Quest for the Well of Souls - Jack L. Chalker [40]
On the back hatch, two pinkish Twosh were relaxing, enjoying the feel of sun on their bowling-pin shapes. With ten cigars in little holsters on its belt, one Twosh was balancing itself well on one broad hand while its other hand removed a cigar and stuck it in a tiny, almost circular mouth. It never lit one; it just kept sucking and nibbling on the cigar until it had ingested the whole thing.
"Big thing, in flight twenty degrees off the starboard bow!" the lookout suddenly shouted from the radar console.
The Twosh with the cigar looked up and located a faint, faraway shape, then turned big lemon eyes to its twin. "Not another one!" it groaned.
The other Twosh strained. "I'll be damned if it don't look like a horse this time. That's all we need. A stampede on the high seas!"
"And you know who'll have to clean up the deck," the first one added ominously.
The great deep-purple horse, swan's wings spread wide to take advantage of the updrafts, circled the ship several times as if making certain that it was the one sought and, if so, allowing its rider to figure out how to land. It was a tricky problem. An Agitar pegasus didn't just land like a bird; it had to have a little room to run on the ground, to break its momentum. It could land in water, of course, but while the sea was calm enough for the Trader, it was pretty rough for anything smaller.
The captain and crew stared at the newcomer, wondering what he was going to do.
"Be damned if I'll slow for him," the ghostly captain growled in his fog-whistle voice. "If I'd known we were gonna get all this company in the middle of the ocean, I'd have taken up something more peaceful, like the Army."
Tbisi nodded his long, thin furry neck. "Maybe we're missing a bet here, Cap," he said half-seriously. "I mean, charge 'em landing fees, heavy fees for each question asked, fifty times the fee for each answer given, and five hundred times for the truth."
Renard decided that the starboard deck was clear enough and long enough for a try at least, and he brought Domaru, grandson of Doma, in.
Domaru refused the first pass; unlike his distant cousin the horse, the pegasus was neither a stupid nor foolish animal. There was not only the narrow and possibly too-short lane, probably filled with obstacles, ropes and stuff, to contend with, but also the yaw and pitch of the ship with the rolling seas. A second pass was refused by Renard, who cursed that no one below seemed to have the slightest inclination to help him or even move, but on the third try both horse and rider committed, and it was a narrow success. Once down, the pegasus, on a trot, had to fold its wings to clear the area between rail and superstructure. If Domaru couldn't stop at the bow, it would probably break his neck.
The sight of the fast-approaching bow chain seemed to help. The horse put on the brakes with barely fifty centimeters to spare and managed a turn.
Taking a little time to recover his breath and his nerve, Renard looked around at the crew, who were watching him curiously. For the first time he wondered whether or not he should have asked permission or something to come aboard. Two nasty-looking Ecundans were sunning themselves atop the bridge, stalked eyes staring at him; the two Twosh eyed him with expressions more bored than hostile.
He got down and nervously approached the Twosh with the cigar. "Uh, excuse me, but is this the Toorine Trader?"
The Twosh took a bite of its cigar, chewed, and swallowed. "Since you took so much trouble to drop in, I'll have to say yes to that."
This reply embarrassed him a little. He wasn't sure how one greeted a little pink brown-eyed bowling pin. Shake hands? No, then what would it stand on? Oh, well . . .
"My name is Renard," he tried. "I'm from Agitar."
"That's interesting," the Twosh responded helpfully.
Renard cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm, ah, representing Ambassador Ortega of Ulik."
The Twosh surveyed him critically. "My, my! Where's your other