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Bishop Ib Scoglund, he'd never felt more like praying.
Ankowaljuu turned to grin at his passengers. "When Ljiikljiik here isn't swinking for me, he's a champion
wain-racer."
"I believe it," Park said. "Who would dare stay on the same track with him?"
Ankowaljuu laughed out loud. He translated the remark into Ketjwa for Ljiikljiik's benefit. The driver's
face twitched. Park supposed that was a smile.
Soon they were out of town. That meant less traffic, but Ljiikljiik sped up even more, rocketing south
down the valley at whose northern end Kuuskoo sat.
The airfield was just that: a grassy field. Ljiikljilk drove off the road. As far as Park could tell, he didn't
slow down a bit, though everyone in the car rattled around like dried peas in a gourd. When Ljiikljiik
slammed on the brakes, Park almost went over the front seat and through the windshield. The driver
spoke his only words of the journey: "We're here."
"Praise to Hallow Ailbe for that!" Dunedin gasped. He jumped out of the wain before Ljiikljiik could
even think about changing his mind. Park followed with equal alacrity. Still grinning, Ankowaljuu tipped
the trunk out after them, then got out himself. Ljiikljiik sped away.
Only one airwain, presumably the one at Ankowaljuu's beck and call, sat waiting on the field. Next to a
DC-3 from Park's world, even next to a Ford Trimotor, the machine would have been unimpressive.
With its square-sectioned body hung from a flat slab of a wing, it rather reminded him of a scaled-down
version of a Trimotor. It had no nose prop, though, and the steam engines on either side of the wing were
far bigger and bulkier than the power plants a plane of his world would have used.
The pilot opened a cockpit window, stuck out his head, and spat a wad of coca leaves onto the grass.
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That did nothing to increase Park's confidence in him, but Ankowaljuu seemed unperturbed. "Hail,
Waipaljkoon," he called to the man. "Can we still fly with another man" he pointed at Dunedin "and
this big cursed box?"
Waipaljkoon paused to stick another wad in his cheek. "Is the box much heavier than a man?" he asked
when he was done.
"Not much, no," Ankowaljuu said with a sidelong look at Park, who resolutely ignored him.
"We'll manage, then," Waipaljkoon said. "One of my boilers has been giving me a little trouble, but we'll
manage."
Hearing that, Park thought hard about mutiny, but found himself helping his thane manhandle the trunk
into the airwain. Monkey-face was chattering excitedly; Park decided he hadn't picked up enough
Ketjwa to understand what the pilot had said. He did not enlighten him.
Takeoff procedures were of the simplest sort. The airfield did not boast a control tower. When everyone
was aboard and seated, Waipaljkoon started building steam pressure in his engines. The props began to
spin, faster and faster. After a while, Waipaljkoon released the brake. The airwain bumped over the
itjuu- grass.Just when Park wondered if it really could get off the ground, it gave an ungainly leap and
lumbered into the air.
Used to the roar of his world's planes, Park found the quiet inside the cramped cabin eerie, almost as if
he weren't flying at all. That was Kuuskoo flowing by beneath him, though. He wished he had a camera.
"Best you and your thane don your sourstuff masks now, Judge Scoglund," Ankowaljuu said, returning
to English so Park and Dunedin could not misunderstand him. "You're lowlanders, and the air will only
get thinner as we climb over the Antiis." He showed the two men from Vinland how to fit the rubber
masks over their noses. "Bethink you to outbreathe through your mouths, and you'll be fine."
The enriched air felt almost thick in Park's lungs, which had grown used to a rarer mix. Before long, at
Waipaljkoon's signal, the Tawantiinsuujans also started using the masks. Not even their barrel chests
could draw enough oxygen from the air as the 'wain climbed higher and higher.
Tiny as toys, llamas wandered the high plateaus over which the airwain flew. Its almost silent passage [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]