The Hand of Zei

CHAPTER TWELVE

Next morning, as Roqir redly burst the bounds of the hazy horizon, the trumpets of the allied fleet sounded the assault. Up the channel rowed the Majburo squadron, the battered Junsar in the lead.

Meanwhile, along the edge of the solid terpahla on both sides of the entrance to the pirate stronghold, in a far-reaching crescent, troops with skis on their feet lowered themselves from their ships on to the weed. They teetered and splashed on the wet and wobbly footing. Some fell and had to be helped up again. At length they began to move forward, hundreds of them in three lines: the first line carrying huge wicker shields to protect themselves and those behind them from missile fire; the second line with pikes; the third with bows.

From the pirate stronghold came no sound. During the night the Sunqaruma had drawn most of their ships together in a kind of citadel, the biggest galleys in the middle, around them a ring of smaller ships, and around these again an outwork of rafts and scows. This formation would prevent the attackers from sinking the pirate ships by ramming, at least until the low craft around the edge had been gotten out of the way.

Closer came the Junsar; still an ominous silence. The men splashing over the terpahla came closer from their side, lapping around the settlement so as to approach it from opposite sides.

As she came within catapult range, the Junsar slowed to let the bireme Saqqand pass her: the same ship that had so doughtily rammed a Duro galley thrice her size the previous day.

From the outlying houseboats around the edges of the settlement came the thrum of crossbows, and bolts streaked towards the lines of advancing ski troops. B^arnevelt realized that not all the pirates had withdrawn to the central citadel, but they would fight delaying actions around the edges of their city. The archers among the ski troops shot back over the heads of their own men.

A catapult went off in the citadel. A giant arrow soared down the channel to dive into the water beside the Saqqand. And then the creak and thump of catapults and the snap of bow-strings began their din again.

The Saqqand nosed up to the nearest of the rafts around the citadel. The Junsar made her bow fast to the starboard quarter of the smaller ship, while Queen Alvandi's Douri Dejanai made fast to her port quarter. Other ships nosed up behind these two, like a parade of elephants, and their people threw planks from rail to rail so that fighters could pour up towards the citadel as they were needed.

Barnevelt, in the Junsar's bow, heard the yell and clatter of combat around the far fringes of the settlement as the ski troops reached the outlying ships and strove to secure a lodgment on them. He could see little of this, however. Behind him his warriors lined up to go down the rope to the Saqqand's deck, while on the Saqqand herself they began to climb over the bow to the raft.

Then from the citadel burst the greatest storm of missile-fire Barnevelt had seen: catapult missiles, bolts, arrows, and sling bullets. The whistle of missiles merged into a continuous ululation. The deadly rain swept over the raft and over the Saqqand's deck, dropping men everywhere. The survivors pushed forward and closed up, to be mown down in their turn. The lucky ones dashed across the raft to climb the rail of the small galley on the other side. Sunqaruma rose to meet them.

Barnevelt found himself yelling, "Go on! Go on!"

Now another element appeared: From the citadel a large rocket with a spear shaft or catapult arrow for a stick soared down the channel, leaving a trail of thick smoke. It went wild, as did the next, but then one struck the Junsar's deck forward of the poop and burst with a roar, showering the ship with burning fragments. The men lined up on the catwalk, awaiting their turn to attack, scattered, and the Junsar's crew had to turn to put out a dozen small fires. Another such rocket hit the bow of the Douri Dejanai. The smoke and flame broke up the supporting fire from the ships.

Finally the attack broke. The men streamed back, dozens of them hobbling with arrows sticking in them, while other dozens lay scattered about the Saqqand and the raft, dead or too badly hurt to flee.

Under the bombardment from the citadel, it took hours to organize another attack. Barnevelt saw that the men of the leading group were furnished with big wicker shields like those of the ski troops. These latter had secured a footing here and there around the settlement. More than that Barnevelt could not find out, as communication between them and the ships from which they had come could only be effected by a runner plodding over the terpahla on skis.

The second attack got under way shortly after noon. The men with the big shields got into the small galley on the other side of the raft and almost drove the pirates out of it before a counter-attack sent them running.

The long Krishnan day wore on. Barnevelt got out all the rowboats in the fleet and ordered a combined attack, the longboats to row around the citadel and disembark their men at various points.

This time the attackers did secure a foothold on the small galley nearest to the channel, which they still held when the sun went down and the longboats, those still afloat, rowed back down the channel. But then another counterattack in the fading light drove the allied troops out of the ship they had occupied, and everything was as it had been at the start.

At the evening conference, the Dasht of Darya reported that the ski troops had occupied most of the outlying ships. Queen Alvandi said, "O Ferrian, why don't your brave fliers land their kites in the middle of the citadel, thus taking our foes in the only rear they present to us?"

" 'Twould serve no good purpose. Coming down singly, and mayhap smashing their craft and having to crawl by degrees from the wreckage, they'd be butchered like unhas at a country fair."

"Or do they fear the handplay, preferring to do their fighting at a safe distance? A mort of my brave girls lie dead out yonder because your delicate heroes'll fight only when they can drop things on the heads…"

"Enough, hag!" shouted Ferrian. "Who put the Duro fleet to rout? I'll match my fliers against your pseudo-warriors…"

"No warrior you, but a contriving calculator…"

By banging on the table and shouting, Barnevelt restored order. Nevertheless, the admirals were quarrelsome over their failures and snarled at each other and at Barnevelt for hours without getting anywhere. Barnevelt realized that his ski-troop idea, while bright, had not been quite good enough to carry that strong defense with one push, at least not with the number of men he had available.

He stood up with the air of one who has listened long enough. "Tomorrow we attack again, using everything at once. Prince Ferrian, load up your gliders with darts and fireworks, and get more jars of fondaqa to drop. My lord Dasht, make your ski troops move forward from their present positions if you have to poke 'em in the rump. Post ski archers around the inner edges of the terpahla to throw more covering fire into the citadel. Queen Alvandi…"

After the admirals had returned to their ships, Barnevelt strolled out upon the deck of the Sunqar. He looked at the wan stars and thought of Zei. The few days since he had seen her last had done nothing to abate the fires within him; on the contrary. Fantastic thoughts ran through his mind, of swooping down on Ghulinde with some personal followers, snatching up Zei, and bearing her off to Earth. Silly, of course…

Sounds in the darkness indicated that men were fetching back dead and wounded from the Saqqand and the adjacent raft, the live ones to be tended and the dead to be stripped of usable equipment before being consigned to the fondaqa. Sounds of carpentry came from the pirate citadel of ships.

"Have a cigar?" said Tangaloa's musical voice.

"Thanks. If I could get away with it I'd call this off."

"Why? You are doing fine—a bosker hero and all that rot."

"We've got Igor, and our film, and that money the queen gave us…"

"You mean you've got it! It belongs to you, not the firm."

"A nice idea," said Barnevelt. "Whether Panagopoulos would agree is something else."

. "Don't tell him. Speaking of money, do you suppose we could claim that reward we offered for the capture of Igor, since we did the capturing? It would have been charged to the company if somebody else had caught the bloke."

"I'm sure Panagopoulos wouldn't allow that! But, as I was saying, it's not our fight any more. All we're doing is to help these poor benighted Krishnans to kill each other, and maybe stop a stray arrow ourselves. Why don't we load Igor into a boat and silently steal away?"

Tangaloa said, "I should like to get some proper pictures inside the settlement. Those you took are half pie articles."

"What about those you've been taking?"

"Inadequate. Cosmic wouldn't accept them. Besides, anything like that would rouse the suspicions of the admirals, and with gliders to scout for them they'd easily catch us. Some of them are violently anti-Terran, and I hate to think what would happen if we were dragged back and—ah—unmasked."

"I could say I'm feeling poorly and turn the command over to Ferrian, since he thinks he can do anything better than anybody else."

"You forget—Igor is still under Osirian pseudo-hypnosis. I don't know whether it wears off…"

"It does," said Barnevelt, "but I understand it leaves you full of neuroses unless you get another Osirian to break the spell."

"Precisely! Therefore we must get Sheafase alive and force him to restore the Old Man's mind."

"I don't know. There are other Osirians, and I've drunk delight of battle with my peers enough to last me for some time."

"Look here, battler, while I don't like to throw my weight, I fear we must go on with this. Even if you are admiralissimo of the fleet, don't forget I'm your boss in Igor Shtain Limited."

Barnevelt was astonished to see the easy-going Tangaloa, for the first time, pull rank. George must take his xenological investigations—if nothing else—seriously.

"Oh, tamates! I've taken most of the responsibility and you know it. If it comes to a fight I know worse fates than not working for Igor."

"Then let's not fight, by all means," said Tangaloa pacifically. "If you can arrange one sunny day in the citadel for me, I'm easy as far as the war is concerned."

"Okay. I'll watch for a chance to effect such an agreement."

"Good-o. And now if you will excuse me, I have a date."

"You what?"

"A date. With one of Queen Alvandi's lady troopers, for some xenological work. I find them really quite feminine, in our sense of the term, under the warlike getup. Which— ahem—merely proves what I said the other day about the stability of basic cultural attitudes. Cheerio!"