Page 22 - Fables volume 1

How the Snail Risked his Life in the Interest of Science

finance my trading expeditions. You’ll have to look out for yourself.
Don’t worry about those layabouts you hired back at the crabgrass:
they can take of themselves.”
Then he set out, the doctor close behind. For several minutes they
undulated in silence. Vondon had never before traveled on such an
inhospitable surface. He had heard about its aridity, its uniformity and
its horrors; but he was amazed at the speed they were achieving,
unimpeded by twigs, rocks and puddles. And, he realized, there were
utterly no distractions, no tempting greenery to explore, no other
snails to engage in conversation—none, that is, except Thordal.
“Don’t you ever get lonely?” he called out. “I mean, all perils aside,
how do you stand the agoraphobic isolation of going inch after inch
across this wasteland?”
Thordal did not immediately reply. When he did, his words floated
back to the doctor utterly devoid of overtones. Vondon surmised that
the effect owed to the absence of anything vertical to reflect sound.
“I am a snail of action,” said the stolid trailmaster. “It is sufficient
for me to be moving, using all my senses and organs to achieve my
goal. Whether I travel through moist orchards of lettuce or totally dry
and empty space, it matters little. As for danger, death lurks in cool
shady gardens as surely as it does here.”
“You mean the Fizzing Sickness?” asked Vondon, surprised by this
outburst of emotion from the phlegmatic trail-master.
“Yes. There is still no cure for it, is there? And the source of those
poisonous dark lumps remains unknown, does it not?”
Vondon admitted that this was so. Several of his colleagues had
recently been stricken down while at a very posh lawn party. Their
remains were not a pretty sight; but the tragedy, bringing home his
own mortality, had spurred him to undertake his present field
research.
“But what do you make of this region? It cannot be normal for such
a vast area to lack even the smallest plant or patch of soil.”
“Our lives are brief,” answered Thordal. “How much can one
individual hope to understand using his limited intelligence and
experience? I rely heavily upon tradition in charting a course through
unknown territory. Back at the village they say that this was not always
a land of solid stone: once weeds and flowers grew here and great snail

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