Seahorse in the Sky

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

FOR A FEW minutes the discussion degenerated into a free-for-all concerning the existence, nature, purpose or potential of the alleged fairies or demons. Russell saw that it wasn’t going to get anywhere for the simple reason that there was no objective evidence that could be fruitfully discussed. Paul had only caught a glimpse of the creatures, and so had the Gren Li pathfinder. Indeed, it was possible if not probable that each had seen different types of winged creatures. And until such beings could either be inspected at close range or for long periods, or preferably both, all was wild surmise. The winged beings existed, and presumably they could fly over the wall. But that, contrary to John Howard’s conviction, proved nothing. If the fairies or demons were intelligent observers, they were being very discreet about it.

So Russell nursed his gin and tonic and waited for the humour and wild fantasy to die down. At length, he judged the time was ripe for his own contribution.

“May I toss in a few words?” he began. “John has led us—with some pretty sound observations en route—into the deep blue yonder. I would like to bring us back to Earth, or, at least, back to our little zoo on Erewhon. Let us assume that the People of the River are in the same predicament as ourselves and the occupants of Keep Marur. We have, then, as John suggested, three types of culture in the same cage—

and all human, for want of a better word. Whoever set it up is clearly interested in our interaction—and so am I. One thing I am sure of is that we cannot remain isolationist. We must pool our resources and experience, even with the Stone Age boys, if we can.”

“I imagine those people play rough,” said Paul Redman gloomily. “If they are true Stone Age types they are probably loaded with tabu, blood-lust and xenophobia. The first character who tries to shake hands will be asking for a headful of flint axe.”

“Possibly,” conceded Russell. “In which case, we must find out as much about them as we can before we try making any overtures. More observation from a distance, and all that sort of thing. If necessary, we could enlist the aid of our medieval friends… But there is also another project—perhaps more valuable—to which we should give some thought.”

“What is that?” asked Mary Howard.

“Escape,” answered Russell.

“From Erewhon?”

“From the zoo. We have plenty of space and very little to complain of. But I don’t like the idea of being confined, and I do want to know what is on the other side of this supposedly impenetrable barrier.”

“If we are to believe the medievals, their pathfinder had a pretty harrowing experience,” said Robert Hyman. “Personally, I wouldn’t care to have my eyeballs frozen.”

“I have been thinking about that,” said Russell, “and I think that there may be a way we can get out, and in, without too much damage… We know that a river runs through our little reservation and—”

“Of course!” said John Howard.

Russell laughed. “Please, John, let me deliver my own punch lines. It is a pretty big river, and I am willing to bet that it does not rise in the relatively small range of hills that we know about. We will have to check by exploration, but I think that the river will cut the mist barrier at-two points. There will be a point of entry and a point of exit. So, if we build a boat, or raft, we ought to be able to just drift out of the zoo.”

“What about the rapid temperature loss?” asked Tore Norstedt.

“A problem,” admitted Russell, “but not, I think, insoluble. Absu’s pathfinder was totally unprepared for his experience. We know what to expect, so we could provide ourselves with lots of insulation. If necessary, I think we could completely enclose the boat and bury ourselves under piles of clothing. If my theory about the river is O.K. and if the mist barrier is not very wide, we should be able to pass through it before the cold really hits.”

“There is a pretty good way of assessing the risk,” said John Howard excitedly. “What’s that?”

“We have to find where the river comes through the mist barrier. Then we test the water temperature and compare it with temperatures downstream. If we measure the rate of flow and check the temperatures at different depths, we ought to be able to make an enlightened guess about how thick the mist barrier is or, at least, how long it would take for a drifting boat to get through it.”

“Thank the Lord for science teachers,” said Russell reverently. “If the project is feasible, we have a lot of work on our hands. We have to establish contact and make our peace with the People of the River, if only because the boat will have to pass through their territory. We have to find where the river comes in and where it goes out. And then we have to design and build a boat and equip our intrepid explorers, if any.”

“The hell with all that,” said Mohan languidly. “Why don’t we just take it easy and wait for something to happen? Sooner or later, something is bound to happen. The chaps who brought us here are going to get tired of just supplying our groceries. Sooner or later, they will want a return on investment.”

“That is the thought that troubles me,” retorted Russell. “As a decadent western pseudo-intellectual,” he grinned at Anna, “I am all for comfort and security. But, at the same time, I would like—if possible—to find out what the whole thing is about before somebody decides it’s time to switch the programme.”

“What if there’s nothing beyond the mist barrier but more bloody grassland and forest and hills stretching into the far distance?”

“Even that information would be useful.”

“What if one or more of us gets hurt or killed trying to breakout?”

Russell shrugged. “That is a risk we have to take. I wouldn’t want such an expedition to consist of more than two people—me being one.”

Mohan smiled and poured himself another drink. “Your trouble, Russell, is that you are a bloody hero. The archetypal Englishman—thin red line vintage.”

“My trouble,” said Russell, “is that, like the Elephant’s Child, I have an insatiable curiosity.”