And having thus acknowledged the fact, Shabble wasted no further time on it, but instead did a swift-search sprint up and down a quick half-dozen stairways.
The search ended when Shabble dropped down to the Palace Docks of Alozay and found Sken-Pitilkin's stickbird missing. Then Shabble guessed! Then Shabble knew!
The bubble sprinted outwards, whizzed upwards, shot through one of the windows of the Hall of Time, and spun to a hovering halt in the presence of Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis, Demon By Appointment to the Great God Jocasta.
'Where's Sken-Pitilkin?' said Shabble. 'Him and whoever's with him! Where are they?'
'They are fled by air,' said Iva-Italis.
Since Shabble's arrival on Alozay, the quarantine which had previously isolated the demon had ended entirely, and Italis had since made up for lost time. Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis knew much, heard much, guessed much, was nourished in wisdom by spies and informers, and had wit sufficient to deduce what was not told by direct presentation. 'They are fled – Sken-Pitilkin, Sod, Levant, Guest Gulkan, and possibly others. They have fled by air, and if you are swift you will catch them.'
'Which way have they gone?' said Shabble.
'Seek!' said Iva-Italis. 'Seek, seek! For as you bubble in your folly they are cleaning their heels with the moon's doormats.'
'The clouds, you mean,' said Shabble.
'Of course,' said Iva-Italis, indulging in a moment's smug pride. 'For I am a poet amongst other things, poetry being – '
But Shabble was gone already.
Through a slit window shot Shabble, slicing with speed toward the north. Then Shabble climbed, and scanned. But all was cloud, impenetrable cloud which hid the thieves who had made off with the star-globe. Shabble blasted fire in all directions. Clouds bloomed red. Water steamed as bolts of Shabble-wrath struck home.
But all was useless, useless, for the night was vast and Shabble but a pinprick lost in that night. Shabble was most upset.
Everything had been going so well! It had been so much fun!
But now -
Shabble returned to Alozay, and in the Hall of Time the bubble of bounce again sought counsel from the demon Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis.
'What's happened, little friend?' said Iva-Italis. 'Couldn't you catch them?'
'No,' said Shabble. 'They got away. Where have they gone?'
'Come closer,' said Iva-Italis, 'and I'll whisper it in your ear.'
'Shabbles don't have ears,' said Shabble, keeping well out of reach of Iva-Italis. 'Just tell me where they've gone and I'll -
I'll, um – '
'You'll do me a favor,' said Iva-Italis.
'Yes!' said Shabble.
'Then,' said Iva-Italis, 'listen closely, little friend. I don't know for certain where they've gone, but Sken-Pitilkin, you doubtless recall, is not known as the wizard of Drum for nothing.'
That was all the clue that Shabble needed. The wrathful bubble promptly launched itself into the night skies, making for the Penvash Channel, for the island of Drum, and for a confrontation with those who had stolen the star-globe.
Chapter Forty-Four
Drum: Sken-Pitilkin's home island in the Penvash Channel (otherwise known as the Penvash Strait) from which he has long been exiled. In spring of the year Alliance 4293, the peace of Drum was disturbed by the arrival of fugitives, these being Pelagius Zozimus, the dralkosh Zelafona and the dwarf Glambrax.
All three were running from the wrath of the Confederation of Wizards. Sken-Pitilkin gave them shelter, only to find that pursuit was hot on their heels. Fearing for his life, Sken-Pitilkin fled from Drum with the others, and after two years of wandering all four arrived in Gendormargensis, in spring of the year Alliance 4295, at which time Guest Gulkan was only five years of age. It is now Alliance 4315, but Sken-Pitilkin has not returned to Drum in the 22 years since he first fled from that island.
To make a swift transit to Drum, Shabble soared high above fog and clouds, then navigated by the stars. But Sken-Pitilkin kept his stickbird firmly in the mist, and flew throughout the night in those realms of obscurity.
In the gray of dawn, the exhausted wizard of Skatzabratzumon set his stickbird down in a swampy clearing somewhere in the woods. Which woods? Sken-Pitilkin and his passengers could not tell.
'We don't know where to find ourselves,' said Sken-Pitilkin,
'so it's most unlikely that Shabble can hunt us. Therefore I pronounce us safe. Guest. Look to our security. For I must sleep.'Sken-Pitilkin was as good as his word. He curled up in the bottom of his stickbird, shrouded himself with a solskin horse blanket, and in moments was as dead to the world as a hedgehog wrapped in clay.
Whereupon Guest marched across the soft and yielding turf, making for the nearest tree. The over-bright luxuriant green went squidge-slush-slurk beneath his boots. He grasped the lowest branch of the nearest tree then began to climb, forcing his way upward to the heights which rustled with the dry rasp of leaves growing brittle- brown as their autumn change beset them. Guest expected his survey to reveal a clutch of bloodthirsty saurian monsters, or mayhap a crocodile. But all he saw was swampland and the glimmer-glip of water clipped by the sun.
In such a setting, it was hard to take seriously the possibility of pursuit. But of course there would be pursuit.
Shabble would hunt for the star-globe, because if there was one thing Shabble loved it was a toy, and the Door of the Partnership Banks was surely the greatest toy of all. Guest, then, was doomed to be hunted by an immortal bubble.
And how exactly could one hide from such a bubble for three years, particularly when rumor's sweep tracks out a radius measured in leagues by the hundred? Shabble would be monitoring rumor. And so too might the various demons such as Italis of Alozay and Ko of Chi'ash-lan.
If the demons conspired with Shabble, and dedicated themselves to sifting the news which filtered through cities such as Obooloo and Chi'ash-lan, then Guest and his companions would have to shun all of civilization for fear of discovery. And, speaking of demons – how many of the things were there exactly?
There were two of the jade-green monsters in Obooloo alone: the demon Lob in the precincts of the Bondsmans Guild and the demon Ungular Scarth in the Temple of Blood.
Demons and Shabble.
A dire combination, if it ever came to pass.
Meantime, Shabble alone was formidable enough.
Human pursuit is constrained by time, weather, money and mortality, but Shabble acknowledged none of those. Only boredom would bring Shabble's hunting to an end – and would a three year hiatus be long enough to guarantee such boredom?
What if Shabble found the very hunt itself to be an eternally rewarding game?
So thinking, Guest tried to rouse himself to a state of concern. But all was autumn drowsiness.
Sunlight.
Shadow.
Peace.
Somewhere a bird called:
'Kil-klop! Kil-klop!'
Its song was bright-metallic, a slither of sharpness needling through the utter relaxation of the day.
After his ravaging journeys, the Weaponmaster had at last entered upon a phase of utter peace and oozing time. He felt strangely at a loss; and then, in his idleness, gradually became conscious of his overwhelming
