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idiocies he had managed to pull since then. Jason believed that you owed
something to a man who prolonged your existence, but he also wondered just how
much he still owed. In Mikah's case, he felt the balance of the debt to be
mighty small, if not overdrawn. Perhaps this one last time.
"Keep an eye on the engine-I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, jumping to
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the ground and putting on his equipment.
"You want me to do what? Stay here with this devil machine? I cannot! It will
burn and consume me."
"Act your age, Snarbi, your physical age if not your mental one. This rolling
junk pile was made by men and repaired and improved by me- no demons involved.
It burns oil to make heat that makes steam that goes to this tube to push that
rod to make those wheels go around so we can move, and that is as much of
theory of the steam engine as you are going to get from me. Maybe you can
understand this better-I, only I, can get you safely away from here.
Therefore you will stay and do as I say, or I will beat your brains in.
Clear?"
Snarbi nodded dumbly.
"Fine. All you have to do is sit here and look at this little green disk- see
it? If it should pop out before I come back, turn this handle in this
direction. Is that dear? That way, the safety valve won't blow and wake the
whole country, and we'll still have a head of steam."
Jason went out past the still silent sentry and headed back towards the
refinery station. Instead of a club or a dagger, he was armed with a well-
tempered broadsword that he had managed to manufacture under the noses of the
guards. They had examined everything he brought from the worksite, since he
had been working in the evenings in his room, but they ignored everything he
manufactured as being beyond their comprehension. This primordial mental
attitude had been of immense value, for in addition to the sword he carried a
sack of molotails, a simple weapon of assault whose origin was lost in pre-
history. Small crocks were filled with the most combustible of the refinery's
fractions and were wrapped around with cloth that he had soaked in the same
liquid. The stench made him dizzy, and he hoped that they would repay his
efforts when the time came. He could only hope, for they were completely
untried. In use, one lit the outer covering and threw them. The crockery burst
on impact and the fuse ignited the contents. Theoretically.
Getting back in proved to be as easy as getting out, and Jason felt a twinge
of regret. His subconscious had obviously been hoping that there would be a
disturbance and he would have to retreat to save himself-his subconscious
obviously being very short on interest in saving the slave girl and his
nemesis, particularly at the risk of his own skin. But he was back in the
building where his quarters were, and was trying to peer around the corner to
see if a guard was at the door. There was, and he seemed to be dozing, but
something jerked him awake. He had heard nothing, but he sniffed the air and
wrinkled his nose; the powerful smell of water-of-power from Jason's molotails
had roused him and he spotted Jason before the latter could pull back.
"Who is there?" the guard shouted, and he advanced at a lumbering run.
There was no quiet way out of this, and Jason leaped out with an echoing shout
and lunged. The blade went right under the man's guard -it must have been that
he had never seen a sword before-and the tip caught him full in the throat. He
expired with a bubbling wail that stirred voices deeper in the building. Jason
sprang over the corpse and tore at the multifold bolts and locks that sealed
the door. Footsteps were running in the distance when he finally threw the
door open and ran in.
"Get out, and quick, we're escaping!" he shouted at them and pushed the dazed
Ijale towards the door. He took a great deal of pleasure in landing a
tremendous kick that literally lifted Mikah through the opening, where he
collided with Edipon, who had just run up waving a dub. Jason leaped over the
tumbled forms, rapped Edipon behind the ear with the hilt of his sword, and
dragged Mikah to his feet.
"Get out to the engine works," he ordered his still uncomprehending [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
