Книга только для ознакомления
. When finally it was fly-
ing upright and level, Bobbin said, "Sorry about that."
Chess shook his head. "I have an idea.... You tend to
the navigation, and I'll do the sightseeing."
"How many ogres did you see?"
"Three, I think. Can you turn around and go over
again? I'll count them."
"Never mind," the gnome said. "In certain circum-
stances an informed estimate is as acceptable as quantita-
tive data. I'm going to try to -"
The soarwagon's nose lofted, and the Vale of Respite
fell away behind them as the machine headed for the sky.
Bobbin wrestled with his control strings and muttered to
himself: "Don't know why it does that... only trying
for a reasonable rate of ascent... something about the
angle of trim on the horizontal vanes, I suppose."
When he succeeded in leveling the soarwagon out, it
was approaching the peaks again, heading more or less
west.
"Would you classify what we saw back there as dan-
ger?" Bobbin asked.
"It certainly looked dangerous to me," Chess said
brightly.
"Then I expect I should tell Wingover about it. I agreed
to do that, you know."
"Do you suppose you can drop me off on the way?"
"I'll try." The gnome manipulated strings, and the
soarwagon sailed over moonlit ridgetops, then down to-
ward the refugee camps a few miles beyond the slopes
|
