"Why don't we hide out up there?" Chip pointed to a cluster of rocks at the head of a narrow gully, maybe a quarter of a mile away. "If you bats stop fluttering around like a smoke signal, they won't see where we're going."

"We're not good walkers, Connolly," pointed out Siobhan.

"Cling onto me, then. I'll give you a lift." Despite the wingspan the bats were light-boned. Even a big bat like Eamon wouldn't weigh much more than two pounds.

The bats fluttered about him doubtfully. Then Bronstein settled on Chip's shoulder. "I vant to trink your blud." She bared her long white fangs and licked her lips with with a long, thin, red, red tongue.

Chip hoped like hell that that was just bat-humor.

The others settled on him too. " 'Tis a damned affront to my dignity, this," said Eamon glumly, clinging to Chip's left breast pocket. The sharp bat-claws pricked Chip through his combat jacket. The big male was a solid weight of bat, hanging like that.

" 'Tis the blood o' a virgin princess you fancy, Eamon?" chirruped a more cheerful Siobhan.

"Well, you're out of luck with Connolly, then," grumbled Phylla, limping along beside them. "He's as common as vatmuck. Not even a good prince, nor less a princess."

"No virgin neither," piped Melene. "Oft did I espy him a-giving the horn of abundance to Dermott."

"Belike she was giving it to him," snickered Doll. "An abundance of horn going about, anyway. Why do you humans take so long?"

"More like how do they make it last so long…" Phylla looked wistful.

Now, Pistol started whining. "My aching paws!" He peered up at Chip with a solitary beady eye. "How about a lift, Connolly? You owe me a bottle of whiskey, so a ride would be in order."

"A bottle? It was a drink-not even a double!" Chip protested.

"Whoreson caterpillar! A debt dodger. Come on, let's all ride Connolly, like a mare," said Fal, who plainly thought anything rather than walking was a brilliant idea.