the ailerons and rudder.
My heart was in my mouth and I held on to Bozo who crouched low in the seat beside me, trembling and growling at the unfamiliar giddy sensation. The little gig looked like an outrigger canoe with wings. It rode on two gas-filled pontoons slung below the hull to either side, like the pontoons on a seaplane. The craft was as flimsy as a kite, being made entirely of pressedpaper. And the winds shrieked.about us, tugging at our hair, making our eyes water, so that it seemed we were helpless in the impalpable grip of the gale-like a crude paper toy, whirled madly about in a howling tornado.
But in just a moment or two the little craft settled down as Glypto gained control. Now she rode the winds, rather than tumbling helplessly in their grip. Buoyant as a cork in a stream; she floated through the fog-belt, which closed about us, smotheringly. Damp mist enveloped us, shutting the world away, wetting our garments, plastering our hair to our heads. We blinked through the clinging grayness, striving to penetrate the thick vapor with narrowed eyes.