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CHAPTER XXXIII CHAPTER XXXIII 814 On the third of September Pierre awoke late. His head was aching, the clothes in which he had slept without undressing felt uncomfortable on his body, and his mind had a dim consciousness of something shameful he had done the day before. That something shameful was his yesterday s conversation with Captain Ramballe. It was eleven by the clock, but it seemed peculiarly dark out of doors. Pierre rose, rubbed his eyes, and seeing the pistol with an engraved stock which Gerasim had replaced on the writing table, he remembered where he was and what lay before him that very day. \ Am I not too late?\ he thought. \ No, probably he won t
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make his entry into Moscow before noon.\ Pierre did not allow himself to reflect on what lay before him, but hastened to act. After arranging his clothes, he took the pistol and was about to go out. But it then occurred to him for the first time that he certainly could not carry the weapon in his hand through the streets. It was difficult to hide such a big pistol even under his wide coat. He could not carry it unnoticed in his belt or under his arm. Besides, it had been discharged, and he had not had time to reload it. \ No matter, dagger will do,\ he said to himself, though when planning his design he had more than once come to the conclusion that the chief mistake made by the student in 1809 had
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been to try to kill Napoleon with a dagger. But as his chief aim consisted not in carrying out his design, but in proving to himself that he would not abandon his intention and was doing all he could to achieve it, Pierre hastily took the blunt jagged dagger in a green sheath which he had bought at the Sukharev market with the pistol, and hid it under his waistcoat. Having tied a girdle over his coat and pulled his cap low on his head, Pierre went down the corridor, trying to avoid making a noise or meeting the captain, and passed out into the street. The conflagration, at which he had looked with so much indifference the evening before, had greatly increased during the night. Moscow was on fire in several places. The buildings in Carriage Row, across
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the river, in the Bazaar and the Povarskoy, as well as the barges on the Moskva River and the timber yards by the Dorogomilov Bridge, were all ablaze. Pierre s way led through side streets to the Povarskoy and from there to the church of St. Nicholas on the Arbat, where he had long before decided that the deed should should be done. The gates of most of the houses were locked and the shutters up. The streets and lanes were deserted. The air was full of smoke and the smell of burning. Now and then he met Russians with anxious and timid faces, and Frenchmen with an air not of the city but of the camp, walking in the middle of the streets. Both the Russians and the French looked at Pierre with surprise. Besides his height and stoutness,
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and the strange morose look of suffering in his face and whole figure, the Russians stared at Pierre because they could not make out to what class he could belong. The French followed him with astonishment in their eyes chiefly because Pierre, unlike all the other Russians who gazed at the French with fear and curiosity, paid no attention to them. At the gate of one house three Frenchmen, who were explaining something to some Russians who did not understand them, stopped Pierre asking if he did not know French. Pierre shook his head and went on. In another side street a sentinel standing beside a green caisson shouted at him, but only when the shout was threateningly repeated and he heard the click of the man s musket as he raised it did Pierre understand that he had to
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pass on the other side of the street. He heard nothing and saw nothing of what went on around him. He carried his resolution within himself in terror and haste, like something dreadful and alien to him, for, after the previous night s experience, he was afraid of losing it. But he was not destined to bring his mood safely to his destination. And even had he not been hindered by anything on the way, his intention could not now have been carried out, for Napoleon had passed the Arbat more than four hours previously on his way from the Dorogomilov suburb to the Kremlin, and was now CHAPTER XXXIII 815 sitting in a very gloomy frame of mind in a royal study in the Kremlin, giving detailed
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and exact orders as to measures to be taken immediately to extinguish the fire, to prevent looting, and to reassure the inhabitants. But Pierre did not know this; he was entirely absorbed in what lay before him, and was tortured–as those are who obstinately undertake a task that is impossible for them not because of its difficulty but because of its incompatibility with their natures–by the fear of weakening at the decisive moment and so losing his self-esteem. Though he heard and saw nothing around him he found his way by instinct and did not go wrong in the side streets that led to the Povarskoy. As Pierre approached that street the smoke became denser and denser- he even felt the heat of the fire. Occasionally curly tongues of flame rose from under the roofs of the
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houses. He met more people in the streets and they were more excited. But Pierre, though he felt that something unusual was happening around him, did not realize that he was approaching the fire. As he was going along a foot path across a wide-open space adjoining the Povarskoy on one side and the gardens of Prince Gruzinski s house on the other, Pierre suddenly heard the desperate weeping of a woman close to him. He stopped as if awakening from a dream and lifted his head. By the side of the path, on the dusty dry grass, all sorts of household goods lay in a heap: featherbeds, a samovar, icons, and trunks. On the ground, beside the trunks, sat a thin woman no longer young, with long, prominent upper teeth, and wearing a black cloak and cap. This woman,
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swaying to and fro and muttering something, was choking with sobs. Two girls of about ten and twelve, dressed in dirty short frocks and cloaks, were staring at their mother with a look of stupefaction on their pale frightened faces. The youngest child, a boy of about seven, who wore an overcoat and an immense cap evidently not his own, was crying in his old nurse s arms. A dirty, barefooted maid was sitting on a trunk, and, having undone her pale-colored plait, was pulling it straight and sniffing at her singed hair. The woman s husband, a short, round-shouldered man in the undress uniform of a civilian official, with sausage-shaped whiskers and showing under his square-set cap the hair smoothly brushed forward over his temples, with expressionless face was moving the trunks, which were placed one on another, and was dragging
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some garments from under them. As soon as she saw Pierre, the woman almost threw herself at his feet. \ Dear people, good Christians, save me, help me, dear friends… help us, somebody,\ she muttered between her sobs. \ My girl… My daughter! My youngest daughter is left behind. She s burned! Ooh! Was it for this I nursed you…. Ooh!\ \ Don t, Mary Nikolievna!\ said her husband to her in a low voice, evidently only to justify himself before the stranger. \ Sister must have taken her, or else where can she be?\ he added. \ Monster! Villain!\ shouted the woman angrily, suddenly ceasing to weep. \ You have no heart, you don t feel for your own child! Another man would have rescued her from the
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fire. But this is a monster and neither a man nor a father! You, honored sir, are a noble man,\ she went on, addressing Pierre rapidly between her sobs. \ The fire broke out alongside, and blew our way, the maid called out Fire! and we rushed to collect our things. We ran out just as we were…. This is what we have brought away…. The icons, and my dowry bed, all the rest is lost. We seized the children. But not Katie! Ooh! O Lord!…\ and again she began to sob. \ My child, my dear one! Burned, burned!\ \ But where was she left?\ asked Pierre. From the expression of his animated face the woman saw that this man might help her. \ Oh, dear sir!\ she
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cried, seizing him by the legs. \ My benefactor, set my heart at ease…. Aniska, go, you CHAPTER XXXIII 816 horrid girl, show him the way!\ she cried to the maid, angrily opening her mouth and still farther exposing her long teeth. \ Show me the way, show me, I… I ll do it,\ gasped Pierre rapidly. The dirty maidservant stepped from behind the trunk, put up her plait, sighed, and went on her short, bare feet along the path. Pierre felt as if he had come back to life after a heavy swoon. He held his head higher, his eyes shone with the light of life, and with swift steps he followed the maid, overtook her, and came out on the
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CHAPTER XXVI \ You owe your thanks more to another man than to me,\ I said, \ and here he is; meet one of Barsoom s greatest soldiers and statesmen, Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark.\ 95 With the same polished courtesy that had marked their manner toward me they extended their greetings to the great Thark, nor, to my surprise, was he much behind them in ease of bearing or in courtly speech. Though not a garrulous race, the Tharks are extremely formal, and their ways lend themselves amazingly well to dignified and courtly manners. Dejah Thoris went aboard the flagship, and was much put out that I would not follow, but, as I explained to her, the battle was but partly won; we
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still had the land forces of the besieging Zodangans to account for, and I would not leave Tars Tarkas until that had been accomplished. The commander of the naval forces of Helium promised to arrange to have the armies of Helium attack from the city in conjunction with our land attack, and so the vessels separated and Dejah Thoris was borne in triumph back to the court of her grandfather, Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium. In the distance lay our fleet of transports, with the thoats of the green warriors, where they had remained during the battle. Without landing stages it was to be a difficult matter to unload these beasts upon the open plain, but there was nothing else for it, and so we put out for a point about ten miles from the city and began
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the task. It was necessary to lower the animals to the ground in slings and this work occupied the remainder of the day and half the night. Twice we were attacked by parties of Zodangan cavalry, but with little loss, however, and after darkness shut down they withdrew. As soon as the last thoat was unloaded Tars Tarkas gave the command to advance, and in three parties we crept upon the Zodangan camp from the north, the south and the east. About a mile from the main camp we encountered their outposts and, as had been prearranged, accepted this as the signal to charge. With wild, ferocious cries and amidst the nasty squealing of battle-enraged thoats we bore down upon the Zodangans. We did not catch them napping, but found a well-entrenched battle
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line confronting us. Time after time we were repulsed until, toward noon, I began to fear for the result of the battle. The Zodangans numbered nearly a million fighting men, gathered from pole to pole, wherever stretched their ribbon-like waterways, while pitted against them were less than a hundred thousand green warriors. The forces from Helium had not arrived, nor could we receive any word from them. Just at noon we heard heavy firing all along the line between the Zodangans and the cities, and we knew then that our much-needed reinforcements had come. Again Tars Tarkas ordered the charge, and once more the mighty thoats bore their terrible riders against the ramparts of the enemy. At the same moment the battle line of Helium surged over the opposite breastworks of the Zodangans and in
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another moment they were being crushed as between two millstones. Nobly they fought, but in vain. The plain before the city became a veritable shambles ere the last Zodangan surrendered, but finally the carnage ceased, the prisoners were marched back to Helium, and we entered the greater city s gates, a huge triumphal procession of conquering heroes. The broad avenues were lined with women and children, among which were the few men whose duties CHAPTER XXVI necessitated that they remain within the city during the battle. We were greeted with an endless round of 96 applause and showered with ornaments of gold, platinum, silver, and precious jewels. The city had gone mad with joy. My fierce Tharks caused the
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wildest excitement and enthusiasm. Never before had an armed body of green warriors entered the gates of Helium, and that they came now as friends and allies filled the red men with rejoicing. That my poor services to Dejah Thoris had become known to the Heliumites was evidenced by the loud crying of my name, and by the loads of ornaments that were fastened upon me and my huge thoat as we passed up the avenues to the palace, for even in the face of the ferocious appearance of Woola the populace pressed close about me. As we approached this magnificent pile we were met by a party of officers who greeted us warmly and requested that Tars Tarkas and his jeds with the jeddaks and jeds of his wild allies, together with myself, dismount and accompany
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them to receive from Tardos Mors an expression of his gratitude for our services. At the top of the great steps leading up to the main portals of the palace stood the royal party, and as we reached the lower steps one of their number descended to meet us. He was an almost perfect specimen of manhood; tall, straight as an arrow, superbly muscled and with the carriage and bearing of a ruler of men. I did not need to be told that he was Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium. The first member of our party he met was Tars Tarkas and his first words sealed forever the new friendship between the races. \ That Tardos Mors,\ he said, earnestly, \ may meet the greatest living warrior of Barsoom is a priceless honor,
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but that he may lay his hand on the shoulder of a friend and ally is a far greater boon.\ \ Jeddak of Helium,\ returned Tars Tarkas, \ it has remained for a man of another world to teach the green warriors of Barsoom the meaning of friendship; to him we owe the fact that the hordes of Thark can understand you; that they can appreciate and reciprocate the sentiments so graciously expressed.\ Tardos Mors then greeted each of the green jeddaks and jeds, and to each spoke words of friendship and appreciation. As he approached me he laid both hands upon my shoulders. \ Welcome, my son,\ he said; \ that you are granted, gladly, and without one word of opposition, the most precious jewel in all Helium, yes,
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on all Barsoom, is sufficient earnest of my esteem.\ We were then presented to Mors Kajak, Jed of lesser Helium, and father of Dejah Thoris. He had followed close behind Tardos Mors and seemed even more affected by the meeting than had his father. He tried a dozen times to express his gratitude to me, but his voice choked with emotion and he could not speak, and yet he had, as I was to later learn, a reputation for ferocity and fearlessness as a fighter that was remarkable even upon warlike Barsoom. In common with all Helium he worshiped his daughter, nor could he think of what she had escaped without deep emotion. CHAPTER XXVII CHAPTER XXVII FROM JOY TO DEATH For ten
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days the hordes of Thark and their wild allies were feasted and entertained, and, then, loaded with 97 costly presents and escorted by ten thousand soldiers of Helium commanded by Mors Kajak, they started on the return journey to their own lands. The jed of lesser Helium with a small party of nobles accompanied them all the way to Thark to cement more closely the new bonds of peace and friendship. Sola also accompanied Tars Tarkas, her father, who before all his chieftains had acknowledged her as his daughter. Three weeks later, Mors Kajak and his officers, accompanied by Tars Tarkas and Sola, returned upon a battleship that had been dispatched to Thark to fetch them in time for the ceremony which made Dejah Thoris and John Carter one.
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For nine years I served in the councils and fought in the armies of Helium as a prince of the house of Tardos Mors. The people seemed never to tire of heaping honors upon me, and no day passed that did not bring some new proof of their love for my princess, the incomparable Dejah Thoris. In a golden incubator upon the roof of our palace lay a snow-white egg. For nearly five years ten soldiers of the jeddak s Guard had constantly stood over it, and not a day passed when I was in the city that Dejah Thoris and I did not stand hand in hand before our little shrine planning for the future, when the delicate shell should break. Vivid in my memory is the picture of the last night as we sat there talking
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in low tones of the strange romance which had woven our lives together and of this wonder which was coming to augment our happiness and fulfill our hopes. In the distance we saw the bright-white light of an approaching airship, but we attached no special significance to so common a sight. Like a bolt of lightning it raced toward Helium until its very speed bespoke the unusual. Flashing the signals which proclaimed it a dispatch bearer for the jeddak, it circled impatiently awaiting the tardy patrol boat which must convoy it to the palace docks. Ten minutes after it touched at the palace a message called me to the council chamber, which I found filling with the members of that body. On the raised platform of the throne was Tardos Mors, pacing
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back and forth with tense-drawn face. When all were in their seats he turned toward us. \ This morning,\ he said, \ word reached the several governments of Barsoom that the keeper of the atmosphere plant had made no wireless report for two days, nor had almost ceaseless calls upon him from a score of capitals elicited a sign of response. \ The ambassadors of the other nations asked us to take the matter in hand and hasten the assistant keeper to the plant. All day a thousand cruisers have been searching for him until just now one of them returns bearing his dead body, which was found in the pits beneath his house horribly mutilated by some assassin. \ I do not need to tell you what this means to Barsoom. It would take
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months to penetrate those mighty walls, in fact the work has already commenced, and there would be little to fear were the engine of the pumping CHAPTER XXVII 98 plant to run as it should and as they all have for hundreds of years now; but the worst, we fear, has happened. The instruments show a rapidly decreasing air pressure on all parts of Barsoom–the engine has stopped.\ \ My gentlemen,\ he concluded, \ we have at best three days to live.\ There was absolute silence for several minutes, and then a young noble arose, and with his drawn sword held high above his head addressed Tardos Mors. \ The men of Helium have prided themselves that they
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have ever shown Barsoom how a nation of red men should live, now is our opportunity to show them how they should die. Let us go about our duties as though a thousand useful years still lay before us.\ The chamber rang with applause and as there was nothing better to do than to allay the fears of the people by our example we went our ways with smiles upon our faces and sorrow gnawing at our hearts. When I returned to my palace I found that the rumor already had reached Dejah Thoris, so I told her all that I had heard. \ We have been very happy, John Carter,\ she said, \ and I thank whatever fate overtakes us that it permits us to die together.\ The next
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two days brought no noticeable change in the supply of air, but on the morning of the third day breathing became difficult at the higher altitudes of the rooftops. The avenues and plazas of Helium were filled with people. All business had ceased. For the most part the people looked bravely into the face of their unalterable doom. Here and there, however, men and women gave way to quiet grief. Toward the middle of the day many of the weaker commenced to succumb and within an hour the people of Barsoom were sinking by thousands into the unconsciousness which precedes death by asphyxiation. Dejah Thoris and I with the other members of the royal family had collected in a sunken garden within an inner courtyard of the palace. We conversed in low tones, when we conversed at all, as
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the awe of the grim shadow of death crept over us. Even Woola seemed to feel the weight of the impending calamity, for he pressed close to Dejah Thoris and to me, whining pitifully. The little incubator had been brought from the roof of our palace at request of Dejah Thoris and now she sat gazing longingly upon the unknown little life that now she would never know. As it was becoming perceptibly difficult to breathe Tardos Mors arose, saying, \ Let us bid each other farewell. The days of the greatness of Barsoom are over. Tomorrow s sun will look down upon a dead world which through all eternity must go swinging through the heavens peopled not even by memories. It is the end.\ He stooped and kissed the women of
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his family, and laid his strong hand upon the shoulders of the men. As I turned sadly from him my eyes fell upon Dejah Thoris. Her head was drooping upon her breast, to all appearances she was lifeless. With a cry I sprang to her and raised her in my arms. Her eyes opened and looked into mine. \ Kiss me, John Carter,\ she murmured. \ I love you! I love you! It is cruel that we must be torn apart who were just starting upon a life of love and happiness.\ CHAPTER XXVII As I pressed her dear lips to mine the old feeling of unconquerable power and authority rose in me. The fighting blood of Virginia sprang to life in my veins.
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99 \ It shall not be, my princess,\ I cried. \ There is, there must be some way, and John Carter, who has fought his way through a strange world for love of you, will find it.\ And with my words there crept above the threshold of my conscious mind a series of nine long forgotten sounds. Like a flash of lightning in the darkness their full purport dawned upon me–the key to the three great doors of the atmosphere plant! Turning suddenly toward Tardos Mors as I still clasped my dying love to my breast I cried. \ A flier, Jeddak! Quick! Order your swiftest flier to the palace top. I can save Barsoom yet.\ He did not wait to question, but in
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an instant a guard was racing to the nearest dock and though the air was thin and almost gone at the rooftop they managed to launch the fastest one-man, air-scout machine that the skill of Barsoom had ever produced. Kissing Dejah Thoris a dozen times and commanding Woola, who would have followed me, to remain and guard her, I bounded with my old agility and strength to the high ramparts of the palace, and in another moment I was headed toward the goal of the hopes of all Barsoom. I had to fly low to get sufficient air to breathe, but I took a straight course across an old sea bottom and so had to rise only a few feet above the ground. I traveled with awful velocity for my errand was a race against time
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with death. The face of Dejah Thoris hung always before me. As I turned for a last look as I left the palace garden I had seen her stagger and sink upon the ground beside the little incubator. That she had dropped into the last coma which would end in death, if the air supply remained unreplenished, I well knew, and so, throwing caution to the winds, I flung overboard everything but the engine and compass, even to my ornaments, and lying on my belly along the deck with one hand on the steering wheel and the other pushing the speed lever to its last notch I split the thin air of dying Mars with the speed of a meteor. An hour before dark the great walls of the atmosphere plant loomed suddenly before me, and with a sickening thud
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I plunged to the ground before the small door which was withholding the spark of life from the inhabitants of an entire planet. Beside the door a great crew of men had been laboring to pierce the wall, but they had scarcely scratched the flint-like surface, and now most of them lay in the last sleep from which not even air would awaken them. Conditions seemed much worse here than at Helium, and it was with difficulty that I breathed at all. There were a few men still conscious, and to one of these I spoke. \ If I can open these doors is there a man who can start the engines?\ I asked. \ I can,\ he replied, \ if you open quickly. I can last but a few moments more. But
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it is useless, they are both dead and no one else upon Barsoom knew the secret of these awful locks. For three days men crazed with fear have surged about this portal in vain attempts to solve its mystery.\ I had no time to talk, I was becoming very weak and it was with difficulty that I controlled my mind at all. But, with a final effort, as I sank weakly to my knees I hurled the nine thought waves at that awful thing CHAPTER XXVIII 100 before me. The Martian had crawled to my side and with staring eyes fixed on the single panel before us we waited in the silence of death. Slowly the mighty door receded before
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us. I attempted to rise and follow it but I was too weak. \ After it,\ I cried to my companion, \ and if you reach the pump room turn loose all the pumps. It is the only chance Barsoom has to exist tomorrow!\ From where I lay I opened the second door, and then the third, and as I saw the hope of Barsoom crawling weakly on hands and knees through the last doorway I sank unconscious upon the ground. CHAPTER XXVIII AT THE ARIZONA CAVE It was dark when I opened my eyes again. Strange, stiff garments were upon my body; garments that cracked and powdered away from me as I rose to a sitting posture. I felt myself over from head to
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foot and from head to foot I was clothed, though when I fell unconscious at the little doorway I had been naked. Before me was a small patch of moonlit sky which showed through a ragged aperture. As my hands passed over my body they came in contact with pockets and in one of these a small parcel of matches wrapped in oiled paper. One of these matches I struck, and its dim flame lighted up what appeared to be a huge cave, toward the back of which I discovered a strange, still figure huddled over a tiny bench. As I approached it I saw that it was the dead and mummified remains of a little old woman with long black hair, and the thing it leaned over was a small charcoal burner upon which rested a round copper vessel containing
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a small quantity of greenish powder. Behind her, depending from the roof upon rawhide thongs, and stretching entirely across the cave, was a row of human skeletons. From the thong which held them stretched another to the dead hand of the little old woman; as I touched the cord the skeletons swung to the motion with a noise as of the rustling of dry leaves. It was a most grotesque and horrid tableau and I hastened out into the fresh air; glad to escape from so gruesome a place. The sight that met my eyes as I stepped out upon a small ledge which ran before the entrance of the cave filled me with consternation. A new heaven and a new landscape met my gaze. The silvered mountains in the distance, the almost
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stationary moon hanging in the sky, the cacti-studded valley below me were not of Mars. I could scarcely believe my eyes, but the truth slowly forced itself upon me–I was looking upon Arizona from the same ledge from which ten years before I had gazed with longing upon Mars. Burying my head in my arms I turned, broken, and sorrowful, down the trail from the cave. Above me shone the red eye of Mars holding her awful secret, forty-eight million miles away. Did the Martian reach the pump room? Did the vitalizing air reach the people of that distant planet in time to save them? Was my Dejah Thoris alive, or did her beautiful body lie cold in death beside the tiny golden incubator in the sunken garden of the inner courtyard of the palace of
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Tardos Mors, the jeddak of Helium? CHAPTER XXVIII 101 For ten years I have waited and prayed for an answer to my questions. For ten years I have waited and prayed to be taken back to the world of my lost love. I would rather lie dead beside her there than live on Earth all those millions of terrible miles from her. The old mine, which I found untouched, has made me fabulously wealthy; but what care I for wealth! As I sit here tonight in my little study overlooking the Hudson, just twenty years have elapsed since I first opened my eyes upon Mars. I can see her shining in the sky through the little window by my desk, and
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tonight she seems calling to me again as she has not called before since that long dead night, and I think I can see, across that awful abyss of space, a beautiful black-haired woman standing in the garden of a palace, and at her side is a little boy who puts his arm around her as she points into the sky toward the planet Earth, while at their feet is a huge and hideous creature with a heart of gold. I believe that they are waiting there for me, and something tells me that I shall soon know. End of Project Gutenberg s A Princess of Mars, by Edgar Rice Burroughs *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PRINCESS OF MARS *** This file should be named pmars13.txt or pmars13.zip Corrected EDITIONS of
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Chapter 22 Chapter 22 When the woods again began to pour forth the dark-hued masses of the enemy the youth felt serene self-confidence. He smiled briefly when he saw men dodge and duck at the long screechings of shells that 78 were thrown in giant handfuls over them. He stood, erect and tranquil, watching the attack begin against apart of the line that made a blue curve along the side of an adjacent hill. His vision being unmolested by smoke from the rifles of his companions, he had opportunities to see parts of the hard fight. It was a relief to perceive at last from whence came some of these noises which had been roared into his ears. Off a short way he saw two regiments fighting a little
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separate battle with two other regiments. It was in a cleared space, wearing a set-apart look. They were blazing as if upon a wager, giving and taking tremendous blows. The firings were incredibly fierce and rapid. These intent regiments apparently were oblivious of all larger purposes of war, and were slugging each other as if at a matched game. In another direction he saw a magnificent brigade going with the evident intention of driving the enemy from a wood. They passed in out of sight and presently there was a most awe-inspiring racket in the wood. The noise was unspeakable. Having stirred this prodigious uproar, and, apparently, finding it too prodigious, the brigade, after a little time, came marching airily out again with its fine formation in nowise disturbed. There were no traces of speed in its movements. The brigade
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was jaunty and seemed to point a proud thumb at the yelling wood. On a slope to the left there was a long row of guns, gruff and maddened, denouncing the enemy, who, down through the woods, were forming for another attack in the pitiless monotony of conflicts. The round red discharges from the guns made a crimson flare and a high, thick smoke. Occasional glimpses could be caught of groups of the toiling artillerymen. In the rear of this row of guns stood a house, calm and white, amid bursting shells. A congregation of horses, tied to a long railing, were tugging frenziedly at their bridles. Men were running hither and thither. The detached battle between the four regiments lasted for some time. There chanced to be no interference, and they settled their dispute by themselves.
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They struck savagely and powerfully at each other for a period of minutes, and then the lighter-hued regiments faltered and drew back, leaving the dark-blue lines shouting. The youth could see the two flags shaking with laughter amid the smoke remnants. Presently there was a stillness, pregnant with meaning. The blue lines shifted and changed a trifle and stared expectantly at the silent woods and fields before them. The hush was solemn and churchlike, save for a distant battery that, evidently unable to remain quiet, sent a faint rolling thunder over the ground. It irritated, like the noises of unimpressed boys. The men imagined that it would prevent their perched ears from hearing the first words of the new battle. Of a sudden the guns on the slope roared out a message of warning. A spluttering sound had
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begun in the woods. It swelled with amazing speed to a profound clamor that involved the earth in noises. The splitting crashes swept along the lines until an interminable roar was developed. To those in the midst of it it became a din fitted to the universe. It was the whirring and thumping of gigantic machinery, complications among the smaller stars. The youth s ears were filled cups. They were incapable of hearing more. On an incline over which a road wound he saw wild and desperate rushes of men perpetually backward and forward in riotous surges. These parts of the opposing armies were two long waves that pitched upon each other madly at dictated points. To and fro they swelled. Sometimes, one side by its yells and cheers would proclaim decisive blows, but a moment later the other side
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would be all yells and cheers. Once the youth saw a spray of light forms go in houndlike leaps toward the waving blue lines. There was much howling, and presently it went away with a vast mouthful of prisoners. Again, he saw a blue wave dash with such thunderous force against a gray obstruction that it seemed to clear the earth of it and leave nothing but Chapter 22 trampled sod. And always in their swift and deadly rushes to and fro the men screamed and yelled like maniacs. 79 Particular pieces of fence or secure positions behind collections of trees were wrangled over, as gold thrones or pearl bedsteads. There were desperate lunges at these chosen spots seemingly every instant, and most of
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them were bandied like light toys between the contending forces. The youth could not tell from the battle flags flying like crimson foam in many directions which color of cloth was winning. His emaciated regiment bustled forth with undiminished fierceness when its time came. When assaulted again by bullets, the men burst out in a barbaric cry of rage and pain. They bent their heads in aims of intent hatred behind the projected hammers of their guns. Their ramrods clanged loud with fury as their eager arms pounded the cartridges into the rifle barrels. The front of the regiment was a smoke-wall penetrated by the flashing points of yellow and red. Wallowing in the fight, they were in an astonishingly short time resmudged. They surpassed in stain and dirt all their previous appearances. Moving to and fro with
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strained exertion, jabbering all the while, they were, with their swaying bodies, black faces, and glowing eyes, like strange and ugly fiends jigging heavily in the smoke. The lieutenant, returning from a tour after a bandage, produced from a hidden receptacle of his mind new and portentous oaths suited to the emergency. Strings of expletives he swung lashlike over the backs of his men, and it was evident that his previous efforts had in nowise impaired his resources. The youth, still the bearer of the colors, did not feel his idleness. He was deeply absorbed as a spectator. The crash and swing of the great drama made him lean forward, intent-eyed, his face working in small contortions. Sometimes he prattled, words coming unconsciously from him in grotesque exclamations. He did not know that he breathed; that the
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flag hung silently over him, so absorbed was he. A formidable line of the enemy came within dangerous range. They could be seen plainly–tall, gaunt men with excited faces running with long strides toward a wandering fence. At sight of this danger the men suddenly ceased their cursing monotone. There was an instant of strained silence before they threw up their rifles and fired a plumping volley at the foes. There had been no order given; the men, upon recognizing the menace, had immediately let drive their flock of bullets without waiting for word of command. But the enemy were quick to gain the protection of the wandering line of fence. They slid down behind it with remarkable celerity, and from this position they began briskly to slice up the blue men. These
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latter braced their energies for a great struggle. Often, white clinched teeth shone from the dusky faces. Many heads surged to and fro, floating upon a pale sea of smoke. Those behind the fence frequently shouted and yelped in taunts and gibelike cries, but the regiment maintained a stressed silence. Perhaps, at this new assault the men recalled the fact that they had been named mud diggers, and it made their situation thrice bitter. They were breathlessly intent upon keeping the ground and thrusting away the rejoicing body of the enemy. They fought swiftly and with a despairing savageness denoted in their expressions. The youth had resolved not to budge whatever should happen. Some arrows of scorn that had buried themselves in his heart had generated strange and unspeakable hatred. It was clear to him that his final and absolute
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revenge was to be achieved by his dead body lying, torn and gluttering, upon the field. This was to be a poignant retaliation upon the officer who had said \ mule drivers,\ and later \ mud diggers,\ for in all the wild graspings of his mind for a unit responsible for his sufferings and commotions he always seized upon the man who had dubbed him wrongly. And it was his idea, vaguely formulated, that his corpse would be for those Chapter 22 eyes a great and salt reproach. 80 The regiment bled extravagantly. Grunting bundles of blue began to drop. The orderly sergeant of the youth s company was shot through the cheeks. Its supports being injured, his jaw hung afar down, disclosing in
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the wide cavern of his mouth a pulsing mass of blood and teeth. And with it all he made attempts to cry out. In his endeavor there was a dreadful earnestness, as if he conceived that one great shriek would make him well. The youth saw him presently go rearward. His strength seemed in nowise impaired. He ran swiftly, casting wild glances for succor. Others fell down about the feet of their companions. Some of the wounded crawled out and away, but many lay still, their bodies twisted into impossible shapes. The youth looked once for his friend. He saw a vehement young man, powder-smeared and frowzled, whom he knew to be him. The lieutenant, also, was unscathed in his position at the rear. He had continued to curse, but it was now with the
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air of a man who was using his last box of oaths. For the fire of the regiment had begun to wane and drip. The robust voice, that had come strangely from the thin ranks, was growing rapidly weak. Chapter 23 Chapter 23 The colonel came running along the back of the line. There were other officers following him. \ We must 81 charge m!\ they shouted. \ We must charge m!\ they cried with resentful voices, as if anticipating a rebellion against this plan by the men. The youth, upon hearing the shouts, began to study the distance between him and the enemy. He made vague calculations. He saw that to be firm soldiers they must go
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forward. It would be death to stay in the present place, and with all the circumstances to go backward would exalt too many others. Their hope was to push the galling foes away from the fence. He expected that his companions, weary and stiffened, would have to be driven to this assault, but as he turned toward them he perceived with a certain surprise that they were giving quick and unqualified expressions of assent. There was an ominous, clanging overture to the charge when the shafts of the bayonets rattled upon the rifle barrels. At the yelled words of command the soldiers sprang forward in eager leaps. There was new and unexpected force in the movement of the regiment. A knowledge of its faded and jaded condition made the charge appear like a paroxysm, a display of the strength that
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comes before a final feebleness. The men scampered in insane fever of haste, racing as if to achieve a sudden success before an exhilarating fluid should leave them. It was a blind and despairing rush by the collection of men in dusty and tattered blue, over a green sward and under a sapphire sky, toward a fence, dimly outlined in smoke, from behind which sputtered the fierce rifles of enemies. The youth kept the bright colors to the front. He was waving his free arm in furious circles, the while shrieking mad calls and appeals, urging on those that did not need to be urged, for it seemed that the mob of blue men hurling themselves on the dangerous group of rifles were again grown suddenly wild with an enthusiasm of unselfishness. From the many firings starting toward them, it
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looked as if they would merely succeed in making a great sprinkling of corpses on the grass between their former position and the fence. But they were in a state of frenzy, perhaps because of forgotten vanities, and it made an exhibition of sublime recklessness. There was no obvious questioning, nor figurings, nor diagrams. There was, apparently, no considered loopholes. It appeared that the swift wings of their desires would have shattered against the iron gates of the impossible. He himself felt the daring spirit of a savage, religion-mad. He was capable of profound sacrifices, a tremendous death. He had no time for dissections, but he knew that he thought of the bullets only as things that could prevent him from reaching the place of his endeavor. There were subtle flashings of joy within him that thus should be
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his mind. He strained all his strength. His eyesight was shaken and dazzled by the tension of thought and muscle. He did not see anything excepting the mist of smoke gashed by the little knives of fire, but he knew that in it lay the aged fence of a vanished farmer protecting the snuggled bodies of the gray men. As he ran a thought of the shock of contact gleamed in his mind. He expected a great concussion when the two bodies of troops crashed together. This became a part of his wild battle madness. He could feel the onward swing of the regiment about him and he conceived of a thunderous, crushing blow that would prostrate the resistance and spread consternation and amazement for miles. The flying regiment was going to have a catapultian effect. This dream
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made him run faster among his comrades, who were giving vent to hoarse and frantic cheers. But presently he could see that many of the men in gray did not intend to abide the blow. The smoke, rolling, disclosed men who ran, their faces still turned. These grew to a crowd, who retired stubbornly. Individuals wheeled frequently to send a bullet at the blue wave. Chapter 23 But at one part of the line there was a grim and obdurate group that made no movement. They were settled firmly down behind posts and rails. A flag, ruffled and fierce, waved over them and their rifles dinned fiercely. 82 The blue whirl of men got very near, until it seemed that in truth
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there would be a close and frightful scuffle. There was an expressed disdain in the opposition of the little group, that changed the meaning of the cheers of the men in blue. They became yells of wrath, directed, personal. The cries of the two parties were now in sound an interchange of scathing insults. They in blue showed their teeth; their eyes shone all white. They launched themselves as at the throats of those who stood resisting. The space between dwindled to an insignificant distance. The youth had centered the gaze of his soul upon that other flag. Its possession would be high pride. It would express bloody minglings, near blows. He had a gigantic hatred for those who made great difficulties and complications. They caused it to be as a craved treasure of mythology, hung amid tasks
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and contrivances of danger. He plunged like a mad horse at it. He was resolved it should not escape if wild blows and darings of blows could seize it. His own emblem, quivering and aflare, was winging toward the other. It seemed there would shortly be an encounter of strange beaks and claws, as of eagles. The swirling body of blue men came to a sudden halt at close and disastrous range and roared a swift volley. The group in gray was split and broken by this fire, but its riddled body still fought. The men in blue yelled again and rushed in upon it. The youth, in his leapings, saw, as through a mist, a picture of four or five men stretched upon the ground or writhing upon their knees with bowed heads as
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if they had been stricken by bolts from the sky. Tottering among them was the rival color bearer, whom the youth saw had been bitten vitally by the bullets of the last formidable volley. He perceived this man fighting a last struggle, the struggle of one whose legs are grasped by demons. It was a ghastly battle. Over his face was the bleach of death, but set upon it was the dark and hard lines of desperate purpose. With this terrible grin of resolution he hugged his precious flag to him and was stumbling and staggering in his design to go the way that led to safety for it. But his wounds always made it seem that his feet were retarded, held, and he fought a grim fight, as with invisible ghouls fastened greedily upon his limbs. Those in advance of
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the scampering blue men, howling cheers, leaped at the fence. The despair of the lost was in his eyes as he glanced back at them. The youth s friend went over the obstruction in a tumbling heap and sprang at the flag as a panther at prey. He pulled at it and, wrenching it free, swung up its red brilliancy with a mad cry of exultation even as the color bearer, gasping, lurched over in a final throe and, stiffening convulsively, turned his dead face to the ground. There was much blood upon the grass blades. At the place of success there began more wild clamorings of cheers. The men gesticulated and bellowed in an ecstasy. When they spoke it was as if they considered their listener to be a mile away. What hats and caps were left
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to them they often slung high in the air. At one part of the line four men had been swooped upon, and they now sat as prisoners. Some blue men were about them in an eager and curious circle. The soldiers had trapped strange birds, and there was an examination. A flurry of fast questions was in the air. One of the prisoners was nursing a superficial wound in the foot. He cuddled it, baby-wise, but he looked up from it often to curse with an astonishing utter abandon straight at the noses of his captors. He consigned them Chapter 23 to red regions; he called upon the pestilential wrath of strange gods. And with it all he was singularly free from recognition of the finer points of the conduct
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of prisoners of war. It was as if a clumsy clod had trod upon his toe and he conceived it to be his privilege, his duty, to use deep, resentful oaths. 83 Another, who was a boy in years, took his plight with great calmness and apparent good nature. He conversed with the men in blue, studying their faces with his bright and keen eyes. They spoke of battles and conditions. There was an acute interest in all their faces during this exchange of view points. It seemed a great satisfaction to hear voices from where all had been darkness and speculation. The third captive sat with a morose countenance. He preserved a stoical and cold attitude. To all advances he made one reply without variation, \ Ah, go t hell!\
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The last of the four was always silent and, for the most part, kept his face turned in unmolested directions. From the views the youth received he seemed to be in a state of absolute dejection. Shame was upon him, and with it profound regret that he was, perhaps, no more to be counted in the ranks of his fellows. The youth could detect no expression that would allow him to believe that the other was giving a thought to his narrowed future, the pictured dungeons, perhaps, and starvations and brutalities, liable to the imagination. All to be seen was shame for captivity and regret for the right to antagonize. After the men had celebrated sufficiently they settled down behind the old rail fence, on the opposite side to the one from which their foes had been
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driven. A few shot perfunctorily at distant marks. There was some long grass. The youth nestled in it and rested, making a convenient rail support the flag. His friend, jubilant and glorified, holding his treasure with vanity, came to him there. They sat side by side and congratulated each other. Chapter 24 Chapter 24 84 The roarings that had stretched in a long line of sound across the face of the forest began to grow intermittent and weaker. The stentorian speeches of the artillery continued in some distant encounter, but the crashes of the musketry had almost ceased. The youth and his friend of a sudden looked up, feeling a deadened form of distress at the waning of these noises, which had
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become a part of life. They could see changes going on among the troops. There were marchings this way and that way. A battery wheeled leisurely. On the crest of a small hill was the thick gleam of many departing muskets. The youth arose. \ Well, what now, I wonder?\ he said. By his tone he seemed to be preparing to resent some new monstrosity in the way of dins and smashes. He shaded his eyes with his grimy hand and gazed over the field. His friend also arose and stared. \ I bet we re goin t git along out of this an back over th river,\ said he. \ Well, I swan!\ said the youth. They waited, watching. Within a little while the regiment received
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orders to retrace its way. The men got up grunting from the grass, regretting the soft repose. They jerked their stiffened legs, and stretched their arms over their heads. One man swore as he rubbed his eyes. They all groaned \ O Lord!\ They had as many objections to this change as they would have had to a proposal for a new battle. They trampled slowly back over the field across which they had run in a mad scamper. The regiment marched until it had joined its fellows. The reformed brigade, in column, aimed through a wood at the road. Directly they were in a mass of dust-covered troops, and were trudging along in a way parallel to the enemy s lines as these had been defined by the previous turmoil. They passed within view
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of a stolid white house, and saw in front of it groups of their comrades lying in wait behind a neat breastwork. A row of guns were booming at a distant enemy. Shells thrown in reply were raising clouds of dust and splinters. Horsemen dashed along the line of intrenchments. At this point of its march the division curved away from the field and went winding off in the direction of the river. When the significance of this movement had impressed itself upon the youth he turned his head and looked over his shoulder toward the trampled and debris-strewed ground. He breathed a breath of new satisfaction. He finally nudged his friend. \ Well, it s all over,\ he said to him. His friend gazed backward. \ B Gawd, it is,\ he assented. They mused.
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For a time the youth was obliged to reflect in a puzzled and uncertain way. His mind was undergoing a subtle change. It took moments for it to cast off its battleful ways and resume its accustomed course of thought. Gradually his brain emerged from the clogged clouds, and at last he was enabled to more closely comprehend himself and circumstance. He understood then that the existence of shot and countershot was in the past. He had dwelt in a land of strange, squalling upheavals and had come forth. He had been where there was red of blood and black of passion, and he was escaped. His first thoughts were given to rejoicings at this fact. Later he began to study his deeds, his failures, and his achievements. Thus, fresh from scenes where many of his usual
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machines of reflection had been idle, from where he had proceeded sheeplike, he struggled to marshal all his acts. Chapter 24 At last they marched before him clearly. From this present view point he was enabled to look upon them in 85 spectator fashion and criticise them with some correctness, for his new condition had already defeated certain sympathies. Regarding his procession of memory he felt gleeful and unregretting, for in it his public deeds were paraded in great and shining prominence. Those performances which had been witnessed by his fellows marched now in wide purple and gold, having various deflections. They went gayly with music. It was pleasure to watch these things. He spent delightful minutes viewing the gilded images of memory.
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He saw that he was good. He recalled with a thrill of joy the respectful comments of his fellows upon his conduct. Nevertheless, the ghost of his flight from the first engagement appeared to him and danced. There were small shoutings in his brain about these matters. For a moment he blushed, and the light of his soul flickered with shame. A specter of reproach came to him. There loomed the dogging memory of the tattered soldier–he who, gored by bullets and faint of blood, had fretted concerning an imagined wound in another; he who had loaned his last of strength and intellect for the tall soldier; he who, blind with weariness and pain, had been deserted in the field. For an instant a wretched chill of sweat was upon him at the
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thought that he might be detected in the thing. As he stood persistently before his vision, he gave vent to a cry of sharp irritation and agony. His friend turned. \ What s the matter, Henry?\ he demanded. The youth s reply was an outburst of crimson oaths. As he marched along the little branch-hung roadway among his prattling companions this vision of cruelty brooded over him. It clung near him always and darkened his view of these deeds in purple and gold. Whichever way his thoughts turned they were followed by the somber phantom of the desertion in the fields. He looked stealthily at his companions, feeling sure that they must discern in his face evidences of this pursuit. But they were plodding in ragged array, discussing with quick tongues the accomplishments of the late
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battle. \ Oh, if a man should come up an ask me, I d say we got a dum good lickin .\ \ Lickin –in yer eye! We ain t licked, sonny. We re goin down here aways, swing aroun , an come in behint em.\ \ Oh, hush, with your comin in behint em. I ve seen all a that I wanta. Don t tell me about comin in behint–\ \ Bill Smithers, he ses he d rather been in ten hundred battles than been in that heluva hospital. He ses they got shootin in th nighttime, an shells dropped plum among em in th hospital. He ses sech hollerin he never see.\ \
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Hasbrouck? He s th best off cer in this here reg ment. He s a whale.\ \ Didn t I tell yeh we d come aroun in behint em? Didn t I tell yeh so? We–\ \ Oh, shet yeh mouth!\ For a time this pursuing recollection of the tattered man took all elation from the youth s veins. He saw his vivid error, and he was afraid that it would stand before him all his life. He took no share in the chatter of his Chapter 24 86 comrades, nor did he look at them or know them, save when he felt sudden suspicion that they were seeing his thoughts and scrutinizing each detail of
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the scene with the tattered soldier. Yet gradually he mustered force to put the sin at a distance. And at last his eyes seemed to open to some new ways. He found that he could look back upon the brass and bombast of his earlier gospels and see them truly. He was gleeful when he discovered that he now despised them. With this conviction came a store of assurance. He felt a quiet manhood, nonassertive but of sturdy and strong blood. He knew that he would no more quail before his guides wherever they should point. He had been to touch the great death, and found that, after all, it was but the great death. He was a man. So it came to pass that as he trudged from the place of blood and wrath his soul
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changed. He came from hot plowshares to prospects of clover tranquilly, and it was as if hot plowshares were not. Scars faded as flowers. It rained. The procession of weary soldiers became a bedraggled train, despondent and muttering, marching with churning effort in a trough of liquid brown mud under a low, wretched sky. Yet the youth smiled, for he saw that the world was a world for him, though many discovered it to be made of oaths and walking sticks. He had rid himself of the red sickness of battle. The sultry nightmare was in the past. He had been an animal blistered and sweating in the heat and pain of war. He turned now with a lover s thirst to images of tranquil skies, fresh meadows, cool brooks–an existence of soft and eternal peace. Over the
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river a golden ray of sun came through the hosts of leaden rain clouds. THE END.   SCENE: Rome, the conspirators camp near Sardis, and the plains of Philippi. ACT I. SCENE I. Rome. A street. [Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a Throng of Citizens.] FLAVIUS. Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home! Is this a holiday? What! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a laboring day without the sign Of your profession?–Speak, what trade art thou? FIRST CITIZEN. Why, sir, a carpenter. MARULLUS. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on?– You, sir; what trade are you? SECOND CITIZEN.
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Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. MARULLUS. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. SECOND CITIZEN. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. 6 MARULLUS. What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade? SECOND CITIZEN. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. MARULLUS. What mean st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow! SECOND CITIZEN. Why, sir, cobble you. FLAVIUS. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
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SECOND CITIZEN. Truly, Sir, all that I live by is with the awl; I meddle with no tradesman s matters, nor women s matters, but with awl. I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in 7 great danger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat s-leather have gone upon my handiwork. FLAVIUS. But wherefore art not in thy shop today? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? SECOND CITIZEN. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes to get myself into more work. But indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. MARULLUS. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome,
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To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb d up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day with patient expectation To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome. And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout That Tiber trembled underneath her banks To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in
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his way That comes in triumph over Pompey s blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. FLAVIUS. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort, Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Exeunt CITIZENS.] See whether their basest metal be not moved; They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I. Disrobe the images, If you do find them deck d with
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CHAPTER TWELVE 43 My attention was diverted from this death flurry by a furious yelling, like that of the thing called a siren in our manufacturing towns. A man, knee-deep near the towing path, shouted inaudibly to me and pointed. Looking back, I saw the other Martians advancing with gigantic strides down the riverbank from the direction of Chertsey. The Shepperton guns spoke this time unavailingly. At that I ducked at once under water, and, holding my breath until movement was an agony, blundered painfully ahead under the surface as long as I could. The water was in a tumult about me, and rapidly growing hotter. When for a moment I raised my head to take breath and throw the hair and water from my eyes, the steam was
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rising in a whirling white fog that at first hid the Martians altogether. The noise was deafening. Then I saw them dimly, colossal figures of grey, magnified by the mist. They had passed by me, and two were stooping over the frothing, tumultuous ruins of their comrade. The third and fourth stood beside him in the water, one perhaps two hundred yards from me, the other towards Laleham. The generators of the Heat-Rays waved high, and the hissing beams smote down this way and that. The air was full of sound, a deafening and confusing conflict of noises–the clangorous din of the Martians, the crash of falling houses, the thud of trees, fences, sheds flashing into flame, and the crackling and roaring of fire. Dense black smoke was leaping up to mingle with the steam from the river,
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and as the Heat-Ray went to and fro over Weybridge its impact was marked by flashes of incandescent white, that gave place at once to a smoky dance of lurid flames. The nearer houses still stood intact, awaiting their fate, shadowy, faint and pallid in the steam, with the fire behind them going to and fro. For a moment perhaps I stood there, breast-high in the almost boiling water, dumbfounded at my position, hopeless of escape. Through the reek I could see the people who had been with me in the river scrambling out of the water through the reeds, like little frogs hurrying through grass from the advance of a man, or running to and fro in utter dismay on the towing path. Then suddenly the white flashes of the Heat-Ray came leaping towards me. The houses
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caved in as they dissolved at its touch, and darted out flames; the trees changed to fire with a roar. The Ray flickered up and down the towing path, licking off the people who ran this way and that, and came down to the water s edge not fifty yards from where I stood. It swept across the river to Shepperton, and the water in its track rose in a boiling weal crested with steam. I turned shoreward. In another moment the huge wave, well-nigh at the boiling-point had rushed upon me. I screamed aloud, and scalded, half blinded, agonised, I staggered through the leaping, hissing water towards the shore. Had my foot stumbled, it would have been the end. I fell helplessly, in full sight of the Martians, upon the broad, bare gravelly spit that runs down to mark
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the angle of the Wey and Thames. I expected nothing but death. I have a dim memory of the foot of a Martian coming down within a score of yards of my head, driving straight into the loose gravel, whirling it this way and that and lifting again; of a long suspense, and then of the four carrying the debris of their comrade between them, now clear and then presently faint through a veil of smoke, receding interminably, as it seemed to me, across a vast space of river and meadow. And then, very slowly, I realised that by a miracle I had escaped. CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER THIRTEEN HOW I FELL IN WITH THE CURATE After getting this sudden lesson in the power of terrestrial weapons, the
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Martians retreated to their original position upon Horsell Common; and in their haste, and encumbered with the debris of their smashed 44 companion, they no doubt overlooked many such a stray and negligible victim as myself. Had they left their comrade and pushed on forthwith, there was nothing at that time between them and London but batteries of twelve-pounder guns, and they would certainly have reached the capital in advance of the tidings of their approach; as sudden, dreadful, and destructive their advent would have been as the earthquake that destroyed Lisbon a century ago. But they were in no hurry. Cylinder followed cylinder on its interplanetary flight; every twenty-four hours brought them reinforcement. And meanwhile the military and naval authorities, now fully alive to the tremendous power of their antagonists, worked
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with furious energy. Every minute a fresh gun came into position until, before twilight, every copse, every row of suburban villas on the hilly slopes about Kingston and Richmond, masked an expectant black muzzle. And through the charred and desolated area–perhaps twenty square miles altogether–that encircled the Martian encampment on Horsell Common, through charred and ruined villages among the green trees, through the blackened and smoking arcades that had been but a day ago pine spinneys, crawled the devoted scouts with the heliographs that were presently to warn the gunners of the Martian approach. But the Martians now understood our command of artillery and the danger of human proximity, and not a man ventured within a mile of either cylinder, save at the price of his life. It would seem that these giants spent the earlier part of the afternoon
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in going to and fro, transferring everything from the second and third cylinders–the second in Addlestone Golf Links and the third at Pyrford–to their original pit on Horsell Common. Over that, above the blackened heather and ruined buildings that stretched far and wide, stood one as sentinel, while the rest abandoned their vast fighting-machines and descended into the pit. They were hard at work there far into the night, and the towering pillar of dense green smoke that rose therefrom could be seen from the hills about Merrow, and even, it is said, from Banstead and Epsom Downs. And while the Martians behind me were thus preparing for their next sally, and in front of me Humanity gathered for the battle, I made my way with infinite pains and labour from the fire and smoke of burning Weybridge towards
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London. I saw an abandoned boat, very small and remote, drifting down- stream; and throwing off the most of my sodden clothes, I went after it, gained it, and so escaped out of that destruction. There were no oars in the boat, but I contrived to paddle, as well as my parboiled hands would allow, down the river towards Halliford and Walton, going very tediously and continually looking behind me, as you may well understand. I followed the river, because I considered that the water gave me my best chance of escape should these giants return. The hot water from the Martian s overthrow drifted downstream with me, so that for the best part of a mile I could see little of either bank. Once, however, I made out a string of black figures hurrying across the meadows
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from the direction of Weybridge. Halliford, it seemed, was deserted, and several of the houses facing the river were on fire. It was strange to see the place quite tranquil, quite desolate under the hot blue sky, with the smoke and little threads of flame going straight up into the heat of the afternoon. Never before had I seen houses burning without the accompaniment of an obstructive crowd. A little farther on the dry reeds up the bank were smoking and glowing, and a line of fire inland was marching steadily across a late field of hay. For a long time I drifted, so painful and weary was I after the violence I had been through, and so intense the heat upon the water. Then my fears got the better of me again, and I resumed my paddling. The sun scorched
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN 45 my bare back. At last, as the bridge at Walton was coming into sight round the bend, my fever and faintness overcame my fears, and I landed on the Middlesex bank and lay down, deadly sick, amid the long grass. I suppose the time was then about four or five o clock. I got up presently, walked perhaps half a mile without meeting a soul, and then lay down again in the shadow of a hedge. I seem to remember talking, wanderingly, to myself during that last spurt. I was also very thirsty, and bitterly regretful I had drunk no more water. It is a curious thing that I felt angry with my wife; I cannot account for it, but my impotent desire to reach
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Leatherhead worried me excessively. I do not clearly remember the arrival of the curate, so that probably I dozed. I became aware of him as a seated figure in soot- smudged shirt sleeves, and with his upturned, clean-shaven face staring at a faint flickering that danced over the sky. The sky was what is called a mackerel sky–rows and rows of faint down-plumes of cloud, just tinted with the midsummer sunset. I sat up, and at the rustle of my motion he looked at me quickly. \ Have you any water?\ I asked abruptly. He shook his head. \ You have been asking for water for the last hour,\ he said. For a moment we were silent, taking stock of each other. I dare say he
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found me a strange enough figure, naked, save for my water- soaked trousers and socks, scalded, and my face and shoulders blackened by the smoke. His face was a fair weakness, his chin retreated, and his hair lay in crisp, almost flaxen curls on his low forehead; his eyes were rather large, pale blue, and blankly staring. He spoke abruptly, looking vacantly away from me. \ What does it mean?\ he said. \ What do these things mean?\ I stared at him and made no answer. He extended a thin white hand and spoke in almost a complaining tone. \ Why are these things permitted? What sins have we done? The morning service was over, I was walking through the roads to clear my brain for the afternoon, and then–fire, earthquake,
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death! As if it were Sodom and Gomorrah! All our work undone, all the work—- What are these Martians?\ \ What are we?\ I answered, clearing my throat. He gripped his knees and turned to look at me again. For half a minute, perhaps, he stared silently. \ I was walking through the roads to clear my brain,\ he said. \ And suddenly–fire, earthquake, death!\ He relapsed into silence, with his chin now sunken almost to his knees. Presently he began waving his hand. \ All the work–all the Sunday schools–What have we done–what has Weybridge done? Everything gone–everything destroyed. The church! We rebuilt it only three years ago. Gone! Swept out of existence! Why?\ Another pause, and he broke out
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again like one demented. CHAPTER THIRTEEN \ The smoke of her burning goeth up for ever and ever!\ he shouted. His eyes flamed, and he pointed a lean finger in the direction of Weybridge. 46 By this time I was beginning to take his measure. The tremendous tragedy in which he had been involved–it was evident he was a fugitive from Weybridge–had driven him to the very verge of his reason. \ Are we far from Sunbury?\ I said, in a matter-of-fact tone. \ What are we to do?\ he asked. \ Are these creatures everywhere? Has the earth been given over to them?\ \ Are we far from Sunbury?\
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\ Only this morning I officiated at early celebration—-\ \ Things have changed,\ I said, quietly. \ You must keep your head. There is still hope.\ \ Hope!\ \ Yes. Plentiful hope–for all this destruction!\ I began to explain my view of our position. He listened at first, but as I went on the interest dawning in his eyes gave place to their former stare, and his regard wandered from me. \ This must be the beginning of the end,\ he said, interrupting me. \ The end! The great and terrible day of the Lord! When men shall call upon the mountains and the rocks to fall upon them and hide them–hide them from the face of Him that sitteth upon the throne!\
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I began to understand the position. I ceased my laboured reasoning, struggled to my feet, and, standing over him, laid my hand on his shoulder. \ Be a man!\ said I. \ You are scared out of your wits! What good is religion if it collapses under calamity? Think of what earthquakes and floods, wars and volcanoes, have done before to men! Did you think God had exempted Weybridge? He is not an insurance agent.\ For a time he sat in blank silence. \ But how can we escape?\ he asked, suddenly. \ They are invulnerable, they are pitiless.\ \ Neither the one nor, perhaps, the other,\ I answered. \ And the mightier they are the more sane and wary should we be. One of them was
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killed yonder not three hours ago.\ \ Killed!\ he said, staring about him. \ How can God s ministers be killed?\ \ I saw it happen.\ I proceeded to tell him. \ We have chanced to come in for the thick of it,\ said I, \ and that is all.\ \ What is that flicker in the sky?\ he asked abruptly. I told him it was the heliograph signalling–that it was the sign of human help and effort in the sky. \ We are in the midst of it,\ I said, \ quiet as it is. That flicker in the sky tells of the gathering storm. Yonder, I CHAPTER THIRTEEN 47
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take it are the Martians, and Londonward, where those hills rise about Richmond and Kingston and the trees give cover, earthworks are being thrown up and guns are being placed. Presently the Martians will be coming this way again.\ And even as I spoke he sprang to his feet and stopped me by a gesture. \ Listen!\ he said. From beyond the low hills across the water came the dull resonance of distant guns and a remote weird crying. Then everything was still. A cockchafer came droning over the hedge and past us. High in the west the crescent moon hung faint and pale above the smoke of Weybridge and Shepperton and the hot, still splendour of the sunset. \ We had better follow this path,\ I said,
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\ northward.\ CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN IN LONDON 48 My younger brother was in London when the Martians fell at Woking. He was a medical student working for an imminent examination, and he heard nothing of the arrival until Saturday morning. The morning papers on Saturday contained, in addition to lengthy special articles on the planet Mars, on life in the planets, and so forth, a brief and vaguely worded telegram, all the more striking for its brevity. The Martians, alarmed by the approach of a crowd, had killed a number of people with a quick-firing gun, so the story ran. The telegram concluded with the words: \ Formidable as they seem to be, the Martians have not
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moved from the pit into which they have fallen, and, indeed, seem incapable of doing so. Probably this is due to the relative strength of the earth s gravitational energy.\ On that last text their leader-writer expanded very comfortingly. Of course all the students in the crammer s biology class, to which my brother went that day, were intensely interested, but there were no signs of any unusual excitement in the streets. The afternoon papers puffed scraps of news under big headlines. They had nothing to tell beyond the movements of troops about the common, and the burning of the pine woods between Woking and Weybridge, until eight. Then the ST. JAMES S GAZETTE, in an extra-special edition, announced the bare fact of the interruption of telegraphic communication. This was thought to be due to the falling of burning
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pine trees across the line. Nothing more of the fighting was known that night, the night of my drive to Leatherhead and back. My brother felt no anxiety about us, as he knew from the description in the papers that the cylinder was a good two miles from my house. He made up his mind to run down that night to me, in order, as he says, to see the Things before they were killed. He dispatched a telegram, which never reached me, about four o clock, and spent the evening at a music hall. In London, also, on Saturday night there was a thunderstorm, and my brother reached Waterloo in a cab. On the platform from which the midnight train usually starts he learned, after some waiting, that an accident prevented trains from reaching Woking that night.
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The nature of the accident he could not ascertain; indeed, the railway authorities did not clearly know at that time. There was very little excitement in the station, as the officials, failing to realise that anything further than a breakdown between Byfleet and Woking junction had occurred, were running the theatre trains which usually passed through Woking round by Virginia Water or Guildford. They were busy making the necessary arrangements to alter the route of the Southampton and Portsmouth Sunday League excursions. A nocturnal newspaper reporter, mistaking my brother for the traffic manager, to whom he bears a slight resemblance, waylaid and tried to interview him. Few people, excepting the railway officials, connected the breakdown with the Martians. I have read, in another account of these events, that on Sunday morning \ all London was electrified by the news
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from Woking.\ As a matter of fact, there was nothing to justify that very extravagant phrase. Plenty of Londoners did not hear of the Martians until the panic of Monday morning. Those who did took some time to realise all that the hastily worded telegrams in the Sunday papers conveyed. The majority of people in London do not read Sunday papers. The habit of personal security, moreover, is so deeply fixed in the Londoner s mind, and startling intelligence so much a matter of course in the papers, that they could read without any personal tremors: \ About seven o clock last night the Martians came out of the cylinder, and, moving about under an armour of metallic shields, have completely wrecked Woking station with the adjacent houses, and massacred an entire battalion of the Cardigan Regiment. No details
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are known. Maxims have been absolutely useless against their armour; the field guns have been disabled by them. Flying hussars have been galloping into Chertsey. The Martians appear to be moving slowly towards Chertsey or Windsor. Great anxiety prevails in West Surrey, and CHAPTER FOURTEEN earthworks are being thrown up to check the advance Londonward.\ That was how the Sunday SUN put it, 49 and a clever and remarkably prompt \ handbook\ article in the REFEREE compared the affair to a menagerie suddenly let loose in a village. No one in London knew positively of the nature of the armoured Martians, and there was still a fixed idea that these monsters must be sluggish: \ crawling,\ \ creeping painfully\ –such expressions occurred
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in almost all the earlier reports. None of the telegrams could have been written by an eyewitness of their advance. The Sunday papers printed separate editions as further news came to hand, some even in default of it. But there was practically nothing more to tell people until late in the afternoon, when the authorities gave the press agencies the news in their possession. It was stated that the people of Walton and Weybridge, and all the district were pouring along the roads Londonward, and that was all. My brother went to church at the Foundling Hospital in the morning, still in ignorance of what had happened on the previous night. There he heard allusions made to the invasion, and a special prayer for peace. Coming out, he bought a REFEREE. He became alarmed at the news in this, and
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went again to Waterloo station to find out if communication were restored. The omnibuses, carriages, cyclists, and innumerable people walking in their best clothes seemed scarcely affected by the strange intelligence that the news venders were disseminating. People were interested, or, if alarmed, alarmed only on account of the local residents. At the station he heard for the first time that the Windsor and Chertsey lines were now interrupted. The porters told him that several remarkable telegrams had been received in the morning from Byfleet and Chertsey stations, but that these had abruptly ceased. My brother could get very little precise detail out of them. \ There s fighting going on about Weybridge\ was the extent of their information. The train service was now very much disorganised. Quite a number of people who had been expecting friends
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from places on the South- Western network were standing about the station. One grey-headed old gentleman came and abused the South-Western Company bitterly to my brother. \ It wants showing up,\ he said. One or two trains came in from Richmond, Putney, and Kingston, containing people who had gone out for a day s boating and found the locks closed and a feeling of panic in the air. A man in a blue and white blazer addressed my brother, full of strange tidings. \ There s hosts of people driving into Kingston in traps and carts and things, with boxes of valuables and all that,\ he said. \ They come from Molesey and Weybridge and Walton, and they say there s been guns heard at Chertsey, heavy firing, and that mounted soldiers have told them to
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get off at once because the Martians are coming. We heard guns firing at Hampton Court station, but we thought it was thunder. What the dickens does it all mean? The Martians can t get out of their pit, can they?\ My brother could not tell him. Afterwards he found that the vague feeling of alarm had spread to the clients of the underground railway, and that the Sunday excursionists began to return from all over the South-Western \ lung\ — Barnes, Wimbledon, Richmond Park, Kew, and so forth–at unnaturally early hours; but not a soul had anything more than vague hearsay to tell of. Everyone connected with the terminus seemed ill-tempered. About five o clock the gathering crowd in the station was immensely excited by the opening of the line of communication, which
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is almost invariably closed, between the South-Eastern and the South-Western stations, and the passage of carriage trucks bearing huge guns and carriages crammed with soldiers. These were the guns that were brought up from Woolwich and Chatham to cover Kingston. There was an exchange of pleasantries: \ You ll get eaten!\ \ We re the beast- tamers!\ and so forth. A little while after that a squad of police came into the station and began to clear the public off the platforms, and my brother went out into the street again. CHAPTER FOURTEEN The church bells were ringing for evensong, and a squad of Salvation Army lassies came singing down Waterloo Road. On the bridge a number of loafers were watching a curious brown scum that came drifting
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50 down the stream in patches. The sun was just setting, and the Clock Tower and the Houses of Parliament rose against one of the most peaceful skies it is possible to imagine, a sky of gold, barred with long transverse stripes of reddish-purple cloud. There was talk of a floating body. One of the men there, a reservist he said he was, told my brother he had seen the heliograph flickering in the west. In Wellington Street my brother met a couple of sturdy roughs who had just been rushed out of Fleet Street with still-wet newspapers and staring placards. \ Dreadful catastrophe!\ they bawled one to the other down Wellington Street. \ Fighting at Weybridge! Full description! Repulse of the Martians! London in Danger!\ He had to give threepence for a copy of
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that paper. Then it was, and then only, that he realised something of the full power and terror of these monsters. He learned that they were not merely a handful of small sluggish creatures, but that they were minds swaying vast mechanical bodies; and that they could move swiftly and smite with such power that even the mightiest guns could not stand against them. They were described as \ vast spiderlike machines, nearly a hundred feet high, capable of the speed of an express train, and able to shoot out a beam of intense heat.\ Masked batteries, chiefly of field guns, had been planted in the country about Horsell Common, and especially between the Woking district and London. Five of the machines had been seen moving towards the Thames, and one, by a happy chance, had been
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destroyed. In the other cases the shells had missed, and the batteries had been at once annihilated by the Heat-Rays. Heavy losses of soldiers were mentioned, but the tone of the dispatch was optimistic. The Martians had been repulsed; they were not invulnerable. They had retreated to their triangle of cylinders again, in the circle about Woking. Signallers with heliographs were pushing forward upon them from all sides. Guns were in rapid transit from Windsor, Portsmouth, Aldershot, Woolwich–even from the north; among others, long wire-guns of ninety-five tons from Woolwich. Altogether one hundred and sixteen were in position or being hastily placed, chiefly covering London. Never before in England had there been such a vast or rapid concentration of military material. Any further cylinders that fell, it was hoped, could be destroyed at once by high explosives,
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which were being rapidly manufactured and distributed. No doubt, ran the report, the situation was of the strangest and gravest description, but the public was exhorted to avoid and discourage panic. No doubt the Martians were strange and terrible in the extreme, but at the outside there could not be more than twenty of them against our millions. The authorities had reason to suppose, from the size of the cylinders, that at the outside there could not be more than five in each cylinder–fifteen altogether. And one at least was disposed of– perhaps more. The public would be fairly warned of the approach of danger, and elaborate measures were being taken for the protection of the people in the threatened southwestern suburbs. And so, with reiterated assurances of the safety of London and the ability of the authorities to
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cope with the difficulty, this quasi-proclamation closed. This was printed in enormous type on paper so fresh that it was still wet, and there had been no time to add a word of comment. It was curious, my brother said, to see how ruthlessly the usual contents of the paper had been hacked and taken out to give this place. All down Wellington Street people could be seen fluttering out the pink sheets and reading, and the Strand was suddenly noisy with the voices of an army of hawkers following these pioneers. Men came scrambling off buses to secure copies. Certainly this news excited people intensely, whatever their previous apathy. The shutters of a map shop in the Strand were being taken down, my brother said, and a man in his Sunday raiment, lemon-yellow gloves even, was visible
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inside the window hastily fastening maps of Surrey to the CHAPTER FOURTEEN glass. Going on along the Strand to Trafalgar Square, the paper in his hand, my brother saw some of the fugitives 51 from West Surrey. There was a man with his wife and two boys and some articles of furniture in a cart such as greengrocers use. He was driving from the direction of Westminster Bridge; and close behind him came a hay waggon with five or six respectable-looking people in it, and some boxes and bundles. The faces of these people were haggard, and their entire appearance contrasted conspicuously with the Sabbath-best appearance of the people on the omnibuses. People in fashionable clothing peeped at them out of cabs. They stopped at
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the Square as if undecided which way to take, and finally turned eastward along the Strand. Some way behind these came a man in workday clothes, riding one of those old- fashioned tricycles with a small front wheel. He was dirty and white in the face. My brother turned down towards Victoria, and met a number of such people. He had a vague idea that he might see something of me. He noticed an unusual number of police regulating the traffic. Some of the refugees were exchanging news with the people on the omnibuses. One was professing to have seen the Martians. \ Boilers on stilts, I tell you, striding along like men.\ Most of them were excited and animated by their strange experience. Beyond Victoria the public-houses were doing a lively trade with these arrivals.
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At all the street corners groups of people were reading papers, talking excitedly, or staring at these unusual Sunday visitors. They seemed to increase as night drew on, until at last the roads, my brother said, were like Epsom High Street on a Derby Day. My brother addressed several of these fugitives and got unsatisfactory answers from most. None of them could tell him any news of Woking except one man, who assured him that Woking had been entirely destroyed on the previous night. \ I come from Byfleet,\ he said; \ man on a bicycle came through the place in the early morning, and ran from door to door warning us to come away. Then came soldiers. We went out to look, and there were clouds of smoke to the south–nothing but smoke, and not a
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soul coming that way. Then we heard the guns at Chertsey, and folks coming from Weybridge. So I ve locked up my house and come on.\ At the time there was a strong feeling in the streets that the authorities were to blame for their incapacity to dispose of the invaders without all this inconvenience. About eight o clock a noise of heavy firing was distinctly audible all over the south of London. My brother could not hear it for the traffic in the main thoroughfares, but by striking through the quiet back streets to the river he was able to distinguish it quite plainly. He walked from Westminster to his apartments near Regent s Park, about two. He was now very anxious on my account, and disturbed at the evident magnitude of the trouble.
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His mind was inclined to run, even as mine had run on Saturday, on military details. He thought of all those silent, expectant guns, of the suddenly nomadic countryside; he tried to imagine \ boilers on stilts\ a hundred feet high. There were one or two cartloads of refugees passing along Oxford Street, and several in the Marylebone Road, but so slowly was the news spreading that Regent Street and Portland Place were full of their usual Sunday-night promenaders, albeit they talked in groups, and along the edge of Regent s Park there were as many silent couples \ walking out\ together under the scattered gas lamps as ever there had been. The night was warm and still, and a little oppressive; the sound of guns continued intermittently, and after midnight there seemed to be sheet lightning in
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the south. He read and re-read the paper, fearing the worst had happened to me. He was restless, and after supper prowled out again aimlessly. He returned and tried in vain to divert his attention to his examination notes. He CHAPTER FOURTEEN 52 went to bed a little after midnight, and was awakened from lurid dreams in the small hours of Monday by the sound of door knockers, feet running in the street, distant drumming, and a clamour of bells. Red reflections danced on the ceiling. For a moment he lay astonished, wondering whether day had come or the world gone mad. Then he jumped out of bed and ran to the window. His room was an attic and as he thrust his
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head out, up and down the street there were a dozen echoes to the noise of his window sash, and heads in every kind of night disarray appeared. Enquiries were being shouted. \ They are coming!\ bawled a policeman, hammering at the door; \ the Martians are coming!\ and hurried to the next door. The sound of drumming and trumpeting came from the Albany Street Barracks, and every church within earshot was hard at work killing sleep with a vehement disorderly tocsin. There was a noise of doors opening, and window after window in the houses opposite flashed from darkness into yellow illumination. Up the street came galloping a closed carriage, bursting abruptly into noise at the corner, rising to a clattering climax under the window, and dying away slowly in the distance. Close on the
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like to be left behind?\\ \\ Not particularly,\\ she answered brightly, dropping the matter with an insight that shouldn t have surprised him. She held up a hand and after a moment he leaned down and helped her climb up behind him. Two grooms opened the carriage doors, allowing in a wave of frigid air, and she said, \\ What a nice day this is, except for the prospects of being killed and freezing to death and all that.\\ Thomas, feeling the light pressure of her weight at his weight at his back, tried to avoid thinking about what Lucas had said. He guided the horse out onto the street and waited until Gideon, Falaise, and the others had started on their way to the city gates, then turned back toward the palace. The sky was gray, almost the same color as the dingy snow piled
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deep in the streets, and the wind played roughly over the tops of the houses. He was reluctant to take the direct route they had used to escape, but the first side street he picked was blocked halfway down by rubble and a pile of collapsed scaffolding, some noble s building project that had not withstood the shock of the attack, let alone the test of time. They backtracked, then cut through an alley to the next street. It was slow going, the horse picking the horse picking its way Chapter Twelve 146 through the knee-deep drifts with some difficulty. The town houses towering up on either side gradually gave way to the more dilapidated structures of the trading classes. The shingled roofs became wood instead of slate, the brick facades showed signs of wear, and ramshackle balconies overhung the street. It was hard to tell
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how much damage had been done here; the windows were tightly shuttered as if for night, and there was no sign of life. Thomas was keeping an eye on the tops of the buildings, and spotted the fay before it saw them only because he noted the unevenness in the spacing of the ornamental gargoyles atop the roof of an aging church. Kade said, \\ Wait,\\ and he and he reined in, the horse sidling uneasily. The quality of the light around them changed as Kade covered them with illusion. They moved slowly on beneath the waiting presence, unnoticed. They had ridden a short distance down the deserted street when Kade said suddenly, \\ I wonder why they did it.\\ \\ Who?\\ \\ The Unseelie Court.\\ He felt her shrug. \\ The Bisran document said they wanted souls to trade to Hell for their immortality, but
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that s nonsense. Not even the Host trades with Hell. Besides, you can t just send someone there; they have to go on their own. So what did Grandier give them?\\ Once Thomas had known who Grandier was, the plot had started to peel away like the layers of an onion, but there was still but there was still much they didn t know. Grandier s motivation for helping Denzil for one; Thomas refused to believe Grandier was acting simply out of madness. \\ Maybe it isn t what he gave them, but what he s promised them. What would they want?\\ \\ The only thing that stands against them is the Seelie Court. And iron wielded by humans.\\ \\ Destroying us isn t going to do anything to the Seelie Court, is it?\\ \\ No, they don t care about anyone.\\ \\ So… They can
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t destroy our ability to make iron. No matter how badly they ravage the countryside, they can t get every blacksmith.\\ He paused as an errant gust of freezing wind whipped down into the street, momentarily making breathing difficult, then breathing difficult, then continued, \\ Bisra will invade long before they can get around to that, and they ll have another iron-wielding army to deal with.\\ Kade sounded thoughtful. \\ Will the Bisrans come here?\\ \\ No, they ll strike at Lodun. It s closer to their border, and they have to eliminate the sorcerers there before they advance any further. If they move fast, if our crown troops are still trying to retake this city, they just might succeed.\\ Lodun had been a small town before the founding of the university. It had since outgrown its confining and protective walls and depended on the strength
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of the border garrisons for its defense against possible attack from their longtime enemy. With the capital in chaos and unable to send provisions or fresh troops, those garrisons could be swept could be swept away. \\ There are some powerful sorcerers there, but without troops to back them they can t hold off a large assault. The Bisrans would have to cross a countryside where there would be a peasant in every bush with a matchlock; but of course that wouldn t do more than delay them. They would finish us, then tear through Adera and Umberwald.\\ It would be a long bloody war. \\ Human sorcerers,\\ Kade said suddenly. \\ What?\\ \\ I was wrong. The enemies of the Unseelie Court are the Seelie Court, iron, and human sorcerers.\\ Chapter Twelve \\ Which Lodun is well supplied with. Grandier could have told them that
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he would destroy Lodun. And he 147 will. Bisra 147 will. Bisra will do it for him.\\ It was a neat bit of reasoning, but it didn t explain Denzil s position. Could he possibly be bargaining to be a puppet princeling under Bisra s domination? There wouldn t be anything left worth ruling; the Bisran Church would condemn as a heretic everyone from Lodun sorcerer-philosophers to the peasants who kept a sprig of rowan over their doorways. \\ Right now Grandier has us over a barrel. We re on the defensive, forced to react to whatever he chooses to do. If Bisra invaded again, we would have to forget an attempt to retake this city and use the troops to fortify Lodun and the border.\\ \\ But Grandier must hate Bisra, hate it worse than anything,\\ Kade protested. Thomas reined in. \\ There
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in. \\ There s something coming down the street.\\ Kade leaned around him. \\ I can t see it.\\ \\ It was near the ground.\\ The horse reared suddenly, and it took Thomas all his strength to wrestle it down. Kade slipped off and staggered in a high drift, and Thomas dismounted. He held onto the reins and tried to soothe the horse as the animal whinnied and jerked its head. Behind him Kade murmured a curse. He looked down and saw white mist rising out of the snow. It was no more than a foot or so above the ground, but it was becoming thick and solid with alarming speed. The horse made a violent convulsive movement that nearly yanked Thomas off his feet; he let go of the reins to avoid being to avoid being knocked down. The horse bolted awkwardly away,
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leaving a trail of blood in the snow. It was only able to make a short distance up the street before it staggered and collapsed, felled by whatever was rising out of the ground. The nearest building, a three-story stone structure that seemed to be leaning slightly under the weight of the snow, had a staircase running up its side to the roof. Though it looked casually put together and was slippery with ice, it seemed a safe haven at the moment. Kade had already retired to a step above the rising mist, and Thomas quickly climbed after her. \\ It s a boneless,\\ Kade said. She was digging in the pockets in her smock and muttering to herself. Above her rough gloves, her wrists were dotted with blood dotted with blood where she had touched the ground to catch herself when she had stumbled. \\
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This may be a problem. It doesn t have eyes to fool, and I don t have a spell that can hold it back, the way it oozes around obstacles.\\ Thomas said, \\ Go further up.\\ They climbed to the second floor and Thomas stopped to see what the creature would do. The mist had taken on a kind of half-solidity, becoming a white undulating form. On the step above him, Kade shifted impatiently. It reached the stairway and hesitated. A white translucent tendril touched the bottom step, then it flowed onto it and began to climb after them. \\ I didn t know it could do that,\\ Kade said, obviously taking the thing s action as a action as a personal affront. Thomas gave her a push to get her started and they climbed up to the third floor. The houses were so close together
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that the street might have been lined with one continuous structure. The garrets of one hung over the next roof, and the overhanging balconies were awkwardly shoved together. There was a slippery step down to a projection of ice-covered roof, then a brief scramble over the wooden rail to the next house s balcony. Kade climbed like a monkey. Chapter Twelve 148 They went that way down the street, balcony to balcony, taking to the icy roofs only when it was absolutely necessary. They were more exposed to the wind up here and the cold was intense. Thomas kept up a kept up a good pace, trying to ignore the aching wound in his leg. They reached the end of the street, which opened into a square with the far side formed by the palace wall and the Postern Gate. It was deadly quiet. Before the
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attack, this area had been a small marketplace, crowded with street vendors, musicians, pickpockets, and madmen proselytizing new cults. Now it looked as if it had been run over by a cavalry charge. The ramshackle stalls that had grown like spiderwebs between the pillars of the large countinghouse were smashed, and the statues atop the public fountain were broken off, their naked copper pipes leaking trails of ice. The last house had partially collapsed, and the nearest stairway to the street level was blocked by wooden debris. As Thomas wrested As Thomas wrested the heavy wooden boards aside, Kade said suddenly, \\ What are you going to do afterward?\\ \\ After what?\\ \\ After this is over.\\ He stopped and stared at her. She was holding onto the wooden railing and shivering with cold, and had put the question with the same puzzled intensity she had
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shown during their speculation over the Host s motives. He said, \\ Don t you think that question is a bit premature?\\ \\ Would you accept Falaise s offer?\\ she persisted. There was a smudge of dirt on her nose, which he decided not to mention to her. He said, \\ Do you have to know everything?\\ \\ I wasn t asking about everything.\\ He turned back He turned back to clearing the stair. \\ I might have to accept it.\\ It wasn t a decision he wanted to make at the moment. \\ Only if you wanted things to go back to the way they were before.\\ Only if he wanted to hold onto that power he had sentimentally wished to be rid of last night. \\ Why would I want to change it?\\ It wasn t a question but she answered it anyway. \\
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Because there are things you don t like about it, like killing people who get tricked by Denzil or get in the way of someone powerful–\\ \\ Do you mind?\\ he interrupted her. He shoved the last board aside and they climbed down to ground level. The Postern was The Postern was smaller than the huge edifices of Prince s and St. Anne s. It had no gate tower and was much narrower. One of the great doors stood open, the other lay in the plaza. Thomas hoped whatever had rammed into that yard-thick wood now dearly regretted it. \\ Lucas was right,\\ he said. \\ The way that door s been flung, something broke out, not in.\\ Chapter Twelve 149 They paused in the rubble-strewn shadow of the last house and Kade considered a moment, frowning. \\ They ll expect us through the Prince s
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Gate, since it was safe before.\\ \\ They ll be watching all the gates.\\ \\ They might not. They re not very quick thinkers, very quick thinkers, most of them, and they might not remember things like that. And Denzil didn t have too many knights with him.\\ \\ He may not have any knights with him now. He can t afford witnesses,\\ Thomas said dryly. They skirted the square, staying close to the buildings, finally reaching the shadow of the wall and slipping through the gate. To the right of the snow-covered yard there was a high wall, part of the inner defenses designed to trap intruders, and to the left, the three-storied Gate House with gaping holes in its dressed stone wall. Directly ahead was the icy canal, which came in under the north wall and went out under the east, where it was
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covered over by stone for a mile or so before rejoining the main river that main river that cut through the city. The drawbridge that had allowed access to the rest of the palace compound was a ruined heap, but the siege wall beyond it still stood, blocking the view of the park. Thomas stopped beside a hole in the Gate House wall and took a cautious look inside. \\ I want to see what s around the Gallery Wing before we rush over there. If I can get up to the second story here, I can see over that wall.\\ Kade followed him through the gap, saying, \\ Why do you think Denzil s in the Gallery Wing?\\ \\ I don t know where he is, but that s where the Host seemed to hit the hardest, and that s where the explosion was. I
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d like to see just what in hell they in hell they wanted there.\\ Light came down through the torn roof, and the shattered beams had buried many of the defenders. Only the cold kept the atmosphere from resembling a charnel house, and a dull patina of ice hid most of the unpleasant details. The interior staircase had come free of the wall and hung at a crazy angle, but a pile of smashed beams and rubble allowed Thomas to climb to a window on what had been the second floor. \\ They might have any reason for doing that,\\ Kade said. Thomas winced as beams shifted underfoot. \\ Yes, well, I d like to know what it was.\\ \\ It might have to do with the way they arrived here. However that was.\\ Something about the way she said way she
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said it made Thomas wonder for a moment if she had some suspicion she wasn t ready to explain. He considered pressing her about it but he reached the window and found the shutters jammed shut. He had to brace himself and batter the hinges off with his swordhilt. He pried the shutter away. On the other side of the canal, the park stretched out, an ice field marked by the occasional snow-covered tree. Beyond the park, the Gallery Wing stood, the inner wall and the bastions to the other side looming like monoliths, contrasting dramatically with its graceful outlines. Nearer to the Gate House was the dome of the Summer Residence, which doubled as an observatory for astrologically inclined nobles and scholars. A wall sprouted out of the circular building and met the side of the Old Palace, sheltering the Gallery Wing sheltering the Gallery
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Wing and the gardens from the public areas on the other side. There was a servants passage in that wall, and in the thick outer wall of the Old Palace. They could make their way out the opposite side of the Gate House and along the curtain wall, cross the canal where the unused mill bridged it, then enter the Summer Residence and take the passages into the Gallery Wing. Chapter Twelve He climbed awkwardly down again, trying to avoid putting weight on his weak leg. Kade, who had been 150 prowling about the place on her own, met him with a worried expression. She said, \\ The stupid dark fay have used most of the glamour around here. If it s like that all through that all through the inside, I won t be able to hide us from them.\\ Thomas considered that. He had
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come too far to go back at this point. \\ If you want to stay here and wait for me, or start back–\\ \\ Do I look like a coward?\\ she asked, with an exasperated expression. \\ No, you don t look like a coward.\\ For some reason this seemed to disconcert her considerably, and Thomas reminded himself again to be careful. She tapped one foot impatiently, then said, \\ Well, all right then. Let s go.\\ Chapter Thirteen Chapter Thirteen KADE FOUND HER warding stone along the passage into the Old Palace. It was cold and silent in the silent in the 151 narrow little hall, and only the soft glow of a lamp they had appropriated from the Summer Residence held back the darkness. Thomas waited while Kade dug through the clay seal near the bottom of the wall to pull out the round
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water-smoothed stone. He used his dagger to chip a piece off for her, and when he handed the stone back, she said, \\ That s odd. It s tingling, as if it s still part of the warding spell.\\ She was staring at the stone in perplexity, so he said, \\ Maybe it s something to do with the wards over the Old Courts?\\ \\ Maybe. It s very odd.\\ But she replaced the stone in its niche and they moved on. When they moved on. When they reached the Gallery Wing, the narrow passage opened into a small bare room with a curtained doorway in the far wall. Thomaspushed it open a slit, seeing that they had come out about where he had thought they should. On the right wall was the wide sweep of stairs leading back into the lesser galleries, which would eventually
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lead to the Grand Gallery with its terrace giving onto the park. To the left was the arched entrance to the Old Palace and the main hall. This area at least was empty, bare of any intrusion except a fall of blown snow across the parquet floor. They hadn t seen any fay, though twice in their trek across the palace, Kade had steered them around places where she seemed to sense some presence. Most of the creatures who the creatures who could stand daylight were out hunting the streets. As for the others, and the main body of the Host, they might be hidden anywhere. It had been a cold trail marked by the dead, and the amount of damage was worse than Thomas had suspected. Now he waited until Kade put out the lamp, then he pushed the curtain aside and went cautiously to
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look into the entrance of the nearest gallery. At his side, Kade said, baffled, \\ What is this?\\ Light fell through narrow windows high in the opposite wall to illuminate a formal gallery with a vaulted ceiling and delicately sculpted columns with blue and gold inlay. The floor was littered with refuse and debris, most of it looted from other portions of the palace. There were pallets made of tattered blankets, tapestry work pulled from walls, pulled from walls, and the heavy damask of curtain material. Gold and silver plate, dented candleholders, and ornaments prized off statues formed glittering heaps. Thomas picked his way through it, thoughtful and wary of anything that might be lurking under one of those piles. Besides the loot, there were more prosaic items such as a scatter of gunflints, green glass shards from a shattered wine bottle, and more of the
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trash left by military camps. With the toe of his boot, he turned over an empty wooden powder flask and said, \\ It s a troops billet.\\ Kade s nose wrinkled in disgust. \\ Troops? Denzil s troops?\\ \\ Very likely. Bel Garde is a private estate, and he has the right to maintain a force to garrison it, even if it is within sight of the sight of the city.\\ But where are they now? Thomas wondered. Plain to see why he had to have them. You can t take a throne without a private force whose loyalty you can trust, but why aren t they here? Jewelry that must have been stolen from the bodies of the slain had been left casually about. He picked up a pearl clasp and saw it still held strands of long dark hair from where it had been
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torn from its owner s head. He tossed it back onto the floor in disgust and looked around, entertaining the idea of torching the place. Broken furniture would provide plenty of kindling. But it would reveal their presence, and when the troopers returned they would only move to the next gallery. He glanced back at Kade and saw she was staying on the edge on the edge of the encampment, looking around uneasily. \\ What is it?\\ Chapter Thirteen 152 \\ There s a great lot of iron in here.\\ She retreated to a marble bench along the wall and began to scrape the bottoms of her boots off on it. Thomas knelt and brushed gloved fingers across the layer of dust and filth covering the warm butter color of the inlaid wood floor; he found small particles that glinted dully in the light. \\ Iron
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filings. They re everywhere.\\ So these men did not quite trust their fay allies. He had wondered if they would find evidence of the human servants of the Host that had led the attack, but they wouldn t be here in the presence in the presence of all this iron. They might have been only shock troops, to be expended in the battle. If the siege lasted much longer, the Host would certainly be able to replenish their supplies, when starvation began to drive more people out into the streets. He dusted his hands off and went back to where Kade waited at the edge of the camp. \\ If they stayed here last night–\\ She swiped at her boot one last time, brushing the last of the dust off. \\ Where are they now?\\ \\ If we knew that, we d be a damn sight
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better off.\\ Thomas considered a moment, weighing the danger against what else they might discover. \\ We have to go further in.\\ She gave a half-shrug. \\ Very well. \\ Very well. But I think it s going to get worse.\\ They followed a lesser-used path toward the center of the Gallery Wing, through a connected row of state dining rooms and smaller pillared halls, and it was there they found most of the dead. Many had died running, caught alone by some creature of the Host with the walls shaking from the explosion and lamps going out in the foul wind that had followed. There were small groups of Cisternan guards and sometimes servants and courtiers who must have tried to band together to escape. Worst of all, they came upon a small room with the remains of a smashed barricade across the door, where
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a group had held out for a time. Hours, at least, Thomas thought, leaning against the remains of the doorframe and feeling a rage feeling a rage as cold as the ice outside. Judging by the condition of the room. He recognized some of the men, and one of the women. She was Lady Anne Fhaolain, one of Ravenna s gentlewomen, and she clutched a fireplace poker in a delicate hand that had never held anything more dangerous than a sewing needle. He would have to tell Ravenna that Anne had died bravely, trying to swing a weapon. He would also have to convince himself that if he had been here the result would have been the same, only there would have been one more body in the cold little room. He turned away to find Kade standing behind him. She was trembling in impotent fury.
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She said softly, \\ There s nothing that can make up for this. Not if I hunt him all the way to the way to Hell itself.\\ Somehow he hadn t expected that it would make her as angry as it did him. He said, \\ You take this all very personally.\\ After a moment, Kade shook herself all over, like a cat coming out of the rain. \\ I take everything personally.\\ There was more evidence of the presence of the fay. Not far from the sad little room, they found a silken web stretched across the width of an arched doorway. Kade examined it cautiously, then detached it from the doorframe. It drifted gently to the floor, all in one piece like a fine section of lacework. So far they hadn t found any answers to their questions. The day was getting on and
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Thomas s bad leg was aching from walking, and he knew they he knew they didn t have much time left here before the danger became extreme. They would have to settle for seeing the Gallery Wing and then making their way out. They reached the foyer of the Grand Gallery, where there was a heavy foul smell, reminiscent of bats in a deserted cathedral. Thomas whispered to Kade, \\ They could be in the walls all through here.\\ Chapter Thirteen She nodded. \\ Spriggans. They re asleep. I hope.\\ She flitted past him into the archway. He saw her pause there, and as he came up beside her he saw why. Light from the steps that gave onto the loggia illuminated the foyer, and the arched entrances provided a 153 panoramic view of the Grand of the Grand Gallery. The floor
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had been blown up from below and the back wall of windows onto the terraces had been smashed outward. This had to be the source of the explosion the night of the attack. This was the center of it then, Thomas thought, and beside him Kade said grimly, \\ They did a job of work in here.\\ The orange trees between the pillars were frozen but still green, the cold had caught them so by surprise. Thomas sensed there was something alive here and looked up from the blasted ruin of the floor to the shadowy stillness of the vaults above. But nothing moved in the silence. In the center of the room, the foundation stones had been pushed up from underneath by some powerful force and scattered on the bare twisted earth visible twisted earth visible beneath. But not scattered randomly. Thomas took a few
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steps into the room, wondering at it, then climbed the dais so he could get a better view. As he had thought, the broken area of the floor was in the shape of a large circle, with an outline too perfect to be accidental. The shattered stones formed concentric circles within it. It couldn t be anything but a fayre ring. Peasants found them occasionally in the deep country, circles of trampled grass, stones, or strange growth, and avoided them like the signs of a dangerous infestation that they were. Stories about humans who blundered or ventured into them were not pleasant; usually they were found on the edges of the rings as dried withered husks, as if they had aged a hundred years in a moment. Any attempts to recover the to recover the bodies caused them to dissolve into dust. If they were all
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like this Thomas couldn t imagine someone foolish enough to wander into one accidentally. It felt dangerous, and it was as unmistakable as a sharp drop off a cliff. Kade stood regarding the ring for a long moment, and now she followed Thomas up onto the dais. She said, \\ Fancy that.\\ She sounded more satisfied than anything else, as if the sight confirmed some hypothesis of her own. Looking down at her, Thomas felt the beginning of a new suspicion. He said, \\ They used that thing to get in somehow, didn t they?\\ Still distracted, she nodded. \\ They came through it. With the wards confused and floating away, and no spells guarding it, it was the it was the easiest way. I mean, not too easy, with the stones on top of it like that, but all of them together could do it.\\
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\\ Through it?\\ \\ Yes.\\ She glanced at him a little warily, then explained, \\ It s a doorway.\\ \\ A doorway to where?\\ \\ To Fayre, maybe. To lots of places.\\ He looked back at the ring, its tumbled stones a silent presence in the shadowy room. Kade grabbed his elbow. \\ Listen.\\ After a heartbeat, he heard it too. Voices, echoing down through the long galleries locked in cold silence. Chapter Thirteen 154 Thomas hurried back to the archway, trying the archway, trying to pinpoint the direction. Tracking the sound echoing off so much stone and marble wasn t easy. The men might be in any one of the several galleries and long halls that led up to the Grand Gallery. Neither he nor Kade had spoken in louder than a whisper, and it was doubtful that whoever was coming this way had heard
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them. He motioned for Kade to follow and they crossed the spriggan-haunted foyer, and Thomas chose a smaller hall used for diplomatic processions, where the sound had for a moment seemed louder. They went down it, keeping to the partial shelter of its supporting pillars. The voices had ceased. \\ I don t think this was it,\\ Kade whispered. \\ No, it must be another–\\ They both heard the footsteps heard the footsteps at the same time. Kade looked around frantically. \\ There s not enough glamour in here.\\ Thomas searched hastily along the wall and found the unobtrusive servants door that was designed to blend into the paneling. He went to it, sliding his hand down the crack that marked it until his fingers touched the catch. He pulled it open. Inside was a cramped stair leading up into the wall. Climbing it, they came
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to a landing with a damask-curtained doorway and another broader stair leading down and away from the hall. Thomas pulled the curtain back and saw that the door led to a small musicians balcony, one of many spaced around the gallery. He put his hat aside and crouched down, crawling out to look down through the balusters. Kade followed him. Denzil Kade followed him. Denzil and Dontane walked into the gallery from an archway below. So the bastard s alive, Thomas thought, brows lifted. Dontane had been imprisoned in the Cisternan Guard House during the attack, and Thomas had assumed he had been killed with the others. The two men were arguing animatedly; they were trailed by three men armed as common troopers. The Albon knights who had accompanied Denzil at Aviler s house were probably dead; they would not have betrayed Roland, and it must
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have been obvious at this point that the young Duke s game was more serious than a petty attempt to disgrace the Queen s Guard. Denzil was dressed for battle, and Dontane still wore black court brocades. He made quick nervous gestures when he spoke, but it seemed to be more from intensity and anger than and anger than anything else. The echoes were now a hindrance rather than a help. The two men were speaking more quietly after the first shouting that had revealed their presence, and Thomas couldn t make out what they were saying. He heard Denzil mention Bel Garde, and he thought he heard Roland s name, but the rest was inaudible. He edged back and sat up on one elbow, pulling a pistol out of his sash and winding its mainspring. The faint click it made was disguised by the two
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men s voices. Kade glanced back at him, raising her eyebrows inquiringly. He motioned for her to go back through the doorway and she crawled backward out of the way. The range was not the best; with a pistol, closer was better. Thomas steadied the Thomas steadied the weapon on his arm and squeezed the trigger. Both men reacted to the sound of the blast; Denzil staggered. Thomas scrambled back out the door, shoving the empty pistol back into his sash. There would be no confusion about where the shot had come from; the white smoke hanging over the little balcony would reveal his presence like a flag. Chapter Thirteen Kade was already on the landing, and he followed her down the wider stair. It came out through another 155 servants door in the foyer, and he could hear running footsteps and a man shouting. Drowning
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it out was a low humming sound that seemed to come from everywhere. Looking around, Kade gasped, \\ Damn, but that woke them up.\\ A gray-skinned up.\\ A gray-skinned spriggan with a face like a melted wax mask dropped out of nowhere to land within arm s length of them; Thomas ran it through with his rapier almost before he realized it was there. It reeled away shrieking and more of the creatures appeared in the doorways, racing toward them down the halls. Something troll-like, squat, and hairy blocked a doorway, snarling at them. If they could just get outside and out of the things sight, Thomas knew Kade could hide them with illusion. He thought of the broken expanse of windows in the Grand Gallery. This idea must have occurred to Kade because she was already dragging him in that direction. They ran under the
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archway and toward the broken windows that led out to the terrace and the park. Skirting the torn park. Skirting the torn section of floor where the ring lay, they were almost there when one of the clawed demon-horses leapt up the terrace steps. Thomas swore, spun around, and drew his last loaded pistol. The howling pack of spriggans rushed toward them in leaps and bounds; Thomas fired into the group to make them draw back. They scurried and scattered as the ball tore through them. Something shoved him from the side and he stumbled, then felt his bad leg give way. Unable to catch himself, he fell over the edge of the broken floor… …and felt a rush of warm air as he landed in soft verdant grass. He gasped and pushed himself up. He was in a wide open field under a sky of
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an odd crystalline blue. Nearby Kade rolled to her feet and her feet and shook out her hair, dislodging only a small amount of the greenery caught in it. Around them was a ring of stone menhirs, each nearly ten feet in height and weathered by great age. It was warm and the grass was the deep green of spring, touched with splashes of red from poppies. Thomas stood up, stumbled a little, and looked around. About a hundred yards away the craggy face of a cliff towered above them, dotted with grassy clumps and hung with a thick growth of ivy. In the distance he could see that the ground rose gently up in a gradually increasing grade, as if they were in a deep bowl-shaped valley. \\ Where in hell are we?\\ \\ Knockma,\\ Kade said. She looked defensive. He stared down
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at her. \\ at her. \\ Fayre?\\ \\ No. Well, yes. In a way.\\ At his expression she burst out, \\ If you don t trust me I really can t think why, because I haven t done anything deceptive for days.\\ But Thomas had looked up at the sky, and barely heard her. The deep blue was there, and far above floated drifts of puffy whiteness that were clouds, but there was a barrier that seemed to hang at about the level of the cliff top. It seemed solid and yet malleable, and was transparent, allowing the sunlight in but gently muting it. He felt a soft breeze, stirring the grass with a faint rushing sound, and the barrier shimmered with it as if it were made of the most delicate glass or… He managed to tear his eyes away and eyes away
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and looked at Kade. \\ Is this…the bottom of a lake?\\ She bit her lip. \\ Yes.\\ Chapter Thirteen 156 He was getting over the shock, and starting to realize exactly how angry he was. \\ You knew all along how the Host got into the palace.\\ Kade paced around in a circle, not looking at him. \\ I knew about the ring. It was how my mother got there in the first place years ago, but Galen and Surete and the others added a spell to the wards that blocked it. The ring could have faded away; sometimes they do.\\ Though he hadn t had a chance to reply, she threw her arms up in exasperation and continued, exasperation and continued, \\ All right, and I sent Boliver to fly over the palace last night and he said they must be using the old ring
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happens and you bring happens and you bring my girl back to the sister.N MGracias Bobby.N JesIs took the money while he talked. MSi Bobby, I take her home for you no worry. Gracias. But I think maybe I stick around a little, si? The two of them stood in that deserted street eyes on each other, saying nothing; and say- ing everything. MThe gun, amigo.N JesIs eyeballed Bobby all over again. MMaybe we hit a bump and you blow your balls off. Maybe it drop out at the customs.N Bobby looked under the cab a second time and silently acknowledged the possibility. He pulled the revolver out of the top of his pants and handed it to the Mexican. MYou a smart hombre, Mister America. I America. I like you mucho. You always have the balls, amigo.N He pointed the gun at Bobby
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as he joked. MAnd now you keep them maybe, eh?N The two of them laughed softly as BobbyPs face disappeared behind the cloth he fitted over his mouth and nose. He tied it tight, pushing bits of crumpled napkins into his ears as he crouched. He looked back at JesIs, nodded his head, and proceeded to slide wedge-like under the cab. Once under, his back hung no more than three feet from the road. He already imagined the tandem axle doing three or four thousand rpmPs a few inches — 249 — from the middle of his spine. MNo move, hombre.N JesIs swung the cab step back into cab step back into place. MYou are here one hour.N The noise of the manifold pounded through the crumpled ear wadding and into his head as JesIs cranked the engine to life. The exhaust raced into his lungs
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despite the bandanna. It was going to be a hard hour. He lay rigid, squeezing the two welded handgrips as if he was doing a horizontal extension forever. He closed his eyes to fight the sting from the exhaust. He focused on his agenda. HePd been through too much to end up being an axle snack. Twenty minutes of twisting and turning with the truckPs motion found them at the border. the border. He could tell from the slow crawl of the truck and the spotlights flashing off the asphalt. OBambinoP com- ments filtered through the English-Spanish con- versation during the walk around inspection. A tedious string of amigo jokes came from JesIs, none of which Bobby could hear clearly through the residual buzz in his ears. There was a bright side to everything. The whole time he fought back the gagging cough that struggled to
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erupt from his lungs. When the truck finally pulled forward Bobby figured it was the jokes that made them want to get rid of him K just another idiot Mexi- can. The noise and exhaust fumes built again. Bobby closed his eyes, coughed a lot, and breathed as little as as little as possible. Another twenty minutes and the truck whined to a stop. The step-up slid away and JesIs glee- fully pulled Bobby, feet first, from his entomb- — 250 — ment. Bobby moved Tanya gently as he climbed into the cab, thinking shePd slept through the whole ordeal. They were in Brownsville and Bobby ran off directions to South Padre Island like hePd been born there. He knew where Howie lived. It seemed like a long time ago. It wasnPt long before Bobby was directing JesIs to kill the lights and pull
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up short of up short of the trailer. The washed-out roads hadnPt hindered their progress much L the beach route was the only one Bobby had ever travelled with Howie. With his gun cupped in his hand he had the door open before he spoke. MRemember, if anything happens to me, you get this one back to Ciudad Victoria.N He stared hard into JesIsPs eyes as the Mexican nodded his head almost imperceptibly. MNo worry Bobby. Everything good here. No worry.N He was steps away when he heard her voice. MDaddy?N Little people have a way of sleeping with their ears on. MWhere are you going?N She reached her arm out for him, MDaddy?N Bobby put his fingers to his lips. MSsh, honey. DonPt worry. IPll be right back.N be right back.N He kissed her on the cheek and tucked her under JesIsP arm.
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MYou stay with JesIs, and do exactly as he tells you.N MDaddy?N He heard her little voice filtering after him as he disappeared into the moonlit shad- ows. BobbyPd taken his time with the approach, not knowing what awaited him at the trailer. He saw no lights and thought he might end up waiting for — 251 — Howie to arrive. Either way it didnPt matter to him. He moved quietly around the corner of the trailer. Inside, the approaching truck noise had roused Rachel. She hadnPt expected Howie back so soon. Maybe hePd forgotten something. forgotten something. Maybe hePd decided to kill her. Whatever the agenda, she struggled desperately to loosen the cord around her wrists as she wriggled across the floor to her pants. Unable to free herself, she did manage to get the gun and pull herself into a partial sitting position. Awkwardly,
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she turned herself sideways and pulled her arms as far around her as possi- ble. The pain from the cord blended unnoticed into her other hurts. She was happy to have the pain because it made the gun face the door now. Bobby was right inside the trailer when she fired off two shots in quick succession. Apart from BobbyPs moans everything went silent in the darkness. Rachel knew he wasnPt dead, she could dead, she could hear him struggling. She esti- mated where he lay and pulled herself around to finish him. MDaddy!N The voice kept repeated itself and grew louder as it neared, Daddy!N Rachel froze as TanyaPs silhouette crashed through the open trailer door and threw herself, hysterical, onto the man who sprawled across the floor. It was only the childPs voice that had kept Rachel from shooting her too. She might have
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— 252 — mistakenly done it anyway had she not been fo- cusing on finishing Bobby. MDrop the gun, Senorita.N The Mexican spoke the words almost simultaneously with the gun barrel shattering the barrel shattering the glass in the small window at the end of the trailer. MDrop the gun or I will kill you, dead.N — 253 — Hertzel Markovitz’s House Brownsville, Texas Late Friday Night It was late and Howie enjoyed wheeling the cruiser through Brownsville like he was like he was the chief. He was cruising his jurisdiction, thinking about what a good job his men were doing out here on the quiet, safe streets of Brownsville. He flashed back on his own desires to be a cop when he was very young L up until he got his first felony con- viction. After that he didnPt think cops
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were that great. Still, he knew he wouldPve been a great one. His mind wandered to the bitch he left at the trailer. He thought he shouldnPt have been so hard on her. He knew shePd fallen for him, he could tell by the way she came on to him. His whole, perverted, macho self knew it. It was ob- vious. But he But he wanted it his way, appreciated his skills at forced sex, and knew women secretly liked a manPs violence and the dominance that went with it. He was doing her a favor; he knew shePd thank him for it. Eventually shePd love him more for it. It was what they all really liked, and this broad was no different. Maybe shePd be bet- ter than most, once hePd taught her how to like it — 254 — his way. She could be
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the right woman at last, and good-looking to boot. He turned her on, he knew that for sure. That was how it was L if it wasnPt hePd kill wasnPt hePd kill her. Maybe he would anyway. Howie was in and out of himself like never be- fore L the taste of blood in an animalPs mouth. Through it all he worked his way to the far side of Brownsville and out into the sparse sub- urbs. He said little aloud, beyond laughing or scowling whenever his paranoia warranted it. He reacted only to things happening inside him. He knew Hertzel well. He knew about his wall safe; knew the money belonged to him. If it be- longed to Hertzel, it belonged to him. He was going to let the weasel bastard die slow. He knew how much Hertzel disliked pain. disliked
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pain. He couldnPt get on the right side of it like Howie L the validity of pain, the enjoyment, and the need for it. He focused as he killed the lights and pulled the cruiser part way up the drive. MWelcome to HertzelPs.N He said it out loud, like a tour bus op- erator on Hollywood Boulevard. MGotta collect some money, pay some debts.N He strode calmly up the middle of the drive- way, impressed with the isolation of the sur- roundings. He pulled the phone lines at the side of the house before ringing the bell, standing there as if he was important and expected. The door opened. Howie slapped the sleepy- eyed giant, Charley, sleepy- eyed giant, Charley, full in the face with one of the pearl handled George Patton forty-fives hePd de- cided to bring along. It was one of his favourite guns
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L used only for invasions and outright war- — 255 — fare. Blood, teeth, and a bit of jaw spurted dra- matically as Howie drove him backwards, pistol whipping him about the head with each lunging pursuit. The pummelling continued even after Charley had slumped to the floor. Howie never did like the fat man. He gave him a few extra belts for old timesP sake. MWhatPs going on out there?N Hertzel got a full view of CharleyPs bloodied face as he opened the study door. MHowie!N Howie smiled smiled back at the horrified look on HertzelPs face, bent down and put two bullets through CharleyPs groin. He straightened up, laughed, and spit on him. He bent over again and jammed the gun into his mouth, about to finish him right then, but didnPt L the pain and terror racing across CharleyPs face gave him too
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much pleasure. Besides, he needed to make it to Hertzel before the panicking prize got away. By the time Howie walked through the study doors, Hertzel had retrieved a pistol from his desk and stood there petrified, the gun shaking in his hand. MHertzel, Hertzel, Hertzel.N Howie smiled. MI ainPt gonna hurt you. Just came for Just came for the money.N Smiling, he shook his head as he moved slowly for- ward. MYou ainPt gonna shoot me, are you?N He said the words simultaneously with the gunshot that ripped into HertzelPs arm. MSee. You ainPt gonna shoot me.N Hertzel couldnPt stop moaning, holding his arm and looking faint as he lunged towards the panelled glass doors to the garden. He was still — 256 — fumbling with the lock when Howie grabbed him by the back of the neck, squeezing him immobile. MI know I said
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I wasnPt gonna hurt you Hertzel.N He smashed his head through one of the panes, jerked him back and hissed the words into words into his face. MBut I lied.N He smashed his head through another pane, spun him around and jammed him against the doors, laughing maniacally while he talked. MYou like it? Like to play with Howie?N He licked blood from HertzelPs forehead, his lips and teeth turning red while he beamed a smile. MBet youPre surprised to see me, eh?N Hertzel just kept whimpering for his life. Howie dragged him back to his desk, leaned him over backwards and fired a bullet through his kneecap. Howie let go of him and Markovitz slumped to the floor clutching his knee, dragging himself towards a door, whining and pleading. Howie walked after him slowly, and put his weight on the weight
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on the shattered kneecap. MWrong way.N HertzelPs eyes started to roll back into his head. Howie eased up, didnPt want the man to pass out L not yet. He knelt beside him, his voice full of concern and consideration. MRelax. WePre just gonna open the safe.N He helped him caringly to his feet. MBut itPs over here, remember?N Howie pushed Hertzel across the room, behind the desk. He propped him against the wall and hurled the picture from the front of the safe. MJust one chance here, Hertzel. I donPt have a lot of time.N Howie sympathetically straightened the twisted glasses. MYou open it up for me and me and I wonPt hurt you no more. Promise.N He caringly — 257 — wiped the blood away from his eyes before turning him to face the safe. Hertzel turned the numbers without hesitation. MI didnPt mean to
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hurt you in the first place, guess I just lost my temper.N Hertzel nodded agreement as Howie watched each spin of the dial. MTimePs up.N He stood Hertzel aside, held him by the throat with one hand as he turned the han- dle, and pulled. He stared a long moment at the sizable pile of bills. MThanks, Hertzel.N He smiled again, as if it was genuine appreciation. MYou can sit down now.N He put He put a bullet through the other kneecap. He laughed as if everybody should get their kicks this way. MYour papers?N There was a business-like tone in his voice as he dumped the contents of HertzelPs briefcase over him, and emp- tied the safe in seconds. MYou stupid gringo shit.N Howie spun and watched the smoke of EnricoPs gun as the bullet hit him. He felt the warm, sticky blood oozing from
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his side. Screaming with rage and firing without direction, he saw a hole appear in the forehead of MarkovitzPs wife as she cowered on the lower part of the stairs. Still screaming and firing, he flailed his way towards EnricoPs sec- ond shot L the one that put him down. HowiePs eyes were still eyes were still open, his body twitch- ing to the sound of HertzelPs moans. He watched EnricoPs legs moving towards him, all business, two-handing his revolver like a television cop. He foot-slid the forty-five and the briefcase from HowiePs reach. Enrico stood over him now, laugh- ing for a second before the vicious kick to the face — 258 — blacked whatever remained of HowiePs senses. Howie didnPt appear to feel the second kick, kind of an afterthought on EnricoPs part. MFucking scumbag!N Enrico walked the short distance to the slumped Hertzel.
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MHelp me.N Hertzel pleaded through his pain. MGet me a doctor, Enrico.N MOkay, amigo. Just a minute. You arenPt hurt so fucking bad. fucking bad. I seen worse.N Hertzel kept whining, grabbed EnricoPs leg, blood rubbing onto the expensive fabric. MMy pants gringo, my fucking pants!N He kicked him roughly, looking like he was ready to kill him for soiling the suit. MDonPt touch me.N En- rico kept talking, but in Spanish, mumbling under his breathe as he turned to the desk and picked up the phone. MNine one one!N Hertzel yelled. MJust dial nine one one!N MOh, thatPs very good, amigo.N EnricoPs sar- casm wasnPt hidden by his accent; he kept dialing while he talked. MWe could have lots of help then. Ambulances. Doctors. Cops. Lots of help.N He looked down at Hertzel with disgust. Hertzel with disgust. MMaybe you should
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ask how your wife is. Eh, puta?N Hertzel glanced across at his wifePs body sprawled awkwardly on the stairs. MItPs Enrico. I must speak to Luis, now.N MYouPre phoning Houston!N Hertzel was irate. MIPm bleeding to death and youPre phoning Hous- ton, you fucking Chicano bastard!N MJust a moment.N Enrico turned and kicked Hertzel hard in the side of the head. — 259 — Hertzel yelped and crumpled as Enrico leaned over slightly, his voice soft. MPlease be quiet, gringo. CanPt you see IPm on the phone?N He turned back to back to the receiver. MSorry, someone needed attention. I know itPs late.N His voice took on a tone. MWake him, now.N As Enrico waited by the phone, some fifteen minutes away in HowiePs isolated trailer, bodies had been sorted, wounds tended and players iden- tified. MI didnPt kill your brother. Is that why you shot
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me?N Bobby queried as JesIs bandaged the leg with strips of semi-clean sheeting. Rachel felt foolish. MNo. I thought you were Howie Morgan. I think hePs coming back here.N He looked directly at Bobby. MBut if you had mur- dered my brother then yes, I would have killed you. With pleasure.N MHowie murdered your brother. I was there, but not when but not when it happened. YouPve come a long way to get bad news.N Bobby silently noted her bruises as he motioned for JesIs to get her some- thing to put on. MAnd it looks like youPve suffered a little, too.N MI want that pig dead. I want him to get what he deserves.N MMe too.N Bobby said it matter-of-fact, but there was a lot more in it than words. Rachel pointed to BobbyPs leg as she dressed. MSorry about that.N Bobby just smiled dryly.
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MIPve had worse. I — 260 — guess you owe me a drink.N Rachel seemed to move with some pain as she slid a little closer to Tanya. closer to Tanya. MYou just take care of our business here.N Her eyes told him that more words were unnecessary. MGet me to an airport and IPll get us all out of here L and the drinks are on me. She managed a smile at the tearful little girl who sat sobbing quietly beside her bleeding father. MCome here honey. IPm sorry. I didnPt know it was your daddy. IPm sorry.N Tanya looked over at her father. He nodded for her to go to Rachel. She slid herself across the floor and into RachelPs arms. MDo you know where he went?N Bobby tested the leg as he spoke. It hurt, but not so much he would lose his
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agenda. MHe muttered something muttered something about getting his money from the junk dealer. Making him pay up. Markovitz, Hertzel Markovitz. I met him this morning. A fast-talking shyster scumbag.N MHow long has he been gone?N MCanPt be more than a half hour. You missed him by minutes.N Bobby looked at JesIs. MI guess IPve got to go over there to collect as well.N JesIs nodded. MI tell you long time ago I donPt like these gringos, amigo. We go together now, I think.N Bobby looked back at Rachel, noticing for the first time the beauty under her bruises. MYou okay?N MIPm okay.N MWill my girl be okay here with you for with you for a little — 261 — while. I think we better catch up to him before he gets back here.N Rachel squeezed Tanya like a mother, smiling down
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into her face. MWePll be okay, wonPt we honey.N MYou come back soon, daddy.N She was wor- ried, but a lot of her fear seemed to be absorbed by the warmth of RachelPs grasp. MDaddy will be back real soon. Then wePll all leave, and never come back here, honey. Never.N Tanya nodded despite her battle against more tears. They were at the door when Rachel spoke. MIPve got a friend out there from New Orleans. from New Orleans. IPm not sure where he is, but knowing him, IPve got a feeling hePs close by and looking for me.N She looked hard at Bobby. MHePs driving a limo. DonPt mistake him for someone else.N It took only ten minutes with JesIs behind the wheel, including the stop at the phone booth for MarkovitzPs address, before his flatbed sat quietly behind the cruiser. By this time the
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house sat in complete silence, giving no indication of trouble, past or present L except of course for HowiePs bor- rowed cruiser. MItPs appointment time, amigo.N Said JesIs. Bobby watched JesIsP still outline sitting across from him. MGive me ten minutes.N Opening the cab door, he cab door, he winced with the dull throb of his leg wound, hurting enough to make him wonder about his ambitious intentions. He pushed the thought away, finding relief in the fact the bleed- ing had stopped. Thank God for small caliber — 262 — handguns, he thought. MAmigo, what if you no back in ten minutes?N JesIsP face carried a smile that belied the seri- ousness of his question. MYou want I should come looking?N The smile broadened. MCost you more for search service.N Bobby paused. He hadnPt wanted to think of the possibility. MIf IPm not back in
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ten minutes, leave.N He paused again. MTake Tanya back to the Sister to the Sister Maria like we agreed, and get the woman to an airport.N MYou a strange hombre amigo.N JesIs shook his head. MYou think I leave you here. I owe you too much for too many times you take care of me in the old days.N He shook his head. MHonor amigo. I cannot live without my honor.N Bobby smiled at the his companero. MHonor man. Honor among thieves.N Both of them chuck- led as he limped off into the darkness. Bobby got around behind the house to the dou- ble doors leading into the study. The carnage was obvious. BobbyPd never seen the man the man on the phone. Howie was lying very still on the floor and Hertzel was whining for help L Bobby knew them too
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well. He decided it wasnPt a good idea to enter through the study doors and headed further along the back of the house. The warm wetness on his leg told him hePd started leaking some blood again. HowiePs painkillers didnPt let him notice too much else. Once inside he followed the dull sound of voices, passing the body of a dead woman on the stairs as he stepped over CharleyPs unconscious — 263 — form. He knew the whine belonged to Hertzel and the Mexican-American accent the Mexican-American accent to the stranger on the phone, but he wasnPt close enough to see them yet. MI understand Mister Estaphan.N Bobby was very close to the study door now, getting himself an unobstructed view. MEverything will be taken care of.N Bobby wondered who was on the other end of the phone. MI will be in Houston tomorrow morning.N
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The man put the phone down and turned to Hertzel. MDonPt worry my friend.N He sounded callous. MMister Estaphan knows our situation.N He smiled coldly. MHePs concerned about all the questions the police will ask.N The smile disap- peared and his face took on no discernible expres- sion. MYou donPt have to worry about me, Enrico. IPll tell them anything you want anything you want me to, just get me some help.N MDonPt worry Hertzel.N The snake-like smile returned. MMister Estaphan knows you. Told me I should make you my biggest concern.N He bent over, his head nodding as he extended his hand to help Hertzel to his feet. MHe told me to take very good care of you, my friend, do something about your pain.N Enrico grabbed the top of HertzelPs head with his extended hand, jammed the gun through the terrified manPs teeth and
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fired two shots that exited the back of the his skull. Hertzel didnPt even twitch. MSi, amigo, IPm sure that takes care of your — 264 — pain.N Enrico stepped back, grinning with his words. MNo loose ends.N He broke into a sick laugh as he leaned over and wiped the barrel of his gun on HertzelPs tie. Bobby was debating his move when a hard slash across his wrist knocked the gun from his hand. Another vicious hit and Bobby careened across the floor, almost to EnricoPs feet. MThis prick was spyinP on ya.N Charley staggered into the room, bleeding from the groin and in obvious pain. MWhat the fuck happened here?N He saw Hertzel slumped against the wall. MHertzel?N He looked at Enrico. MIs Enrico. MIs he dead?N MThat fuck Howie killed him.N Enrico mo- tioned to the study doors.
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MItPs okay I took care of him.N He reached down and pulled Bobby up by the throat. MAnd you, who the fuck are you? You come looking for money, too? The only thing any- body finds here today is bullets.N He raised the gun to BobbyPs mouth just as Bobby caught a shadow by the window. MAnd I will give you all you can eat, mi amigo.N Bobby winced suddenly, thinking the gunshot was coming into his face. Instead, Charley was the recipient, jerking awkwardly backward before spinning around and firing blindly behind him. JesIs fired three more fired three more shots into the giantPs chest as he kicked his way into the room. Charley stopped suddenly, swaying with an aimless mo- tion before falling heavy and awkward to the floor. Enrico pulled Bobby up close to him like it was a slow dance. MPut the
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gun down, or IPll kill this fuck!N In the moment of hesitation Bobby grabbed — 265 — his gun hand, clutched a letter opener from the desk and jammed it deep into EnricoPs ribs, driv- ing it up towards the heart with all his strength. The two of them danced a macabre promenade as Enrico fought for breath and the strength to turn his gun back on Bobby. BobbyPs leg gave out leg gave out and the two of them crashed to the floor, Enrico on top, eyes bugging. EnricoPs dead weight pinned Bobby motion- less, their faces pressed close together. Bobby did- nPt have the strength to roll him off, the manPs weight on his bulleted leg hurting through the painkillers. A long second passed before JesIsP roughly pulled the hoodPs head up by the hair and twisted the body away. MYou okay, amigo?N Bobby
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nodded weakly. MI think maybe this hombre love you very much.N JesIsP smile broadened as he helped Bobby to a sitting position. MThe way he try to kiss you try to kiss you like that.N He shook his head. MAmigo, people will talk.N Bobby smiled back without much enthusiasm. MItPll be our secret, okay?N The respite lasted sec- onds before the sound of an engine roaring to life threw BobbyPs eyes to the spot Howie had quietly vacated. Bobby wiped EnricoPs blood from his face. Like Lazarus from the dead, Howie had risen and gone L him and the briefcase. — 266 — Howie Morgan’s Trailer South Padre Island, Texas Late Friday Night Bobby and JesIs had been gone had been gone for less than an hour. BobbyPs little Tanya had fallen asleep on the couch, her head on RachelPs lap as
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Rachel gen- tly stroked her soft hair. Rachel hadnPt gotten the full story before they left, but did get enough from Bobby about the ship, the murder, his own involvement and the background to TanyaPs presence to realize there had been a lot more going on than just her brotherPs death. Not that her brotherPs death did- nPt grieve her, it did, but shePd known in her heart for some time that he was dead L had been work- ing on acceptance for a couple of days now. Of all the mayhem, it was mayhem, it was the little girl asleep on her lap that most affected her. Although her childhood hadnPt been identical to this onePs, there were certainly some parallels. Maybe the only real reason for all of it was to give her an oppor- tunity to change something for this one L some-
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thing she wished someone had done for her and her brother long ago. She still had the beach house and she knew for a certainty these two were — 267 — running out of places to hide. Maybe just set them up there until they sort something out. ShePd never had children, but this little thing, falling faster asleep with faster asleep with every moment, certainly felt like she belonged on her lap. Life was strange, she thought. What if they didnPt come back, she wondered. ShePd have to get out of there, on her own. She needed to get out of there before anyone found any bodies. That would mean tonight, in the dark, with Tanya. Her mind went to Sunny. She won- dered where he was right now, didnPt think hePd let too much time pass before he started looking for her L she
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thought they had developed that kind of relationship. She decided shePd wait two hours, then start walking. If she could get the two of them to the hotel, Sunny would get them out of Brownsville, and out of Texas. With that of Texas. With that thought in mind, she gently lifted TanyaPs head and slid out from under her, cover- ing her with a tattered comforter. Time to get her- self looked at and cleaned up. In the tiny washroom at the back of the trailer she cringed when she saw herself in the mirror. The bruise on the side of her face had turned a dark purple. She splashed some water on her face and straightened her torn clothing as best she could, even tried to fix her hair a little. She laughed silently at herself, here she was with bod- ies piled somewhere outside,
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anyone where or how to live. I do not demand your loyalty simply because of the blood in my veins. The chaos we’ve experienced marks the end of an era, and the beginning of something new. I will share the future with you, as Lady or as a normal citizen, according to your wishes.” For a moment, the a moment, the only sound was the low murmur of many conversations reaching her ears. Then, slowly but with gathering strength, a chant arose, her name and title repeated, an enthusiastic vote of confidence and support than she’d not dreamed possible. No, not everyone was part of the chorus, but the neutral, angry, and suspicious faces were a notable minority. “Thank you,” she said as the approbation subsided. “We will try to be worthy of your faith. To those who doubt me, I only ask for a short
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time to prove myself. We will make mistakes; everyone does. Your patience and support is the greatest gift you could give us.” She continued. “Once the current crisis is past, we will return to an earlier tradition, when Ministers were elected, not appointed; they will work together, in your together, in your name. Those of you who wish to live outside can rebuild the town below and tend the farms beyond. The city within will always remain a home for people who find comfort in its halls. Norgrim has offered to bring more dwarves here, to fix and improve the rotunda. Together, his people and ours will finish this castle as the crown of a greater Caerelon. Humanity may be small in numbers, but the world will know us as a wonder of perseverance, beauty, and principle. “Caerelon is not destroyed, only wounded. We will repair;
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we will heal – and we will become more than we have been. I know most of you were not looking for a bold new future, but it has come anyway, and Caerelon will meet the challenges ahead. We will do We will do more than survive, we will thrive. Caerelon is not a mountain or a city – it is us.” 164 Jahsha stood to one side of the dwarven compound, watching Hassakkor thoughtfully. The dragon watched her, too, seemingly as curious about the auburn-haired woman as she was about the blue reptile. She heard someone walk up behind her; when she turned away, Hassakkor closed his eyes. “We’re making progress,” said Dorna as she walked up. “We should have the artifact buried by sometime tomorrow.” The dwarven woman was dressed, as usual, in a worn leather apron over a stained white shirt and dark
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blue pants. Jahsha wondered if Dorna wondered if Dorna owned any other clothes. “Good,” stated Jahsha. “That thing gives me the creeps.” A high-pitched scream ripped through the air. Hassakkor raised his head sharply, and began scanning the area; Jahsha spun on her heel and ran toward the tents. Dwarves – and a few humans – came running from the direction of the dig site. Dorna moved quicker than her short legs seemed capable of, diving into the largest of the tents. Jahsha reached the entrance and looked in. Zarah sat up in bed, head buried in her hands, shaking and leaning against Kalinda. Stepping away, Jahsha told people that everything was under control. After a few moments, Dorna emerged, and led Jahsha quietly away, until they were out of earshot of the weeping girl. This took them close to them close
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to the sleeping blue dragon. “There’s not much more I can do for her,” said Dorna, her voice tired. “Medically, she’ll be fine. The physical wounds I can heal… I just don’t know what else to do for her.” “I’ve known women who’ve been raped,” said Jahsha solemnly. “I’m not sure they ever recover; I think they just learn to cope. Different women cope in different ways.” They were quiet for a moment, before Jahsha added, “At least Kalinda gives her comfort.” “Aye, my daughter has taken a liking to the girl.” “It can’t help that Zarah’s trapped atop this hill. She needs to be somewhere safe.” “She may not feel safe anywhere,” said Dorna. From the tent, the sound of crying had finally died down. “Okay, then someplace safer,” said Jahsha, exasperated. “The tension on this tension on this hilltop is thick. My ship wouldn’t
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be much better.” “Kyazura, my mother, is at Drakcaern,” said Hassakkor, his complex, deep voice startling the two women. “She is a healer of great renown.” “Not a bad idea,” said Jahsha musingly. “Kalinda was thinking about moving her research to Drakcaern,” added Dorna. “She’s studying human history. Zarah’s linguistic skills and knowledge would be invaluable assets. She’d have something to do, away from all this chaos.” 165 The dragon stirred, making a low sonic sound. From high above, a similar sound replied. Moments later, another blue dragon alighted – Arrokka, his half-sister. The two reptiles spoke briefly in their native language. “My mother is fond of is fond of Zarah,” said Arrokka, switching to Erashi. “I can take both women to Drakcaern, report to mother on events here, and return within a few hours. I’m certain Hassakkor can manage without me for a short time.”
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She grinned toothily, and her brother grumbled something draconic before smiling himself. “When you get back,” Jahsha said. “I could use… oh hell, I never expected to ask for this. I need a ride, too.” As Sytherek flew, he tried to make sense of his destination. Ehrgathaden had always been a mystery, an unfinished dwarven fortress ignored by dragons during the Reckoning. It lay within Mahgrurra’s domain; he himself had rarely come within a hundred leagues of the silent black mountain. Now it loomed directly ahead; his brother’s ahead; his brother’s presence was stronger than ever, and he could feel other dragons – including one who could not be there. And now he sensed… humans. He tasted the odor of thousands, in the forests, around the base of the mountain, and filling the courtyard of the unfinished castle. It made no sense… the Tramorans couldn’t have
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moved south so fast, and in such great numbers. The urgency of his mission was stronger than his curiosity. Flying high, he suddenly swooped between two high peaks, diving, turning, sailing into the cave, landing quickly. His brother stood near a glorious, beautiful red dragon-lady. A small tan newborn lay between them. Sytherek’s eyes widened with surprise. “It is good to see you, Sytherek,” said Kahshiki. “Meet our firstborn, Dorrakorix- alakaynor.” “How?” asked Sytherek, wonder in his wonder in his voice, approaching the baby. It had been so long since the birth of Voxx, his youngest; he’d almost forgotten how small they could be. “I owe my life to the small ones named Norgrim, Kaylen, and Alanora,” Kahshiki said. “They freed me from this cavern’s harmonic gateway, where I was trapped for so long.” “How did the humans get here from the north?” Sytherek asked. Dorrak
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wrestled with one of his uncle’s fingers. “They did not,” replied Symurall. “The people outside lived inside this mountain until recently. They were hiding from us – with assistance from Mahgrurra.” The rusty dragon, 166 who lay resting nearby, smiled slightly. “To my knowledge, Kaylen is the only Tramoran here.” Sytherek shook Tramoran here.” Sytherek shook his head. “I am not certain what to think. Perhaps I will need to be more polite to Norgrim… but who is Alanora?” “She is, as I understand it, the leader of these people,” said Symurall. “Which reminds me: I have business with her. Stay with your new nephew for a while, and talk with Kahshiki. The details of recent events are quite fascinating. I shall return shortly.” A large shadow passed overhead, and Alanora’s eyes followed it to a vacant area near the airship, where Symurall landed. People nervously
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backed away, chattering or staring glassy-eyed. Borrowing a phrase from Kaylen, she called out “He’s a friend!” while running to the dragon’s side. “I apologize for causing a disturbance,” the dragon said. “We must speak, Alanora Ortensa.” “Call speak, Alanora Ortensa.” “Call me Alanora Thyr,” she said. “What can I do for you?” “I understood that the second human name provided a familial identification,” said Symurall. “You and Kaylen are not related.” “We’re ‘related’ now.” “I see.” His tongue flicked. “Ah… I did not know the two of you were now mated.” She laughed. “If you must be so blunt, then yes. Now – do you need something?” “I owe you a great debt for restoring my Kahshiki.” “Thank Norgrim. He freed her from the portal.” “Norgrim is here because of you. All events are chained into the past and future. My good fortune is the
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result of your actions. Now I must ask you an additional favor.” “What can I possibly do for you?” He motioned with a foot. “Drakcaern is no longer adequate no longer adequate as a lair. Would it be acceptable if my family lived in the gateway cavern for now?” Alanora was stunned, then she laughed again, this time much harder. “Is my request humorous?” “Having you live here would be interesting,” she said. “But why ask me? It’s not like you can’t live anywhere you want.” “Caerelon is now your domain.” She wrinkled up her face. “I guess it is, I just hadn’t thought of it that way.” “Will our presence be a problem for others? My experience with Tornaval suggests the need for caution.” “If I can learn to like dragons, anyone can. How’s the new baby?” 167 “Beautiful,” said Symurall. He lifted off the
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ground. “Your generosity is appreciated.” He flew away. Alanora He flew away. Alanora started walking toward the crowd when the ground vibrated; a deep groan filled the air. People pointed and shouted – the side of the mountain was moving. “Get people back!” she yelled. Just what they needed – an avalanche… then she saw the rock face split neatly along a clean vertical line, pale blue light visible in the slowly-expanding crack. As it widened, silhouetted figures emerged at its base, a dwarf and a dozen men. As Norgrim came closer, she saw a huge grin on his face. “Cancel the emergency!” she called. To the dwarf, she added, “I’d tan your miserable hide if I weren’t so glad to see you.” “Now is that any way to thank the fellow who found a way to open your front door?” he laughed. Looking
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laughed. Looking around quickly, he asked, “Where’s Kaylen?” “Down in the village,” she said. “He’s seeing what they have to work with. A couple hundred people have gone there already. As for the rest of them – how quickly can we start moving folk back inside?” “Right now,” he said. “We’ve got three intakes working, and the rest should be done by nightfall. Having the front door open will make a big difference, too. By the way, I’m impressed by Caerelon’s engineers. Damned fine group, they are.” “Alanora!” It was Grehn’s voice. The old warden trotted over, two human engineers right behind him. “Norgrim already filled me in,” she said. “Let’s start getting people back home. I think one night sleeping on rocks is enough for everyone.” Grehn nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.” couldn’t agree more.” He turned away, but Norgrim put a hand
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on his arm. “We need to talk,” Norgrim said. “Just the three of us.” “Can we still send people in?” “I don’t see why not,” said the dwarf. “But there is something you need to know.” The serious tone of his voice worried Alanora. She and Grehn passed a few quick orders to several wardens; as the crowd began to shift and organize, she, Grehn, and Norgrim found a quiet place alone. “What’s wrong?” Alanora asked. Norgrim hesitated. “Right after we got inside the rotunda, I went looking for your father’s body. I figured it might be a good idea to… well… that was quite a fall, and folk’ve had enough of a scare…” His voice trailed off. Alanora put a hand on his hand on his shoulder, and leaned down to look into his face. “It’s okay, Norgrim. I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.” 168
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The dwarf sighed. “Oh, it’s not pleasant, that’s for sure. I couldn’t find him.” She straightened. “What?” “Did he land on a balcony?” Grehn asked. Norgrim shook his head. “I found where he landed, so to speak, in the market area. Broken tiles, stained grout. Just no body.” Grehn cursed violently; Alanora stood silent, face stony. “Interesting,” said another voice. Beynor strode toward them from around the corner of a building. Alanora turned quickly to face him. “I don’t like spies.” “You only dislike spies who aren’t part of your little club,” said Beynor grimly. Grehn scowled. “How much did “How much did you hear?” Alanora asked. “Enough,” he said. “Enough to begin believing some of what you told me earlier. As to your father’s disappearance, I’d guess that someone – probably several ‘someones’ – stayed inside the mountain. You showed them the secret passages; they
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just didn’t follow you all the way out.” He laughed. “Who knows? They could claim that Oric is still alive, or kidnapped… the possibilities are endless for mischief.” Beynor was smiling broadly. “You seem to find all of this very amusing,” Grehn grumbled. “It is amusing,” Beynor said. “I’ll be even more amused watching you get out of this mess.” As Symurall flew back to the gateway cavern, he detected another presence, approaching from high above. For a several minutes, a several minutes, he orbited, expected the newcomer to come down. When that didn’t happen, Symurall climbed into the thick clouds, bursting through their gritty dampness into sky above. Beneath him, a plane of grey-tinted white stretched to the horizons, completely hiding the world below. Symurall enjoyed the warmth of direct sunlight, and the freshness of cold, thin air. “This is an unexpected surprise,” said Symurall
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as the other dragon came into view. “When we last spoke, you were going home to Wyvernrift.” “Exceptional events require my attention,” Garthonnex replied. “Can you explain the presence of your long-lost mate below? Or why thousands of humans are here? Enlighten me, please.” 169 Garthonnex spoke as master to as master to student; Symurall found the imperious tone disturbing, bordering on rude. For a moment, he considered countering with his own questions, and decided against it, instead giving a succinct description of recent days. “Uncontrolled events surround us,” Garthonnex said when Symurall finished. “How did the dwarf Norgrim learn to manipulate harmonic energies?” His tone bordered on accusatory. “Kyazura trained him,” said Symurall. “Few of the small folk have a talent for such things, and those that do seek her knowledge and counsel.” “Your sister is reckless,” stated Garthonnex harshly. “So was Mahgrurra, by hiding
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these humans from the rest of us. Your intervention in human politics is also disappointing.” “You overstep the bounds of friendship and protocol!” Symurall snapped. He backed away from the other dragon, spreading his wings, complex emotions wings, complex emotions conflicting. For several moments, there was almost silence as they eyed each other intently. “What right do you have to judge us?” Symurall continued. “Have you forgotten that your mate ripped the fabric of this planet to rescue the dwarven race? By comparison, what we have done is benign. My sister watches and advises the dwarves; my brother studies the kehklik, and Mahgrurra protected the humans below as they cowered in fear of us. As for those I favor in Tornaval, one of them was instrumental in saving my mate and child. Your suspicions are unfounded. I begin to understand why some do not trust you.”
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Garthonnex appeared surprised, and bowed his head slightly. “Perhaps I misspoke,” he said. “The recovery of your family, Symurall, is a wondrous event. I do not wish do not wish to diminish that.” “As my elder and mentor, your counsel is appreciated.” Symurall relaxed his pose. “Your sermons and accusations are not.” “I will choose my words more carefully in the future.” Garthonnex was thoughtful for a moment. “I did not know your brother had taken an interest in the kehklik.” “Sytherek has long been fascinated with the kehklik, since their mounds are common in his territory. He believes new behavior has emerged in a group of kehklik that fought the human refugees. You will find him below; perhaps you could pass on what you’ve learned over the years.” “Another time,” said Garthonnex. “I miss my Narrahnjarra, and recent exertions have rendered me tired and impolite.
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I will assume that you have matters in hand, and return home.” 170 “Good flight,” home.” 170 “Good flight,” said Symurall as the midnight dragon flew away. He went down, through the clouds, and alighted in the cavern near his mate and child. Mahgrurra and Sytherek lay nearby, apparently asleep. “We will remain here,” Symurall said to Kahshiki. “Alanora granted my request for use of these caverns.” “The humans will expect your gratitude and protection,” stated Sytherek, opening his eyes and raising his head. “Your family was restored by happenstance, not intent. Do not obligate yourself to yet another group of humans – instead, reconsider my offer. Come to Crythamar. We have more than enough room for you, and Vallahnoka will love little Dorrakor. She may even stop pestering me about pestering me about another child of our own.” He grinned. “Your
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offer is generous and self-serving,” said Symurall, amused. “We will remain here. Keeping watch will be easier if humans think I am an indebted ally.” “Keeping watch?” Kahshiki asked. “Is there danger? You do not trust my rescuers?” “I trust a select few,” said Symurall. “Events suggest that extending such trust would be a mistake.” “Then you are not blinded by the good acts of a few,” stated Sytherek. Mahgrurra stirred. “For three centuries, I have watched and befriended humans from within this mountain. I have seen nothing to fear.” Symurall gestured toward the end of the cavern that adjoined the underground city; his voice deepened, and took on a sharper tone. “Beyond that door lie a thousand dwarven corpses, murdered during your watch, by humans.” watch, by humans.” Mahgrurra looked distressed. “Sytherek is correct: Alanora and Kaylen did not come here to save my family;
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they were coping with an internal human conflict. I do not know the precise nature of the crisis, and it has not been fully resolved. Uncertainty will increase with the imminent arrival of Tramorans.” Sytherek perked up. “Kaylen’s people? They are moving here?” “Some, at least.” Symurall told them of events in Tornaval, of the attack on Zarah, of divisions in the humans and his involvement. “I expect Kaylen to assist his friends, bringing them here, where he is aligned with Alanora. Given the troubles, Norgrim’s dwarves will abandon their explorations, leaving Kaylen’s enemies in control of Tornaval.” “I do not understand humans,” said Kahshiki. “Forcing sexual activity on an unwilling female… is the species truly the species truly that degenerate? Why cause trouble with the dwarves, who were helping them?” Sytherek grumbled. “Perhaps a very few of humans have been enlightened, but most of their
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species continues to be beyond redemption. As an example, I should have killed the woman named Danelle Rahnor when I first encountered her.” “You know this Danelle?” Symurall asked. 171 “Weeks ago, I found her ship under attack by other humans; I destroyed the aggressors, and directed her to Tornaval.” “An act of mercy?” Mahgrurra asked. Sytherek laughed. “A joke. Danelle appeared to be someone who would make Kaylen’s life more interesting. I did not wish or expect such an atrocity.” “The humans were divided when they first arrived,” said Symurall. “One named Symurall. “One named Jennur was part of a religion built on the belief that dragons were gods.” The disgust was clear in his voice. “Faced with the truth, he grew angry and threatening, gathering followers, opposing Kaylen and his allies. They attack anything that is not human.” Kahshiki shifted uneasily. “For me, it
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was only yesterday when humans attacked us. I do not know what to think.” “My thoughts on the matter are clear,” stated Sytherek. “Voxx, my youngest, has never regained his ability to speak. Two of my mate’s relations died protecting our rookery. For fifteen years, I was crippled. I will not allow that to happen again.” The last words rolled out to shake the mountain; Sytherek hoped the people outside could feel his hatred in their bones. “We will not blame will not blame all for the sins of a few,” declared Symurall. “Nor should we assume the good of all, based on the virtues of a few,” Sytherek replied. For a moment, the dragons were quiet, lost in individual thought. Sytherek let the anger abate as he formulated a new plan. A better plan, he thought, one that would perhaps help his kehklik. “I have
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a proposal,” said Sytherek, in carefully measured tones and select words. “Brother, gather the humans you favor at this mountain, under your vigilance, where we can safely contain them if trouble arises. As for those who remain in Tornaval, give them what they want: No dragons. No dwarves. No help or protection. We will not openly harm them unless they turn against us or those we care for.” “An interesting concept,” “An interesting concept,” said Symurall thoughtfully. The two female dragons rumbled their agreement. Symurall stood and stretched. “Much as I would like to stay, obligations call me elsewhere.” He rubbed Kahshiki’s tail with his, and nuzzled the newborn. “Kyazura’s children protect Norgrim’s dwarves and Kaylen’s allies in my absence. I must relieve them of a responsibility that is mine.” Sytherek moved between his brother and the cavern mouth. “Your place is here, brother. In part,
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I am responsible for the troubles in Tornaval, and Danelle’s actions reflect poorly on me. I should be the one to deal with her.” He spread his wings. 172 “Thank you,” Symurall said gratefully. “Please speak with Kaylen before you leave. He is expecting me is expecting me to bear him to Tornaval. Also – it would be wise to avoid excessive force against his opponents.” Sytherek chuckled. “My actions will be measured and calculated, dear brother.” Without waiting for a response, Sytherek launched, banking toward the castle, making no effort to hide his presence as he observed the humans below. He was disappointed that so few remained. He noted the immense door opened in the side of the mountain, light streaming out; the figures of people moved inside. Flying around the mountain, he saw hundreds of people in the overgrown village. Swooping low over the
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largest group, he felt somewhat slighted when only a few screamed or ran. Still considering various ways of impressing the humans, he ascended to the unfinished castle, and spied the dirigible. Blue- silver with dirigible. Blue- silver with a copper superstructure, it reminded him of his lovely Vallahnoka. The vessel fascinated him – he’d seen a few airships before, in dwarven lands, but never one this large or so close. He admired the ingenuity that allowed the small people to transcend their limitations – though he certainly would never admit it to any of them, especially Norgrim. The dwarf lay on the ground, in the shade under one end of the craft. As quietly as possible, Sytherek settled to the ground beside the dwarf. “Good evening,” the dragon said, louder than necessary, his head only a few yards from the sleeping dwarf. Norgrim scrambled to his
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feet, swearing profusely. “Did I disturb you?” Sytherek asked, overly-politely. “You overgrown snake,” growled Norgrim. “Some dragons need to learn manners.” “Indeed? I merely “Indeed? I merely wanted to say hello, and thank you for helping Kahshiki. You should be pleased to know that I no longer regret letting you live.” “Oh joy.” Norgrim found his boots, sat on a crate, and pulled them on. “So what have you done with Tohkay? Where is he?” “Tohkay is digging holes. He finds the activity very enjoyable, and it helps address one of my own curiosities.” “Where is he digging these holes?” “In a place I will not identify as yet. Suffice it to say that he and I have a common interest. Are you satisfied? I expect not.” “No, I am not. Did you leave him alone?” “My son Tyreon is with him.” Sytherek felt Alanora and
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Kaylen approaching, and sensed their tension. “You know as much as you will as you will know for now. My business is actually with Kaylen.” “It is?” the man said. “I don’t have time to be eaten today.” 173 Sytherek rumbled a dragon-laugh. “I am not hungry. And your new mate might take exception.” He bowed his head slightly toward Alanora. “I do not believe we have been properly introduced, Lady Alanora. I am Sytherekkor-oran-issikkar, brother of Symurall. Our family owes you a debt.” Enjoying the obvious surprise of his audience, the dragon continued, “I appreciate what you have done for Kahshiki. Symurall told me of events in Tornaval, of what has happened to your friend. The concept of such a crime is disturbing. By sending this Danelle to you, I gave the impression that I impression that I endorse her. I
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would like to rectify that perception and my error.” “Does this involve eating Danelle?” Alanora asked. “I hope you have room for two. She has an accomplice named Jennur. They won’t taste good, and – just as a word of warning – and you might get indigestion.” “A risk I’m willing to take,” Sytherek grinned. “My brother needs time with his family, so I will be taking his place as your champion.” He looked terribly pleased with himself. “Your offer is… generous,” said Kaylen. “Revenge sounds pretty good right now. But…” “But what?” Alanora asked. “They raped and almost murdered Zarah. If Sytherek wants to kill them –” “– it won’t solve our problems,” Kaylen interrupted. “Danelle and Jennur are devils we know. If they die, we’ve no clue what no clue what might happen. We don’t want to make the situation worse.” “Very well,” said
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Sytherek, sounding slightly disappointed. “I will convince her to cooperate with you. I can be very persuasive.” He grinned, showing many of his long, sharp persuaders. Kaylen looked thoughtful for a moment. “That might work.” “You’re going to trust this purple monstrosity?” Norgrim asked incredulously. “I am largely grey, and my highlights are a lovely shade of purple,” Sytherek said, somewhat indignantly. “I’ll also need to talk to everyone,” Kaylen said. “There may be people in Danelle’s camp who want out. I need a chance to explain Caerelon and what we plan. She’ll need to let people come with me, if they want.” “What you ask is overly complicated,” sighed Sytherek. “I will, however, acquiesce to your wishes, as your wishes, as per my brother’s instructions. I am inclined to kill the man named Jennur, even though I have never met him. His false religion is
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an insult to my species. However, I will spare his life, if you so desire.” “I’m surprised at how helpful you’re being. A month ago, you were threatening to eat me.” “Are you still alive?” 174 “Of course I am!” “Consider that when speculating about my future actions. My hatreds run deep, but I am also a rational being. Killing you would have accomplished nothing beyond momentary pleasure. Threats, however, taught you caution and gave me an opportunity for evaluation.” “I see,” said Kaylen, feeling distinctly uncomfortable feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the dragon’s viewpoint. “Don’t take this wrong, I still don’t know if I can completely trust you.” “There is one way to find out,” said Sytherek. He held out a front paw. “Symurall said you wished transport to Tornaval. We can leave when you’re ready.” “How stupid do you think Kaylen is?” asked Norgrim. Sytherek
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said nothing, looking vaguely amused. Kaylen was lost in thought for a moment; then he asked, “Norgrim, when can your airship be ready for the journey?” Norgrim scratched his head. “I haven’t had a chance to look everything over, but I know she needs some welding, replacement seals, lubrication…” The sentence trailed off, and the dwarf lost himself in technical musings. “What’s the problem?” asked Kaylen. “It flew well earlier.” “Our little flight put a lot put a lot of stress on the old girl. She spent almost three hundred years sitting in a cave, and you want her to safely carry people across the continent without proper maintenance. Even if I had a proper crew, it will several days to get her in shape.” When Kaylen muttered under his breath, Norgrim added, “I hesitate to bring up another problem.” “Which is?” “On foot, we’re hundreds
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of leagues from Tornaval. You’re thinking of bringing people here in my airship, am I right?” “That was my first idea.” “It won’t work. The old girl only carries fifty or so folk at a time; the dwarves in Tornaval number over a hundred by themselves. If you have dozens or hundreds of humans to bring here… well, and then there’s the whole issue of whole issue of whether humans will want to go flying in my contraption.” Kaylen tried to force his tired brain to think. “The river,” Alanora said. “Before the Reckoning, Caerelon traded with cities on the coast. I’ve read about it. Some books have drawings of boats docked near the village below.” Kaylen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I noticed stonework along the banks of the river. These waters flow into the big river that leads to Tornaval, right?” 175 “Alanora’s books are
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across the dunes,
across the dunes, flowing through and across the creatures below, a brilliant fog. Kaylen instinctively threw an arm across his eyes; his ears heard rippling explosions and the screams of alien creatures. Every hair on his body stood on end as a blast of acrid air nearly knocked him down. Uncovering his eyes, Kaylen watched Symurall execute a steep, climbing turn. Above the smoldering ruin of the kehklik army, the dragon swept down, fewer charges wrapping his body, but his frill still bright with energy. As he crossed the kehklik lines, Symurall whipped his tail again and again; each 43 time, a ball of lightning shot from its tip into a group below. Thunderous explosions rocked the night, and Kaylen
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had spots floating
had spots floating in front of his eyes. “Look…!” he heard Alanora yell. Something hit Kaylen in the back of the head, and the world went black. “He’s awake,” someone was saying. Kaylen opened his eyes. It was daylight; the sky, still grey, made him squint even so. “I have a really bad headache,” he said, propping up on his elbows. He lay on the deck of the ferry; all around him, he saw the wounded being cared for. “Be grateful you have a head,” Norgrim said. Kaylen focused on the dwarf, who wore a big grin. “I saved your attacker’s corpse, if you want a trophy,” said Alanora. “No thanks,” Kaylen replied with a weak laugh. “I appreciate the thought, though.” Through a break in the ship’s wall, he
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saw not one,
saw not one, but three dragons on the far side of the beach. Beside the sea dragon were a blue creature of great beauty, and a smaller dragon, red and tan, with grey wings. “And to think I was happy with just one dragon,” he said, slowly rising to his feet. “The other two arrived at dawn,” Alanora said while steadying him. Kaylen twisted his neck, and heard it crack loudly. “I need to thank him.” “I’ll stay here,” Alanora said. “Norgrim can take care of you. I still have secrets to keep.” Kaylen nodded, and started to descend through the ship. Norgrim followed. Man and dwarf were joined by Jahsha as they walked across the beach. “It is good to see you alive,” Symurall said as they approached. “May I introduce my sister, Kyazura,
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days maybe.
days maybe. He stayed with his daughter, smiling. He saw her wide eyes the first time he ever took her aboard ship. She was a lady of ships, his daughter, like the lady in every ship, the strength, the dignity, the honor. The tightness around his heart gave way as his lungs loosened their atrophy. He felt the rain on his face, and the conscious part of his mind found him. Keep breathing, it said. Get to your knees. Get to your daughter. It took time before he stood on shaky legs, still coughing, and spitting slime. He staggered his way forward, noticing the worsening weather and — 163 — the increased roll and skid
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of
of the Lady as he worked harder for his footing. He hadnPt expected anything else. He found Gomez awake and more alert. HePd been securing their shelter a little. MEstas muerto, Bubby?N His eyes took in the spectacle of someone back from the dead or head- ing to it. MEres muy macho, Bubby.N It perked him to have somebody notice the wear and tear. The effort hadnPt been in complete obscurity. MYou a filthy man too, Bubby.N Gomez smiled. Bobby squatted as Gomez stood. MI help now, amigo.N He flexed his good arm. MStrong now.N He grinned. He tried a Mr. Universe posture with his torso and slipped
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back into the
back into the pain mode. He tried to hide it as he forced his bad arm up again. MNo pain.N He fell into his MlifePs a bitch chuckleN. It was second nature to Gomez. Gomez may be hurt but he was still in control. MSleep, Bubby. I keep my eye for us.N Exhaustion and fear made Bobby easy to read. MLife is for long time yet, amigo.N Bobby heard the soft Mexican chuckle again as Gomez looked into the driving rain. MMaybe.N MTheyPre gonna shred the chain again.N Bobby spoke absently as he sank onto his bedding. MBe- tween the pull and the seaJN His voice trailed away as he fell into exhausted sleep.
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— 164 —
— 164 — New Orleans International Airport New Orleans, Louisiana ednesday Noon Like a lot of things that are supposed to be quick and easy, the flight proved slow and diffi- cult. Rachel had gotten little sleep, bumping her way through deteriorating weather as she closed the distance to the east coast. Rachel had never liked flying, avoided it when- ever possible. She preferred limos and trains. She was just short of time at the moment. She could- nPt afford the luxury right now. She surveyed the city through broken rain clouds.
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From ten
From ten thousand feet it would be a beautiful view in good weather, but to Rachel it was dark and gray, smudged like a black ink drawing left in the rain. She felt as if she could sink into it and dissolve, getting the blues with- out trying. She momentarily second guessed her decision to make the trip after getting BarneyPs Mno news yetN call. All she had been able to get from him was a name, and an unsolicited caution about the New Orleans cop. Barney had given up trying to talk her out of the journey. HePd told her Maurice — 165 — Le Clerc was a crook
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and a letch,
and a letch, but if there was dirt in New Orleans, hePd know about it L a nice recommendation for a cop. She wondered what his resume looked like. It had taken her two hours to pack, and a cou- ple more at the club to delegate authority. Jimmy had driven her to San Diego International, con- cern written all over him, and since she wouldnPt let him take her along L told her about his man, Sunny. She pretended irritation but he knew she approved. Five minutes through arrivals and he was there. Sunny, the fast talking young Cajun Jimmy had arranged. Five more minutes and she was in the back
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Cisternan guards were
Cisternan guards were stationed at all the entrances to the gallery, though they were armed only with swords. The Queen s Guard and the Albonate Knights were permitted to carry firearms in the royal presence at court, but no one else. The polished-stone dais supported the three chairs of state for Ravenna, Falaise, and Roland. Roland was surrounded by his servants and a few courtiers who had been called up to speak to him. An Albon knight stood guard at his back. Next to him Falaise s chair was empty. Ravenna was firmly established on the opposite side of the dais from her son. Four guards were gathered near her and a lady-in-waiting sat on a stool at her side. Thomas swept off his hat and bowed to Roland who was hidden behind his
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wall of servants
wall of servants and hangers-on, to Falaise s empty chair as a matter of form, and to Ravenna, who smiled down at him. As he climbed the dais, the guard nearest her caught his signal and stepped out of earshot. Thomas kneeled beside Ravenna s brocaded chair and said, \ There s news.\ Ravenna put her sewing down. \ Elaine dear, come and stand in front of me, there s a good girl. Here, wind this thread back on the spindle.\ The young woman s full skirt, puffed sleeves, and wide plumed hat effectively shielded them from curious eyes. \ Denzil knows about the plans for Bel Garde. It s likely he ll confront Roland about it tonight. You know what will happen,\ Thomas told Ravenna. Ravenna s face set. \ Villon
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s been working
s been working on Roland for the past two months. He said he d give the order.\ She shoved her sewing into her satchel and started to stand. Thomas said, \ Don t.\ She stopped, looking down at him, her hands white-knuckled on the arms of her chair. Chapter Three \ Roland won t listen to you. Or worse, he ll do the opposite.\ \ He will do what I…\ He regarded her steadily. \ Face it, Ravenna; it s a fact.\ 39 She sat back down with a thump. \ Damn Denzil to hell. Damn you to hell. Hand me that fan, Elaine. Oh, don t cringe so, child; I
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m not angry
m not angry with you, am I?\ She fanned herself rapidly, the delicate silk construction somehow holding up under the pressure of her grip. \ I want you to kill Denzil, Thomas.\ Thomas nodded. \ Fine. Is now soon enough? I believe I can hit him from here if Elaine would step out of the line of fire.\ \ No, no. I ll get him eventually. I ll think of something. You ll think of something; it s your duty.\ \ My duty is protecting you and Falaise,\ he reminded her. Ravenna snorted in disdain. \ Damn Falaise to hell. What I mind most is that Denzil s making a fool of the boy. Treating him like a puppy to be petted or kicked as the mood takes him. God,
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in need of
in need of doctoring,\ I remarked, feeling that flues were a safer topic than the peach-crop. \ Flues are nothing if not erratic,\ replied Miss Hollister. The subject did not appear to interest her; nor had she, by the remotest suggestion, referred to the object of my coming. I had sniffed vainly in the halls above and below for any trace of the stale smoke which usually greeted me at once on my arrival at the house of a client. The air of Hopefield Manor was as sweet as that of a June meadow. Wiggins remarked to me that I doubtless knew the Manor had been designed by Pepperton, whom we both knew well. \ This is Pep s masterpiece. He need do nothing better to keep his grip at the top,\ he said.
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\ I consider
\ I consider it a great privilege to be permitted to visit a house designed by a dear friend and occupied by a lady peculiarly fitted to appreciate and adorn it.\ I thought rather well of this as I spoke the words; but neither Cecilia nor Wiggins rose to it as I hoped they might. \ You have a neat turn for the direct compliment,\ said Miss Hollister promptly. \ The house was built, you may not know, for a manufacturer of umbrellas, who died before he had occupied it, in circumstances I may later disclose to you; which accounts, Mr. Ames, for that figure of Cupid under a pink parasol on the drawing-room ceiling. At the first opportunity I shall remove it, as baby Cupids are irreconcilable with the militant love-making I admire. I
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consider umbrellas detestable,
consider umbrellas detestable, and never carry one when I can command a mackintosh.\ \ When I m on the ranch I wear a slicker,\ said Wiggins. \ It s bullet-proof, and that I have found at times a decided advantage.\ We discussed mackintoshes for at least ten minutes, with far more sprightliness than I had imagined the subject could evoke. Then Miss Hollister, after a turn up and down the room, paused beside me. 25 \ Mr. Ames,\ she said, \ would you care to join me in a game of billiards? I m not in my best form, but I think we might profitably knock the balls for half an hour.\
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I acquiesced with
I acquiesced with alacrity. I assumed it to be Miss Hollister s purpose to leave Cecilia and Wiggins alone. I should be rendering Wiggins and Cecilia a service by withdrawing, and I was glad of a chance to escape. To my infinite surprise they both protested, not in mere polite murmurs but with considerable vehemence. \ It s quite cool to-night, and I don t believe you ought to use the billiard-room until the plumber has fixed the radiator,\ said Cecilia. \ And if you knew Mr. Ames s game I m sure you would n t care to waste time on him,\ piped Wiggins, whom I had frequently vanquished in billiard bouts at the Hare and Tortoise, where, I may say modestly, I had long been considered one of the most
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formidable of the
formidable of the club s players. Both he and Cecilia had risen, and we stood, I remember, just before the hearth, during this exchange. At this moment, a singular thing happened. The fire that had been sweeping in a broad wave-like curve into the chimney was checked suddenly. I had repeatedly marked the admirable draught, the facile grace of the flame as it rose and vanished. The cessation of the draught was unmarked by any of those premonitory symptoms by which a fire usually gives warning of evil intentions. The upward current of air had ceased utterly and without apparent cause. We were all aware of a choking, a gasping in the deep flue, which could not be accounted for by any natural stoppage incident to chimneys–the dislodging of masonry, or a packing of soot. The former was hardly possible
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our complete understanding.
our complete understanding. I could concede that he was potentially innately more 9 | 10 violent than others; that excluding all other factors he would still be more aggressive than most. But be that as it may, it still didn’t explain the action of what he did. It didn’t explain the act. Because despite our genetics, no gene in my body has ever forced me to do anything. Those people were not killed because suddenly and randomly his genes decided to take control. They are not dead because protein strands designed in the chromosomes of his cells executed some devious plan. If such were true, I think we’d all fear the unknown
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ills that may
ills that may lie within the structure of our DNA. I think we’d all fear that sometime, at any time, our genes would suddenly become the acting agent in us, and perform deeds we would otherwise never perform simply because we were “designed” to. But I don’t believe that to be possible. We are not simply computer programs on “execute.” We are not machines at the whim of the programming inside us. We have more than “no choice”. We have the ability to do as we please. His genetics in many ways made him, but it didn’t make him do it. I had to look elsewhere. Disease To many, the explanation for the murderer’s actions
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is obvious.
is obvious. The man was depressive. He was ill. He was sick. After all, depression is a disease, is it not; something to be medicated and controlled if a sufferer is to prevent the harming of themselves or others? I reject this, however. In fact, I hate it. When doctors examine a patient and find him or her to be suffering from depression; from fear and negativity and an inability to cope with the pain that is their life, they rightly see that something is not right; that despite whatever may happen in their lives, they are not meant to be and live as such. We are not meant to be depressed. 10 |
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11 But in
11 But in diagnosing them with “depression,” as if it were a true disease, I believe they confuse cause and effect. Their conclusion flows from the premise that humans are otherwise perfect, and that any outward problem exhibited must then be the result of some external addition to, or internal subtraction from, the otherwise perfect self. The patient must have too much of this or too little of that. They are doctors, after all. Scientists. And when a doctor discovers a problem physically (loss of weight, appetite, hair, abnormal fear and anxiety), it is their inclination to believe there is a source physically. But this ignores the fact that we as humans are entirely capable of ruining what perfection we were
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drink of buttermilk,
drink of buttermilk, and lay in a store of eggs and butter. We also climbed to the top of the ruined arch, whence a wide prospect is visible, and one may count a goodly number of churches. Opposite the ruins is a dyke, down which a wherry turned. \ Where does that lead to?\ asked Wynne. \ To South Walsham Broad, which is a mile and a half down it; and, although wherries can sail down, this boat, which draws about five feet six inches, cannot. Still, we can go down in the jolly, or, if you like, stay here, and fish for perch. This is a noted spot, because there is a hard gravelly bottom, and, by the way, we might have stopped at Thurne mouth, which is a good place for pike.\
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\ I like
\ I like exploring these dykes, so I vote we go down to the Broad.\ [Picture: Cottage, South Walsham Broad] So we started, and overtook the wherry, which had been aground, and she gave us a tow down. The Broad, which was formerly one sheet of water, has, by the growth of reeds and plants, been divided into two portions. There was nothing particular to be seen in the first one; but on rowing into the further Broad, we saw a cottage on the right bank, which, with its long, low thatch, deep eaves, its honeysuckles and roses, its trees and its landing-place, formed a most tempting object for a sketch, and one the artist would do well to seek. The Broad is private, save for the navigation across one part of it to South Walsham,
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and the fishing
and the fishing is preserved. The old course of the river formerly made a horse-shoe bend down towards South Walsham, and the present straight channel by the Abbey ruins is an artificial cut. The site of the Abbey is an island of solid ground in the midst of a great extent of marsh. When we got back to the boat we saw the man fast asleep on the counter, with his rod in the river, in tow of a large perch, weighing one pound and a half, which we secured. About a mile further, on the right hand, as we ascend the river, is the mouth of the river Ant, leading to Barton Broad and Statham, of which more anon. \ The river is getting uncommonly pretty,\ said Wynne, \ and this slow tacking enables me to see
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anywhere upon the school premises. The only way anyone, discovered to have perpetrated such a crime, could escape the severest punishment was to report another culprit guilty of the same offense. Under such conditions one cannot wonder that Kingo complains: The daily round from home to school Was often hard and weary. It did my youthful ardour cool And made my childhood dreary. At the age of fifteen Kingo, for reasons now unknown, was transferred from the school of his home town to that at the neighboring city of Hillerød. Here, on account of his outstanding ability, he was accepted into the home of his new rector, Albert Bartholin, a young man of distinguished family and conspicuous personal endowments. Although the school at Hillerød was larger, it probably was not much better than that

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at Slangerup; but
at Slangerup; but the close association of the humble weaver s son with his distinguished rector and his refined family, no doubt, Chapter Three 12 was a distinct advantage to him. The location of Hillerød on the shores of the idyllic Frederiksborg Lake and close to the magnificent castle of the same name is one of the loveliest in Denmark. The castle had recently been rebuilt, and presented, together with its lovely surroundings, a most entrancing spectacle. Its famous builder, Christian IV, had just gone the way of all flesh; but the new king, Frederik, known for his fondness for royal pomp, frequently resided at the castle together with his court, and thus Kingo must often have enjoyed the opportunity to see both the king and the

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outstanding men of
outstanding men of his government. It is not unlikely that this near view of the beauty and splendor of his country, the finest that Denmark had to offer, served to awaken in Kingo that ardent love for all things Danish for which he is noticed. While still at Hillerød he, at any rate, commenced a comprehensive study of Danish literature, a most unusual thing for a young student to do at a time when German was the common language of all the upper classes and Danish was despised as the speech of traders and peasants. As neither his school nor the general sentiment of the intellectual classes did anything to encourage interest in native culture, some other influence must have aroused in the young Kingo what one of his early biographers calls \\ his peculiar inclination for his native tongue

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Jahsha ignored him,
Jahsha ignored him, and walked to one of the damaged wagons, looking under its canvas covering. When the man moved to intercept her, Kaylen stepped between them. “I’ll report this to the highest authorities, you’ll see!” the man cried. “You can’t just poke about in a man’s possessions, you know. Not without consequences.” Jahsha whistled. “Jackpot,” she said. Reaching under the canvas, she pulled forth the stock of a crossbow. “Do you have all the parts for these? And quarrels?” “Put that back!” the man screeched. “Answer the question,” said Kaylen. “Mister…?” “Yohan Andus, if you must know,” was the reply. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Your friend has no authority here. None.” “Actually, I do have authority,” Jahsha said. “Under the Maritime Acts, a duly registered ship’s captain has the
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right to declare
right to declare martial law for the protection of people and goods.” “That applies to pirates,” Yohan said indignantly. “I obviously am not a pirate.” Jahsha pulled a black metal cross arm from the wagon and fitted it to the stock. Sighting the weapon, she said. “No, you’re probably not a pirate, but I wonder who was going to buy these. I don’t see any tax stamps.” She lowered the weapon, and her smile was not friendly. “How dare you! I am a legitimate business man.” “With a load of weapons in boxes marked ‘kitchen utensils’.” Yohan stammered, “Those are… uh… they… uh… were second hand crates. I was just saving a bit of cash, you know, maximizing my profits. I saw no need to change the labels.” “Uh-huh,” said Kaylen. “And now you’re going to profit by
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donating these to
donating these to the local defense.” “How will I profit from that?” Yohan asked sourly. “I won’t throw you to the incoming army of carnivorous bugs.” “Ah,” Yohan said. “I see your point.” The journey was not a long one, particularly for a dragon. He’d made this flight many times, more often than anyone other than a dragon could count. For more than a hundred thousand days, he’d come to this place, and he was determined to return every day for eternity. He would never be able to go home, but he would always remember it. On this day, the ravaged mountain side lay blanketed in late spring snow. Trees had grown in the talus, tall pines that looked black against the
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Estaphan. She could bear
Estaphan. She could bear almost any of it except when he wanted inside her. It wasnPt often, but once was too many times, and last night was once again L the only part of the job she actually detested. But she let it happen, whenever he wanted. She did- nPt have a lot of choice. Besides, the money was good, very good. She called down for his warm milk and med- ication before taking herself to the shower. Just walking across the enormous, lavishly appointed room and into the bath eased the sick repugnance she felt inside her. The water beat down hot and soothing as she reminded herself, this morning and every morn- ing, of his will. It was part of her contract, a quar-
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— 121 —
— 121 — ter of a million, annually, for life L once he was gone. And she kept thinking it could be soon. She watched the water stream soap from her body as she rinsed her long auburn hair. Her hands felt good on her skin. It made her think of AntonioPs hands all over her, made her wish Estaphan was gone and she was finally with the nephew. Soon, she hoped, very soon. One of the kitchen staff arrived with the milk, medication, and messages just as she started the water running onto the marble of the walk-in tub. She had done this for two years now, and her timing was down to a science. The old man was very demanding
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about his schedule
about his schedule and his needs. Actually, he was a truly terrible little bastard, she thought to herself as she poured the salts into the water and glanced through the messages. Silently, she figured which to present in what order to avoid the greatest amount of displeasure. She saw the urgent messages from the senator and slipped them to the bottom of the pile. She knew how to warm him up with pleasant effects L absolutely nothing with OurgentP on it. With the messages ordered and the milk in her other hand, she returned to the master bedroom and set herself for the wake-up routine. Sitting quietly beside him, she slid her hand under the covers and down to his
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scrawny groin.
scrawny groin. She took hold of his shrivelled penis, wondering, the way she always did, if this was the day it didnPt re- spond L the day it just lay there, dead, like him. No. Today as always it twitched the negative to her unspoken wish. It was where he always woke — 122 — up first, in his balls. Often he told her how it kept him alive. And if his genitals were any indication, she figured he was going to live forever L except for the fact her and Antonio had other plans, and were only willing to wait so long for natural causes to solve their little problem. He moaned and coughed as she
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gripped him softly, squeezing
gripped him softly, squeezing gently, just the way he liked it. Everything she did was just the way Luis Estaphan liked it. The tiny little figure squirmed in his bed, like a child being touched for the first time, feeling the pleasure and thinking he was dreaming. It didnPt take her long to get him off. She knew how to get it over with without appear- ing to do so. Each man had his preference. She called him baby, whispered to him to be a good lit- tle boy, to give it to mommy. It made him come, a small jerky ejaculation, like a little phlegm on her hand. He moaned quietly and curled back up into a tiny ball. It
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was over.
was over. She kissed his baldhead while she wiped her hand into a tissue. She waited a minute before rolling him over gently, still pretending to be his mother. He kept his eyes closed as she propped a pillow behind him and started feeding him the warm milk, slowly. MMessages?N The voice was very tiny, his eyes still closed as he spoke. Lorraine fed him one tinier sip before picking the messages from the table. MThere are three of them today, Luis.N She kept her voice at exactly the right early morning pitch. MThe first from London.N She paused to let — 123 — the focus settle in,
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gleaming river, marshes
gleaming river, marshes gay with innumerable flowering plants, wide sheets of water bordered with swaying reeds, yachts or wherries, boats, fish, fowl, and rare birds and plants, and exquisite little bits to paint and sketch–these are the elements out of which a pleasant holiday may be made. I wrote these lines whilst at anchor on Salhouse Little Broad. The evening was most still and placid, and the boat lay motionless among the lily leaves which covered the water around. The white lilies had so closed their petals that but the faintest morsels of white peeped out; but the yellow, which were most numerous, did not close so completely, and the dark interspaces of water were thickly starred with the golden globes. Beyond the lily leaves was a belt of tall reeds, swayed only by the birds which have their home among i want my ex back

them. The yellow iris
them. The yellow iris flowers made the narrow neck of marsh ablaze with colour. Bounding the view was a cordon of trees; on the one side a wooded bank; on the other, but out of sight, the river. A rustic boathouse nestled amid the trees, white swans lighted up the dark shades, moorhens led their broods across the pool; the western clouds were edged with sunset glories, and the reflections in the water were as perfect as the things they copy. But though there was absolute calm, the lily leaves were not still, but moved tremulously, and sent ripples on either side. Looking closely, you saw that the leaves were covered with small insects, and the small roach were busily plucking them off the under side. You could hear the little snap or suck the fishes made, and once you caught the
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sound you found
sound you found the air was full of these snaps, and a most weird effect the sound gave. The roach crowded eagerly round to eat the crumbs that I threw them. So fearless were they, that when I put my hand into the water and held it quite still for a while, they came and snapped at my fingers, and funny little tickling scrapes they gave. I actually succeeded in grasping one or two of the boldest. A piece of paper, which had been crumpled up and thrown on the water, was being urged to and fro by the hungry little fish, who tried to find it eatable, and tugged at it bravely. The clouds darkened. I went into my cabin as a squall of wind and rain came on. The thunder grew louder and louder, and there, alone, with the
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apothecary was followed
apothecary was followed by a young boy weighed down with various satchels and bags of medical paraphernalia. Thomas asked Lambe, \ Did you see Gaspard?\ \ I did, Captain, and I m not sure I believe it.\ Lambe adjusted the cap on his balding head. Apothecaries prepared the herbal remedies used by sorcerer-healers, and many, like Lambe, also made good physicians, even without any sorcerous skill. Healers learned in magic were in short supply everywhere but in Lodun, where the university drew them by the dozens. \ What do you mean?\ \ The burns are scarred over already.\ He shrugged. \ I knew Galen Dubell had a reputation for healing-sorcery, but what did the man do?\ \ Whatever it was, he did it quickly. He used some things
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Braun had.\ \
Braun had.\ \ Dr. Braun s not so bad.\ Lambe caught Thomas s expression and added, \ He s not a steady sort, I ll give you that, Sir, but he has the makings of a fine practitioner in him. But this work of Dr. Dubell s… It would be an honor to hand the man bandages.\ Thomas watched Lambe go, thoughtfully, then turned into the small second-floor council room where Lucas waited for him. The dingy walls were hung with old maps and a few tattered remnants of flags, some of which were trophies from the last war, while others were more recent acquisitions from the Cisternan Guard, who would undoubtedly give a great deal to learn where they were. In the glass-fronted bookpress were classical treatises on warfare, manuals of
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drilling, musketry, fencing,
drilling, musketry, fencing, and tactics, The Compleat Body of the Art Military and Directions For Musters. Lucas, the First Lieutenant of the Queen s Guard, was leaning back in a chair, nursing a tankard, his boots propped up on the heavy plank table beside a wine bottle and another tankard. Gambin was standing in the corner in an attitude that suggested he wanted to be as far away from Lucas as possible, and his long face was sullen. Gambin was a spy as well, but without Ephraim s sense of professional integrity. He worked most often for the lesser lords of the court, and this was the first time Thomas had considered him anything more than a minor irritant. He was dressed in a red and gold slashed doublet, the peacock finery of a court hanger-on that was particularly hateful to
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the eyes after
the eyes after a hard night and little sleep. Gambin said, \ I ve business elsewhere, Captain, if you don t mind.\ The bravado in his voice was Chapter Three unconvincing. Lucas raised an eyebrow. Thomas glanced at the lieutenant as he set his rapier down. Ignoring Gambin, he poured wine into the other tankard, tasted it, and winced in disgust. He said to Lucas, \ Adijan 22? Are you mad?\ Lucas shrugged. \ It wakes me up.\ 27 \ It wakes the dead.\ Thomas dropped into a chair and looked at the spy. He waited until Gambin s pale eyes shifted away from his, then said, \ Someone gave you a package.\
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the death against my
the death against my enrolment; an hospital nurse, like the Quaker-love, would suit me better; such rations as a man gets on the field.\ \ I know for a fact,\ said Dale; \ that recruiting during the present year in England, has been far below the average of the last few years.\ \ Indeed! I was not aware,\ said Buckingham. \ By the way, Smyth,\ said Tremaine, \ have you seen, what do you call him, Henry Thompson, in his defence or answer to his critics?\ \ I have, and he was able for them every time.\ \ Are you speaking of the journalist who went to jail in the interests of the Globe?\ asked Dale. \ Yes.\
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\ His defence
\ His defence was capital, I thought,\ said Dale, \ and I especially liked the way he stands up for his craft. There is no class of men, he says bravely, in existence, animated by more humane motives than working newspaper men. \ \ I also read his reply with pleasure,\ said Mrs. Gower, \ and reading it, thought what a clever and original fellow he must be.\ \ Talmage and Silcox have been lauding the power of the press to the skies,\ said Smyth; \ they made me wish I surveyed the earth from an editor s chair, rather than from a tree I climbed to escape York mud.\ \ Have you heard how the Grand is going to cater to our dramatic
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taste this coming
taste this coming season, Mr. Buckingham?\ asked Mrs. Gower. \ Just a whisper, Mrs. Gower, as to Emma Juch, Langtry and Siddons.\ \ Yes; so far so good. Have you heard that the rail makes no special rates for travelling companies?\ \ I have; so you may expect that those who will pay the high toll, will be those of the highest standard.\ \ Then I suppose (though it seems selfish) we should be content with the rail rates as they are.\ \ You will enjoy the debates, Dale,\ said Smyth, \ in the Local House during the session; Meredith is just the man to lead our party.\ \ But I am not sure that it is our party, Smyth; I scarcely know
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how I should
how I should vote here; if Meredith is right, why doesn t he prove to Ontario that Mowat has held the reins too long?\ \ So he will before next election,\ replied Smyth, with a satisfied air. \ Don t be too sure, Mr. Smyth, eloquent though he be,\ said his hostess; \ while that clever Demosthenes of his party, Hon. C. F. Frazer, says him nay.\ CHAPTER V. 50 \ Do you meditate a long stay, Buckingham, in this the white-washed city of the Dominion?\ asked Tremaine. \ Yes, off and on all winter; you know I intend to purchase some of your mineral lands, since you allow them to lie undeveloped,\ he added,
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jestingly. \ You see,
jestingly. \ You see, Capt. Tremaine,\ said Mrs. Gower, merrily, \ the American Eagle done in silver is not as yet plenty with us.\ \ Don t despair, Tremaine, Commercial Union is looming up,\ said Buckingham. \ Treason! treason!\ laughed Tremaine, \ for we know what it would father.\ \ Hear, hear,\ cried Smyth. \ Oh, I don t know,\ laughed Mrs. Gower, \ they say it is the Main-e idea for settling; here s a pretty mess! here s a pretty mess–of fish!\ \ We can wait,\ said Buckingham, quietly, \ evolution will bring about the Maine idea, with you also.\ \ Did you say you are going to Maine, Mr. Buckingham, we cannot do without
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you now,\
you now,\ said pretty Mrs. St. Clair, caressingly. \ Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair, I do not go; but even if so, you would, I fear, miss me less than your latest fad in the pet quadruped.\ \ How severe you are, Mr. Buckingham. Are all New York men so, Mrs. Dale?\ She sighed, having a penchant for him. \ It s annexation, Mrs. St. Clair,\ said Mrs. Dale, mischievously. \ Annexation! is Mr. Buckingham going to be married?\ \ I believe so.\ At this juncture Master Noah St. Clair, who had come instead of his father, was interested in other than his plate, while his mother said reproachfully: \ It cannot be true, Mr. Buckingham.\ \ Mrs.
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I saw now
I saw now that her gaze was bent too low for this. She appeared to be engaged in a calculation of some sort, and she raised a lorgnette to assist her in counting the tables. The cashier passed behind her unseen and vanished. I heard the newcomer reciting:– \ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven;\ and at seven her eyes rested upon me with a look that mingled surprise and annoyance. She took a step toward me, and I started to rise, but she said quickly:– \ I beg your pardon, but this seems to be the seventh table.\ [Illustration: \ I beg your pardon, but this seems to be the seventh table.\ ] \ Now that you call my attention to it,\ I remarked, gaining my feet, \ I
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am bound to
am bound to concede the point. If by any chance I am intruding\ — \ Not in the least. On the other hand I beg that you remain where you are;\ and without further ado she sank into a chair opposite my own. I tinkled a tiny crystal bell that was among the table-furnishings, and a waitress appeared and handed the lady who had thus introduced herself to my acquaintance a copy of the tiny card on which the articles of refreshment offered by the Asolando were indicated within a border of hand-painted field daisies. \ Never mind that,\ said the lady in gray, ignoring the card. \ You may bring me a caviare sandwich and a cocktail,–a pink one–providing,–providing,\ –and she held the waitress with her eye,–\ you have the imported caviare
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and your bar-keeper
and your bar-keeper knows the proper frappe of the spirit-lifter I have named.\ \ Pardon me, madam,\ replied the waitress icily, \ but you have mistaken the place. The Asolando serves nothing stronger than the pure water of its own fount of Castalia; intoxicants are not permitted here.\ \ Intoxicants!\ repeated the old lady with asperity. \ Do I look like a person given to intoxication? I dare say your Castalia water is nothing but Croton whose flavor has been destroyed by distillation. You may bring me the sandwich I have mentioned and with it a pot of tea. Yes, thank you; lemon with the tea.\ As the girl vanished with the light tread that marked the service of the place, I again made as to rise, but the old lady lifted
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her hand with
her hand with a delaying gesture. \ Pray remain. It is not unlikely that we have friends and ideas in common, and as you were seated at the seventh table it is possible that some ordering of fate has brought us together.\ She took from me, in the hand which she had now ungloved, the copy of my minor poet, glanced at it scornfully, and tossed it upon the floor with every mark of disdain. \ What species of mental disorder does this place represent?\ she demanded. \ It is sacred to the fine arts, apparently; an endowed tea-room, where persons of artistic ideals may come to 10 refresh body and soul. Such at least seems
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to be the
to be the programme. This is only my second visit, but I have long heard it spoken of by artists, poets, and others of my friends.\ \ I am sixty-two years old, young man, and I beg to inform you that I consider the Asolando the most preposterous thing I have ever heard of in this most preposterous city. And from a casual glimpse of you I feel justified in saying that a man in your apparent physical health might be in better business than frequenting, in mid-afternoon, a shop that seems to be a remarkably stupid expression of twentieth-century anaemia.\ \ Attendance here is not compulsory,\ I remarked defensively. \ If you imply that I must have sought the place voluntarily, let me correct your false impression immediately. I dropped in here
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than just the
than just the manifestation of our “sense-world.” It involves the normally unperceived reality of forces which establish the phenomena that shape our reality, but which we are never aware of. – Ánsur’s objective as the Primary Rune in the Sphere of Creative Awareness is to express the electro-tonal energy-identity within a manifested form, in order that it may begin to gain experience in the material worlds of dualism. This is the higher aspect of the self, which our Norse ancestors called the Hamingja. We, as a physical consciousness, of course, are made up of material from the Mental, Causal, Astral, and Physical Planes of Existence. Each cell, of which our bodies are comprised, contains a particle of electro-tonal energy-identity; but if our Hamingja were to depart, and break all connections, all the cells (the body), as well as the physical consciousness
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would die. Ánsur, as
would die. Ánsur, as a universal force, is our bridge to the “All.” Likewise, he is the source of adhesion for the subtle forces which allow formation of the elements. As such, he maintains the coalescence of existence in general, quantific processes in particular, and ultimately the expansive thought we call “creative energy,” “creative awareness,” or “consciousness.” Without this source of adhesion and the resulting coalescence, dichotomies would fragment quantific structures before they could coalesce into patterns of thought, causation, and elemental force. There would be no creative awareness. Therefore, even the phenomenon of gravity owes its manifestation to the Rune Ánsur, ultimately. Allow me to diverge for a moment, because gravity is part of creation, and must therefore, be discussed. It is one of those forces in operation which cannot be called by a Rune-name, or even attributed to just
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one Rune.
one Rune. I’ll begin this discussion with a few definitions: Induction – 2. [The process of electrical attraction] electric induction, magnetic induction, see electro-magnetic action. Magnetism – A physical phenomenon produced by the motion of electric charge, which results in attractive and repulsive forces between objects. Morphogenetic Field – The electromagnetic field encompassing planetary bodies, which is responsible for all evolutionary, energetic and elemental processes and forces. Magnetic Field – A region around a magnetic material, or a moving electric charge within which the force of magnetism acts. Morphogenetic fields fall into this category. Harmonic – of or relating to musical harmony or harmonics Integument – A natural outer covering, such as the skin, or seed coat These dimensions (13-15) constitute the 5th Harmonic Universe, known as the spiritual planes. In this realm, energy-identities acquire soul
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bodies on their
bodies on their way to the material worlds of dualism, in order to gain experience. This is the anti-matter region of the universe, where elemental forces such as gravity do not function as they do in the material worlds. Within morphogenetic fields, we have the magnetic induction of opposite spinning charges. Therefore, when the moment of being changes at the speed of light, the resulting power surge causes a synthesis of particum and partika (Sound and Light), which creates its own electromagnetic pulse, thus producing magnetism. This is an electrical attraction which occurs with the magnetic induction of opposite spinning charges naturally inherent within morphogenetic fields. For this reason, gravity is specific to planetary spheres, where magnetic induction is occurring. Therefore, it is accurate to say that gravity is synonymous with electric energy. It is also cyclic in nature, since it occurs with each E.M.
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dust bins are,
dust bins are, unfortunately, home 4 products. Of course, I hear of all offences that are committed, and by some people I am actually saddled with the responsibility of any breach of good manners on the part of the public, because I am supposed to have brought the latter to the Broads. I therefore beg the large unknown public (of whose friendliness to me as an author I have had so many proofs), when they visit the Broads, not to allow the exhilaration of an enjoyable holiday to interfere with a due propriety of behaviour. The hitherto unwritten rules of the Rivers and Broads are these:– Do not, in the neighbourhood of other yachts or houses, indulge in songs and revelry after eleven p.m., even at regatta times.
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Bathe only before
Bathe only before eight o clock in the morning, if in sight of other vessels or moored in a frequented part of the river. Ladies are not expected to turn out before eight, but after that time they are entitled to be free from any annoyance. Young men who lounge in a nude state on boats while ladies are passing (and I have known Norwich youths to do this) may be saluted with dust shot, or the end of a quant. Adhere strictly to the rule of the road when boating, according to the instructions contained in a subsequent , and when angling, moor out of the way of sailing craft, as afterwards explained. Do not throw straw or paper overboard to float to leeward and become offensive; but burn, or take care to sink all rubbish.
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Do not light
Do not light fires, place stoves, or throw refuse on the banks in the path of others, whose yachts may be moored to the same bank. Steam launches must not run at full speed past yachts moored to the bank, particularly when the occupants of the latter have things spread out for a meal. Don t take guns on board unless you have leave to shoot on somebody s land. Remember that sound travels a long way on the water, and do not criticise the people you may encounter with too loud a voice. Don t go on a friend s yacht with nailed shoes (the commodore of a Thames sailing club once came on board mine in cricket shoes armed with spikes). Don t knock the ashes out of your pipe into
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3 I
3 I am again in my quiet Danish home, but my thoughts are daily in dear England, where, a few months ago, my many friends transformed for me reality into a charming story. Whilst occupied with a greater work, there sprung forth–as the flowers spring forth in the forest–seven short stories.* I feel a desire, a longing, to transplant in England the first produce of my poetic garden, as a Christmas greeting: and I send it to you, my dear, noble, Charles Dickens, who by your works had been previously dear to me, and since our meeting have taken root for ever in my heart. Your hand was the last that pressed mine on England s coast: it was you who
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from her shores
from her shores wafted me the last farewell. It is therefore natural that I should send to you, from Denmark, my first greeting again, as sincerely as an affectionate heart can convey it. ———— THE OLD HOUSE. 4 In the street, up there, was an old, a very old house,–it was almost three hundred years old, for that might be 5 known by reading the great beam on which the date of the year was carved: together with tulips and hop-binds there were whole verses spelled as in former times, and over every window was a distorted face cut out in the beam. The one story stood forward a great way over the other; and directly under th
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eaves was a
eaves was a leaden spout with a dragon s head; the rain-water should have run out of the mouth, but it ran out of the belly, for there was a hole in the spout. All the other houses in the street were so new and so neat, with large window-panes and smooth walls, one could easily see that they would have nothing to do with the old house: they certainly thought, \ How long is that old decayed thing to stand here as a spectacle in the street? And then the protecting windows stand so far out, that no one can see from our windows what happens in that direction! The steps are as broad as those of a palace, and as high as to a church tower. The iron railings look just like the door to an old family vault,
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and then they have
and then they have brass tops,–that s so stupid!\ On the other side of the street were also new and neat houses, and they thought just as the others did; but at the window opposite the old house there sat a little boy with fresh rosy cheeks and bright beaming eyes: he certainly liked the old house best, and that both in sunshine and moonshine. And when he looked across at the wall where the mortar had fallen out, he could sit and find out there the strangest figures imaginable; exactly as the street had appeared before, with steps, projecting windows, and pointed gables; he could see soldiers with halberds, and spouts where the water ran, like dragons and serpents. That was a house to look at; and there lived an old man, who wore plush breeches; and he
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enough—- Stewart started from
enough—- Stewart started from his reverie to find the waiter putting out the lights. Shivering as with a sudden chill, he hastily sought his room. CHAPTER II CHAPTER II THE FIRST RUMBLINGS 11 As Stewart ate his breakfast next morning, he smiled at his absurd fears of the night before. In the clear light of day, Bloem s talk of war seemed mere foolishness. War! Nonsense! Europe would never be guilty of such folly–a deliberate plunge to ruin. Besides, there were no evidences of war; the life of the city was moving in its accustomed round, so far as Stewart could see; and there was vast reassurance in the quiet and orderly service of the breakfast-room. No
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doubt the Powers
doubt the Powers had bethought themselves, had interfered, had stopped the war between Austria and Servia, had ceased mobilization–in a word, had saved Europe from an explosion which would have shaken her from end to end. But when Stewart asked for his bill, the proprietor, instead of intrusting it as usual to the headwaiter, presented it in person. \ If Herr Stewart would pay in gold, it would be a great favor,\ he said. Like all Americans, Stewart, unaccustomed to gold and finding its weight burdensome, carried banknotes whenever it was possible to do so. Emptying his pockets now, he found, besides a miscellaneous lot of silver and nickel and copper, a single small gold coin, value ten marks. \ But I have plenty of paper,\ he said, and, producing
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his pocket-book, spread
his pocket-book, spread five notes for a hundred marks each before him on the table. \ What s the matter with it?\ \ There is nothing at all the matter with it, sir,\ the little fat German hastened to assure him; \ only, just at present, there is a preference for gold. I would advise that you get gold for these notes, if possible.\ \ I have a Cook s letter of credit,\ said Stewart. \ They would give me gold. Where is Cook s office here?\ \ It is but a step up the street, sir,\ answered the other eagerly. \ Come, I will show you,\ and, hastening to the door, he pointed out the office at the end of a row of buildings jutting out toward the cathedral.
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