Mostly Harmless - Douglas Adams [73]
He had got the Beast’s attention.
From that moment on, it seemed the most natural thing to coax and draw the animal toward him. Its head was up, cocked slightly to one side. It was slowing to a canter and then a trot. A few seconds later the huge thing was standing there among them, snorting, panting, sweating and sniffing excitedly at the pikka bird, which appeared not to have noticed its arrival at all. With strange sorts of sweeping movements of his arms, Old Thrashbarg kept the pikka bird in front of the Beast, but always out of its reach and always downward. With strange sorts of sweeping movements of the towel, Arthur kept drawing the Beast’s attention this way and that-always downward.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so stupid in my life,” muttered Ford to himself.
At last, the Beast dropped, bemused but docile, to its knees.
“Go!” whispered Old Thrashbarg, urgently, to Ford. “Go! Go now!”
Ford leapt up onto the great creature’s back, scrabbling among its thick, knotty fur for purchase, grasping great handfuls of the stuff to hold him steady once he was in position.
“Now, Sandwich Maker! Go!” He performed some elaborate sign and ritual handshake which Arthur couldn’t quite get the hang of because Old Thrashbarg had obviously made it up on the spur of the moment, then he pushed Arthur forward. Taking a deep breath, he clambered up behind Ford onto the great, hot, heaving back of the Beast and held on tight. Huge muscles the size of sea lions rippled and flexed beneath him.
Old Thrashbarg held the bird suddenly aloft. The Beast’s head swiveled up to follow it. Thrashbarg pushed upward and upward repeatedly with his arms and with the pikka bird; and slowly, heavily, the Perfectly Normal Beast lurched up off its knees and stood, at last, swaying slightly. Its two riders held on fiercely and nervously.
Arthur gazed out over the sea of hurtling animals, straining in an attempt to see where it was they were going, but there was nothing but heat haze.
“Can you see anything?” he said to Ford.
“No.” Ford twisted around to glance back, trying to see if there was any clue as to where they had come. Still, nothing.
Arthur shouted down at Thrashbarg.
“Do you know where they come from?” he called. “Or where they’re going?”
“The domain of the King!” shouted Old Thrashbarg back.
“King?” shouted Arthur in surprise. “What King?” The Perfectly Normal Beast was swaying and rocking restlessly under him.
“What do you mean, what King?” shouted Old Thrashbarg.
“The King.”
“It’s just that you never mentioned a King,” shouted Arthur back, in some consternation.
“What?” shouted Old Thrashbarg. The thrumming of a thousand hooves was very hard to hear over, and the old man was concentrating on what he was doing.
Still holding the bird aloft, he led the Beast slowly around till it was once more parallel with the motion of its great herd. He moved forward. The Beast followed. He moved forward again. The Beast followed again. At last, the Beast was lumbering forward with a little momentum.
“I said you never mentioned a King!” shouted Arthur again.
“I didn’t say a King,” shouted Old Thrashbarg, “I said the King.”
He drew back his arm and then hurled it forward with all his strength, casting the pikka bird up into the air above the herd. This seemed to catch the pikka bird completely by surprise, as it had obviously not been paying any attention at all to what was going on. It took it a moment or two to work out what was happening, then it unfurled its little wings, spread them out and flew.
“Go!” shouted Thrashbarg. “Go and meet your destiny, Sandwich Maker!”
Arthur wasn’t so sure about wanting to meet his destiny as such. He just wanted to get to wherever it was they were going so he could get back off this creature