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used."
"And the Aaev aren't around any longer?" Vicki asked.
"No," Braxiatel replied, and coughed slightly. "I later found out that they
were invaded and destroyed shortly after I left. No defences, you see."
Vicki glanced at his face, which was studiously directed towards the
controls. "You're very much like the Doctor, you know?" she said.
"I should hope so," Braxiatel said, affronted, "after all, we are -" He
suddenly pointed toward the screen. "Ah, here we are - close enough to make
out the landing field now."
Vicki gazed towards the crater that Braxiatel was indicating. What
initially looked like a collection of large rocks suddenly resolved itself
into a group of spacecraft of wildly different design parked haphazardly
together in a crater. Some were rectangles, some cubes, some spheres, some
tetrahedrons, some just collections of geometric shapes stuck together. All
of them bristled with short-range weapons, and none of them looked as if
they were designed to enter an atmosphere. Scattered around the perimeter
of the crater were a number of small skiffs like the one that Vicki and
Braxiatel were travelling in. As Vicki watched, one of the skiffs rose from
the ground, sending great clouds of lunar dust puffing out in slow-motion
around it.
"Aren't you worried that these ships might be seen from the Earth?" Vicki
asked.
"Not particularly," Braxiatel replied. "One of the reasons that I wanted to
hold the Armageddon Convention here on Earth at this precise moment in its
history was that the human race is on the brink of great scientific
discoveries which can be, or will be, perverted to military ends. The
telescope is one of them. Galileo will persuade the Doge of its worth by
stressing the advantage it will give Venice over its Turkish enemies - any
invasion fleet can be seen much further away than before. That gave me a
problem of course - anybody with a telescope was a potential threat because
the ships on the moon are too far away to be seen by the naked eye.
Fortunately there are only a handful of people on Earth with a telescope,
and only one of those is interested in what's happening on the moon rather
than the Earth."
"Galileo, of course," Vicki exclaimed. "So it was you that broke his
lenses!"
Braxiatel nodded. "That's right - or rather, it was one of the Jamarians
that work for me. I had to ensure that, for the duration of the conference,
he posed no threat either to our security or to the blithe disregard that
humans have for the existence of other races."
The edges of the crater had expanded beyond the confines of the viewscreen
now, and Vicki could make out markings on the sides of the ships: ornate
crests, thorn-like writing, portraits of the envoys being carried, lists of
battles won and lost. The ships themselves were looking less and less like
simple geometric shapes as their details became clearer, and Vicki could
make out the fine traceries of pipes and spars that connected their various
parts.
"And does that include killing him?" she murmured.
Braxiatel glanced across to where Vicki was sitting, and frowned. "Killing
him?"
"Someone tried to poison Galileo in a tavern. He told us.
"I didn't leave any orders that he be killed." His voice rose. "That would
have meant a completely unwarranted interference in the affairs of this
planet. My people tend to frown on that sort of thing."
"Well if you didn't try to kill him," Vicki mused as the crater walls rose
above them, hiding the horizon, and clouds of lunar dust rose in their turn
to hide the walls of the crater, "then who did?"
"A boat?" The old fisherman smiled and shook his head. "What do you want a
boat for?"
Galileo glanced across at Shakespeare. The Englishman was gazing morosely
along the broad quayside of the Riva Degli Schiavoni towards where a crowd
of his fellow countrymen were standing beside another small fishing boat -
one of the many that lined the quayside at this time in the afternoon.
Galileo watched them too for a few minutes but, in their heavy black
clothes, they looked too much like dowdy birds for his liking. He found his
gaze wandering away from them and towards the golden domes of the Church of
St Mary of Health that lay in the Dorsoduro district, just across the mouth
of the Grand Canal. Beyond the corner of the island of La Giudecca the
lagoon stretched away, and he winced at the bright shards of sunlight that
were glancing off the water and into his eyes. His head ached with old
wine, and he was beginning to bitterly regret being talked into letting
Steven represent him to the Doge. He should have been there himself! His
golden tongue would have charmed the Doge's purse into disgorging a huge
amount of gold for the secret of the spyglass.
Then again, he had to admit to a burning curiosity over what lay on this
fabled island. If its inhabitants could construct devices that could carry
them through the air as a coach could carry men along a road, then Galileo
wished very much to talk to them. Perhaps it was for the best after all.
Steven was an adequate pupil - Galileo had tutored him in exactly what to
say. It was no different from a master painter - Titian, for instance -
employing an assistant to fill in the colours while the master concentrated
on the details.
"I do not intend entering into a debate with you about my requirement for
transport," the Doctor snapped. "I merely wish to hire a boat. Are you in
the market for such services or not?"
"Well," the fisherman replied, "that would depend upon what terms." His
face was as creased and worn as an old leather jerkin, and his eyes were
screwed up against the sunlight. He reached down and picked up a small
squid from the pile at his feet.
"On what terms?" the Doctor repeated. "My good man, we will pay whatever
the current market price is for the hire of a boat, and not a penny more."
Galileo caught Shakespeare's eye and shrugged. The Doctor was forceful,
that much was undeniable, but the Venetians couldn't be hurried or badgered
or argued with. They did things in their own time and in their own way, and
their way was always the best way.
"Ah," the fisherman sighed, turning the squid over in his hands and
examining it, "but the market price depends on so many factors - what you
want to do, where you are going, what religious festivals are occurring...
"
"What do religious festivals have to do with it?" the Doctor snapped.
The fisherman smiled, revealing a mouth devoid of all but a single tooth.
"For instance, today is the festival of St Martin the Lame, and by time-
honoured custom the prices for the hire of a boat are doubled after noon on
this day."
The Doctor seemed about to explode with indignation, so Galileo caught hold
of his elbow and moved him a few steps away. "Doctor, let me negotiate - I
am used to dealing with Venetians."
"Nonsense," the Doctor expostulated, "I am quite able to fix an adequate
price, and I'll have you know that I am used to dealing with Venusians. I'm
not senile, you know."
"Indeed, Doctor, but..." Galileo paused and took a deep breath. "Can I ask
why we are not using the boat in which you and I sailed to fetch your
telescope?"
"Oh, completely unsuitable," the Doctor said. "You remember how unstable it
was when we were attacked. Why, one good heave and the whole thing might
turn over. No, if the three of us are going in search of Laputa then we
need something a lot safer than my dinghy."
"Your what?" "My never mind, young man. If you're going to fix a price with
this ruffian, hadn't you better get on with it, hmm?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]