Land and Overland Omnibus

CHAPTER 4



When Toller Maraquine heard the bolt of his cell door being drawn his principal emotion was one of relief. He had been allowed writing materials, and all through the hours of littlenight he had sat with the pad on his knees, trying to compose a letter to Gesalla and Cassyll. His intention had been to explain and apologise, but explanation had proved impossible—how was he to find any shred of reason in what he had done?—and all he had written was one bald sentence.

I am sorry.

The three words struck him as being an apt but dismal epitaph for a life that had been thrown away, and now he had a profound desire to get the last minutes of futility over and done with.

He stood up and faced the opening door, fully expecting to see an executioner accompanied by a squad of jailers. Instead, the widening rectangle revealed the paunchy form of King Chakkell, flanked by stone-faced members of his personal guard.

"Should I feel honoured?" Toller said. "Am I to be seen off by the King in person?"

Chakkell raised a leather-bound dispatch book of the type used by the Kolcorronian army. "Your astonishing good luck continues, Maraquine. Our game is on again. Come with me—I have need of you." He grasped Toller's arm with as much force as the executioner would have used and marched him into the passageway, where recently extinguished wicks still smoked and fumed in their sconces.

"You have need of me? Does this mean…?" Paradoxically, in the moment he began to entertain hope Toller was unmanned by a pang of death-fear which cooled his brow and stilled his voice.

"It means I'm prepared to forget about your stupidity of the foreday."

"Majesty, I'm grateful … truly grateful," Toller managed to say. Inwardly he promised: I'll never fail you again, Gesalla.

"And so you should be!" Chakkell led the way out of the cell block, through a gateway whose guards sprang to attention, and into the parade ground in which, seemingly an aeon ago, Toller had faced Karkarand.

"This must concern the skyship we saw," Toller said. "Was it really from Land?"

"We will talk in private."

Toller and Chakkell, still accompanied by guards, entered the rear of the palace and went through corridors to an undistinguished doorway. Walking behind the King, Toller had detected the soupy smell of bluehorn sweat from his clothing, and the indication of hard riding intensified his interest. Chakkell dismissed his men with a wave and brought Toller into a modestly proportioned apartment in which the only furnishings were a round table and six plain chairs.

"Read that." Chakkell handed Toller the dispatch book, took a seat at the table and stared down at his clenched fists. His deeply tanned scalp was glistening with perspiration and it was obvious that he was highly agitated. Deciding it would be unwise to ask any preliminary questions, Toller sat down at the opposite side of the table and opened the book. The reading difficulties he had known as a young man had faded over the years, and it took him only a few minutes to go through the pages of pencilled script, even though the characters were wildly distorted in places. When he had finished he closed the book and set it down, suddenly aware of blood stains on the cover.

Head still lowered, Chakkell looked up from under his brows, eyes showing white crescents. "Well?"

"Is Colonel Gartasian dead?"

"Of course he's dead—and from what is written there he could be the first of many," Chakkell said. "The question is, what can be done? What can we do about these diseased upstarts?"

"Do you think this Rassamarden really intends to invade? It seems an unreasonable course for one who has an empty world at his disposal."

Chakkell pointed at the book. "You saw what Gartasian said. We are not dealing with reasonable people, Maraquine. It was Gartasian's opinion that they are all unhinged to some extent, and their ruler could be the worst of the lot."

Toller nodded. "It is often the way."

"Don't take too many liberties," Chakkell warned. "You have more skyship experience than any other man in Kolcorron, and I want your views about how we can defend ourselves."

"Well…" For a few seconds Toller was distracted by an upsurge of something like joy, immediately followed by feelings of shame and remorse. What kind of a man was he? He had barely finished vowing never again to set anything above the blessed peace of a contented domestic existence, and now his heart was quickening at the thought of participating in an entirely new kind of warfare. Could it be some kind of reaction to the discovery that he was not about to be executed, that life would continue—or was he a fatally flawed human being in the pattern of the long-dead Prince Leddravohr? The latter possibility was almost too much to contemplate.

"I am waiting," Chakkell said impatiently. "Don't tell me that the crisis is of so great a magnitude as to still your tongue."

Toller took a deep breath and exhaled it in a sigh. "Majesty, assuming that a contest does take place, fate has dictated the terms. We cannot carry the battle to the enemy, and for obvious reasons these so-called New Men must never be permitted to set foot on our world. That leaves us but one course of action."

"Which is?"

"Exclusion! A barrier! We must wait for the ships in the weightless zone—midway between the two worlds—and destroy them as they labour up from Land. It is the only way."

Chakkell studied Toller's face, appraising his sincerity. "From what I remember of the mid-passage the air was too cold and thin to support life for any length of time."

"We need ships of a different design. The gondolas need to be larger, and totally enclosed. And sealed to retain air and heat. Perhaps we will even use firesalt to thicken the air. All that and more will be necessary if we are to remain in the weightless zone for long periods."

"Can it be done?" Chakkell said. "You seem to be talking about veritable fortresses suspended in the sky. The weight…"

"On the old skyships we were able to lift twenty passengers, plus essential supplies. That is a considerable weight, and we may be able to attach two balloons to one lengthened gondola so as to double the carrying capacity."

"It's worth thinking about." Chakkell stood up and paced around the table, frowning at Toller all the while. "I believe I'm going to create a new post, especially for you," he finally said, it shall be … Sky Marshal … with complete responsibility for the aerial defence of Overland. You will be answerable to none but me, and will have the power to draw on any resource you need—human or material—for the successful prosecution of your task."

Toller was uplifted by the prospect of having purpose and direction restored to his life, but to his own surprise he felt reluctant to let himself be borne away on the tide of Chakkell's ideas. If he could be marked down for execution in one minute and raised to an exalted office in the next, then he was nothing more than a creature of the King, a puppet without dignity or a true identity of his own.

"If I decide to accept your commission," he said, "there are certain…"

"If you decide to accept! If! " Chakkell kicked his vacated chair aside, slammed his hands down on the table and leaned across it. "What's the matter with you, Maraquine? Would you be disloyal to your own King?"

"Only this foreday my own King sentenced me to death."

"You know I wouldn't have permitted things to go that far."

"Do I?" Toller did not hide his scepticism. "And you refused me the single favour for which I begged."

Chakkell looked genuinely baffled. "What are you talking about?"

"The life of the farmer, Spennel."

"Oh, that!" Chakkell briefly turned his gaze towards the ceiling, showing his exasperation. "Here's what I will do, Maraquine. The execution may well have been delayed because of all the commotion in the city. I'll send a messenger with all speed, and if your esteemed friend is still alive his life will be spared. Does that satisfy you? I hope it satisfies you, because there is nothing more I can do."

Toller nodded uncertainly, wondering if the voice of his conscience could be silenced so easily. "The messenger must leave at once."

"Done!" Chakkell turned and nodded towards a panelled wall in which Toller could discern no apertures, then dropped into a chair beside the one he had overturned. "Now we must draw up our plans. Are you able to sketch a design for the sky fortresses?"

"I think so, but I want Zavotle with me," Toller said, naming the man who had flown with him in the days of the old Skyship Experimental Squadron, and who had later been one of the four royal pilots in the Migration. "I believe he flies one of your courier ships, Majesty, so locating him should be a simple matter."

"Zavotle? Isn't that the one with the peculiar ears? Why do you choose him?"

"He is very clever, and we work well together," Toller said. "I need him."

Still in his mid-forties, liven Zavotle looked too young to have been in command of a royal skyship at the time of the mass flight from Land. His body had thickened only a little with the passage of the years, his hair remained dark and was still cropped, emphasising the protrusion of his tiny, in-folding ears. He had joined Toller and Chakkell within ten minutes of being summoned from the adjacent airfield, and his yellow aircaptain's uniform showed signs of having been hastily removed from a closet.

He listened intently while the threat posed by the New Men was explained to him, now and then—as had always been his habit—making notes in neat, crowded script. His manner was just as Toller had remembered it—precise and meticulous, a reassurance that there was no difficulty which could not be overcome by the orderly application of reason.

"There you have it," Chakkell said to Zavotle. "What do you think of this notion of establishing permanently manned fortresses in the weightless zone?" He had disliked the idea of having to consult a lowly captain, but had acquiesced to Toller's request and had even—an indication of how seriously he regarded the situation—invited Zavotle to be seated at the table with him. Now he was eyeing the newcomer critically, with something of the air of a schoolmaster eager to fault a pupil's performance.

Zavotle sat very straight, aware that he was on trial, and spoke firmly. "It can be done, Majesty. In fact, it must be done—we have no other recourse."

"I see. And what about attaching two balloons to one long gondola?"

"With respect to Lord Toller, I don't like it, Majesty," Zavotle said, glancing at Toller. "The gondola would have to be very long to accommodate two balloons, and I think there would be serious control problems."

"So you would advocate using one monstrous balloon?"

"No, Majesty—that would introduce an entirely new set of difficulties. No doubt they could be overcome in time, but we have no time to spare."

Chakkell looked impatient. "What then? Have you something in mind, captain, or do you content yourself with deciding what cannot be done?"

"I believe we should continue to use the size of balloon with which we are experienced," Zavotle said, not losing his composure. "The sky fortresses should be built in sections, taken aloft in sections—and assembled in the weightless zone."

Chakkell stared hard at Zavotle, his expression slowly changing to one of mingled astonishment and respect. "Of course! Of course! There is no other way to proceed."

Toller felt a pang of vicarious pride as the new concept flooded his mind, bringing with it a series of giddy images. "Good man, liven," he breathed. "I knew we had need of you—though my gut freezes when I think about the kind of labour involved. Even with the knowledge that he was well tethered a man would be powerfully distracted by the sight of thousands of miles of thin air below him."

"Many would be quite unable to concentrate their minds," Zavotle said, nodding, "but the work would be kept to the absolute minimum. I envisage circular sections held together by simple clamps and sealed with mastic. A fortress might be constructed of three such sections."

"Before we concern ourselves with details, I must know how many of these sky fortresses will be needed," Chakkell said. "The more I think about it the more doubts plague me about the feasibility of the entire scheme. If one neglects volume and treats the weightless zone as a flat disk midway between the worlds, there are millions of square miles to defend—and I fail to see how it can be done. Even if I had the resources of old Kolcorron at my disposal I would be unable to construct the number of fortresses required. A thousand, would you say? Five thousand?"

Zavotle looked at Toller, giving him the opportunity to reply, and Toller responded with a slight shake of his head. The objection expressed by the King seemed to him a valid one, and although he could tell by Zavotle's unperturbed expression that an answer existed he was for the moment unable to deduce it by himself.

"Majesty, we are not required to defend the entire area of the zone," Zavotle said. "The two worlds have a common atmosphere, but it is shaped like an hourglass, with a slender waist. Skyships have to remain close to the centre of that waist—in a narrow bridge of air, so to speak—and that is where we will wait for the Landers. I do not know how determined they will be to press ahead with their invasion, but when we destroy the first of their ships the others may try to pass us by at a safe distance. To do that they would need to venture so far outside the air bridge that their crews would lose consciousness and then they would asphyxiate."

"I begin to form an affection for you, Zavotle," Chakkell said, half-smiling. "So, how many fortresses would you say?"

"Not many, Majesty. Perhaps as few as ten or twelve in the initial phase, while we have the advantage of surprise; perhaps a hundred later on, if the Landers begin to introduce effective counter-measures." Zavotle again glanced at Toller, obviously trying to draw him back into the discussion. "I cannot be more precise at this stage. Much depends on the distance at which we can spot an ascending ship, but—as Lord Toller will testify—the eye becomes abnormally keen in the high air. Much will also depend on the effective range of our weaponry, but my expertise in that field is minuscule compared to Lord Toller's. Perhaps he should say…"

"Continue without me for the present," Toller said comfortably, appreciating Zavotle's motives. "I find your discourse both interesting and instructive."

"Your Lord Toller," Chakkell whispered to Zavotle, "is so sure of himself that he has no fear of gifted and promising subordinates. Now, I have another and more prosaic difficulty for your consideration—one I fear you will not be able to magic away so quickly."

"Majesty?"

"It is many years since I controlled the production of the Migration fleet, but I recall very clearly that the only material light enough and strong enough for the manufacture of skyship envelopes is linen." Chakkell paused and frowned, dispelling the trace of levity which had crept into the proceedings.

"You may not be aware of this, but the flax seeds we brought from Land have not taken well in the soil of Overland. Only a few acres here and there produce a useful crop, and much of the yield has already gone into airships which are currently in service. In your considered opinion, could the material of those airship envelopes be cut up and restitched to form skyship balloons?"

"No!" Toller and Zavotle spoke simultaneously, but once again Toller—whose reply had been a reflex—was at a loss for a constructive answer. He was reminded of the fact that Chakkell was not King because of an accident of birth, that he had a phenomenally detailed knowledge of those aspects of agriculture, manufacture and trade which were the true foundation of a nation's power. And again he chose to remain silent, transferring all responsibility to Zavotle. He was both surprised and impressed when Zavotle responded with a calm smile.

"The balloons must be made from new, perfect material, Majesty," he said, "but not many will be required. The ambush strategy devised by Lord Toller is a good one, and it is fortunate for us that, in the circumstances envisaged, balloons would be an encumbrance, a serious handicap."

Chakkell's frown deepened. "We seem to be parting company, Zavotle. What are you saying?"

"Majesty, we are talking about a new kind of warfare, but some ancient principles must prevail. It is essential for us to remain out of sight of the enemy for as long as possible, until he has blundered into our trap. That being the case, balloons—which are so huge that they can be seen for many miles in the purity of a weightless zone—would become a liability. The fortresses would function more efficiently without them."

Toller began to comprehend the scheme Zavotle was proposing, and for a moment he seemed to feel the coldness of the high air seeping into his body. "You want to detach the balloons, and … and…"

"And return them to the ground, where they will be used to carry other fortress sections aloft," Zavotle said, nodding. "I see no reason why an individual balloon should not make the return journey many times."

"That is not the issue I was going to raise," Toller said. "You're talking about leaving men up there. Stranded! With no means to check a ship's fall!"

Zavotle's face became more serene, and somehow less human. "We are discussing the weightless zone, my lord. As you yourself once said to me – how can an object fall if it has no weight?"

"I know, but…" Toller retreated from the use of logic. "I don't like it."

"But I do!" Chakkell half-shouted, beaming at Zavotle in a manner which suggested that his burgeoning affection had quickly reached full flower. "I like it a lot!"

"Yes, Majesty," Toller said drily, "but you won't be up there."

"Nor will you, Maraquine," Chakkell countered. "I am appointing you my Sky Marshal because of your extensive knowledge of skyships—not because of your redundant and fading physical prowess. You will remain firmly on the ground and direct operations from here."

Toller shook his head. "That is not my way. I lead from the front. If men are required to entrust their lives to … to wingless birds, I would prefer to be among the first of them."

Chakkell looked exasperated, then he glanced at Zavotle and his expression became enigmatic. "Have it your own way," he said to Toller. "I am investing you with the authority to take any man in my kingdom into your service—may I assume that your friend Zavotle will be given an important advisory post?"

"That was my intention from the beginning."

"Good! I expect you both to remain at the palace until we have discussed every major aspect of the defence plan, and as that will take a considerable time it will be…" Chakkell broke off as his stoop-shouldered secretary entered the room, bowing vigorously, and approached the table. "Why do you interrupt me, Pelso?"

"Apologies, Majesty," Pelso replied in a quavering voice. "My information was that you were to be informed without delay. About the execution, that is."

"Execution? Exe…? Oh, yes! Go on, man."

"Majesty, I sent for the holder of the warrant."

"There was no need for that. I simply wanted to know if the chore had been completed. Oh, all right—where is your man?"

"He waits in the east corridor. Majesty."

"What good is he to me in the corridor? Bring him here, you old fool!"

Chakkell drummed on the table with his fingers as Pelso, still bowing, backed away to the door.

Toller, although he had no wish to be diverted from the discussion in hand, stared towards the doorway as the thick-chested figure of Gnapperl appeared. The sergeant, carrying his helmet under his left arm, showed no sign of nervousness over what was undoubtedly his first audience with the King. He marched to Chakkell and saluted very correctly, awaiting permission to speak, but his eyes had already met Toller's and they were malignly triumphant, beaconing their message ahead of the spoken word. Self-recrimination and sadness caused Toller to lower his gaze as he thought about the hapless farmer he had met on the road to Prad that foreday. Could it really have been such a short time ago? He had promised Spennel help, and had failed him, and adding to the poignancy of his regrets was the knowledge that Spennel had expected him to fail. How was he to defend an entire world when it had proved beyond his powers to rescue one man from…?

"Majesty, the execution of the traitor Spennel was carried out in accordance with the lawful warrant," Gnapperl said in answer to Chakkell's signal.

Chakkell shrugged and turned to Toller. "I did what I could. Are you satisfied?"

"I have one or two questions for this man." Toller raised his head and locked eyes with Gnapperl. "I was hoping that the execution would have been delayed. Did the sight of the skyship occasion no disturbances in the city?"

"There were many disturbances, my lord—but I could not allow them to divert me from the course of duty." Gnapperl spoke with ingenuous pride, a way of covertly baiting Toller. "Even the executioner had gone off with the crowds to follow the skyship, and I was forced to ride hard for several miles to find him and bring him back to the city."

He was the first executioner you encountered today, Toller thought. I am the second. "That is most commendable, sergeant," he said aloud. "You appear to be the kind of soldier who puts his duty above all else."

"That I am, my lord."

"What is going on here, Maraquine?" Chakkell put in. "Don't tell me you have descended to feuding with common soldiers."

Toller smiled at him. "On the contrary, I hold the sergeant in such esteem that I intend to recruit him into my own service. That is permissible, isn't it?"

"I told you you can have anyone you want," Chakkell said impatiently.

"I wished the sergeant to hear it from your own lips." Toller addressed himself directly to Gnapperl who—belatedly realising he had misread the situation—was beginning to look alarmed. "There will be many dangerous tasks to perform when it comes to testing our new skyships which hang in the high air without the support of balloons, and I will have need of men who put their duty above all else. Send those who are with you back to Panvarl, with my compliments, then report to the house commander. Go!"

Gnapperl, now pale and thoughtful, saluted and left the room, followed by the bowed form of the secretary.

"You told him enough about our deliberations," Chakkell grumbled.

"The sooner the word is put about the better," Toller said. "Besides, I wanted the sergeant to have some idea of what is in store for him."

Chakkell shook his head and sighed. "If you intend to have that one killed, do it quickly. I won't have you wasting your valuable time on trivia."

"Majesty, there is something in this account I fail to understand," Zavotle said, abstractedly rubbing his stomach. Throughout the exchange with the sergeant his narrow head had been bent over Colonel Gartasian's dispatch book, ears protruding like tiny clenched fists, and now he was looking puzzled.

"Does it concern the musket?"

"No, Majesty—it's to do with the Landers themselves. If these odd-looking New Men are simply the offspring of men and women who were partially immune to pterthacosis, should there not have been a sprinkling of them among our own newborn?"

"Perhaps a few were born," Chakkell said, not showing much interest. "The parents would probably have disposed of them quickly without saying much about it. Or perhaps the condition is latent. It may not manifest itself until the brats are exposed to the toxins—and the ptertha on Overland are not poisonous."

"Not yet," Toller reminded him, "but if we go on destroying brakka trees the globes will surely change."

"Something for future generations to worry about," Chakkell said, pounding the table with the gavel of his fist. "Before us is a problem which must be solved in days, instead of centuries. Do you hear me? Days!"

I hear you, Toller thought, and already in his mind he was ascending towards the weightless zone, that realm of thin, cold and meteor-streaked air which he had entered but twice in his lifetime and had never expected to see again.