“I’ll have a Huff of a time explaining where I’ve been.”
“Don’t explain any more than you have to. But stay away from the Witness.” Hugh had a sudden picture of Alan trying to deceive the old village historian, with his searching tongue and lust for details. “Keep clear of the Witness. The old boy would trip you up.”
“Him? You mean the old one; he’s dead. Made the Trip long since. The new one don’t amount to nothing.”
“Good. If you’re careful, you’ll be safe.” Hugh raised his voice. “Bill! Are you ready to go down?”
“I suppose so.” Ertz picked himself up and reluctantly put aside the book he had been reading _The Three Musketeers_, illustrated, one of Joe-Jim’s carefully stolen library. “Say, that’s a wonderful book. Hugh, is Earth really like that?”
“Of course. Doesn’t it say so in the book?”
Ertz chewed his lip and thought about it. “What is a house?”
“A house? A house is a sort of a. . . a sort of a compartment.”
“That’s what I thought at first, but how can you ride on a compartment?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Why, all through the book they keep climbing on their houses and riding away.”
“Let me see that book,” Joe ordered. Ertz handed it to him. Joe-Jim thumbed through it rapidly. “I see what you mean. Idiot! They ride horses, not houses.”
“Well, what’s a horse?”
“A horse is an animal, like a big hog, or maybe like a cow. You squat up on top of it and let it carry you along.”
Ertz considered this. “It doesn’t seem practical. Look, when you ride in a litter, you tell the chief porter where you want to go. How can you tell a cow where you want to go?”
“That’s easy. You have a porter lead it.”
Ertz conceded the point. “Anyhow, you might fall off. It isn’t practical. I’d rather walk.”
“It’s quite a trick,” Joe explained. “Takes practice.”
“Can you do it?”
Jim sniggered. Joe looked annoyed. “There are no horses in the Ship.”
“OK, O.K. But look. These guys Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, they had something–”
“We can discuss that later,” Hugh interrupted. “Bobo is back. Are you ready to go, Bill?”
“Don’t get in a hurry, Hugh. This is important. These chaps had knives.”
“Sure. Why not?”
“But they were better than our knives. They had knives as long as your arm, maybe longer. If we are going to fight the whole Crew, think what an advantage that would be.”
“Hm-m-m.” Hugh drew his knife and looked at it, cradling it in his palm. “Maybe. You couldn’t throw it as well.”
“We could have throwing knives, too.”
“Yes, I suppose we could.”
The twins had listened Without comment. “He’s right,” put in Joe. “Hugh, you take care of placing the knives. Jim and I have some reading to do.” Both of Joe-Jim’s heads were busy thinking of other books they owned, books. that discussed in saguinary detail the infinitely varied methods used by mankind to shorten the lives of enemies. He was about to institute a War College Department of Historical Research, although he called his project by no such fancy term.
“O.K.,” Hugh agreed, “but you will have to say the word to them.”
“Right away.” Joe-Jim stepped out of his apartment into the passageway where Bobo had assembled a couple of dozen of Joe-Jim’s henchmen among the muties. Save for Long Arm, Pig, and Squatty, who had taken part in the rescue of Hugh, they were all strangers to Hugh, Alan, and Bill, and they were all sudden death to strangers.
Joe-Jim motioned for the three from the lower decks to join him. He pointed them out to the muties, and ordered them to look closely and not to forget: these three were to have safe passage and protection wherever they went. Furthermore, in Joe-Jim’s absence his men were to take orders from any of them.
They stirred and looked at each other. Orders they were used to, but from Joe-Jim only.
A big-nosed individual rose up from his squat and addressed them. He looked at Joe-Jim, but his words were intended for all. “I am Jack-of-the-Nose. My blade is sharp and my eye is keen. Joe-Jim with the two wise heads is my Boss and my knife fights for him. But Joe is my Boss, not strangers from heavy decks. What do say, knives? Is that not the Rule?”