Page 24 - Fables volume 1

How the Snail Risked his Life in the Interest of Science

“No, I can’t say that I do,” replied Thordal, without slowing a bit.
“But my job is to manage this convoy, not hunt for logic in a thicket
of abstractions.”
Vondon sighed and retracted his sense organs as far as he could
without losing track of the leader’s hypnotically swaying shell. It was
still early morning, but the sun already radiated heat and light more
strongly than the doctor had previously experienced. He wondered if
his ad hoc research assistants were among the snails he sensed sailing
smoothly behind him, but it was too painful to turn and look.
Following Thordal’s advice, Vondon had filled himself with dew
before starting the trip. At the time he had thought it more than
enough water to produce a day’s worth of slime, but now he doubted
it would last the hour. Snails had to swim across land, laying down
their own fluid highway as they went. Ordinarily, the surfaces they
traversed were naturally damp, lessening the demand on a traveler’s
own supply of lubricant. This vast petrified flatland was another story,
however: it put a strain on mucous membranes that could be fatal.
At last, as Vondon was close to passing out, he vaguely heard
Thordal say, “We are on the edge of the Inscriptions, Doctor. I must
go on immediately. I trust you appreciate my having slackened the
pace for your benefit. Good luck and farewell.” His final words,
wafting back in the shimmering atmosphere, were: “Watch out for the
Squashers. They can come at you in any size, at any speed, from any
direction.”
The doctor stopped dead. Before him a deep narrow groove curved
away into the distance. He oozed up closer and extended his proboscis
down into the sloping rim. Hmm, he said to himself; several strata of
detritus; definitely a job for a trained archaeologist—which I definitely
am not! But I’m not here to establish its age, anyway.
He straightened up and sniffed about for his porters. An assortment
of hard-bitten snails passed around him without stopping, intent on
following Thordal to the oases on the other side of the badlands.
Some even slid over the Inscriptions, oblivious to their imputed
significance. Vondon frowned disapprovingly: he did not recognize
his bearers among the motley procession.
“Damn!” he said aloud. “Where are those bums?”

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