L. Camp - The Exotic Enchanter

“I’ll take a converging course,” said Shea “When we get closer, you might fire a couple of shots to throw his aim off. Be careful to miss him!”

“I am no gunner,” said Ras Thavas. “The last time I fired one of these things was centuries ago, in my other body, Methinks it better than you give me the helm whilst you do the shooting.”

“Maybe so. But how do you work these guns?”

“Pull this bolt handle back, opening the chamber. Place the projectile, here, in the chamber and push it forward. Place behind it this cartridge of propellant. Close the bolt, and you are to fire by pulling lanyard.”

Shea followed instructions. Ras Thavas said: “Try to cripple his propellor.”

As the fliers came closer, Shea saw Malambroso climb out on his foredeck and swing his bow gun around. Shea aimed low and jerked the lanyard. Boom!

The gun discharged a vast cloud of smoke, which for an instant hid Malambroso’s flier, While Shea did not know the composition of Barsoomian gunpowder, he saw that its effects were much like those of Earthly black powder.

Boom! A similar cloud erupted from the other flier’s gun, There was no sound of a projectile striking the Banth , so Shea inferred that Malambroso, too, had missed. But, he thought, Malambroso might not have missed on purpose.

Shea tried to imagine what went on in Malambroso’s mind. The wizard had started out by demanding Florimel and, finding Shea uncooperative, had kidnapped the Shea’s daughter in a daft attempt to compel Shea’s help in the matter. But if he slew both Sheas, then what good would his possession of Voglinda Shea do him? it would hardly advance his suit for the body and soul of Florimel, who very much had a mind of her own. Altogether, Malambroso evidently did not have a well-worked-out plan. Ras Thavas might be an exasperating egotist, but at least he was smarter than that.

“Clean out your cartridge chamber before reloading,” said Ras Thavas, reaching into the flier’s tool chest and handing Shea a rag. “Otherwise a spark might set off your next charge of propellant.”

Shea was working away on his chamber, and the ships were circling closer, when there came another Boom! followed by a loud clank. The Banth shuddered.

“Propellor,” said Ras Thavas.

Boom! The Banth lurched. Ras Thaws said: “Hull, methinks. He is turning away.”

Shea took back to the helm, but now the Banth vibrated violently. When he turned the motor, control back to ‘slow,’ the vibrations eased. The other flier diminished swiftly into the evening sky.

“Guess we stop at Ptarth willy-nilly,” said Shea. He brought the propellor to a halt. “How much damage, Doctor?”

“We shall have to get it repaired,” said Ras Thavas, “before proceeding. One blade is badly bent.”

“How about that hit on our hull?”

“Just a sofad whilst I look.”

Ras Thavas shifted the ends of his safety straps to cleats on the sides of the hull. Then he climbed over the rail and lowered himself headfirst toward the keel, When he came back up, his naturally red face was further incarnadined by a suffusion of blood. Shea could not avoid a twinge of admiration for the scientist’s courage. He, Shea, could not have undertaken such a human-fly stunt so casually.

“It looks like a mere graze, a glancing blow,” said Ras Thavas. “Let us hope it did no damage to the interior.”

“Damn, damn,” said Shea.

“Be not too disturbed, Doctor Shea,” said Ras Thavas. “It was luck that enabled Malambroso to fire three shots without cleaning his chamber between shots and without blowing up his flier, himself, and your infant. Perhaps luck will be on our side next time, though I am not so childish as to think that bad luck one time assures good the next.”

Below, a shadow of night swept across the flat landscape toward the sinking sun. Soon the last bit of sun winked out, and darkness sharply fell. Stars blinked in. The moon Thuvia was not in sight; Cluros was visible but no brighter than Venus appears at its maximum on Earth. Belphebe said:

“I see a distant patch of light off our port bow. Would that be Ptarth?”

“Bless your eyesight, darling,” said Shea. “The map shows Ptarth in that direction.”

Belphebe said: “Didn’t Jed Mors Kajak tell us John Carter was off visiting the Jed of Ptarth? Why shouldn’t we look him up? He might be glad to see an Earthian couple and lend his help against Malambroso. From what I’ve heard, he throws a lot of weight on Barsoom.”

Shea thought before shaking his head. “I think not, darling. Malambroso could use the time to get far ahead of us. My guess is that the time is more precious to us right now than even the help of the great John Carter.”

* * *

At the following sunrise, the Banth took off from Ptarth with Shea at the controls. He studied the map and set the course for Toonol.

“Aside from padding our hotel bill with a charge for wine we never drank,” said Shea, “and overcharging us for straightening our bent propellor, the Ptarthians treated us nicely enough.”

“Be fair, darling,” said Belphebe. “They worked through the night on the propellor, and you know any Earthly machine shop would charge overtime rates for that.”

“True” said Shea, who then had to explain to Ras Thavas what he meant by “padding a hotel bill”. “Do you think I am giving Phundahl a wide enough miss, Doctor?”

Ras Thavas looked at the chart. “Yes, I believe you have. “A fellow named Fal Sivas in Zodanga is, I hear, working on a system for mental control of a flier. It were bandy to whisk us out of danger if the Phundahlians should attack us in the air.

“This Fal Sivas, I am told, thinks all too well of himself. He goes about calling himself the Master Mind of Barsoom, when it is obvious that he is no such thing. If anyone deserves that title, it is I, not he. . . . Oop, Sorry, Doctor Shea. I forgot again.”

Shea grinned. “You’re learning, old boy. With half a year of my training, you’d be so polite and tactful that Helium could use you as ambassador to negotiate sensitive issues.”

“They tiled that once,” said Ras Thavas sadly. “They sent me with a delegation to Manator. But something I said so enraged the Jed there we almost had a war, although Manator is halfway round Barsoom from the Heliums.

* * *

The day passed uneventfully, save for the sight of a column of the nomadic green men of Barsoom, each with four arms and twice the stature of a red Barsoomian, crossing the yellow-pink, moss-covered plain below. One green man wheeled his oversized thoat, pulled a musket from a boot in his saddle, and fired upward at the Banth . with a cloud of smoke. A projectile whistled past.

Shea hauled the Banth into a turn and pulled the rope releasing sand from one of the bags of ballast. Below, the green warrior was reloading. Shea growled:

“I’m tempted to shoot hack, to teach the bastard not to take pot shots at harmless travelers just for the hell of it. But I guess that wouldn’t be smart under the circs.”

Ras Thavas said: “I am happy to see that some members of your species, at least can overcome their animal urges.”

By the time the green warrior raised the gun to his shoulder again the Banth was out of range. Shea said:

“Doctor, I don’t like the way the ship behaves. We ought to have risen faster.”

Ras Thavas said: “It is possible that the shot that struck our hull has caused a small leak in one of the buoyancy tanks.”

“We must watch our altitude,” grumbled Shea, plotting the course to Toonol again.

* * *

A glance over the side showed that they were entering a widespread marshland, stretching to the horizon. Below, small streams and lakes were interspersed with patches of solid vegetation. Shea said: