Grizquetr’s eyes shone. “Can the island crush a big building?”
“Yes, though I think that there’s a possibility we could as easily disintegrate it. I’ve wondered how the island cut the grass, and can only conclude that it must use a device similar to one we have on Earth. It cuts through objects by breaking up their atomic structure with a beam that is only a molecule-thick. When on grass-cutting duty, the island must emit such a beam, and only beneath its base. Of course, it must have other machines, too, for cleaning up wreckage and debris and other stuff that its memory banks tell it has no business being on the field. But I don’t know how to operate these.”
Grizquetr looked reproachfully at Green.
“Well, I don’t know everything. I’m not a superman, am I?”
The boy did not reply, but his expression conveyed the idea that he had thought his foster-father was just that. Green shrugged his shoulders and sent the boy out to get paper, pen and ink from the garrison. By the time the boy returned, Green had lowered the island to about fifty feet above the palace. He hastily wrote a note, put it in the basket, which had a cover that could be snapped shut, and told Grizquetr to throw it over the side, aiming at the steps.
“I know you’re going to be worn out with all this running back and forth,” he said, “but you can do it. You’re big and strong.”
“Sure I am,” said the boy. Chest expanded, he dashed from the room, almost tripped going through the door, recovered, and disappeared. Grinning, Green began to watch the crowds that had gathered below. Presently he saw the basket hurtle toward a group of priests upon the great stairway. His grin broadened when the group disintegrated in panic and several of them lost their footing and rolled down the steps.
He waited until one of them got enough courage to return and open the basket. Then he lowered the island another twenty feet. At the same time, he saw a cannon being hauled into the square before the palace and its nose being raised so that it could fire upon him.
“Have to give the beggars credit for guts,” he murmured. “Or for sheer folly, I don’t know which. Well, fire away, friends.”
They didn’t, because a priest came running to stop them. Evidently, his note, though written in Huinggro, had been translated swiftly enough, and the Estoryans were taking no hasty action.
“While we’re waiting for them to make up their minds we’ll give them a taste of the feast they can expect if they aren’t reasonable,” Green said.
He then proceeded to push over about twenty towers just outside the windbreak. It was great fun, and he’d have liked to knock down a hundred or so more, but he was too anxious to find out about Amra and the Earthman. He returned to his former vigil above the palace steps.
Impatiently, he waited for ten minutes that seemed like ten hours. Finally, when he could bear it no longer, he growled, “I’m going to squat on the roof of the Temple and make them hurry up. Do they think this is a diplomatic conference or something, that they can dillydally about like this?”
“No, father,” said Grizquetr. “There they come! Mother and Paxi and Soon and Inzax! And a strange man! He must be the demon!”
“Demon, your horned hoof!” snorted Green. “That man’s as human as I am. And the poor fellow must have gone through hell. Even from this height I can see he looks bad. Look how he has to be supported between two soldiers.”
Amra and the others, he was happy to note, seemed to be unharmed.
Nevertheless he was anxious about them during their ride through the city’s streets and out to the windbreak. The Estoryans might have plans for a sudden attack, though he didn’t see how they could expect to surprise him, since from his vantage point, he would notice any concentration of troops immediately. Or, a fanatical priest might take it into his head to kill them.
Neither of these possibilities happened. The prisoners were released outside the fallen towers, and the soldiers retreated into the city. Grizquetr left the control room to guide them onto the island. In fifteen minutes he ran back.