The Smoke Ring

He and Carlot watched the roses blowing east until they were out of sight.

Rather took his turn painting. Booce kept a close watch, but it seemed simple enough. A dab the size of a baby’s hand; the next dab two meters lower.

A dark cloud flowed after them down the trunk.

The wind grew stronger, though the trunk blocked most of it. The growing tide made climbing easier for Rather. The water flowed more strongly. It was cleaner than pond water, cleaner than the water that reached the basin in the commons. It tasted wonderful, and painting was hard, thirsty work.

In two days. Rather’s arm was one long cramp.

He was too tired to help with di

Again they wedged themselves along a wide crack in the bark, with Carlot between the men. There were dangers on the trunk.

Rather’s aches kept him awake. He presently noticed Carlot’s feet stirring restlessly. “Carlot?”

He would not have spoken twice, but she answered at once. “Can’t sleep?”

“No. My father told me about climbing up a tree. When they got to the top the tree came apart.”

“That’s one reason we don’t just chop off the tuft or burn it loose. This is easier, but it also gets the bugs away from the midpoint. When the tree dies, they’re not there to eat it apart.”

“How do you get rid of the out tuft?”

“Oh, some of the bugs won’t follow the honey. They’ll be breeding while we travel. When we get close to the Clump we’ll paint another trail out.”

“Why are you awake?”

“Tide. I have trouble sleeping in tide.” But her voice trailed off raggedly. He stopped talking, and presently slept.

After breakfast Booce said, “There’s something I want to see on the west side of the trunk. Leave the gear here.”

Climbing was easy if you didn’t have to paint too. In less than a day they had half circled the trunk. Above them by a quarter klomter, the bark bulged like a wave surging across a pond. They climbed toward that.

“Jeffer wanted us to look at this,” Booce told them. “Something must have hit the trunk while it was younger. The wood’sgrown around it.”

The wood bulged to hide it like some secret treasure.

Rather was almost inside the crater before he could see anything. Carlot, ahead of him, had stopped. Booce was at his shoulder. Rather heard him gasp.

Carlot said, “Metal!”

“I must apologize to Jeffer,” Booce said. “Metal indeed! The tree may consider it poisonous; see how reluctant the wood is to touch it! But the Admiralty won’t think so.”

Rather asked, “We want this?”

“We do. Secret auction, I think.” Booce was deep into the crater, ru

Carlot looked at her father. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

“Exactly. I have to think about this. Well, my merry crew, I think we’ve earned a holiday.”

They climbed back around the trunk, taking their time.

Booce knew just where to find the shelled burrowers.

After lunch they spent a day tethered in the now strongly ru

In twenty days they had reached the wild tuft.

Rather had never appreciated foliage before. It had surrounded him all his life. He gorged, savoring the taste and texture. “You love it too,” he observed. “Carlot, Booce, why don’t you live in a tree?”

“Oh, there’s foliage in the Clump too,” Carlot said.

“All kinds. Rather, I can’t wait to show you!”

They slept in foliage. Rather slept like a dead man, from exhaustion and the familiar sensation of sleeping under tide, in a womb of soft foliage. He woke early, feeling wonderful.

Carlot lay not far from her father. Her face was griefstricken. She thrashed in slow motion, unconsciously trying to hold herself against the tide.

Rather took her hand, gently. “Hey. Nightmare?”

Her eyes opened. “Oh. Rather. I was trying to get to Wend. She was screaming and trying to fly with just her bare feet—” She shook her head violently and sat up.

“Something I have to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“When we were swimming. Father noticed you were up.”

“Up? Oh, up. You’re very pretty,” Rather said a little awkwardly.

“We can’t make babies.”

“We can’t? Hey, the jungle giants and the London Tree citizens didn’t have any trouble. I’m a dwarf, but—”

Carlot laughed. “Father says we can’t. He wants me to marry another logger. I think he wants it to be Raff Belmy, from Woodsman, but definitely another logger. I thought I’d better say something before…well, before you got to thinking.”

“Thinking. Well, it’s too late, then.”

“It’s all right, then?”

“Sure. Go back to sleep.” The truth was that Rather was almost relieved. Carlot with her clothes off made his head swim and his blood boil: an uncomfortable feeling.

And Booce didn’t want his daughter to love a dwarf savage. Should he resent that? Somehow he didn’t.

Breakfast was more foliage. Then Booce gave Rather the matchet. “Pry the bark off. We want a complete ring of bare wood half a meter across. We’ll paint along behind you.”

Three and a half days later he was halfway around.

The bark was soft, easy to pry loose, but the trunk must have been a good two klomters in circumference. They returned to the wild tuft to sleep and eat. Rather was one vast ache, but it still felt good to be sleeping in tide, in foliage.

After breakfast Rather was still on the matchet. The Serjents seemed to share Citizens Tree’s faith in a dwarf’s superior strength. He finished the job before they slept again. They were ahead of schedule. Jeffer would not bring the CARM down for them for another six or seven days.

From the base of the trunk they watched a moby attack the bugs descending along the honey track. Mobies normally skimmed clouds of bugs from the sky for their food. This was a tremendous creature, mostly mouth and fins, riding the wind toward the trunk and the bug-swarm at a hundred meters per breath. It realized its mistake just in time. It thrashed madly, gaping, irresistibly comical, as the wind hurled it toward the tree. Its flank smashed loose a shower of bark as it passed.

The bugs descended like a cloud of charcoal dust. They reached the ring of painted bare wood and spread to north and south. The cloud condensed, growing darker, swarming-a few ce’meters out from the bark.

“Carlot. Do you like it on the tree?”

She nodded, watching the bugs.

“Booce? I’ve watched you. You like it here.”

“I love it.”

“Then how can you kill trees?”

Booce shrugged. “There are plenty of trees.”