He nodded as I came into view. “Ah, there, Brother Parvus. Sit down and have a stoup. You’ve a head on your chine, and we need all good redes tonight.”
A while longer he paced, brooding. I dared not interrupt with my dreadful news. A medley of noises in the dark deepened its twin-mooned otherness. These were not frogs and crickets and nightjars of England: here was a buzz, a saw-toothed hum, an inhumanly sweet singing like a lute of steel. And the odors were alien, too, which disturbed me even more.
“Well,” said my lord. “By God’s grace, we’ve won this first encounter. Now we must decide what to do next.”
“I think-“ Sir Owain cleared his throat, then spoke hurriedly: “No, gentles, I am sure. God aided us against unforeseeable treachery. He will not be with us if we show undue pride. We’ve won a rare booty of weapons, with which we can accomplish great things at home. Let us therefore start back at once.”
Sir Roger tugged his chin. “I’d prefer stay here,” he answered, “yet there’s much in what you say, my friend. We can always come back, after the Holy Land is freed, and do a proper job on this fiend’s nest.”
“Aye,” nodded Sir Brian. “We’re too alone now, and encumbered with women and children and aged and livestock. So few fighting men against a whole empire, that were madness.”
“Yet I could like to break another spear against these Wersgorix,” said Alfred Edgarson. “I haven’t won any gold here yet.”
“Gold is no use unless we bring it home,” Captain Bullard reminded him. “Bad enough campaigning in the heat and thirst of the Holy Land. Here, we know not even what plants may be poisonous, or what the winter season is like. Best we depart tomorrow.”
A rumble of assent went up among them.
I cleared my throat miserably. Branithar and I had just spent a most unpleasant hour. “My lords-“ I began.
Yes? What is it?” Sir Roger glared at me.
“My lords, I do not think we can find the way home!”
“What?” They roared it out. Several leaped to their feet. I heard Lady Catherine suck a horrified breath in between her teeth.
Then I explained that the Wersgor notes on the route to our sun were missing from the shattered control turret. I had led a search party, scratching about everywhere in the attempt to find them, but had no success. The interior of the turret was blackened, melted in places. I could only conclude that a stray fire-beam had come through the hole, played across a drawer burst open by the violence of our landing, and cindered the papers.
“But Branithar knows the way!” protested Red John. “He sailed it himself! I’ll wring it out of him, my lord.”
“Be not so hasty,” I counseled. “’Tis not like sailing along a coastline, where every landmark is known. There are uncounted millions of stars. This scouting expedition zigzagged among them looking for a suit- able planet. Without figures which the captain wrote down as they sailed, one might spend a lifetime in search and not happen on our own sun.”
“But doesn’t Branithar remember?” yelped Sir Owain. “Remember a hundred pages of numbers?” I responded. “Nay, none could do that, and this is the more true since Branithar was not the captain of the ship nor the one who kept track of her wanderings and heaved the log and performed other navigational duties, rather our captive was a lesser noble whose task was more among the crewmen and in working with the demonic engines than-“
“Enough.” Sir Roger gnawed his lip and stared at the ground. “This changes things. Yes…. Was not the Crusader’s route known in advance? Say by the duke who sent her out?”
“No, my lord,” I said. “Wersgor scoutships merely go off in any direction the captain likes and look at any star he deems promising. Not till they come back and report does their duke know where they have been.”
A groan went up. Those were hardy men, but this was enough to daunt the Nine Worthies. Sir Roger walked stiffly over to his wife and laid a hand on her arm.