Destiny Doll

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creatures which, by now, must be dead as well. There was no sign of them. Had they in death, I
wondered, dried up into almost weightless nothingness, and been scattered by the wind.
I had been the one, I thought. It had been my hand that had loosed the death. I had intended to kill
the tree alone; I had killed much else besides. I wondered what had come over me that I should be
thinking this. They'd had it coming, hadn't they? The tree had attacked us and I had had every
moral reason and every legal right to fight back. That much at least was gospel, a personal and very
intimate gospel built up through the years. Nothing acted tough toward me that I didn't act tough
right back. And it worked, I told myself grimly. Throughout our long trek to the mountains and the
long trek back, no tree had made a pass at us. The word somehow had been passed along: Leave
this guy alone; he's pure poison if you mess around with him. Not knowing I no longer had a laser
gun, apparently not wanting to take the chance of finding out.
I felt Roscoe pawing at my shoulder and turned to see what it was he wanted. He pointed back the
way we'd come.
And there they were, a herd of them. There was no mistaking them. They were, in flesh, the kind of
monstrous beasts that had left their skeletons piled in a windrow back in the gorge where we had
rescued Paint. They were massive things, running on great hind legs, with tails thrust out behind
them to balance the great bulk of their bodies and their gigantic heads. With poised front legs
armed with sharp and gleaming talons. The heads grinned at us and even from that distance there
was evil in the faces. They might have been following us for a long time, but this was the first time
they had shown themselves.
They were big and ugly and they were coming fast. I had seen what they could do and I wasn't
about to wait and let them get to work on me. I lit out of there, heading for the trail that led toward
the city. The shield weighed me down and I threw it away. The scabbarded sword banged against
my knees and I tried to get the belt unbuckled, and while I was doing this the sword tripped me and
I went sprawling like a cartwheel. Just before I came out of my spin and was falling flat upon my
face, a hand reached out and grabbed me by the sword belt and held me high enough so that I
cleared the ground, just barely. I hung there, swaying back and forth and watched the ground jerk
by underneath my nose and out of one corner of my eyes I saw Roscoe's feet moving like a blur.
My God, how he could run.
I tried to angle my head around to see where we might be, but I was so near the ground I couldn't
see a thing. It wasn't comfortable and it was embarrassing, but I wasn't beefing any. Roscoe was
covering the ground in a satisfactory manner, much faster than if he'd had to wait for me.
Then finally I saw pavement underneath my face and Roscoe jerked me up and set me on my feet. I
was a little dizzy and inclined to stagger, but I saw we were in the narrow city street we'd traveled
days before, with the straight white walls arrowing up into the sky above us.
Angry snarling and vicious trumpeting sounded behind me and when I spun around I saw the
pursuing beasts throwing their bodies into the narrow cleft of street, throwing them ferociously and
vainly, fighting to get at us, fighting to get in. But we were safe. Finally I had an answer as to why
the streets should be so narrow.
TWENTY-SIX
The ghostly ships still stood upon the whiteness of the landing field with the great white cliffs of
the city rising up like the inner sides of a gigantic cup. The field was as clean as ever and there was
a deathly silence over everything. Nothing stirred; there was no breath of wind.
The shriveled, shrunken body of the gnome hung limp and listless at the end of a rope tied to a
rafter in the storeroom. The storeroom looked as it had before, with boxes, bales and bundles piled
high. There was no sign of the hobbies.
In that great room to which the ramp led up from the street the slabs of stone were still in place,
with the circular control dial to one side of them. One of the slabs was glowing and in the glow was
a nightmare world of what seemed a brand-new planet, its half-molten, half-crystallized surface
heaving in a slow pulsation, pitted with craters of red-hot slag, steam vents sending out slender
plumes of smoke and superheated water. In the distance volcanoes belched flame and heavy clouds
of smoke.
Roscoe had unloaded his packs and the water tin just inside the door that opened on the ramp and
now was hunkered down, scratching at the floor, but making no marks upon it, and for once he
wasn't mumbling to himself.
I went on breaking up the wooden bench I'd taken from the storeroom, feeding the fire I'd built
upon the floor. And here I was, I thought, a latter-day barbarian camping in the deserted city of a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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