L. Camp - The Exotic Enchanter

“Doctor Ras Thavas!” cried a voice in the crowd. It was the informant Mar Vas whom Ras Thavas introduced to the Sheas. Shea was in the midst of asking after the whereabouts of Malambroso and Voglinda, when an infantile shriek of “Mummee! Daddee!” cut through the background noise.

Between them and the front entrance stood Doctor Malambroso, in his gold-embroidered purple robe conspicuous amid the throng of naked Barsoomians. On his head he wore an obviously Earthly Panama hat. In one hand he held the end of a leash, the other end of which was affixed to a harness securing the small body of three-year-old Voglinda Shea.

“Laws or no,” snarled Shea, “I’m not taking chances with that guy.” He drew his revolver.

As he did so, Malambroso’s free hand came out from his robe bearing an egglike object, which he tossed on the ground between himself and the Sheas. Shea began:

“Your spells are no damned good here! So hands —”

“No magic!” shouted Malambroso, “Just an ordinaiy smoke —”

The egglike object burst with a loud pop , emitting a vast cloud of smoke, which filled the area around them. Shea plunged into the cloud, while behind him Belphebe cried:

“Harold! Where are you?”

“Here!” shouted Shea, coughing. “Try to reach the front entrance!”

Shea ran full-tilt into the ticket taker’s booth upsetting the stand. He groped his way out the front entrance, cursing a bruised knee. Behind him the ticket taker, cursing even more vehemently, struggled to right his stand.

As Shea emerged from the tent, he saw Malambroso, carrying Voglinda, leap into the first of a row of taxicarriages at the curb, each harnessed to a single thoat. Malambroso shouted orders to the driver, who vaulted into the saddle of his thoat. Off went thoat, postillion, gig, magician, Shea infant, and all.

Shea and Belphebe reached the second carriage in the row just as the first disappeared at a gallop around a corner. To the second driver, Shea shouted:

“Did you hear where that one was going?”

“To the airport, sir,” said the second driver.

“Then we’re going to the airport, right away! Catch up with that other rig if you can!”

He and Belphebe piled into the cab. Ras Thavas, breathing hard from his dash from the tent entrance, squeezed in between them, making three on a seat designed for two. Luckily, all three passengers were lean rather than stout.

Leisurely, the driver swung into his thoat saddle, and the carriage pulled out. They wove this way and that, rounding corners until Shea felt totally lost. He called:

“Can’t you go faster?”

The driver replied: “No, sir. There are three of you, and I shall have to charge extra for the load. But I will not kill poor Blossom when she has all she can do to move the vehicle!”

* * *

Shea sat fuming until they came to a broad field on which a score of slaves were at work, filling holes and raking the ground level. Off to one side, several Barsoomian fliers were parked before a row of sheds, evidently the local version of hangars. Shea asked:

“Does one need a pilot’s license or a series of examinations here?”

“Not to my knowledge.” said Ras Thavas. “Zodanga is still a citadel of rugged individualism, with all its advantages and disadvantages. If one has money, one can buy or rent a flier and take off whenever one wishes.”

“Then we’ll get a flier. Doctor, I’ll let you dicker over the fare, and I’ll repay you. Do they tip here, and if so how much?”

“I can manage,” said Ras Thavas, pointing. “There go your magician and his captive now!”

Across the field, a boat-shaped, wingless Barsoomian aircraft was taking off on a long slant, impelled by a single airscrew in the stern. Shea groaned, saying:

“We could never catch up with that machine on thoats. We must obtain our own flier!”

“Could we rent one?” asked Belphebe.

“I daresay.” Ras Thavas addressed the driver: “Put us down at the big central building!”

The driver obeyed. He and Ras Thavas settled the fare, while Shea jogged into the building and sought out the rental desk.

The man at the desk proved a stout Zodangan with an aggressive commercial manner: “. . . Are you sure you do not wish to buy a ship, sir? I have several repossessed craft in excellent shape, every one a steal at its present price. One was used by a former Jed of Zodanga. . . .”

“I do not wish to buy.” said Shea. “As I said, what I want is to rent a ship for three or four passengers, for a few days.”

“. . . But sir, our easy-payment plan calls for payments hardly larger than our rental fees, and you end up owning the ship.” He spread out a sheet of Barsoomian paper bearing sketches of fliers. “Now here’s a fine little ship with seats for five and a stern gun for emergencies. . . .”

“I wont buy,” said Shea with emphasis. “but I do wish to rent.”

“But consider, sir! This one was owned by a former dwar of the Jed’s guard. . . .”

By shouting, Shea finally convinced the salesman that his sales pitch went to waste. At long last he signed papers making him the renter of a five-seater named the Banth . He paid most of his remaining cash as a deposit to insure the return of the craft. He also insisted upon a receipt.

“Do you know how to work everything?” asked the clerk.

Shea nodded toward Ras Thavas. “I shah rely on our friend here, since he owns the finest intellect on Barsoom.”

* * *

Ras Thavas explained: “You rise by dropping ballast — those bags of sand tied along the sides. This instrument tells you your altitude.”

“How do you come down again?” asked Shea.

“This lever releases some of the —” Ras Thavas used an unfamiliar word, which sounded to Shea like refufupizaidi “— which causes the ship to descend. Be careful not to release too much at once, or we shall crash, or at best not be able to rise again.”

Shea inferred that the mysterious refufupizaidi was some sort of lifting agent, comparable to the hydrogen and helium gases used in Earthly balloons. Burroughs, no scientist, had called it the English Barsoomian Ray. Ras Thavas continued:

“This is the motor control. Turn it to the right and the propeller revolves, the further the faster.”

“What’s the source of its power?”

Ras Thavas gave a technical explanation full of words that Shea did not know. Shea got the impression that the source was analogous to an Earthly storage battery, with a much higher capacity in proportion to its weight.

“How do I steer?” asked Shea. “I see no rudder or ailerons.”

“The stem post holding the propeller swivels,” explained the savant. “You turn this wheel, so. Here is the compass. You can set the machine to fly on instruments and stop at a predetermined time. This is the airspeed indicator. These gauges tell you how the charge of refufupizaidi is doing.”

“Tell me,” said Shea to the clerk, who stood around. “Was that little ship that just took off one rented from you? It flew that way —” he pointed “— but it’s now out of sight.”

“Mean you that alien in the weird costume, with a tuft of hair on his chin?”

“Yes. Did he say where he was going?”

“Yes, sir. He said he was taking his granddaughter to see her kinfolks in Toonol.”

“Where can I get a map, showing the landmarks between here and Toonol?”

“There should be one in the side pocket, sir. Here you are!”

They climbed aboard. Shea studied the map as the clerk walked off, back toward the administration building. Shea said:

“Are we all ready, despite the fact that this is one of the most amateurish, ill-planned expeditious of my long experience?”