Burton entered and joined the party. After a few minutes he went into the toilet by the elevator. Hermann excused himself and followed him in. Burton was at the far end of the urinal, and no one was near him. Hermann came up to his side and, while urinating, spoke in German in a low voice.
“Thanks for not telling your commander my natal name.”
“I didn’t do it for love of you,” Burton said. Burton dropped his kilt, turned, and went to a washbasin. Hermann quickly followed him. Under cover of the gushing faucets, he said, “I am not the Goring you knew.”
“P’raps not. I fancy I don’t like either of you.” Hermann burned to explain the difference of the two, but he dared not take the time. He hurried back to the observation room.
John was waiting to tell him the party was going to step out onto the deck. They would have a more open view of the lake, which the boat was just entering.
Ahead, for as far as they could see, rock spires of various heights and many shapes rose from the surface of the water. These were mostly rosecolored, but there were also black, brown, purple, green, scarlet, orange, and blue rocks. About one in twenty was striped horizontally in red, green, white, and blue, the stripes being of different widths.
Hermann told them then that at the western end of the lake the mountains curved in and formed a narrow strait about two hundred feet wide and between smooth vertical walls seven thousand feet high. The force of the current was so strong that no manual- or wind-driven vessel could go against it. The traffic by boat was all one-way, down-River, and there was little of that.
However, some travelers had long ago cut out a narrow path on the southern cliff. This was about five hundred feet above the strait and went a mile and a half to the end of the strait. So there was some foot traffic.
“Just beyond the strait is a rather narrow valley, though The River there is a mile wide. There are grailstones there, but no one lives there. I suppose because of the current, which is so strong it precludes fishing or sailing anywhere but through the straits. Then, too, The Valley gets little sunshine. There is, though, a sort of bay about a half-mile up where boats may anchor.
“A few miles above the bay, The Valley widens considerably. There begins the land of the enormous-nosed hairy giants, the titanthrops or orgres. From what I’ve heard, so many of these have been killed that half the population is now your ordinary-sized human.”
Goring paused, knowing that what he would say would, or should, be vastly interesting to the others.
“It’s estimated that it’s only twenty thousand miles from the strait to the headwaters of The River.”
He was trying to give John the idea that it might be better to keep on going. If the headwaters were so close, why should he stop here to fight? Especially, since he was likely to be defeated. Why not go to the headwaters and from there launch the expedition toward the misty tower?
John said, “Indeed.”
If he had taken the bait, he gave no sign of having done so. He seemed interested only in the strait and the immediate area beyond it.
After some questions from John about these, Hermann understood what John was considering. The bay would be an excellent place for the rewinding. The strait would be near ideal for waiting for the Not For Hire. If the Rex could catch it while it was coming through the strait, it could loose some torpedoes in the passage. These would have to be remotely controlled, though, since the strait curved at least three times.
Also, if John docked in the bay, he would keep his crew from the pacifistic influence of the Second Chancers.
Goring’s speculations on John’s thinking was right. After a day’s visit with La Viro, John up-anchored the Rex and took it through the strait. It anchored again at the bay, and a floating anchored dock was built from the shore to the vessel. From time to time, King John and some of his officers, or just his officers, would come in a launch to Aglejo. Though invited to stay overnight or longer, they never did so.