Before Greg could do anything, the parrot lowered his head again to the stump. A glittering brass needle shot out of his open beak to pierce the bandages. Greg gasped as the needle penetrated his skin, but just as quickly it withdrew.
"There. That should hold you for a while. Come. Adena and I have need of you."
Greg moved his arm. All traces of pain had vanished. "How did you do that?"
"Did you not observe? Come — and bring your gun."
The parrot took flight, something Greg would not have credited if he hadn't seen it. It shot out the door and came to a hover in the passageway. Before it could scold him again, Greg rolled to his feet and grabbed for his clothes. His revolver hung on a hook on the bulkhead. He took it down and buckled the Sam Browne belt and holster around his waist, silently thanking that old-time soldier for inventing a belt that could be buckled with just one hand.
Dressed, Greg headed through the door. Mr. Phibuli landed on his shoulder, gripping it with a surprising amount of strength. Greg winced. "I need to conserve my energy for now. Proceed. I shall direct you."
They made their way out of the ship. Those crew members they passed seemed in a restrained state of fury. Greg couldn't blame them.
"Pick up a lantern," Mr. Phibuli commanded. "We're going onto the wharf then into that passageway,"
"Uh, where's that thing?" Greg asked, looking around.
"In an office off that passageway." The parrot pointed a wing at a pile of sacks on the ground nearby. "Pick those up too. We will walk by the creature's lair. If you're challenged by the creature you will say you are fetching supplies for the ship."
"O...kay." Greg held up his wounded arm. “But we have a small problem.”
Mr. Phibuli uttered a sigh and swooped down to the sacks. With quick, precise movements he used a length of rope and a stray piece of wood to bind the necks of two sacks together in a rough yoke, his claws and beak clacking and clicking. Stepping back he nodded at the assemblage. "There. Drape those around your neck."
Greg set down the lantern and picked up the sacks, which smelled of some kind of herb or spice. The yoke fitted well enough around his neck, and he found he could carry both sacks and the lantern without trouble, but he knew it would would become a serious burden before long.
They made their way down the passageway. Zared stood unmoving outside one of the doors. His eyes followed them as they passed unchallenged. Greg felt creeped out by the scrutiny of a man he didn't consider entirely sane. They walked for several minutes, the air growing cooler and breezy. At last they emerged into a vast space where Adena waited for them.
"Good. You're here," she said. As they came up to her Adena reached out to touch Greg's bandaged arm. "How're you feeling?"
"Pretty good." Greg dropped the sacks with relief. "Mr. Phibuli here injected me with something that worked wonders."
Adena smiled, although lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth made her look tired. "He's a regular miracle worker, all right."
"What is this place?" Their voices echoed. "It feels immense."
"That's because it is," Adena replied.
Their two lanterns made a pool of light in a space much bigger than the hangar they'd come from. Greg saw a wall ahead curving around to either side, out of reach of the lantern light. It appeared to encircle a wide walkway, like a parapet around a castle wall. Behind him the raw rock had been smoothed and worked into artistic shapes by tools to form a sheer wall that rose out of sight. Pointed-arched doors set in the wall hinted at rooms beyond, perhaps more offices, storerooms or even dwellings — he didn't know. Somewhere away to his left he could hear a waterfall.
Adena looked sad. "I remember when we commissioned this place, way back when. It was full of light and bustle."
"It must've took a heck of a lot of effort to work all this." Greg appraised his surroundings with a professional eye. "Several years at least, with modern equipment."
"That, and a gang of well-motivated people."
"Lady and gentleman, we must press on," Mr. Phibuli said. He took off from Greg's shoulder and flew toward the parapet. "Follow the wall to your right," he said before disappearing into the darkness.
Greg and Adena did as ordered. They came to a well-built wooden bridge that stretched over the void occupying the center of the mesa.
"Huh!" Adena stared at it. "I thought this was what Mr. Phibuli intended."
"Where does it lead?"
"There are other hangars on the other side of the mesa. This connects the various quarters. Another bridge meets this one halfway over. Come on."
As he followed Adena onto the bridge Greg envisaged the whole place as being like the inside of a gigantic vase. One glimpse into the yawning void on the other side of the railing was enough for him to keep to the middle of the span.
"What does that parrot intend, Adena?"
She looked troubled. "I think he's planning an ambush."
Greg touched the holstered pistol. "With these? It didn't work too well last time, and I only have one arm left."
"I trust the parrot, Greg. Mr. Phibuli's never let me down in all the time I've known him."
"If you say so. What exactly is he?"
"He's the same type of being as that creature."
"What?"
Greg's shout came back manifold in the echoes.
Adena turned and put her hand over his mouth. "Sssh! Not so loud. Mr. Phibuli's loyalty is not to be questioned. He knows what he's doing — although I wish I did."
He moved her hand away. "Maybe we should ask him."
"Ambush is what I intend, Greg." Mr. Phibuli's voice came from above them. The parrot dropped into the pool of lantern light and perched on the railing. He regarded them with bejeweled eyes. "We must summon my erstwhile comrade."
"How?"
"Cover your ears."
"How?" Greg asked, looking at
