“How many survived?”
Malory said, “We don’t know yet.”
A few minutes later, the first of twenty-two corpses, some very charred, were brought to the bank. One of them was a woman’s. Though the search continued through the night and part of the morning these were all that were found. The Frenchman was the single survivor. Though he was weak and still in shock, he insisted on getting up and taking part in the search. When he saw the bodies by a grailstone, he burst into tears and sobbed for a long time. Malory took this as a good indication of the man’s health. At least he wasn’t in such deep trauma that he was unable to express his grief.
“Where have the others gone?” the stranger demanded.
Then his sorrow became rage, and he shook his fist at the skies and howled damnation at someone named Thorn. Later, he asked if anybody had seen or heard another aircraft, a helicopter. Many had.
“Which way did it go?” he said.
Some said that the machine making the strange chopping noise had gone down-River. Others said that it had gone up-River. Several days later, the report came that the machine had been seen sinking into The River two hundred miles upstream during a rainstorm. Only one person had witnessed that, and he claimed that a man had swum from the sinking craft. A message via drum was sent to the area asking if any strangers had suddenly appeared. The reply was that none had been located.
A number of grails were found floating on The River, and these were brought to the survivor. He identified one as his, and he ate a meal from it that afternoon. Several of the grails were “free” containers. That is, they could be opened by anybody, and these were confiscated by the state of New Hope.
The Frenchman then asked if any gigantic boats propelled by paddlewheels had passed this point. He was told that one had, the Rex Grandissimus, commanded by the infamous King John of England.
“Good,” the man said. He thought for a while, then said, “I could just stay here and wait until the Mark Twain comes by. But I don’t think I will. I’m going after Thorn.”
By then, he felt recovered .enough to talk about himself. And how he talked about himself!
“I am Savinien de Cyrano II de Bergerac,” he said. “I prefer to be called Savinien, but for some reason most people prefer Cyrano. So I allow that small liberty. After all, later ages referred to me as Cyrano, and though it was a mistake, I am so famous that people cannot get used to my preference. They think they know better than I do.
“No doubt you’ve heard of me.”
He regarded his hosts as if they should feel honored to have such a great man as their guest.
“It pains me to admit that I have not,” Malory said.
“What? I was the greatest swordsman of my time, perhaps, no, undoubtedly, of all times. There is no reason for me to be modest. I do not hide my light under a bushel or, in fact, under anything. I was also the author of some remarkable literary works. I wrote books about trips to the sun and to the moon, very pointed and witty satire. My play, The Pedant Out-Witted, was, I understand, used with some modifications by a certain Monsieur Moliere and presented as his own. Well, perhaps I exaggerate. Certainly he did use much of the comedy. I also understand that an Englishman named Jonathan Swift used some of my ideas in his Gulliver’s Travels. I do not blame them, since I myself was not above using the ideas of others, though I improved upon them.”
“That is all very well, sir,” Malory said, forbearing to mention his own works. “But if it does not make you overwrought, you could tell us how you came here in that airship and what caused it to burst into flames.”
De Bergerac was staying with the Malorys until an empty hut could be found or he could be loaned the tools to construct one for himself. At this time, though, he and his hosts and perhaps a hundred more were seated or standing by a big fire outside the hut.