hospitality with a quick patter of soft tones.
Immediately, Ponzar pointed in Jemidon's direction, and several members of both parties approached to view him better. He scowled back at the rude stares and put up his hand when one reached forward to rip away the front of Delia's gown.
'Careful, faraway one,' Ponzar warned so that Jemidon could understand. 'Your value is less if you are no better than the beast.'
'Far away, a man is valued by the keenness of his mind,' Jemidon answered.
'As it is here,' Ponzar said. 'And in your case, there is perhaps a little interest. It would help if you would show them how you fail to conjure up a demon.'
Jemidon's scowl deepened. ''There would be nothing to see, only empty flame,' he said. 'Let me show another art. I have been trained in them all.'
'Very well,' Ponzar said. 'Make it one that catches the eye. The Skyskirr of Valdroz trade with sleepy faces.'
Jemidon did not relax his frown. Aiding in Ponzar's petty exchanges did little to help his own plight. Still, what the captain had said was true enough. As long as he and Delia had some value, they had remained away from the sucking lips. And on a bigger sphere they might have a chance to find some of the powders for which they were looking. But what craft to demonstrate? None save wizardry would work here at all. He needed something that appeared impressive, despite what the outcome would be. Quickly he looked around the various items stacked for trade. He dug his hands into one of the nearest sacks and extracted a fistful of soda, originally from the edge of a great salt lake. He rummaged among the small collection of bottles obtained from some previous trade and sniffed for one that had a vinegary smell.
'Alchemy.' Jemidon turned back to face Ponzar as he prepared. 'A craft governed by the Doctrine of Signatures, or, simply stated, 'the attributes without mirror the powers within.' And these powers are invoked by writing a formula, a series of arcane symbols in a precise order. I will try to make a Foam of Wellbeing by mixing what I have found. If things proceed successfully, there will only be a small bubbling in the bottle before the reaction is complete. The natural propensity to produce large volumes of gas will be suppressed. On the other hand, if the formula fails, the vapor will evolve with explosive results.
'Now, no alchemical formula is guaranteed to work every time, and here I doubt that any will succeed at all. But explain to them what I am doing. The effect should still be good enough.'
Ponzar began to translate while Jemidon opened the stopper in the flask and tossed in a handful of soda. He plunged back the cork and, with a quick motion, hurled the bottle up into the sky. While it sailed away, easily escaping the feeble grip that held it to the lithosoar, he rapidly scribbled the formula for producing the foam on a nearby piece of hide, somewhat surprised at how sharply the symbols came back into his mind. He finished the last and held his breath. If the formula worked, nothing would seem to happen. The ingredients would modify internally. But if the natural reaction were allowed to proceed unchecked-
A sharp pop and the glitter of tiny shards of glass cut short the thought. The gas from the reaction had exploded the bottle into smithereens.
'If properly done, the bottle does not burst,' Jemidon explained with a shrug. 'There, that is a failure as good as any other.'
Ponzar twirled his shovel of office in response, lookinp at Jemidon for a long while. 'I cannot be sure,' he said. 'You still may be one of Melizar's. But if Valdroz's traders accept, you will be their problem and not mine. Wait with the rest of the harvest. I will see what agreement the great right hand will provide.'
Jemidon clenced his fist. Ponzar's attitude was no surprise but it grated nonetheless. Certainly he and Delia should be regarded differently from a bundle of sticks. He would speak out despite Ponzar's instructions.
But before Jemidon could respond, the tablestone pit suddenly erupted in agitation. Valdroz's traders drew their swords and bolted for the scavengings. Ponzar slapped his shovel against the rock in alarm. His own followers snapped to attention and scurried after. More poured out of the cavern entrance, waving their copper blades and yelling in high-pitched shrieks. Jemidon felt an unlocking begin but then snap back firmly shut. He saw Utothaz totter to standing and grasp hold of his pyramid, holding it tight with both hands.
Jemidon grabbed Delia about the waist and pulled her away from the Skyskirr as they raced among the sacks and crates. Before Ponzar's fighters could catch them, they poured crystals of black sphalerite from their packs into the containers they had brought and then sealed them shut. One of the traders cried in shrill pain as a blade cut deeply into his shoulder from behind. Ponzar's Skyskirr ran in among the scattered goods, hacking to the right and left, trading blows with whoever turned to resist.
Jemidon heard Utothaz scream. He saw the pyramid tumble from the pilot's hands, wisps of smoke coming from the smaller vertices as they rapidly whirled. The feeling of unlocking grew and then burst through whatever was holding it back. Valdroz's traders lunged for the sacks and crates they had augmented as they suddenly soared into the air.
Ponzar looked at the stricken metamagician and then at the Skyskirr shooting away. 'Hang on, hang on,' he warned as he struggled toward a pit. 'The lithofloat. The cairngorm. Its activation is the next vertex in line.'
Instinctively, Jemidon pushed Delia down into one of the many depressions on the lithosoar's surface. He knelt beside her, and the rock almost tore from his grip. Desperately, he reached again to grab hold as it seemed to slip away. He jammed one hand into the indentation and flung a leg across Delia while she struggled to catch on herself. He felt his body move sluggishly as the boulder gathered speed.
His legs slipped from where they were braced and he hung only by his arms. The wind whistled around his head, and he saw small bits of wood, sacks, and ropes seem to come close and whip out of sight, falling behind. Jemidon gritted his teeth and pulled with all his strength, trembling from the effort, somehow drawing himself closer to the receding rock. Using all the muscles in his back, he gradually drew his legs parallel to the curving surface. With one great lunge, he touched the granite and his foot caught in the proper indentation. Straining from the effort, he slowly pulled Delia in front of him to the safety of the pit. Firmly braced with all four limbs, he dared to chance a look at where he had been.
He gasped in surprise at what he saw. The other globe was rapidly shrinking. Like the shot of a catapult, it was hurling away. Their lithon was soaring into the unknown far faster than he had ever traveled before.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Foul Air
JEMIDON turned his head away in disgust. Utothaz's body, sprawled on the tablestone, could barely be seen beneath the huddled forms of his manipulants bending over him. The smacking of lips competed with the whistle of the air. He looked in the direction of the wind. In the distance, he could just discern a tiny speck against the reddish background and, around it, the shading to brown that indicated the concentration of toxic fumes. They had soared for another dozen sleeping periods, and the careful observations through the telescope had long since confirmed that there were no deviations in their flight. By whatever chance, none of the iodestones they carried had a repulsive counterpart on the poison-spewing rock. And no other lithons were anywhere in sight. Still, it seemed little enough reason for Utothaz and the others to abandon hope so quickly.
Ponzar appeared at Jemidon's side and tapped him on the shoulder. 'It is no more repulsive than the way you tear the flesh from the bone with your teeth,' he said. 'And if he is not a criminal, we leave the skull-leave it so that the features remain when the body is cast off into the sky.'
'The air is not yet so foul that it cannot be endured,' Jemidon replied, 'Utothaz has not breathed his last.' He shook his head in amazement that the captain still spent his entire day in language drill. Even the accent showed hints of fading.
'He may just as well.' Ponzar twirled the shovel blade. 'The struggle to hold the laws bound was too great. He knows that he will decouple and move to another vertex only a few times more. It is better for him to give the rest the sweetness of his marrow while he is still fresh.'
'But the manipulants,' Jemidon protested. 'They bicker on who is to be fed upon next. What have they done to deserve such a fate?'
