The Science Fiction Novel Super Pack No. 1. David Lindsay

of the Clan protected him. He spit and said, “Anybody can wield a dagger. I want to see what kind of a man this Green is aloft. Walking a yard is the best way to see the color of his blood.”

      Yes, thought Green, his skin goose-pimpling. You’ll likely see my blood all right, splashed from here to the horizon when I fall!

      He asked Miran if he could withdraw a moment to his tent to pray to his gods for success. Miran nodded, and Green had Amra let down the sides of his shelter while he dropped to his knees. As soon as his privacy was assured, he handed her a long turban cloth and told her to go outside. She looked surprised, but when he told her what else she was to do, she smiled and kissed him.

      “You are a clever man, Alan. I was right to prefer you above any other man I might have had, and I could have had the best.”

      “Save the compliments for afterwards, when we’ll know if it works,” he said. “Hurry to the stove and do what I say. If anybody asks you what you are up to, tell them that the stuff is necessary for my religious ritual. The gods,” he said as she ducked through the tent opening, “often come in handy. If they didn’t exist it would be necessary to invent them.”

      Amra paused and turned with an adoring face. “Ah, Alan, that is one of the many things for which I love you. You are always originating these witty sayings. How clever, and how dangerously blasphemous!”

      He shrugged, airily dismissing her compliment as if it were nothing.

      In a minute she returned with the turban wrapped around something limp but heavy. And within two minutes he stepped out from the tent, clad in a loincloth, leather belt, dagger and turban. Silently, he began climbing the rope ladder that rose to the tip of the nearest mast. Behind him came Ezkr.

      He did get some encouragement from Amra and the children. The Duke’s two boys cried out to him to cut the so-and-so’s throat, but if he was killed instead, they would avenge him when they grew up, if not sooner. Even the blond maid, Inzax, wept. He felt somewhat better, for it was good to know that some people cared for him. And the knowledge that he had to survive and make sure that these women and children didn’t come to grief was an added stimulus.

      Nevertheless he felt his momentarily gained courage oozing out of his sweat pores with every step upward. It was so high up here, and so far down below. The craft itself became smaller and smaller and the people shrank to dolls, to upturned white faces that soon became less faces than blanks. The wind howled through the rigging and the mast, which had seemed so solid and steady when he was at its base, now became fragile and swaying.

      “It takes guts to be a sailor and a blood-brother of the Clan Effenycan,” said Ezkr. “Do you have them, Green?”

      “Yes, but if I get any sicker I’ll lose them, and you’ll be sorry, being below me,” muttered Green to himself.

      Finally, after what seemed endless clambering into the very clouds themselves, he arrived at the topmost yard. If he had thought the mast thin and flexible, the arm seemed like a toothpick poised over an abyss. And he was supposed to inch his way out to the whipping tip, then turn and come back fighting!

      “If you were not a coward you would stand up and walk out,” called Ezkr.

      “Sticks and stones will break my bones,” replied Green, but did not enlighten the puzzled sailor as to what he meant. Sitting down on the yard, he put his legs around it and began working his way out. Halfway to the arm he stopped and dared to look down. Once was enough. There was nothing but hard, grassy ground directly beneath him, seemingly a mile below, and the flat plain rushing by, and the huge wheels turning, turning.

      “Go on!” shouted Ezkr.

      Green turned his head and told him in indelicate language what he could do with the yard and the whole ship for that matter if he could manage it.

      Ezkr’s dark face reddened and he stood up and began walking out on the yard. Green’s eyes widened. This man could actually do it!

      But when he was a few feet away the sailor stopped and said, “No, you are trying to anger me so I will grapple with you here and perhaps be pushed off, since you have a firmer hold. No, I will not be such a fool. It is you who must try to get past me.”

      He turned and walked almost carelessly back to the mast, against which he leaned while he waited.

      “You have to go out to the very end,” he repeated. “Else you won’t pass the test even if you should get by me, which, of course, you won’t.”

      Green gritted his teeth and humped out to what he considered close enough to the end, about two feet away. Any more might break the arm, as it was already bending far down. Or so it seemed to him.

      He then backed away, managed to turn, and to work back to within several feet of Ezkr. Here he paused to regain his breath, his strength and his courage.

      The sailor waited, one hand on a rope to steady himself, the other with its dagger held point-out at Green.

      The Earthman began unwinding his turban.

      “What are you doing?” said Ezkr, frowning with sudden anxiety.

      Up to this point he had been master, because he knew what to expect. But if something unconventional happened....

      Green shrugged his shoulders and continued his very careful and slow unwrapping of his headpiece.

      “I don’t want to spill this,” he said.

      “Spill what?”

      “This!” shouted Green, and he whipped the turban upward towards Ezkr’s face.

      The turban itself was too far from the sailor to touch him. But the sand contained within it flew into his eyes before the wind could dissipate it. Amra, following her husband’s directions, had collected a large amount from the fireplace’s sand pile to wrap in it, and though it had made his head feel heavy it had been worth it.

      Ezkr screamed and clutched at his eyes, releasing his dagger. At the same time, Green slid forward and rammed his fist into the man’s groin. Then, as Ezkr crumpled toward him, he caught him and eased him down. He followed his first blow with a chopping of the edge of his palm against the fellow’s neck. Ezkr quit screaming and passed out. Green rolled him over so that he lay on his stomach across the yard, supported on one side by the mast, with his legs, arms and head dangling. That was all he wanted to do for him. He had no intention of carrying him down. His only wish was to get to the deck, where he’d be safe. If Ezkr fell off now, too bad.

      Amra and Inzax were waiting at the foot of the shrouds when Green slowly climbed off. When he set foot on the deck, he thought his legs would give way, they were trembling so. Amra, noticing this, quickly put her arms around him as if to embrace the conquering hero but actually to help support him.

      “Thanks,” he muttered. “I need your strength, Amra.”

      “Anybody would who had done what you’ve done,” she said. “But my strength and all of me is at your disposal, Alan.”

      The children were looking at him with wide, admiring eyes and yelling, “That’s our daddy! Big blond Green! He’s quick as a grass cat, bites like a dire dog and’ll spit poison in your eye, like a flying snake!”

      Then, in the next moment, he was submerged under the men and women of the Clan, all anxious to congratulate him for his feat and to call him brother. The only ones who did not crowd around, trying to kiss him on the lips, were the officers of the Bird and the wife and children of the unfortunate sailor, Ezkr. These were climbing up the rigging to fasten a rope around his waist and lower him.

      There was one other who remained aloof. That was the harpist, Grazoot. He was still sulking at the foot of the mast.

      Green decided that he’d better keep an eye on him, especially at night when a knife could be slipped between a sleeper’s ribs and the body thrown overboard. He wished now that he’d not gone out of his way to insult the fellow’s instrument, but at the time that had seemed the only thing to do.