The crash had broken the back of the kite, and nothing was to be done about that.
Fallen masts and rigging fouled what was left of the decks, and the crew was either dead or absconded into the steppe, there to continue their ground-cleanser activities with no further impedence from the thrice-damned Earthmen.
The heroes swiftly divided up into teams in order to loot what supplies they could, with Forsyth rather optimistically seeking out materials for a construction project: a flying lifeboat in which to return to civilization.
Actually, this was not an altogether unfeasible plan, but it was interrupted by the post-crash behaviour of the wreck, which though non-viable as a kite was still bouyant in detail.
Forsyth was alerted when Mr Wiseman let out a yell and leapt for the safety of the steppe. Forsyth followed suit, which turned out to be a splendid idea.
The deck of the bow section gave a shudder, and freed of most of its clutter, rose into the air, tumbling slightly as it did so due to the weight of the cast-iron bow canon still mounted at the prow, though not for long.
The deck swiveled vertically and the artillery piece fell from it, to crash into the steppe with an almighty thump, though this was partially drowned out by the stentorian sounds of the bow section of the kite disintegrating, scattering a benison of non-liftwood components around the site with scant regard for the health of those cowering on the steppe below.
Fortunately there were no casualties.
As Forsyth and Wiseman watched the enormous liftwood panels from the bow section sail off into the sky, they were allerted by they more sounds of possible injury by post-shipwreck when the stern of the kite performed a similar lift off, aerial ballet and potentially disastrously lethal disintegration.
Fortunately, Wilhem and Hartwell had had the good sense to leap off and take cover.
Forsyth buried the body of the faithful Jones as best he could, which amounted to making a cairn over the body and a crude marker. A few words were said in lieu of a service, and that concluded the sad business.
Of the trip back to Moerus Lacus, let us say little. Suffice to comment that the journey was terse, difficult, unpleasant, to be avoided at all costs in the future, not to be written home about, and not one for the books (as it were).
On making their report to the British authorities, the team were informed they had best make all speed for Syrtis Major and report to the Colonial Office, which they did, taking a barge along the grand canal connecting the two cities (all were somewhat wary of flying and heartily sick of walking).
Events in Syrtis Major were interrupted by A Martian Noble arriving by small flyer and a herald disembarking and publicly demanding loudly to meet Professor Wilhelm, Despoiler of Bordobaar and Thief of Martian Heritage Treasures.
Wilhelm obliged by meeting with the Herald, observed by a large crowd of Martians and curious Earthmen and Women.
The herald then unrolled an ornate scroll and began reading in a loud, accented English voice:
Be it known that Lord Arapiranth does declare to all that the following be true and answerable crimes:
That the thief Wilhelm did enter the ancient Martian City of Bordobaar with many Earthman accomplices.
That the thief Wilhelm then conspired with them to construct diverse unholy technological devices to put aside the holy wards set from time immemorial as protection for the many valuable and holy relics kept within the mighty vault of Bordobaar.
That the thief Wilhelm did cause the death of the Holy Guardian, the manifestation on Mars of The Worm, by forbidden dark sorcery, thereby tainting the treasures within with the shadow of heresy.
That the thief Wilhelm did divide up the spoils of his most vile theft with sundry other Earthmen, each of whom has met a most deserved and grisly death before their alloted time had they not corrupted their essence by accepting the gifts of Wilhelm.
That the thief Wilhelm has used the wealth he has amassed by his ignoble and base actions to murder uncounted innocent Martians, this being reported by numerous reliable Martian witnesses of unimpeachable character.
Be it declared that unless the thief Wilhelm be surrendered to the justice of Lord Arapiranth immediately and without reservation, his lordship will call for a most deserved Holy War against the British interlopers, who have for too long sheltered the scum of their so-called civilisation here on Mars, and by this omission of action have been the proximate cause of much misery and illegal activities to the cost of the Martian people.
The herald then rolled the scroll back onto its wooden rod and offered it distainfully to Wilhelm, who refused to take it.
The herald sneered something in Martian1, tossed the scroll to the ground at Wilhelm's feet, turned and left.
Wilhelm also left, and after a small debate with the others, sought help from his lawyer at Messrs. Boots, Boets, Bowts, Boets, Marchinup & Downagin, where he was informed that this was an archaic form of Martian challenge, and a perfectly legal one too. The options were many, including submitting to Martian judgement which Mr Boets felt to be imprudent and most likely a death sentence in all but name, or responding with a challenge of one's own to be delivered in a particular format, which would result in a form of trial by combat.
The original scroll would be needed.
Returning to the square, the team were just in time to see a martian pick up the scroll and, catching sight of the Earthmen, bolt for the alleys running off the square like an eegar with the scent of a steppe tiger in its nostrils2.
The chase was an arduous one, but the team eventually recovered the scroll with minimal need for violence.
Wilhelm then formulated his response, which was delivered and the form of the challenge was hammered out.
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