She remained in deep thought so long that Ransom feared She was never going to speak again. When she did, her voice was hushed and once more tranquil, though the note of joy had not yet returned to it.
“He has never bidden you not to,” she said, less as a question than as a statement.
“No,” said Ransom.
“There can, then, be different laws in different worlds.”
“Is there a law in your world not to sleep in a Fixed Land?”
“Yes,” said the Lady. “He does not wish us to dwell there.
We may land on them and walk on them, for the world is ours. But to stay there-to sleep and awake there . . . she ended with a shudder.
“You couldn’t have that law in our world,” said Ransom. “There are no floating lauds with us.”
“How many of you are there?” asked. the Lady suddenly. Ransom found that he didn’t know the population of the Earth, but contrived to give her some idea of many millions. He had expected her to be astonished, but it appeared that numbers did not interest her. “How do you all find room on your Fixed Land?” she asked.
“There is not one fixed land, but many,” he answered. “Anal they are big: almost as big as the sea.”
“How do you endure it?” she burst out. “Almost half your world empty and dead. Loads and loads of land, all tied down. Does not the very thought of it crush you?”
“Not at all,” said Ransom. “The very thought of a world which was all sea like yours would make my people unhappy and afraid.”
“Where will this end?” said the Lady, speaking more to herself than to him. “I have grown so old in these last few hours that all my life before seems only like the stem of a tree, and now I am like the branches shooting out in every direction. They are getting so wide apart that I can hardly bear it. First to have learned that I walk from good to good with my own feet . . . that was a stretch enough. But now it seems that good is not the same in all worlds; that Maleldil has forbidden in one what He allows in another.”
“Perhaps my world is wrong about this,” said Ransom rather feebly, for he was dismayed at what he had done.
“It is not so,” said she. “Maleldil Himself has told me now. And it could not be so, if your world has no floating lands. But He is not telling me why He has forbidden it to us.”
“There’s probably some good reason,” began Ransom, when he was interrupted by her sudden laughter.
“Oh, Piebald, Piebald,” she said, still laughing. “How often the people of your race speak!”
“I’m sorry,” said Ransom, a little put out. “What are you sorry for?”
“I am sorry if you think I talk too much”
“Too much? How can I tell what would be too much for you to talk?”
“In our world when they say a man talks much they mean they wish him to be silent.”
“If that is what they mean, why do they not say it?”
“What made you laugh?” asked Ransom, finding her question too hard.
“I laughed, Piebald, because you were wondering, as I was, about this law which Maleldil has made for one world and not for another. And you had nothing to say about it and yet made the nothing up into words.”
“I had something to say, though,” said Ransom almost under his breath. “At least,” he added in a louder voice, “this forbidding is no hardship in such a world as yours.”
“That also is a strange thing to say,” replied the Lady. “Who thought of its being hard? The beasts would not think It hard if I told them to walk on their heads. It would become their delight to walk on their heads. I am His beast, and all His biddings are joys. It is not that which makes me thoughtful. But it was corning into my mind to wonder whether there are two kinds of bidding.”
“Some of our wise men have said . . . “began Ransom, when she interrupted him.
“Let us wait and ask the King,” she said. “For I think, Piebald, you do not know much more about this than I do”
“Yes, the King, by all means,” said Ransom. “If only we can find him.” Then, quite involuntarily, he added in English, “By Jove! What was that?” She also had exclaimed. Something like a shooting star seemed to have streaked across the sky, far away on their left, and some seconds later an indeterminate noise reached their ears.
“What was that?” he asked again, this time in Old Solar. “Something has fallen out of Deep Heaven,” said the Lady. Her face showed wonder and curiosity: but on Earth we so rarely see these emotions without some admixture of defensive fear that her expression seemed strange to him.
“I think you’re right,” said he. “What’s this?” The calm sea had swelled and all the weeds at the edge of their island were in movement. A single wave passed under their island and all was still again.
“Something has certainly fallen into the sea,” said the Lady. Then she resumed the conversation as if nothing had happened. “It was to look for the King that I had resolved to go over today to the Fixed Land. He is on none of these islands here, for I have searched them all. But if we climbed high up on the Fixed Land and looked about, then we should see a long way. We could see if there are any other islands near us.”
“Let us do this,” said Ransom. “If we can swim so far.”
“We shall ride,” said the Lady. Then she knelt down on the shore-and such grace was in all her movements that it was a wonder to see her kneel-and gave three low calls all on the same note. At first no result was visible. But soon Ransom saw broken water coming rapidly towards them. A moment later and the sea beside the island was a mass of the large silver fishes: spouting, curling their bodies, pressing upon one another to get nearer, and the nearest ones nosing the land. They had not only the colour but the smoothness of silver. The biggest were about nine feet long and all were thick-set and powerful-looking. They were very unlike any terrestrial species, for the base of the head was noticeably wider than the foremost part of the trunk. But then the trunk itself grew thicker again towards the tail. Without this tailward bulge they would have looked like giant tadpoles. As it was, they suggested rather pot-bellied and narrow-chested old men with very big heads. The Lady seemed to take a long time in selecting two of them. But the moment she had done so the others all fell back for a few yards and the two successful candidates wheeled round and lay still with their tails to the shore, gently moving their fins. “Now, Piebald, like this,” she said, and seated herself astride the narrow part of the right-hand fish. Ransom followed her example. The great head in front of him served instead of shoulders so that there was no danger of sliding off. Ile watched his hostess. She gave her fish a slight kick with her heels. He did the same to his. A moment later they were gliding out to sea at about six miles an hour. The air over the water was cooler and the breeze lifted his hair. In a world where he had as yet only swum and walked, the fish’s progress gave the impression of quite an exhilarating speed. He glanced back and saw the feathery and billowy mass of the islands receding and the sky growing larger and more emphatically golden. Ahead, the fantastically shaped and coloured mountain dominated his whole field of vision. He noticed with interest that the whole school of rejected fish were still with them-some following, but the majority gambolling in wide extended wings to left and right.
“Do they always follow like this?” he asked.
“Do the beasts not follow in your world?” she replied. “We cannot ride more than two. It would be hard if those we did not choose were not even allowed to follow.”
“Was that why you took so long to choose the two fish, Lady?” he asked.
“Of course,” said the Lady. “I try not to choose the same fish too often.”
The land came towards them apace and what had seemed level coastline began to open into bays and thrust itself forward into promontories. And now they were near enough to see that in this apparently calm ocean there was an invisible swell, a very faint rise and fall of water on the beach. A moment later the fishes lacked depth to swim any further, and following the Green Lady’s example, Ransom slipped both his legs to one side of his fish and groped down with his toes. Oh, ecstasy! They touched solid pebbles. He had not realised till now that he was pining for “fixed land”. He looked up. Down to the bay in which they were landing ran a steep narrow valley with low cliffs and outcroppings of a reddish rock and, lower down, banks of some kind of moss and a few trees. The trees might almost have been terrestrial: planted in any southern country of our own world they would not have seemed remarkable to anyone except a trained botanist. Best of all, down the middle of the valley-and welcome to Ransom’s eyes and ears as a glimpse of home or of heaven-ran a little stream, a dark translucent stream where a man might hope for trout.
“You love this land, Piebald?” said the Lady, glancing at him.
“Yes,” said he, “it is like my own world”
They began to walk up the valley to its head. When they were under the trees the resemblance of an earthly
