King Kobold revived-Warlock-2.5 by Christopher Stasheff Page A

ask one of them if he’d be good enough to take off his helmet so I could measure his skull, if that’s what you mean.”
    “No, but several beastmen did meet with fatal accidents during the battle. Perhaps we should send a scribe with a tape measure.”
    “Brother Chillde will do; might as well put him to some use. But he’ll just confirm what I’m telling you, Fess: heavy jaw, no chin, brow ridges, sloping forehead—and I mean really sloping; obviously no prefrontal lobes.”
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    “An occipital lump, Rod?‘’
    Rod scowled. “Well now, that I can’t really say. I mean, after all, that’s down at the base of the skull where the helmet would hide it. Check that on one of the, ah, specimens, would you?”
    “I shall leave written directions to that effect, Rod—in your name, of course. So, then, you are positing someone removing a tribe of Neanderthals from ap-proximately 50,000 B.C. Terra, and transporting them here?”
    “Where else could they dig up Neanderthals?”
    “The theory of parallel evolution…”
    “Parallel lines don’t converge. Still, you never know; we’ll leave the possibil-ity open.”
    “But for the time being, we will assume they were taken from Terra. And whoever brought them here outfitted them with Viking ships, armor, and weap-onry. Presumably this unidentified party also taught them navigation. But why would they have attacked you?”

Rod shrugged. “Presumably because the unidentified party told them to—but we’ll leave that one open for the moment.”
    “As we must also leave open the question of the unidentified party’s iden-tity.”
    “Well, that doesn’t have to be too open.” Rod frowned. “I mean, whoever it is has got to have a time machine—and we already know two organizations so equipped who’re involved in Gramarye.”
    “The futurian anarchists, and the futurian totalitarians. Yes.”
    “Right. And, with two candidates like that available, I don’t see any need to posit a third.”
    “Which of the two would you favor in this case?”
    “Oh, I’d say the anarchists probably masterminded it,” Rod reflected. “It strikes me as being their style.”
    “In what way?”
    Rod shrugged. “Why Viking gear? Presumably for the same reason the Vi-kings used it—to strike terror into the hearts of their victims. And striking terror like that serves the general purpose of making chaos out of whatever social order is available. Besides, they like to get somebody to front for them—the
    ‘power be-hind the throne,’ and all that.”
    “Or behind the pirates, in this case. Still, your point is well-taken, Rod. The totalitarians do tend toward more personal involvement. Also, they prefer care-ful, hidden preparation resulting in a revolution, not continual harassing that slowly disintegrates local authority. Yes, the anarchists are the logical perpetra-tors.”
    “And if that’s logical, it’s probably also wrong.” Rod leaned forward over the chart screen again.
    “Which reminds me—there’s a complete difference in vegeta-tion, depending on which side of the cliffs you’re on.”
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    “Totally different, Rod. Grasses exclusively.”
    “What, not even a fungus amongus?”
    “Well, there are a few mosses and lichens.”
    “How come nothing more?”
    “The vegetation would seem to indicate a small area in which the tempera-ture is far below that of the surrounding forest. I conjecture that a cold breeze blows off the sea at that point, chilling the area around the bay. The cliff-wall prevents it from reaching the interior.”
    Rod looked up. “Hey! Would that indicate a cold current?”
    “In all probability, Rod.” The robot’s voice sounded a little patronizing.
    “That’s the current that would go past Gramarye.”
    “It would seem so,” Fess answered.
    Rod smiled