Jandar of Callisto by Lin Carter

Author:Lin Carter
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2014-05-08T23:00:00+00:00

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8. ZANADAR, THE CITY IN THE CLOUDS

As it happened, our arrival at the city of the Sky Pirates came about during one of my sleep shifts.

For days we had been soaring at two thousand feet above the dark crimson carpet of the Grand Kumala. But yesterday, towards evening, we at last reached the foothills of the Varan-Hkor mountains, and by dawn the towers of Zanadar were in sight.

My wheel gang slept in a cubicle on an upper level, just under the row of ventilation louvers. Thus I had a splendid view of the City in the Clouds, as Zanadar was sometimes called.

Directly ahead of our prow, a few degrees to port, a tall peak soared on the horizon, lifting its castled crest out of the purple gloom and into the brilliance of dawn. The mountains were largely of white marl, like snowy chalk veined with sparkling gray quartz; the peak was jagged, the city built at different levels, various towers or battlements connected by airy bridgeways which spanned the gap between many of the imposing structures, looking from our distance rather like cobwebs entangled in stiff spears of grass, twinkling jeweled in the morning light.

As the frigate drew nearer I could hear the stentorian voice of the First Mate bellowing orders through his megaphones to belay all lines and secure hatches.

"Ahoy the poop!" he bawled in his foghorn voice. "Signal crew stand by the aft lines. Prepare to display colors. Look alive at the sternpost steerage, you lads-"

A fainter voice sounded from the pilothouse and the First Mate relayed it aft. "Starboard your rudder, two points!" he bellowed. Then: "Look alive at those winches! Trim your rear surfaces-hard about on that rudder, men!"

I felt a shudder run through the taut structure and the great winches above me creaked, guy-stays thrumming with tension as the winch gang feathered the aileronlike segments of the vans to turn the ship about to port. The endlessly complex process of flying the Skygull I found ceaselessly fascinating. I would have given anything to be above-decks just then, watching how they did it. I understood that the winch gangs controlled the pitch and pace of the vans, while the rudder gang did the actual steering by shifting that enormous fan-ribbed rudder fin to either port or starboard; the whole operation was coordinated from the pilothouse, the captain's commands relayed from the belvedere observation deck to the first mate, who stood atop a sort of conning tower between the twin masts; he in turn relayed orders to winch or rudder gangs.

Now we were coming about into the wind. The wingbeats were slower now, the great vans almost still, gliding on the air currents, the forward motion gradually slowing as the downwards-tilted aileron surfaces dragged against the thrust. Struts creaked as the frigate tilted to port, lurching a little, and the mate raised his voice in a roar, telling the starboard winch gang to trim their pitch. I shall not translate the sulphurous oaths wherewith his command was peppered.

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