The ruler of Krull and the Circumfence considered this for a moment, then shrugged.
“The sea is full of monsters,” he said. “It is one of its prime attributes. Have it dealt with. And—Master Launchcontroller?”
“Lord?”
“If I am further vexed, you will recall that two people are due to be sacrificed. I may feel generous and increase the number.”
“Yes, lord.” The Master Launchcontroller scuttled away, relieved to be out of the autocrat’s sight.
The Potent Voyager, no longer the blank bronze shell that had been smashed from the mold a few days earlier, rested in its cradle on top of a wooden tower in the center of the arena. In front of it a railway ran down toward the Edge, where for the space of a few yards it turned suddenly upward.
The late Dactylos Goldeneyes, who had designed the launching pad as well as the Potent Voyager itself, had claimed that this last touch was merely to ensure that the ship would not snag on any rocks as it began its long plunge. Maybe it was merely coincidental that it would also, because of that little twitch in the track, leap like a salmon and shine theatrically in the sunlight before disappearing into the cloud sea.
There was a fanfare of trumpets at the edge of the arena. The chelonauts’ honor guard appeared, to much cheering from the crowd. Then the white-suited explorers themselves stepped out into the light.
It immediately dawned on the Arch-astronomer that something was wrong. Heroes always walked in a certain way, for example. They certainly didn’t waddle, and one of the chelonauts was definitely waddling.
The roar of the assembled people of Krull was deafening. As the chelonauts and their guards crossed the great arena, passing between the many altars that had been set up for the various wizards and priests of Krull’s many sects to ensure the success of the launch, the Arch-astronomer frowned. By the time the party was halfway across the floor his mind had reached a conclusion. By the time the chelonauts were standing at the foot of the ladder that led to the ship—and was there more than a hint of reluctance about them?—the Arch-astronomer was on his feet, his words lost in the noise of the crowd. One of his arms shot out and back, fingers spread dramatically in the traditional spell-casting position, and any passing lip-reader who was also familiar with the standard texts on magic would have recognized the opening words of Vestcake’s Floating Curse, and would then have prudently run away.
Its final words remained unsaid, however. The Arch-astronomer turned in astonishment as a commotion broke out around the big arched entrance to the arena. Guards were running out into the daylight, throwing down their weapons as they scuttled among the altars or vaulted the parapet into the stands.
Something emerged behind them, and the crowd around the entrance ceased its raucous cheering and began a silent, determined scramble to get out of the way.
The something was a low dome of seaweed, moving slowly but with a sinister sense of purpose. One guard overcame his horror sufficiently to stand in its path and hurl his spear, which landed squarely among the weeds. The crowd cheered—then went deathly silent as the dome surged forward and engulfed the man completely.
The Arch-astronomer dismissed the half-formed shape of Vestcake’s famous Curse with a sharp wave of his hand, and quickly spoke the words of one of the most powerful spells in his repertoire: the Infernal Combustion Enigma.
Octarine fire spiraled around and between his fingers as he shaped the complex rune of the spell in midair and sent it, screaming and trailing blue smoke, toward the shape.
There was a satisfying explosion and a gout of flame shot up into the clear morning sky, shedding flakes of burning seaweed on the way. A cloud of smoke and steam concealed the monster for several minutes, and when it cleared the dome had completely disappeared.
There was a large charred circle on the flagstones, however, in which a few clumps of kelp and bladderwrack still smoldered.
And in the center of the circle was a perfectly ordinary, if somewhat large, wooden chest. It was not even scorched. Someone on the far side of the arena started to laugh, but the sound was broken off abruptly as the chest rose up on dozens of what could only be legs and turned to face the Arch-Astronomer. A perfectly ordinary if somewhat large wooden chest does not, of course, have a face with which to face, but this one was quite definitely facing. In precisely the same way as he understood that, the Arch-astronomer was also horribly aware that this perfectly normal box was in some indescribable way narrowing its eyes.
It began to move resolutely toward him. He shuddered.
“Magicians!” he screamed. “Where are my magicians?”