and sullenly asked his wife what she was talking about. 831 \ Ah, Nikita Ivanych!\ cried Nicholas, rising politely, and as if wishing Nikita Ivanych to share his joke, he began to tell him of his intention to elope with a blonde lady. The husband smiled gloomily, the wife gaily. The governor s good-natured wife came up with a look of disapproval. \ Anna Ignatyevna wants to see you, Nicholas,\ said she, pronouncing the name so that Nicholas at once understood that Anna Ignatyevna was a very important person. \ Come, Nicholas! You know you let me call you so?\ \ Oh, yes, Aunt. Who is she?\ \ Anna Ignatyevna Malvintseva. She has heard from her niece how you rescued
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her… Can you guess?\ \ I rescued such a lot of them!\ said Nicholas. \ Her niece, Princess Bolkonskaya. She is here in Voronezh with her aunt. Oho! How you blush. Why, are…?\ \ Not a bit! Please don t, Aunt!\ \ Very well, very well!… Oh, what a fellow you are!\ The governor s wife led him up to a tall and very stout old lady with a blue headdress, who had just finished her game of cards with the most important personages of the town. This was Malvintseva, Princess Mary s aunt on her mother s side, a rich, childless widow who always lived in Voronezh. When Rostov approached her she was standing settling up for the game. She looked at him and, screwing up
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her eyes sternly, continued to upbraid the general who had won from her. \ Very pleased, mon cher,\ she then said, holding out her hand to Nicholas. \ Pray come and see me.\ After a few words about Princess Mary and her late father, whom Malvintseva had evidently not liked, and having asked what Nicholas knew of Prince Andrew, who also was evidently no favorite of hers, the important old lady dismissed Nicholas after repeating her invitation to come to see her. Nicholas promised to come and blushed again as he bowed. At the mention of Princess Mary he experienced a feeling of shyness and even of fear, which he himself did not understand. CHAPTER V 832 When
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he had parted from Malvintseva Nicholas wished to return to the dancing, but the governor s little wife placed her plump hand on his sleeve and, saying that she wanted to have a talk with him, led him to her sitting room, from which those who were there immediately withdrew so as not to be in her way. \ Do you know, dear boy,\ began the governor s wife with a serious expression on her kind little face, \ that really would be the match for you: would you like me to arrange it?\ \ Whom do you mean, Aunt?\ asked Nicholas. \ I will make a match for you with the princess. Catherine Petrovna speaks of Lily, but I say, no–the princess! Do you want me to do it? I am sure your
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mother will be grateful to me. What a charming girl she is, really! And she is not at all so plain, either.\ \ Not at all,\ replied Nicholas as if offended at the idea. \ As befits a soldier, Aunt, I don t force myself on anyone or refuse anything,\ he said before he had time to consider what he was saying. \ Well then, remember, this is not a joke!\ \ Of course not!\ \ Yes, yes,\ the governor s wife said as if talking to herself. \ But, my dear boy, among other things you are too attentive to the other, the blonde. One is sorry for the husband, really….\ \ Oh no, we are good friends with him,\ said Nicholas in
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the simplicity of his heart; it did not enter his head that a pastime so pleasant to himself might not be pleasant to someone else. \ But what nonsense I have been saying to the governor s wife!\ thought Nicholas suddenly at supper. \ She will really begin to arrange a match… and Soyna…?\ And on taking leave of the governor s wife, when she again smilingly said to him, \ Well then, remember!\ he drew her aside. \ But see here, to tell the truth, Aunt…\ \ What is it, my dear? Come, let s sit down here,\ said she. Nicholas suddenly felt a desire and need to tell his most intimate thoughts (which he would not have told to his mother, his sister, or his friend) to
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this woman who was almost a stranger. When he afterwards recalled that impulse to unsolicited and inexplicable frankness which had very important results for him, it seemed to him–as it seems to everyone in such cases–that it was merely some silly whim that seized him: yet that burst of frankness, together with other trifling events, had immense consequences for him and for all his family. \ You see, Aunt, Mamma has long wanted me to marry an heiress, but the very idea of marrying for money is repugnant to me.\ \ Oh yes, I understand,\ said the governor s wife. \ But Princess Bolkonskaya–that s another matter. I will tell you the truth. In the first place I like her very much, I feel drawn to her; and then, after I met her under
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such circumstances–so strangely, the idea often occurred to me: This is fate. Especially if you remember that Mamma had long been thinking of it; but I had never happened to meet her before, somehow it had always happened that we did not meet. And as long as my sister Natasha was engaged to her brother it was of course out of the question for me to think of marrying her. And it must needs happen that I should meet her just when Natasha s engagement had been broken off… and then everything… So you see… I never told this to anyone and never will, only to you.\ CHAPTER V The governor s wife pressed his elbow gratefully. 833 \ You know Sonya,
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my cousin? I love her, and promised to marry her, and will do so…. So you see there can be no question about-\ said Nicholas incoherently and blushing. \ My dear boy, what a way to look at it! You know Sonya has nothing and you yourself say your Papa s affairs are in a very bad way. And what about your mother? It would kill her, that s one thing. And what sort of life would it be for Sonya–if she s a girl with a heart? Your mother in despair, and you all ruined…. No, my dear, you and Sonya ought to understand that.\ Nicholas remained silent. It comforted him to hear these arguments. \ All the same, Aunt, it is impossible,\ he rejoined with a sigh, after a short pause. \
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Besides, would the princess have me? And besides, she is now in mourning. How can one think of it!\ \ But you don t suppose I m going to get you married at once? There is always a right way of doing things,\ replied the governor s wife. \ What a matchmaker you are, Aunt…\ said Nicholas, kissing her plump little hand. CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VI On reaching Moscow after her meeting with Rostov, Princess Mary had found her nephew there with his tutor, and a letter from Prince Andrew giving her instructions how to get to her Aunt Malvintseva at 834 Voronezh. That feeling akin to temptation which had tormented her during her father s illness,
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since his death, and especially since her meeting with Rostov was smothered by arrangements for the journey, anxiety about her brother, settling in a new house, meeting new people, and attending to her nephew s education. She was sad. Now, after a month passed in quiet surroundings, she felt more and more deeply the loss of her father which was associated in her mind with the ruin of Russia. She was agitated and incessantly tortured by the thought of the dangers to which her brother, the only intimate person now remaining to her, was exposed. She was worried too about her nephew s education for which she had always felt herself incompetent, but in the depths of her soul she felt at peace–a peace arising from consciousness of having stifled those personal dreams and hopes that had been on the point of
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coats. \ He should pay folks off properly,\ a thin workingman, with frowning brows and a straggly beard, was saying. \ But he s sucked our blood and now he thinks he s quit of us. He s been misleading us all the week and now that he s brought us to this pass he s made off.\ On seeing the crowd and the bloodstained man the workman ceased speaking, and with eager curiosity all the bootmakers joined the moving crowd. \ Where are all the folks going?\ \ Why, to the police, of course!\ \ I say, is it true that we have been beaten?\ \ And what did you think? Look what folks are saying.\ Questions and answers
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were heard. The publican, taking advantage of the increased crowd, dropped behind and returned to his tavern. The tall youth, not noticing the disappearance of his foe, waved his bare arm and went on talking incessantly, attracting general attention to himself. It was around him that the people chiefly crowded, expecting answers from him to the questions that occupied all their minds. \ He must keep order, keep the law, that s what the government is there for. Am I not right, good Christians?\ said the tall youth, with a scarcely perceptible smile. \ He thinks there s no government! How can one do without government? Or else there would be plenty who d rob us.\ \ Why talk nonsense?\ rejoined voices in the crowd. \ Will they give up Moscow like this?
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They told you that for fun, and you believed it! Aren t there plenty of troops on the march? Let him in, indeed! That s what the government is for. You d better listen to what people are saying,\ said some of the mob pointing to the tall youth. By the wall of China-Town a smaller group of people were gathered round a man in a frieze coat who held a paper in his hand. \ An ukase, they are reading an ukase! Reading an ukase!\ cried voices in the crowd, and the people rushed toward the reader. The man in the frieze coat was reading the broadsheet of August 31 When the crowd collected round him he seemed confused, but at the demand of the tall lad who had pushed his way
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up to him, he began in a rather CHAPTER XXIII tremulous voice to read the sheet from the beginning. \ Early tomorrow I shall go to his Serene Highness,\ he read (\ Sirin Highness,\ said the tall fellow with a triumphant smile on his lips and a frown on his brow), \ to consult with him to act, and to aid the army to exterminate these scoundrels. We too will take part…\ the reader went on, and then paused (\ Do you see,\ 780 shouted the youth victoriously, \ he s going to clear up the whole affair for you….\ ), \ in destroying them, and will send these visitors to the devil. I will come back to dinner, and we ll
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set to work. We will do, completely do, and undo these scoundrels.\ The last words were read out in the midst of complete silence. The tall lad hung his head gloomily. It was evident that no one had understood the last part. In particular, the words \ I will come back to dinner,\ evidently displeased both reader and audience. The people s minds were tuned to a high pitch and this was too simple and needlessly comprehensible–it was what any one of them might have said and therefore was what an ukase emanating from the highest authority should not say. They all stood despondent and silent. The tall youth moved his lips and swayed from side to side. \ We should ask him… that s he himself?\ … \ Yes, ask him indeed!… Why
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not? He ll explain\ … voices in the rear of the crowd were suddenly heard saying, and the general attention turned to the police superintendent s trap which drove into the square attended by two mounted dragoons. The superintendent of police, who had that morning by Count Rostopchin s orders to burn the barges and had in connection with that matter acquired a large sum of money which was at that moment in his pocket, on seeing a crowd bearing down upon him told his coachman to stop. \ What people are these?\ he shouted to the men, who were moving singly and timidly in the direction of his trap. \ What people are these?\ he shouted again, receiving no answer. \ Your honor…\ replied the shopman in the frieze
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coat, \ your honor, in accord with the proclamation of his highest excellency the count, they desire to serve, not sparing their lives, and it is not any kind of riot, but as his highest excellence said…\ \ The count has not left, he is here, and an order will be issued concerning you,\ said the superintendent of police. \ Go on!\ he ordered his coachman. The crowd halted, pressing around those who had heard what the superintendent had said, and looking at the departing trap. The superintendent of police turned round at that moment with a scared look, said something to his coachman, and his horses increased their speed. \ It s a fraud, lads! Lead the way to him, himself!\ shouted the tall youth. \ Don t
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let him go, lads! Let him answer us! Keep him!\ shouted different people and the people dashed in pursuit of the trap. Following the superintendent of police and talking loudly the crowd went in the direction of the Lubyanka Street. \ There now, the gentry and merchants have gone away and left us to perish. Do they think we re dogs?\ voices in the crowd were heard saying more and more frequently. CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XXIV 781 On the evening of the first of September, after his interview with Kutuzov, Count Rostopchin had returned to Moscow mortified and offended because he had not been invited to attend the council of war, and because Kutuzov had paid no
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attention to his offer to take part in the defense of the city; amazed also at the novel outlook revealed to him at the camp, which treated the tranquillity of the capital and its patriotic fervor as not merely secondary but quite irrelevant and unimportant matters. Distressed, offended, and surprised by all this, Rostopchin had returned to Moscow. After supper he lay down on a sofa without undressing, and was awakened soon after midnight by a courier bringing him a letter from Kutuzov. This letter requested the count to send police officers to guide the troops through the town, as the army was retreating to the Ryazan road beyond Moscow. This was not news to Rostopchin. He had known that Moscow would be abandoned not merely since his interview the previous day with Kutuzov on the Poklonny Hill but ever since the battle
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of Borodino, for all the generals who came to Moscow after that battle had said unanimously that it was impossible to fight another battle, and since then the government property had been removed every night, and half the inhabitants had left the city with Rostopchin s own permission. Yet all the same this information astonished and irritated the count, coming as it did in the form of a simple note with an order from Kutuzov, and received at night, breaking in on his beauty sleep. When later on in his memoirs Count Rostopchin explained his actions at this time, he repeatedly says that he was then actuated by two important considerations: to maintain tranquillity in Moscow and expedite the departure of the inhabitants. If one accepts this twofold aim all Rostopchin s actions appear irreproachable. \ Why were the
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holy relics, the arms, ammunition, gunpowder, and stores of corn not removed? Why were thousands of inhabitants deceived into believing that Moscow would not be given up–and thereby ruined?\ \ To presence the tranquillity of the city,\ explains Count Rostopchin. \ Why were bundles of useless papers from the government offices, and Leppich s balloon and other articles removed?\ \ To leave the town empty,\ explains Count Rostopchin. One need only admit that public tranquillity is in danger and any action finds a justification. All the horrors of the reign of terror were based only on solicitude for public tranquillity. On what, then, was Count Rostopchin s fear for the tranquillity of Moscow based in 1812? What reason was there for assuming any probability of an uprising in the city? The inhabitants were leaving
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it and the retreating troops were filling it. Why should that cause the masses to riot? Neither in Moscow nor anywhere in Russia did anything resembling an insurrection ever occur when the enemy entered a town. More than ten thousand people were still in Moscow on the first and second of September, and except for a mob in the governor s courtyard, assembled there at his bidding, nothing happened. It is obvious that there would have been even less reason to expect a disturbance among the people if after the battle of Borodino, when the surrender of Moscow became certain or at least probable, Rostopchin instead of exciting the people by distributing arms and broadsheets had taken steps to remove all the holy relics, the gunpowder, munitions, and money, and had told the population plainly that the town would be
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abandoned. Rostopchin, though he had patriotic sentiments, was a sanguine and impulsive man who had always moved in the highest administrative circles and had no understanding at all of the people he supposed himself to be guiding. Ever since the enemy s entry into Smolensk he had in imagination been playing the role of director of the popular feeling of \ the heart of Russia.\ Not only did it seem to him (as to all administrators) that he controlled the external actions of Moscow s inhabitants, but he also thought he controlled their mental attitude by means of his broadsheets and posters, written in a coarse tone which the people despise in their own class and do not understand from those in authority. Rostopchin was so pleased with the fine role of leader of popular feeling, and had
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grown so used to it, that the necessity of relinquishing that role and abandoning Moscow without any heroic display took him unawares and he suddenly felt the ground slip away from under CHAPTER XXIV 782 his feet, so that he positively did not know what to do. Though he knew it was coming, he did not till the last moment wholeheartedly believe that Moscow would be abandoned, and did not prepare for it. The inhabitants left against his wishes. If the government offices were removed, this was only done on the demand of officials to whom the count yielded reluctantly. He was absorbed in the role he had created for himself. As is often the case with those gifted with an ardent imagination, though he had long known
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that Moscow would be abandoned he knew it only with his intellect, he did not believe it in his heart and did not adapt himself mentally to this new position of affairs. All his painstaking and energetic activity (in how far it was useful and had any effect on the people is another question) had been simply directed toward arousing in the masses his own feeling of patriotic hatred of the French. But when events assumed their true historical character, when expressing hatred for the French in words proved insufficient, when it was not even possible to express that hatred by fighting a battle, when self-confidence was of no avail in relation to the one question before Moscow, when the whole population streamed out of Moscow as one man, abandoning their belongings and proving by that negative
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action all the depth of their national feeling, then the role chosen by Rostopchin suddenly appeared senseless. He unexpectedly felt himself ridiculous, weak, and alone, with no ground to stand on. When, awakened from his sleep, he received that cold, peremptory note from Kutuzov, he felt the more irritated the more he felt himself to blame. All that he had been specially put in charge of, the state property which he should have removed, was still in Moscow and it was no longer possible to take the whole of it away. \ Who is to blame for it? Who has let things come to such a pass?\ he ruminated. \ Not I, of course. I had everything ready. I had Moscow firmly in hand. And this is what they have let it come to! Villains! Traitors!\
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he thought, without clearly defining who the villains and traitors were, but feeling it necessary to hate those traitors whoever they might be who were to blame for the false and ridiculous position in which he found himself. All that night Count Rostopchin issued orders, for which people came to him from all parts of Moscow. Those about him had never seen the count so morose and irritable. \ Your excellency, the Director of the Registrar s Department has sent for instructions… From the Consistory, from the Senate, from the University, from the Foundling Hospital, the Suffragan has sent… asking for information…. What are your orders about the Fire Brigade? From the governor of the prison… from the superintendent of the lunatic asylum…\ All night long such announcements were continually being received by the count.
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To all these inquiries he gave brief and angry replies indicating that orders from him were not now needed, that the whole affair, carefully prepared by him, had now been ruined by somebody, and that that somebody would have to bear the whole responsibility for all that might happen. \ Oh, tell that blockhead,\ he said in reply to the question from the Registrar s Department, \ that he should remain to guard his documents. Now why are you asking silly questions about the Fire Brigade? They have horses, let them be off to Vladimir, and not leave them to the French.\ \ Your excellency, the superintendent of the lunatic asylum has come: what are your commands?\ \ My commands? Let them go away, that s all…. And let the lunatics
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out into the town. When lunatics command our armies God evidently means these other madmen to be free.\ CHAPTER XXIV In reply to an inquiry about the convicts in the prison, Count Rostopchin shouted angrily at the governor: 783 \ Do you expect me to give you two battalions–which we have not got- for a convoy? Release them, that s all about it!\ \ Your excellency, there are some political prisoners, Meshkov, Vereshchagin…\ \ Vereshchagin! Hasn t he been hanged yet?\ shouted Rostopchin. \ Bring him to me!\ CHAPTER XXV CHAPTER XXV 784 Toward nine o clock
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in the morning, when the troops were already moving through Moscow, nobody came to the count any more for instructions. Those who were able to get away were going of their own accord, those who remained behind decided for themselves what they must do. The count ordered his carriage that he might drive to Sokolniki, and sat in his study with folded hands, morose, sallow, and taciturn. In quiet and untroubled times it seems to every administrator that it is only by his efforts that the whole population under his rule is kept going, and in this consciousness of being indispensable every administrator finds the chief reward of his labor and efforts. While the sea of history remains calm the ruler-administrator in his frail bark, holding on with a boat hook to the ship of the people and
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himself moving, naturally imagines that his efforts move the ship he is holding on to. But as soon as a storm arises and the sea begins to heave and the ship to move, such a delusion is no longer possible. The ship moves independently with its own enormous motion, the boat hook no longer reaches the moving vessel, and suddenly the administrator, instead of appearing a ruler and a source of power, becomes an insignificant, useless, feeble man. Rostopchin felt this, and it was this which exasperated him. The superintendent of police, whom the crowd had stopped, went in to see him at the same time as an adjutant who informed the count that the horses were harnessed. They were both pale, and the superintendent of police, after reporting that he had executed the instructions he had received,
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informed the count that an immense crowd had collected in the courtyard and wished to see him. Without saying a word Rostopchin rose and walked hastily to his light, luxurious drawing room, went to the balcony door, took hold of the handle, let it go again, and went to the window from which he had a better view of the whole crowd. The tall lad was standing in front, flourishing his arm and saying something with a stern look. The blood stained smith stood beside him with a gloomy face. A drone of voices was audible through the closed window. \ Is my carriage ready?\ asked Rostopchin, stepping back from the window. \ It is, your excellency,\ replied the adjutant. Rostopchin went again to the balcony door. \
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But what do they want?\ he asked the superintendent of police. \ Your excellency, they say they have got ready, according to your orders, to go against the French, and they shouted something about treachery. But it is a turbulent crowd, your excellency–I hardly managed to get away from it. Your excellency, I venture to suggest…\ \ You may go. I don t need you to tell me what to do!\ exclaimed Rostopchin angrily. He stood by the balcony door looking at the crowd. \ This is what they have done with Russia! This is what they have done with me!\ thought he, full of an irrepressible fury that welled up within him against the someone to whom what was happening might be attributed. As often happens with passionate people,
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he was mastered by anger but was still seeking an object on which to vent it. \ Here is that mob, the dregs of the people,\ he thought as he gazed at the crowd: \ this rabble they have roused by their folly! They want a victim,\ he thought as he looked at the tall lad flourishing CHAPTER XXV 785 his arm. And this thought occurred to him just because he himself desired a victim, something on which to vent his rage. \ Is the carriage ready?\ he asked again. \ Yes, your excellency. What are your orders about Vereshchagin? He is waiting at the porch,\ said the adjutant. \ Ah!\ exclaimed Rostopchin, as if
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struck by an unexpected recollection. And rapidly opening the door he went resolutely out onto the balcony. The talking instantly ceased, hats and caps were doffed, and all eyes were raised to the count. \ Good morning, lads!\ said the count briskly and loudly. \ Thank you for coming. I ll come out to you in a moment, but we must first settle with the villain. We must punish the villain who has caused the ruin of Moscow. Wait for me!\ And the count stepped as briskly back into the room and slammed the door behind him. A murmur of approbation and satisfaction ran through the crowd. \ He ll settle with all the villains, you ll see! And you said the French… He ll show you what law is!\ the
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mob were saying as if reproving one another for their lack of confidence. A few minutes later an officer came hurriedly out of the front door, gave an order, and the dragoons formed up in line. The crowd moved eagerly from the balcony toward the porch. Rostopchin, coming out there with quick angry steps, looked hastily around as if seeking someone. \ Where is he?\ he inquired. And as he spoke he saw a young man coming round the corner of the house between two dragoons. He had a long thin neck, and his head, that had been half shaved, was again covered by short hair. This young man was dressed in a threadbare blue cloth coat lined with fox fur, that had once been smart, and dirty hempen convict trousers, over which were pulled his thin,
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dirty, trodden-down boots. On his thin, weak legs were heavy chains which hampered his irresolute movements. \ Ah!\ said Rostopchin, hurriedly turning away his eyes from the young man in the fur-lined coat and pointing to the bottom step of the porch. \ Put him there.\ The young man in his clattering chains stepped clumsily to the spot indicated, holding away with one finger the coat collar which chafed his neck, turned his long neck twice this way and that, sighed, and submissively folded before him his thin hands, unused to work. For several seconds while the young man was taking his place on the step the silence continued. Only among the back rows of the people, who were all pressing toward the one spot, could sighs, groans, and the shuffling of feet
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be heard. While waiting for the young man to take his place on the step Rostopchin stood frowning and rubbing his face with his hand. \ Lads!\ said he, with a metallic ring in his voice. \ This man, Vereshchagin, is the scoundrel by whose doing Moscow is perishing.\ The young man in the fur-lined coat, stooping a little, stood in a submissive attitude, his fingers clasped before him. His emaciated young face, disfigured by the half-shaven head, hung down hopelessly. At the count s first CHAPTER XXV 786 words he raised it slowly and looked up at him as if wishing to say something or at least to meet his eye. But Rostopchin did not look at
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him. A vein in the young man s long thin neck swelled like a cord and went blue behind the ear, and suddenly his face flushed. All eyes were fixed on him. He looked at the crowd, and rendered more hopeful by the expression he read on the faces there, he smiled sadly and timidly, and lowering his head shifted his feet on the step. \ He has betrayed his Tsar and his country, he had gone over to Bonaparte. He alone of all the Russians has disgraced the Russian name, he has caused Moscow to perish,\ said Rostopchin in a sharp, even voice, but suddenly he glanced down at Vereshchagin who continued to stand in the same submissive attitude. As if inflamed by the sight, he raised his arm and addressed the people, almost shouting:
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\ Deal with him as you think fit! I hand him over to you.\ The crowd remained silent and only pressed closer and closer to one another. To keep one another back, to breathe in that stifling atmosphere, to be unable to stir, and to await something unknown, uncomprehended, and terrible, was becoming unbearable. Those standing in front, who had seen and heard what had taken place before them, all stood with wide open eyes and mouths, straining with all their strength, and held back the crowd that was pushing behind them. \ Beat him!… Let the traitor perish and not disgrace the Russian name!\ shouted Rostopchin. \ Cut him down. I command it.\ Hearing not so much the words as the angry tone of Rostopchin s voice, the crowd moaned and
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heaved forward, but again paused. \ Count!\ exclaimed the timid yet theatrical voice of Vereshchagin in the midst of the momentary silence that ensued, \ Count! One God is above us both….\ He lifted his head and again the thick vein in his thin neck filled with blood and the color rapidly came and went in his face. He did not finish what he wished to say. \ Cut him down! I command it…\ shouted Rostopchin, suddenly growing pale like Vereshchagin. \ Draw sabers!\ cried the dragoon officer, drawing his own. Another still stronger wave flowed through the crowd and reaching the front ranks carried it swaying to the very steps of the porch. The tall youth, with a stony look on his face, and rigid and
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uplifted arm, stood beside Vereshchagin. \ Saber him!\ the dragoon officer almost whispered. And one of the soldiers, his face all at once distorted with fury, struck Vereshchagin on the head with the blunt side of his saber. \ Ah!\ cried Vereshchagin in meek surprise, looking round with a frightened glance as if not understanding why this was done to him. A similar moan of surprise and horror ran through the crowd. \ O Lord!\ exclaimed a sorrowful voice. But after the exclamation of surprise that had escaped from Vereshchagin he uttered a plaintive cry of pain, and that cry was fatal. The barrier of human feeling, strained to the utmost, that had held the crowd in check suddenly broke. The crime had begun and must now be completed.
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The plaintive moan of reproach was CHAPTER XXV 787 drowned by the threatening and angry roar of the crowd. Like the seventh and last wave that shatters a ship, that last irresistible wave burst from the rear and reached the front ranks, carrying them off their feet and engulfing them all. The dragoon was about to repeat his blow. Vereshchagin with a cry of horror, covering his head with his hands, rushed toward the crowd. The tall youth, against whom he stumbled, seized his thin neck with his hands and, yelling wildly, fell with him under the feet of the pressing, struggling crowd. Some beat and tore at Vereshchagin, others at the tall youth. And the screams of those that were being trampled on and
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of those who tried to rescue the tall lad only increased the fury of the crowd. It was a long time before the dragoons could extricate the bleeding youth, beaten almost to death. And for a long time, despite the feverish haste with which the mob tried to end the work that had been begun, those who were hitting, throttling, and tearing at Vereshchagin were unable to kill him, for the crowd pressed from all sides, swaying as one mass with them in the center and rendering it impossible for them either to kill him or let him go. \ Hit him with an ax, eh!… Crushed?… Traitor, he sold Christ…. Still alive… tenacious… serves him right! Torture serves a thief right. Use the hatchet!… What–still alive?\ Only when the victim ceased to struggle and his cries
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changed to a long-drawn, measured death rattle did the crowd around his prostrate, bleeding corpse begin rapidly to change places. Each one came up, glanced at what had been done, and with horror, reproach, and astonishment pushed back again. \ O Lord! The people are like wild beasts! How could he be alive?\ voices in the crowd could be heard saying. \ Quite a young fellow too… must have been a merchant s son. What men!… and they say he s not the right one…. How not the right one?… O Lord! And there s another has been beaten too–they say he s nearly done for…. Oh, the people… Aren t they afraid of sinning?…\ said the same mob now, looking with pained distress at the dead body with its long, thin, half-severed neck and its livid face stained
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with blood and dust. A painstaking police officer, considering the presence of a corpse in his excellency s courtyard unseemly, told the dragoons to take it away. Two dragoons took it by its distorted legs and dragged it along the ground. The gory, dust-stained, half-shaven head with its long neck trailed twisting along the ground. The crowd shrank back from it. At the moment when Vereshchagin fell and the crowd closed in with savage yells and swayed about him, Rostopchin suddenly turned pale and, instead of going to the back entrance where his carriage awaited him, went with hurried steps and bent head, not knowing where and why, along the passage leading to the rooms on the ground floor. The count s face was white and he could not control the feverish twitching of his lower jaw.
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\ This way, your excellency… Where are you going?… This way, please…\ said a trembling, frightened voice behind him. Count Rostopchin was unable to reply and, turning obediently, went in the direction indicated. At the back entrance stood his caleche. The distant roar of the yelling crowd was audible even there. He hastily took his seat and told the coachman to drive him to his country house in Sokolniki. When they reached the Myasnitski Street and could no longer hear the shouts of the mob, the count began to repent. He remembered with dissatisfaction the agitation and fear he had betrayed before his subordinates. \ The mob is terrible–disgusting,\ he said to himself in French. \ They are like wolves whom nothing but flesh can appease.\ \ Count! One God is above
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us both!\ –Vereshchagin s words suddenly recurred to him, and a disagreeable shiver ran down his back. But this was only a momentary feeling and Count Rostopchin smiled disdainfully at himself. \ I had other duties,\ thought he. \ The people had to be appeased. Many other victims have perished and are perishing for the public good\ –and he began thinking of his social duties to his family CHAPTER XXV 788 and to the city entrusted to him, and of himself–not himself as Theodore Vasilyevich Rostopchin (he fancied that Theodore Vasilyevich Rostopchin was sacrificing himself for the public good) but himself as governor, the representative of authority and of the Tsar. \ Had I been simply Theodore Vasilyevich my course of action would have been quite
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different, but it was my duty to safeguard my life and dignity as commander in chief.\ Lightly swaying on the flexible springs of his carriage and no longer hearing the terrible sounds of the crowd, Rostopchin grew physically calm and, as always happens, as soon as he became physically tranquil his mind devised reasons why he should be mentally tranquil too. The thought which tranquillized Rostopchin was not a new one. Since the world began and men have killed one another no one has ever committed such a crime against his fellow man without comforting himself with this same idea. This idea is le bien public, the hypothetical welfare of other people. To a man not swayed by passion that welfare is never certain, but he who commits such a crime always knows just where that welfare
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lies. And Rostopchin now knew it. Not only did his reason not reproach him for what he had done, but he even found cause for self-satisfaction in having so successfully contrived to avail himself of a convenient opportunity to punish a criminal and at the same time pacify the mob. \ Vereshchagin was tried and condemned to death,\ thought Rostopchin (though the Senate had only condemned Vereshchagin to hard labor), \ he was a traitor and a spy. I could not let him go unpunished and so I have killed two birds with one stone: to appease the mob I gave them a victim and at the same time punished a miscreant.\ Having reached his country house and begun to give orders about domestic arrangements, the count grew quite tranquil.
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Half an hour later he was driving with his fast horses across the Sokolniki field, no longer thinking of what had occurred but considering what was to come. He was driving to the Yauza bridge where he had heard that Kutuzov was. Count Rostopchin was mentally preparing the angry and stinging reproaches he meant to address to Kutuzov for his deception. He would make that foxy old courtier feel that the responsibility for all the calamities that would follow the abandonment of the city and the ruin of Russia (as Rostopchin regarded it) would fall upon his doting old head. Planning beforehand what he would say to Kutuzov, Rostopchin turned angrily in his caleche and gazed sternly from side to side. The Sokolniki field was deserted. Only at the end of it, in front of the almshouse and the lunatic asylum,
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could be seen some people in white and others like them walking singly across the field shouting and gesticulating. One of these was running to cross the path of Count Rostopchin s carriage, and the count himself, his coachman, and his dragoons looked with vague horror and curiosity at these released lunatics and especially at the one running toward them. Swaying from side to side on his long, thin legs in his fluttering dressing gown, this lunatic was running impetuously, his gaze fixed on Rostopchin, shouting something in a hoarse voice and making signs to him to stop. The lunatic s solemn, gloomy face was thin and yellow, with its beard growing in uneven tufts. His black, agate pupils with saffron-yellow whites moved restlessly near the lower eyelids. \ Stop! Pull up, I tell you!\
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he cried in a piercing voice, and again shouted something breathlessly with emphatic intonations and gestures. Coming abreast of the caleche he ran beside it. CHAPTER XXV 789 \ Thrice have they slain me, thrice have I risen from the dead. They stoned me, crucified me… I shall rise… shall rise… shall rise. They have torn my body. The kingdom of God will be overthrown… Thrice will I overthrow it and thrice re-establish it!\ he cried, raising his voice higher and higher. Count Rostopchin suddenly grew pale as he had done when the crowd closed in on Vereshchagin. He turned away. \ Go fas… faster!\ he cried in a trembling voice to his coachman. The caleche flew over the ground
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as fast as the horses could draw it, but for a long time Count Rostopchin still heard the insane despairing screams growing fainter in the distance, while his eyes saw nothing but the astonished, frightened, bloodstained face of \ the traitor\ in the fur-lined coat. Recent as that mental picture was, Rostopchin already felt that it had cut deep into his heart and drawn blood. Even now he felt clearly that the gory trace of that recollection would not pass with time, but that the terrible memory would, on the contrary, dwell in his heart ever more cruelly and painfully to the end of his life. He seemed still to hear the sound of his own words: \ Cut him down! I command it….\ \ Why did I utter those words? It was by some accident
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I said them…. I need not have said them,\ he thought. \ And then nothing would have happened.\ He saw the frightened and then infuriated face of the dragoon who dealt the blow, the look of silent, timid reproach that boy in the fur-lined coat had turned upon him. \ But I did not do it for my own sake. I was bound to act that way…. The mob, the traitor… the public welfare,\ thought he. Troops were still crowding at the Yauza bridge. It was hot. Kutuzov, dejected and frowning, sat on a bench by the bridge toying with his whip in the sand when a caleche dashed up noisily. A man in a general s uniform with plumes in his hat went up to Kutuzov and said something in French. It was Count Rostopchin. He told
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Kutuzov that he had come because Moscow, the capital, was no more and only the army remained. \ Things would have been different if your Serene Highness had not told me that you would not abandon Moscow without another battle; all this would not have happened,\ he said. Kutuzov looked at Rostopchin as if, not grasping what was said to him, he was trying to read something peculiar written at that moment on the face of the man addressing him. Rostopchin grew confused and became silent. Kutuzov slightly shook his head and not taking his penetrating gaze from Rostopchin s face muttered softly: \ No! I shall not give up Moscow without a battle!\ Whether Kutuzov was thinking of something entirely different when he spoke those words, or uttered them
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purposely, knowing them to be meaningless, at any rate Rostopchin made no reply and hastily left him. And strange to say, the Governor of Moscow, the proud Count Rostopchin, took up a Cossack whip and went to the bridge where he began with shouts to drive on the carts that blocked the way. CHAPTER XXVI CHAPTER XXVI Toward four o clock in the afternoon Murat s troops were entering Moscow. In front rode a detachment of 790 Wurttemberg hussars and behind them rode the King of Naples himself accompanied by a numerous suite. About the middle of the Arbat Street, near the Church of the Miraculous Icon of St. Nicholas, Murat halted to await news from the advanced detachment as to the condition
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in which they had found the citadel, le Kremlin. Around Murat gathered a group of those who had remained in Moscow. They all stared in timid bewilderment at the strange, long-haired commander dressed up in feathers and gold. \ Is that their Tsar himself? He s not bad!\ low voices could be heard saying. An interpreter rode up to the group. \ Take off your cap… your caps!\ These words went from one to another in the crowd. The interpreter addressed an old porter and asked if it was far to the Kremlin. The porter, listening in perplexity to the unfamiliar Polish accent and not realizing that the interpreter was speaking Russian, did not understand what was being said to him and slipped behind the others. Murat approached the
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interpreter and told him to ask where the Russian army was. One of the Russians understood what was asked and several voices at once began answering the interpreter. A French officer, returning from the advanced detachment, rode up to Murat and reported that the gates of the citadel had been barricaded and that there was probably an ambuscade there. \ Good!\ said Murat and, turning to one of the gentlemen in his suite, ordered four light guns to be moved forward to fire at the gates. The guns emerged at a trot from the column following Murat and advanced up the Arbat. When they reached the end of the Vozdvizhenka Street they halted and drew in the Square. Several French officers superintended the placing of the guns and looked at the Kremlin through field glasses.
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The bells in the Kremlin were ringing for vespers, and this sound troubled the French. They imagined it to be a call to arms. A few infantrymen ran to the Kutafyev Gate. Beams and wooden screens had been put there, and two musket shots rang out from under the gate as soon as an officer and men began to run toward it. A general who was standing by the guns shouted some words of command to the officer, and the latter ran back again with his men. The sound of three more shots came from the gate. One shot struck a French soldier s foot, and from behind the screens came the strange sound of a few voices shouting. Instantly as at a word of command the expression of cheerful serenity on the faces of the French
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general, officers, and men changed to one of determined concentrated readiness for strife and suffering. To all of them from the marshal to the least soldier, that place was not the Vozdvizhenka, Mokhavaya, or Kutafyev Street, nor the Troitsa Gate (places familiar in Moscow), but a new battlefield which would probably prove sanguinary. And all made ready for that battle. The cries from the gates ceased. The guns were advanced, the artillerymen blew the ash off their linstocks, and an officer gave the word \ Fire!\ This was followed by two whistling sounds of canister shot, one after another. The shot rattled against the stone of the gate and upon the wooden beams and screens, and two wavering clouds of smoke rose over the Square. A few instants after the echo of the reports resounding over the stone-built Kremlin had
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died away the French heard a strange sound above their head. Thousands of crows rose above the walls and circled in the air, CHAPTER XXVI cawing and noisily flapping their wings. Together with that sound came a solitary human cry from the gateway and amid the smoke appeared the figure of a bareheaded man in a peasant s coat. He grasped a 791 musket and took aim at the French. \ Fire!\ repeated the officer once more, and the reports of a musket and of two cannon shots were heard simultaneously. The gate again hidden by smoke. Nothing more stirred behind the screens and the French infantry soldiers and officers advanced to the gate. In the gateway lay three wounded and four dead. Two
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men in peasant coats ran away at the foot of the wall, toward the Znamenka. \ Clear that away!\ said the officer, pointing to the beams and the corpses, and the French soldiers, after dispatching the wounded, threw the corpses over the parapet. Who these men were nobody knew. \ Clear that away!\ was all that was said of them, and they were thrown over the parapet and removed later on that they might not stink. Thiers alone dedicates a few eloquent lines to their memory: \ These wretches had occupied the sacred citadel, having supplied themselves with guns from the arsenal, and fired\ (the wretches) \ at the French. Some of them were sabered and the Kremlin was purged of their presence.\ Murat was informed that the way had been
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cleared. The French entered the gates and began pitching their camp in the Senate Square. Out of the windows of the Senate House the soldiers threw chairs into the Square for fuel and kindled fires there. Other detachments passed through the Kremlin and encamped along the Moroseyka, the Lubyanka, and Pokrovka Streets. Others quartered themselves along the Vozdvizhenka, the Nikolski, and the Tverskoy Streets. No masters of the houses being found anywhere, the French were not billeted on the inhabitants as is usual in towns but lived in it as in a camp. Though tattered, hungry, worn out, and reduced to a third of their original number, the French entered Moscow in good marching order. It was a weary and famished, but still a fighting and menacing army. But it remained an army only until its soldiers
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had dispersed into their different lodgings. As soon as the men of the various regiments began to disperse among the wealthy and deserted houses, the army was lost forever and there came into being something nondescript, neither citizens nor soldiers but what are known as marauders. When five weeks later these same men left Moscow, they no longer formed an army. They were a mob of marauders, each carrying a quantity of articles which seemed to him valuable or useful. The aim of each man when he left Moscow was no longer, as it had been, to conquer, but merely to keep what he had acquired. Like a monkey which puts its paw into the narrow neck of a jug, and having seized a handful of nuts will not open its fist for fear of losing what it holds, and therefore perishes, the
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French when they left Moscow had inevitably to perish because they carried their loot with them, yet to abandon what they had stolen was as impossible for them as it is for the monkey to open its paw and let go of its nuts. Ten minutes after each regiment had entered a Moscow district, not a soldier or officer was left. Men in military uniforms and Hessian boots could be seen through the windows, laughing and walking through the rooms. In cellars and storerooms similar men were busy among the provisions, and in the yards unlocking or breaking open coach house and stable doors, lighting fires in kitchens and kneading and baking bread with rolled-up sleeves, and cooking; or frightening, amusing, or caressing women and children. There were many such men both in the shops and houses–but there was no army.
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Order after order was issued by the French commanders that day forbidding the men to disperse about the town, sternly forbidding any violence to the inhabitants or any looting, and announcing a roll call for that very evening. But despite all these measures the men, who had till then constituted an army, flowed all over the wealthy, deserted city with its comforts and plentiful supplies. As a hungry herd of cattle keeps well together when crossing a barren field, but gets out of hand and at once disperses uncontrollably as soon as it reaches rich pastures, so did the army disperse all over the wealthy city. CHAPTER XXVI 792 No residents were left in Moscow, and the soldiers–like water percolating through sand–spread irresistibly through the
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city in all directions from the Kremlin into which they had first marched. The cavalry, on entering a merchant s house that had been abandoned and finding there stabling more than sufficient for their horses, went on, all the same, to the next house which seemed to them better. Many of them appropriated several houses, chalked their names on them, and quarreled and even fought with other companies for them. Before they had had time to secure quarters the soldiers ran out into the streets to see the city and, hearing that everything had been abandoned, rushed to places where valuables were to be had for the taking. The officers followed to check the soldiers and were involuntarily drawn into doing the same. In Carriage Row carriages had been left in the shops, and generals flocked there to select caleches and coaches for
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themselves. The few inhabitants who had remained invited commanding officers to their houses, hoping thereby to secure themselves from being plundered. There were masses of wealth and there seemed no end to it. All around the quarters occupied by the French were other regions still unexplored and unoccupied where, they thought, yet greater riches might be found. And Moscow engulfed the army ever deeper and deeper. When water is spilled on dry ground both the dry ground and the water disappear and mud results; and in the same way the entry of the famished army into the rich and deserted city resulted in fires and looting and the destruction of both the army and the wealthy city. The French attributed the Fire of Moscow au patriotisme feroce de Rostopchine,* the Russians to the barbarity of the French. In reality,
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my long-sword in my hand that I might be ready for them. Usually my strange, newly acquired telepathic power warned me in ample time, but once I was down with vicious fangs at my jugular and a hairy face pressed close to mine before I knew that I was even threatened. What manner of thing was upon me I did not know, but that it was large and heavy and many-legged I could feel. My hands were at its throat before the fangs had a chance to bury themselves in my neck, and slowly I forced the hairy face from me and closed my fingers, vise-like, upon its windpipe. Without sound we lay there, the beast exerting every effort to reach me with those awful fangs, and I straining to maintain my grip and choke the life from
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it as I kept it from my throat. Slowly my arms gave to the unequal struggle, and inch by inch the burning eyes and gleaming tusks of my antagonist crept toward me, until, as the hairy face touched mine again, I realized that all was over. And then a living mass of destruction sprang from the surrounding darkness full upon the creature that held me pinioned to the ground. The two rolled growling upon the moss, tearing and rending one another in a frightful manner, but it was soon over and my preserver stood with lowered head above the throat of the dead thing which would have killed me. The nearer moon, hurtling suddenly above the horizon and lighting up the Barsoomian scene, showed me that my preserver was Woola, but from whence he had come, or how found me, I
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was at a loss to know. That I was glad of his companionship it is needless to say, but my pleasure at seeing him was tempered by anxiety as to the reason of his leaving Dejah Thoris. Only her death I felt sure, could account for his absence from her, so faithful I knew him to be to my commands. By the light of the now brilliant moons I saw that he was but a shadow of his former self, and as he turned from my caress and commenced greedily to devour the dead carcass at my feet I realized that the poor fellow was more than half starved. I, myself, was in but little better plight but I could not bring myself to eat the uncooked flesh and I had no means of making a fire. When Woola had finished
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his meal I again took up my weary and seemingly endless wandering in quest of the elusive waterway. At daybreak of the fifteenth day of my search I was overjoyed to see the high trees that denoted the object of my search. About noon I dragged myself wearily to the portals of a huge building which covered perhaps four square miles and towered two hundred feet in the air. It showed no aperture in the mighty walls other than the tiny door at which I sank exhausted, nor was there any sign of life about it. I could find no bell or other method of making my presence known to the inmates of the place, unless a small round role in the wall near the door was for that purpose. It was of about the bigness of a lead
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pencil and thinking that it might be in the nature of a speaking tube I put my mouth to it and was about to call into it when a voice issued from it asking me whom I might be, where from, and the nature of my errand. I explained that I had escaped from the Warhoons and was dying of starvation and exhaustion. \ You wear the metal of a green warrior and are followed by a calot, yet you are of the figure of a red man. In color you are neither green nor red. In the name of the ninth day, what manner of creature are you?\ \ I am a friend of the red men of Barsoom and I am starving. In the name of humanity open to us,\ I replied.
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Presently the door commenced to recede before me until it had sunk into the wall fifty feet, then it stopped and slid easily to the left, exposing a short, narrow corridor of concrete, at the further end of which was another door, similar in every respect to the one I had just passed. No one was in sight, yet immediately we passed the first door it slid gently into place behind us and receded rapidly to its original position in the front wall of the building. As the door had slipped aside I had noted its great thickness, fully twenty feet, and as it reached its place once more after closing behind us, great cylinders of steel had dropped from the ceiling CHAPTER XX behind it and fitted their lower ends into apertures countersunk
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in the floor. 69 A second and third door receded before me and slipped to one side as the first, before I reached a large inner chamber where I found food and drink set out upon a great stone table. A voice directed me to satisfy my hunger and to feed my calot, and while I was thus engaged my invisible host put me through a severe and searching cross-examination. \ Your statements are most remarkable,\ said the voice, on concluding its questioning, \ but you are evidently speaking the truth, and it is equally evident that you are not of Barsoom. I can tell that by the conformation of your brain and the strange location of your internal organs and the shape and size of your heart.\
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\ Can you see through me?\ I exclaimed. \ Yes, I can see all but your thoughts, and were you a Barsoomian I could read those.\ Then a door opened at the far side of the chamber and a strange, dried up, little mummy of a man came toward me. He wore but a single article of clothing or adornment, a small collar of gold from which depended upon his chest a great ornament as large as a dinner plate set solid with huge diamonds, except for the exact center which was occupied by a strange stone, an inch in diameter, that scintillated nine different and distinct rays; the seven colors of our earthly prism and two beautiful rays which, to me, were new and nameless. I cannot describe them any more than you could describe
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red to a blind man. I only know that they were beautiful in the extreme. The old man sat and talked with me for hours, and the strangest part of our intercourse was that I could read his every thought while he could not fathom an iota from my mind unless I spoke. I did not apprise him of my ability to sense his mental operations, and thus I learned a great deal which proved of immense value to me later and which I would never have known had he suspected my strange power, for the Martians have such perfect control of their mental machinery that they are able to direct their thoughts with absolute precision. The building in which I found myself contained the machinery which produces that artificial atmosphere which sustains life on
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Mars. The secret of the entire process hinges on the use of the ninth ray, one of the beautiful scintillations which I had noted emanating from the great stone in my host s diadem. This ray is separated from the other rays of the sun by means of finely adjusted instruments placed upon the roof of the huge building, three-quarters of which is used for reservoirs in which the ninth ray is stored. This product is then treated electrically, or rather certain proportions of refined electric vibrations are incorporated with it, and the result is then pumped to the five principal air centers of the planet where, as it is released, contact with the ether of space transforms it into atmosphere. There is always sufficient reserve of the ninth ray stored in the great building to maintain the present
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Martian atmosphere for a thousand years, and the only fear, as my new friend told me, was that some accident might befall the pumping apparatus. He led me to an inner chamber where I beheld a battery of twenty radium pumps any one of which was equal to the task of furnishing all Mars with the atmosphere compound. For eight hundred years, he told me, he had watched these pumps which are used alternately a day each at a stretch, or a little over twenty-four and one-half Earth hours. He has one assistant who divides the watch with him. Half a Martian year, about three hundred and forty-four of our days, each of these men spend alone in this huge, isolated plant. Every red Martian is taught during earliest childhood the principles of the manufacture of atmosphere, but
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CHAPTER XX only two at one time ever hold the secret of ingress to the great building, which, built as it is with walls a 70 hundred and fifty feet thick, is absolutely unassailable, even the roof being guarded from assault by air craft by a glass covering five feet thick. The only fear they entertain of attack is from the green Martians or some demented red man, as all Barsoomians realize that the very existence of every form of life of Mars is dependent upon the uninterrupted working of this plant. One curious fact I discovered as I watched his thoughts was that the outer doors are manipulated by telepathic means. The locks are so finely adjusted that the doors are
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released by the action of a certain combination of thought waves. To experiment with my new-found toy I thought to surprise him into revealing this combination and so I asked him in a casual manner how he had managed to unlock the massive doors for me from the inner chambers of the building. As quick as a flash there leaped to his mind nine Martian sounds, but as quickly faded as he answered that this was a secret he must not divulge. From then on his manner toward me changed as though he feared that he had been surprised into divulging his great secret, and I read suspicion and fear in his looks and thoughts, though his words were still fair. Before I retired for the night he promised to give me a letter to a nearby agricultural officer
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who would help me on my way to Zodanga, which he said, was the nearest Martian city. \ But be sure that you do not let them know you are bound for Helium as they are at war with that country. My assistant and I are of no country, we belong to all Barsoom and this talisman which we wear protects us in all lands, even among the green men–though we do not trust ourselves to their hands if we can avoid it,\ he added. \ And so good-night, my friend,\ he continued, \ may you have a long and restful sleep–yes, a long sleep.\ And though he smiled pleasantly I saw in his thoughts the wish that he had never admitted me, and then a picture of him standing over me in
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the night, and the swift thrust of a long dagger and the half formed words, \ I am sorry, but it is for the best good of Barsoom.\ As he closed the door of my chamber behind him his thoughts were cut off from me as was the sight of him, which seemed strange to me in my little knowledge of thought transference. What was I to do? How could I escape through these mighty walls? Easily could I kill him now that I was warned, but once he was dead I could no more escape, and with the stopping of the machinery of the great plant I should die with all the other inhabitants of the planet–all, even Dejah Thoris were she not already dead. For the others I did not give the snap of my finger,
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but the thought of Dejah Thoris drove from my mind all desire to kill my mistaken host. Cautiously I opened the door of my apartment and, followed by Woola, sought the inner of the great doors. A wild scheme had come to me; I would attempt to force the great locks by the nine thought waves I had read in my host s mind. Creeping stealthily through corridor after corridor and down winding runways which turned hither and thither I finally reached the great hall in which I had broken my long fast that morning. Nowhere had I seen my host, nor did I know where he kept himself by night. I was on the point of stepping boldly out into the room when a slight noise behind me warned me back into the shadows
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of a recess in the corridor. Dragging Woola after me I crouched low in the darkness. CHAPTER XX Presently the old man passed close by me, and as he entered the dimly lighted chamber which I had been about to pass through I saw that he held a long thin dagger in his hand and that he was sharpening it upon a 71 stone. In his mind was the decision to inspect the radium pumps, which would take about thirty minutes, and then return to my bed chamber and finish me. As he passed through the great hall and disappeared down the runway which led to the pump-room, I stole stealthily from my hiding place and crossed to the great door, the inner of the three
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which stood between me and liberty. Concentrating my mind upon the massive lock I hurled the nine thought waves against it. In breathless expectancy I waited, when finally the great door moved softly toward me and slid quietly to one side. One after the other the remaining mighty portals opened at my command and Woola and I stepped forth into the darkness, free, but little better off than we had been before, other than that we had full stomachs. Hastening away from the shadows of the formidable pile I made for the first crossroad, intending to strike the central turnpike as quickly as possible. This I reached about morning and entering the first enclosure I came to I searched for some evidences of a habitation. There were low rambling buildings of concrete barred with heavy
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impassable doors, and no amount of hammering and hallooing brought any response. Weary and exhausted from sleeplessness I threw myself upon the ground commanding Woola to stand guard. Some time later I was awakened by his frightful growlings and opened my eyes to see three red Martians standing a short distance from us and covering me with their rifles. \ I am unarmed and no enemy,\ I hastened to explain. \ I have been a prisoner among the green men and am on my way to Zodanga. All I ask is food and rest for myself and my calot and the proper directions for reaching my destination.\ They lowered their rifles and advanced pleasantly toward me placing their right hands upon my left shoulder, after the manner of their custom of salute, and
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asking me many questions about myself and my wanderings. They then took me to the house of one of them which was only a short distance away. The buildings I had been hammering at in the early morning were occupied only by stock and farm produce, the house proper standing among a grove of enormous trees, and, like all red-Martian homes, had been raised at night some forty or fifty feet from the ground on a large round metal shaft which slid up or down within a sleeve sunk in the ground, and was operated by a tiny radium engine in the entrance hall of the building. Instead of bothering with bolts and bars for their dwellings, the red Martians simply run them up out of harm s way during the night. They also have private means for lowering or raising
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them from the ground without if they wish to go away and leave them. These brothers, with their wives and children, occupied three similar houses on this farm. They did no work themselves, being government officers in charge. The labor was performed by convicts, prisoners of war, delinquent debtors and confirmed bachelors who were too poor to pay the high celibate tax which all red-Martian governments impose. They were the personification of cordiality and hospitality and I spent several days with them, resting and recuperating from my long and arduous experiences. When they had heard my story–I omitted all reference to Dejah Thoris and the old man of the atmosphere plant–they advised me to color my body to more nearly resemble their own race and then attempt to find employment in Zodanga, either in
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the army or the navy. CHAPTER XXI \ The chances are small that your tale will be believed until after you have proven your trustworthiness and 72 won friends among the higher nobles of the court. This you can most easily do through military service, as we are a warlike people on Barsoom,\ explained one of them, \ and save our richest favors for the fighting man.\ When I was ready to depart they furnished me with a small domestic bull thoat, such as is used for saddle purposes by all red Martians. The animal is about the size of a horse and quite gentle, but in color and shape an exact replica of his huge and fierce cousin of the wilds.
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The brothers had supplied me with a reddish oil with which I anointed my entire body and one of them cut my hair, which had grown quite long, in the prevailing fashion of the time, square at the back and banged in front, so that I could have passed anywhere upon Barsoom as a full-fledged red Martian. My metal and ornaments were also renewed in the style of a Zodangan gentleman, attached to the house of Ptor, which was the family name of my benefactors. They filled a little sack at my side with Zodangan money. The medium of exchange upon Mars is not dissimilar from our own except that the coins are oval. Paper money is issued by individuals as they require it and redeemed twice yearly. If a man issues more than he can redeem, the government pays
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his creditors in full and the debtor works out the amount upon the farms or in mines, which are all owned by the government. This suits everybody except the debtor as it has been a difficult thing to obtain sufficient voluntary labor to work the great isolated farm lands of Mars, stretching as they do like narrow ribbons from pole to pole, through wild stretches peopled by wild animals and wilder men. When I mentioned my inability to repay them for their kindness to me they assured me that I would have ample opportunity if I lived long upon Barsoom, and bidding me farewell they watched me until I was out of sight upon the broad white turnpike. CHAPTER XXI AN AIR SCOUT FOR ZODANGA As I proceeded on my
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journey toward Zodanga many strange and interesting sights arrested my attention, and at the several farm houses where I stopped I learned a number of new and instructive things concerning the methods and manners of Barsoom. The water which supplies the farms of Mars is collected in immense underground reservoirs at either pole from the melting ice caps, and pumped through long conduits to the various populated centers. Along either side of these conduits, and extending their entire length, lie the cultivated districts. These are divided into tracts of about the same size, each tract being under the supervision of one or more government officers. Instead of flooding the surface of the fields, and thus wasting immense quantities of water by evaporation, the precious liquid is carried underground through a vast network of small pipes directly to the
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roots of the vegetation. The crops upon Mars are always uniform, for there are no droughts, no rains, no high winds, and no insects, or destroying birds. On this trip I tasted the first meat I had eaten since leaving Earth–large, juicy steaks and chops from the well-fed domestic animals of the farms. Also I enjoyed luscious fruits and vegetables, but not a single article of food which was exactly similar to anything on Earth. Every plant and flower and vegetable and animal has been so refined by ages of careful, scientific cultivation and breeding that the like of them on Earth dwindled into pale, gray, characterless nothingness by comparison. CHAPTER XXI 73 At a second stop I met some highly cultivated people of
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the noble class and while in conversation we chanced to speak of Helium. One of the older men had been there on a diplomatic mission several years before and spoke with regret of the conditions which seemed destined ever to keep these two countries at war. \ Helium,\ he said, \ rightly boasts the most beautiful women of Barsoom, and of all her treasures the wondrous daughter of Mors Kajak, Dejah Thoris, is the most exquisite flower. \ Why,\ he added, \ the people really worship the ground she walks upon and since her loss on that ill-starred expedition all Helium has been draped in mourning. \ That our ruler should have attacked the disabled fleet as it was returning to Helium was but another of his awful blunders which I fear will sooner
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or later compel Zodanga to elevate a wiser man to his place.\ \ Even now, though our victorious armies are surrounding Helium, the people of Zodanga are voicing their displeasure, for the war is not a popular one, since it is not based on right or justice. Our forces took advantage of the absence of the principal fleet of Helium on their search for the princess, and so we have been able easily to reduce the city to a sorry plight. It is said she will fall within the next few passages of the further moon.\ \ And what, think you, may have been the fate of the princess, Dejah Thoris?\ I asked as casually as possible. \ She is dead,\ he answered. \ This much was learned from a green warrior recently captured
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by our forces in the south. She escaped from the hordes of Thark with a strange creature of another world, only to fall into the hands of the Warhoons. Their thoats were found wandering upon the sea bottom and evidences of a bloody conflict were discovered nearby.\ While this information was in no way reassuring, neither was it at all conclusive proof of the death of Dejah Thoris, and so I determined to make every effort possible to reach Helium as quickly as I could and carry to Tardos Mors such news of his granddaughter s possible whereabouts as lay in my power. Ten days after leaving the three Ptor brothers I arrived at Zodanga. From the moment that I had come in contact with the red inhabitants of Mars I had noticed that Woola drew a
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great amount of unwelcome attention to me, since the huge brute belonged to a species which is never domesticated by the red men. Were one to stroll down Broadway with a Numidian lion at his heels the effect would be somewhat similar to that which I should have produced had I entered Zodanga with Woola. The very thought of parting with the faithful fellow caused me so great regret and genuine sorrow that I put it off until just before we arrived at the city s gates; but then, finally, it became imperative that we separate. Had nothing further than my own safety or pleasure been at stake no argument could have prevailed upon me to turn away the one creature upon Barsoom that had never failed in a demonstration of affection and loyalty; but as I would willingly have
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offered my life in the service of her in search of whom I was about to challenge the unknown dangers of this, to me, mysterious city, I could not permit even Woola s life to threaten the success of my venture, much less his momentary happiness, for I doubted not he soon would forget me. And so I bade the poor beast an affectionate farewell, promising him, however, that if I came through my adventure in safety that in some way I should find the means to search him out. He seemed to understand me fully, and when I pointed back in the direction of Thark he turned sorrowfully away, nor could I bear to watch him go; but resolutely set my face toward Zodanga and with a touch of heartsickness approached her frowning walls. The letter I
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bore from them gained me immediate entrance to the vast, walled city. It was still very early in the morning and the streets were practically deserted. The residences, raised high upon their metal columns, resembled huge rookeries, while the uprights themselves presented the appearance of steel tree trunks. The CHAPTER XXI shops as a rule were not raised from the ground nor were their doors bolted or barred, since thievery is practically unknown upon Barsoom. Assassination is the ever-present fear of all Barsoomians, and for this reason alone their homes are raised high above the ground at night, or in times of danger. 74 The Ptor brothers had given me explicit directions for reaching the point of the city where I could find living accommodations
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and be near the offices of the government agents to whom they had given me letters. My way led to the central square or plaza, which is a characteristic of all Martian cities. The plaza of Zodanga covers a square mile and is bounded by the palaces of the jeddak, the jeds, and other members of the royalty and nobility of Zodanga, as well as by the principal public buildings, cafes, and shops. As I was crossing the great square lost in wonder and admiration of the magnificent architecture and the gorgeous scarlet vegetation which carpeted the broad lawns I discovered a red Martian walking briskly toward me from one of the avenues. He paid not the slightest attention to me, but as he came abreast I recognized him, and turning I placed my hand upon his shoulder, calling
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out: \ Kaor, Kantos Kan!\ Like lightning he wheeled and before I could so much as lower my hand the point of his long-sword was at my breast. \ Who are you?\ he growled, and then as a backward leap carried me fifty feet from his sword he dropped the point to the ground and exclaimed, laughing, \ I do not need a better reply, there is but one man upon all Barsoom who can bounce about like a rubber ball. By the mother of the further moon, John Carter, how came you here, and have you become a Darseen that you can change your color at will?\ \ You gave me a bad half minute my friend,\ he continued, after I had briefly outlined my adventures
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since parting with him in the arena at Warhoon. \ Were my name and city known to the Zodangans I would shortly be sitting on the banks of the lost sea of Korus with my revered and departed ancestors. I am here in the interest of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium, to discover the whereabouts of Dejah Thoris, our princess. Sab Than, prince of Zodanga, has her hidden in the city and has fallen madly in love with her. His father, Than Kosis, Jeddak of Zodanga, has made her voluntary marriage to his son the price of peace between our countries, but Tardos Mors will not accede to the demands and has sent word that he and his people would rather look upon the dead face of their princess than see her wed to any than her own choice, and that personally
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he would prefer being engulfed in the ashes of a lost and burning Helium to joining the metal of his house with that of Than Kosis. His reply was the deadliest affront he could have put upon Than Kosis and the Zodangans, but his people love him the more for it and his strength in Helium is greater today than ever. \ I have been here three days,\ continued Kantos Kan, \ but I have not yet found where Dejah Thoris is imprisoned. Today I join the Zodangan navy as an air scout and I hope in this way to win the confidence of Sab Than, the prince, who is commander of this division of the navy, and thus learn the whereabouts of Dejah Thoris. I am glad that you are here, John Carter, for I know your loyalty to my
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princess and two of us working together should be able to accomplish much.\ The plaza was now commencing to fill with people going and coming upon the daily activities of their duties. The shops were opening and the cafes filling with early morning patrons. Kantos Kan led me to one of these gorgeous eating places where we were served entirely by mechanical apparatus. No hand touched the food from the time it entered the building in its raw state until it emerged hot and delicious upon the tables before the guests, in response to the touching of tiny buttons to indicate their desires. CHAPTER XXI 75 After our meal, Kantos Kan took me with him to the headquarters of the air-scout squadron and introducing
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me to his superior asked that I be enrolled as a member of the corps. In accordance with custom an examination was necessary, but Kantos Kan had told me to have no fear on this score as he would attend to that part of the matter. He accomplished this by taking my order for examination to the examining officer and representing himself as John Carter. \ This ruse will be discovered later,\ he cheerfully explained, \ when they check up my weights, measurements, and other personal identification data, but it will be several months before this is done and our mission should be accomplished or have failed long before that time.\ The next few days were spent by Kantos Kan in teaching me the intricacies of flying and of repairing the dainty little contrivances which
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conceive public opinion to be accurate at long range. It was quite probable they would hit the wrong man who, after he had recovered from his amazement would perhaps spend the rest of his days in writing replies to the songs of his alleged failure. It would be very unfortunate, no doubt, but in this case a general was of no consequence to the youth. In a defeat there would be a roundabout vindication of himself. He thought it would prove, in a manner, that he had fled early because of his superior powers of perception. A serious prophet upon predicting a flood should be the first man to climb a tree. This would demonstrate that he was indeed a seer. A moral vindication was regarded by the youth as a very important thing. Without salve, he could not,
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he though, were the sore badge of his dishonor through life. With his heart continually assuring him that he was despicable, he could not exist without making it, through his actions, apparent to all men. If the army had gone gloriously on he would be lost. If the din meant that now his army s flags were tilted forward he was a condemned wretch. He would be compelled to doom himself to isolation. If the men were advancing, their indifferent feet were trampling upon his chances for a successful life. As these thoughts went rapidly through his mind, he turned upon them and tried to thrust them away. He denounced himself as a villain. He said that he was the most unutterably selfish man in existence. His mind pictured the soldiers who would place their defiant bodies before
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the spear of the yelling battle fiend, and as he saw their dripping corpses on an imagined field, he said that he was their murderer. Again he thought that he wished he was dead. He believed that he envied a corpse. Thinking of the slain, he achieved a great contempt for some of them, as if they were guilty for thus becoming lifeless. They might have been killed by lucky chances, he said, before they had had opportunities to flee or before they had been really tested. Yet they would receive laurels from tradition. He cried out bitterly that their crowns were stolen and their robes of glorious memories were shams. However, he still said that it was a great pity he was not as they. A defeat of the army had suggested itself to him as a
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means of escape from the consequences of his fall. He considered, now, however, that it was useless to think of such a possibility. His education had been that success for that might blue machine was certain; that it would make victories as a contrivance turns out buttons. He presently discarded all his speculations in the other direction. He returned to the creed of soldiers. When he perceived again that it was not possible for the army to be defeated, he tried to bethink him of a fine tale which he could take back to his regiment, and with it turn the expected shafts of derision. But, as he mortally feared these shafts, it became impossible for him to invent a tale he felt he could trust. He experimented with many schemes, but threw them aside one by one as
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flimsy. He was quick to see vulnerable places in them all. Furthermore, he was much afraid that some arrow of scorn might lay him mentally low before he could raise his protecting tale. He imagined the whole regiment saying: \ Where s Henry Fleming? He run, didn t e? Oh, my!\ He recalled various persons who would be quite sure to leave him no peace about it. They would doubtless question him Chapter 11 45 with sneers, and laugh at his stammering hesitation. In the next engagement they would try to keep watch of him to discover when he would run. Wherever he went in camp, he would encounter insolent and lingeringly cruel stares. As he imagined himself
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passing near a crowd of comrades, he could hear one say, \ There he goes!\ Then, as if the heads were moved by one muscle, all the faces were turned toward him with wide, derisive grins. He seemed to hear some one make a humorous remark in a low tone. At it the others all crowed and cackled. He was a slang phrase. Chapter 12 Chapter 12 46 The column that had butted stoutly at the obstacles in the roadway was barely out of the youth s sight before he saw dark waves of men come sweeping out of the woods and down through the fields. He knew at once that the steel fibers had been washed from their hearts. They
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were bursting from their coats and their equipments as from entanglements. They charged down upon him like terrified buffaloes. Behind them blue smoke curled and clouded above the treetops, and through the thickets he could sometimes see a distant pink glare. The voices of the cannon were clamoring in interminable chorus. The youth was horrorstricken. He stared in agony and amazement. He forgot that he was engaged in combating the universe. He threw aside his mental pamphlets on the philosophy of the retreated and rules for the guidance of the damned. The fight was lost. The dragons were coming with invincible strides. The army, helpless in the matted thickets and blinded by the overhanging night, was going to be swallowed. War, the red animal, war, the blood-swollen god, would have bloated fill.
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Within him something bade to cry out. He had the impulse to make a rallying speech, to sing a battle hymn, but he could only get his tongue to call into the air: \ Why–why–what–what s th matter?\ Soon he was in the midst of them. They were leaping and scampering all about him. Their blanched faces shone in the dusk. They seemed, for the most part, to be very burly men. The youth turned from one to another of them as they galloped along. His incoherent questions were lost. They were heedless of his appeals. They did not seem to see him. They sometimes gabbled insanely. One huge man was asking of the sky: \ Say, where de plank road? Where de plank road!\ It was as if he had lost a child. He
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wept in his pain and dismay. Presently, men were running hither and thither in all ways. The artillery booming, forward, rearward, and on the flanks made jumble of ideas of direction. Landmarks had vanished into the gathered gloom. The youth began to imagine that he had got into the center of the tremendous quarrel, and he could perceive no way out of it. From the mouths of the fleeing men came a thousand wild questions, but no one made answers. The youth, after rushing about and throwing interrogations at the heedless bands of retreating infantry, finally clutched a man by the arm. They swung around face to face. \ Why–why–\ stammered the youth struggling with his balking tongue. The man screamed: \ Let go me! Let go me!\ His face was livid
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and his eyes were rolling uncontrolled. He was heaving and panting. He still grasped his rifle, perhaps having forgotten to release his hold upon it. He tugged frantically, and the youth being compelled to lean forward was dragged several paces. \ Let go me! Let go me!\ \ Why–why–\ stuttered the youth. \ Well, then!\ bawled the man in a lurid rage. He adroitly and fiercely swung his rifle. It crushed upon the youth s head. The man ran on. The youth s fingers had turned to paste upon the other s arm. The energy was smitten from his muscles. He saw the flaming wings of lightning flash before his vision. There was a deafening rumble of thunder within Chapter 12
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his head. Suddenly his legs seemed to die. He sank writhing to the ground. He tried to arise. In his efforts against the numbing pain he was like a man wrestling with a creature of the air. There was a sinister struggle. Sometimes he would achieve a position half erect, battle with the air for a moment, and then fall again, grabbing at the grass. His face was of a clammy pallor. Deep groans were wrenched from him. At last, with a twisting movement, he got upon his hands and knees, and from thence, like a babe trying to walk, to his feet. Pressing his hands to his temples he went lurching over the grass. He fought an intense battle with his body. His dulled senses wished him to swoon and he
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opposed them 47 stubbornly, his mind portraying unknown dangers and mutilations if he should fall upon the field. He went tall soldier fashion. He imagined secluded spots where he could fall and be unmolested. To search for one he strove against the tide of pain. Once he put his hand to the top of his head and timidly touched the wound. The scratching pain of the contact made him draw a long breath through his clinched teeth. His fingers were dabbled with blood. He regarded them with a fixed stare. Around him he could hear the grumble of jolted cannon as the scurrying horses were lashed toward the front. Once, a young officer on a besplashed charger nearly ran him down. He turned and watched the mass of guns, men,
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and horses sweeping in a wide curve toward a gap in a fence. The officer was making excited motions with a gauntleted hand. The guns followed the teams with an air of unwillingness, of being dragged by the heels. Some officers of the scattered infantry were cursing and railing like fishwives. Their scolding voices could be heard above the din. Into the unspeakable jumble in the roadway rode a squadron of cavalry. The faded yellow of their facings shone bravely. There was a mighty altercation. The artillery were assembling as if for a conference. The blue haze of evening was upon the field. The lines of forest were long purple shadows. One cloud lay along the western sky partly smothering the red. As the youth left the scene behind him, he heard the
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guns suddenly roar out. He imagined them shaking in black rage. They belched and howled like brass devils guarding a gate. The soft air was filled with the tremendous remonstrance. With it came the shattering peal of opposing infantry. Turning to look behind him, he could see sheets of orange light illumine the shadowy distance. There were subtle and sudden lightnings in the far air. At times he thought he could see heaving masses of men. He hurried on in the dusk. The day had faded until he could barely distinguish place for his feet. The purple darkness was filled with men who lectured and jabbered. Sometimes he could see them gesticulating against the blue and somber sky. There seemed to be a great ruck of men and munitions spread about in the forest and in the fields.
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The little narrow roadway now lay lifeless. There were overturned wagons like sun-dried bowlders. The bed of the former torrent was choked with the bodies of horses and splintered parts of war machines. It had come to pass that his wound pained him but little. He was afraid to move rapidly, however, for a dread Chapter 12 48 of disturbing it. He held his head very still and took many precautions against stumbling. He was filled with anxiety, and his face was pinched and drawn in anticipation of the pain of any sudden mistake of his feet in the gloom. His thoughts, as he walked, fixed intently upon his hurt. There was a cool, liquid feeling about it and he imagined blood
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moving slowly down under his hair. His head seemed swollen to a size that made him think his neck to be inadequate. The new silence of his wound made much worriment. The little blistering voices of pain that had called out from his scalp were, he thought, definite in their expression of danger. By them he believed he could measure his plight. But when they remained ominously silent he became frightened and imagined terrible fingers that clutched into his brain. Amid it he began to reflect upon various incidents and conditions of the past. He bethought him of certain meals his mother had cooked at home, in which those dishes of which he was particularly fond had occupied prominent positions. He saw the spread table. The pine walls of the kitchen were glowing in the warm light
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from the stove. Too, he remembered how he and his companions used to go from the school-house to the bank of a shaded pool. He saw his clothes in disorderly array upon the grass of the bank. He felt the swash of the fragrant water upon his body. The leaves of the overhanging maple rustled with melody in the wind of youthful summer. He was overcome presently by a dragging weariness. His head hung forward and his shoulders were stooped as if he were bearing a great bundle. His feet shuffled along the ground. He held continuous arguments as to whether he should lie down and sleep at some near spot, or force himself on until he reached a certain haven. He often tried to dismiss the question, but his body persisted in rebellion and his senses nagged
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at him like pampered babies. At last he heard a cheery voice near his shoulder: \ Yeh seem t be in a pretty bad way, boy?\ The youth did not look up, but he assented with thick tongue. \ Uh!\ The owner of the cheery voice took him firmly by the arm. \ Well,\ he said, with a round laugh, \ I m goin your way. \ Th hull gang is goin your way. An I guess I kin give yeh a lift.\ They began to walk like a drunken man and his friend. As they went along, the man questioned the youth and assisted him with the replies like one manipulating the mind of a child. Sometimes he interjected anecdotes. \ What reg ment do
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yeh b long teh? Eh? What s that? Th 304th N York? Why, what corps is that in? Oh, it is? Why, I thought they wasn t engaged t -day – they re way over in th center. Oh, they was, eh? Well pretty nearly everybody got their share a fightin t -day. By dad, I give myself up fer dead any number a times. There was shootin here an shootin there, an hollerin here an hollerin there, in th damn darkness, until I couldn t tell t save m soul which side I was on. Sometimes I thought I was sure nough from Ohier, an other times I could a swore I was from th bitter end of Florida. It
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was th most mixed up dern thing I ever see. An these here hull woods is a reg lar mess. It ll be a miracle if we find our reg ments t -night. Pretty soon, though, we ll meet a-plenty of guards an provost-guards, an one thing an another. Ho! there they go with an off cer, I guess. Look at his hand a-draggin . He s got all th war he wants, I bet. He won t be talkin so big about his reputation an all when they go t sawin off his leg. Poor feller! My brother s got whiskers jest like that. How did yeh git way over here, anyhow? Your reg ment is a long way from here, ain t it? Well, I guess we
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can find it. Yeh know there was a boy killed in my comp ny t -day that I thought th world an all of. Jack was a nice feller. By ginger, it hurt like thunder t see ol Jack jest git knocked flat. We was a-standin purty peaceable fer a spell, though there was men runnin ev ry way all round us, an while we was a-standin like that, long come a big fat feller. He began t peck at Jack s elbow, Chapter 12 an he ses: Say, where s th road t th river? An Jack, he never paid no attention, an th feller kept on 49
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a-peckin at his elbow an sayin : Say, where s th road t th river? Jack was a-lookin ahead all th time tryin t see th Johnnies comin through th woods, an he never paid no attention t this big fat feller fer a long time, but at last he turned round an he ses: Ah, go t hell an find th road t th river! An jest then a shot slapped him bang on th side th head. He was a sergeant, too. Them was his last words. Thunder, I wish we was sure a findin our reg ments t -night. It s goin t be long huntin .
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But I guess we kin do it.\ In the search which followed, the man of the cheery voice seemed to the youth to possess a wand of a magic kind. He threaded the mazes of the tangled forest with a strange fortune. In encounters with guards and patrols he displayed the keenness of a detective and the valor of a gamin. Obstacles fell before him and became of assistance. The youth, with his chin still on his breast, stood woodenly by while his companion beat ways and means out of sullen things. The forest seemed a vast hive of men buzzing about in frantic circles, but the cheery man conducted the youth without mistakes, until at last he began to chuckle with glee and self-satisfaction. \ Ah, there yeh are! See that fire?\
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The youth nodded stupidly. \ Well, there s where your reg ment is. An now, good-by, ol boy, good luck t yeh.\ A warm and strong hand clasped the youth s languid fingers for an instant, and then he heard a cheerful and audacious whistling as the man strode away. As he who had so befriended him was thus passing out of his life, it suddenly occurred to the youth that he had not once seen his face. Chapter 13 Chapter 13 50 The youth went slowly toward the fire indicated by his departed friend. As he reeled, he bethought him of the welcome his comrades would give him. He had a conviction that he would
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soon feel in his sore heart the barbed missiles of ridicule. He had no strength to invent a tale; he would be a soft target. He made vague plans to go off into the deeper darkness and hide, but they were all destroyed by the voices of exhaustion and pain from his body. His ailments, clamoring, forced him to seek the place of food and rest, at whatever cost. He swung unsteadily toward the fire. He could see the forms of men throwing black shadows in the red light, and as he went nearer it became known to him in some way that the ground was strewn with sleeping men. Of a sudden he confronted a black and monstrous figure. A rifle barrel caught some glinting beams. \ Halt! halt!\ He was dismayed for a
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moment, but he presently thought that he recognized the nervous voice. As he stood tottering before the rifle barrel, he called out: \ Why, hello, Wilson, you–you here?\ The rifle was lowered to a position of caution and the loud soldier came slowly forward. He peered into the youth s face. \ That you, Henry?\ \ Yes, it s–it s me.\ \ Well, well, ol boy,\ said the other, \ by ginger, I m glad t see yeh! I give yeh up fer a goner. I thought yeh was dead sure enough.\ There was husky emotion in his voice. The youth found that now he could barely stand upon his feet. There was a sudden sinking of his forces. He thought he must hasten to produce his
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tale to protect him from the missiles already on the lips of his redoubtable comrades. So, staggering before the loud soldier, he began: \ Yes, yes. I ve–I ve had an awful time. I ve been all over. Way over on th right. Ter ble fightin over there. I had an awful time. I got separated from the reg ment. Over on th right, I got shot. In th head. I never see sech fightin . Awful time. I don t see how I could a got separated from th reg ment. I got shot, too.\ His friend had stepped forward quickly. \ What? Got shot? Why didn t yeh say so first? Poor ol boy, we must–hol on a minnit; what am I doin . I ll call Simpson.\
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Another figure at that moment loomed in the gloom. They could see that it was the corporal. \ Who yeh talkin to, Wilson?\ he demanded. His voice was anger- toned. \ Who yeh talkin to? Yeh th derndest sentinel–why–hello, Henry, you here? Why, I thought you was dead four hours ago! Great Jerusalem, they keep turnin up every ten minutes or so! We thought we d lost forty-two men by straight count, but if they keep on a-comin this way, we ll git th comp ny all back by mornin yit. Where was yeh?\ \ Over on th right. I got separated\ –began the youth with considerable glibness. But his friend had interrupted hastily. \ Yes, an he got shot in th head an he s
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in a fix, an we must see t him right away.\ He rested his rifle in the hollow of his left arm and his right around the youth s shoulder. \ Gee, it must hurt like thunder!\ he said. The youth leaned heavily upon his friend. \ Yes, it hurts–hurts a good deal,\ he replied. There was a faltering in his voice. Chapter 13 \ Oh,\ said the corporal. He linked his arm in the youth s and drew him forward. \ Come on, Henry. I ll take keer a yeh.\ As they went on together the loud private called out after them: \ Put im t sleep in my blanket, Simpson. An –hol on a
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minnit –here s my canteen. It s full a coffee. Look at his head by th fire an see how it looks. Maybe it s a pretty bad un. When I git relieved in a couple a minnits, I ll be over an see t him.\ 51 The youth s senses were so deadened that his friend s voice sounded from afar and he could scarcely feel the pressure of the corporal s arm. He submitted passively to the latter s directing strength. His head was in the old manner hanging forward upon his breast. His knees wobbled. The corporal led him into the glare of the fire. \ Now, Henry,\ he said, \ let s have look at yer ol head.\
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The youth sat obediently and the corporal, laying aside his rifle, began to fumble in the bushy hair of his comrade. He was obliged to turn the other s head so that the full flush of the fire light would beam upon it. He puckered his mouth with a critical air. He drew back his lips and whistled through his teeth when his fingers came in contact with the splashed blood and the rare wound. \ Ah, here we are!\ he said. He awkwardly made further investigations. \ Jest as I thought,\ he added, presently. \ Yeh ve been grazed by a ball. It s raised a queer lump jest as if some feller had lammed yeh on th head with a club. It stopped a-bleedin long time ago. Th most about it is that in
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th mornin yeh ll fell that a number ten hat wouldn t fit yeh. An your head ll be all het up an feel as dry as burnt pork. An yeh may git a lot a other sicknesses, too, by mornin . Yeh can t never tell. Still, I don t much think so. It s jest a damn good belt on th head, an nothin more. Now, you jest sit here an don t move, while I go rout out th relief. Then I ll send Wilson t take keer a yeh.\ The corporal went away. The youth remained on the ground like a parcel. He stared with a vacant look into the fire. After a time he aroused, for some part, and
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the things about him began to take form. He saw that the ground in the deep shadows was cluttered with men, sprawling in every conceivable posture. Glancing narrowly into the more distant darkness, he caught occasional glimpses of visages that loomed pallid and ghostly, lit with a phosphorescent glow. These faces expressed in their lines the deep stupor of the tired soldiers. They made them appear like men drunk with wine. This bit of forest might have appeared to an ethereal wanderer as a scene of the result of some frightful debauch. On the other side of the fire the youth observed an officer asleep, seated bolt upright, with his back against a tree. There was something perilous in his position. Badgered by dreams, perhaps, he swayed with little bounces and starts, like an old, toddy-stricken grandfather in a chimney
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corner. Dust and stains were upon his face. His lower jaw hung down as if lacking strength to assume its normal position. He was the picture of an exhausted soldier after a feast of war. He had evidently gone to sleep with his sword in his arms. These two had slumbered in an embrace, but the weapon had been allowed in time to fall unheeded to the ground. The brass-mounted hilt lay in contact with some parts of the fire. Within the gleam of rose and orange light from the burning sticks were other soldiers, snoring and heaving, or lying deathlike in slumber. A few pairs of legs were stuck forth, rigid and straight. The shoes displayed the mud or dust of marches and bits of rounded trousers, protruding from the blankets, showed rents and tears from
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hurried pitchings through the dense brambles. The fire cackled musically. From it swelled light smoke. Overhead the foliage moved softly. The leaves, with Chapter 13 their faces turned toward the blaze, were colored shifting hues of silver, often edged with red. Far off to the right, through a window in the forest could be seen a handful of stars lying, like glittering pebbles, on the black level of the night. Occasionally, in this low-arched hall, a soldier would arouse and turn his body to a new position, the 52 experience of his sleep having taught him of uneven and objectionable places upon the ground under him. Or, perhaps, he would lift himself to a sitting posture, blink at the fire for an unintelligent
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moment, throw a swift glance at his prostrate companion, and then cuddle down again with a grunt of sleepy content. The youth sat in a forlorn heap until his friend the loud young soldier came, swinging two canteens by their light strings. \ Well, now, Henry, ol boy,\ said the latter, \ we ll have yeh fixed up in jest about a minnit.\ He had the bustling ways of an amateur nurse. He fussed around the fire and stirred the sticks to brilliant exertions. He made his patient drink largely from the canteen that contained the coffee. It was to the youth a delicious draught. He tilted his head afar back and held the canteen long to his lips. The cool mixture went caressingly down his blistered throat. Having finished, he sighed with comfortable delight.
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The loud young soldier watched his comrade with an air of satisfaction. He later produced an extensive handkerchief from his pocket. He folded it into a manner of bandage and soused water from the other canteen upon the middle of it. This crude arrangement he bound over the youth s head, tying the ends in a queer knot at the back of the neck. \ There,\ he said, moving off and surveying his deed, \ yeh look like th devil, but I bet yeh feel better.\ The youth contemplated his friend with grateful eyes. Upon his aching and swelling head the cold cloth was like a tender woman s hand. \ Yeh don t holler ner say nothin ,\ remarked his friend approvingly. \ I know I m a blacksmith at
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takin keer a sick folks, an yeh never squeaked. Yer a good un, Henry. Most a men would a been in th hospital long ago. A shot in th head ain t foolin business.\ The youth made no reply, but began to fumble with the buttons of his jacket. \ Well, come, now,\ continued his friend, \ come on. I must put yeh t bed an see that yeh git a good night s rest.\ The other got carefully erect, and the loud young soldier led him among the sleeping forms lying in groups and rows. Presently he stooped and picked up his blankets. He spread the rubber one upon the ground and placed the woolen one about the youth s shoulders.
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\ There now,\ he said, \ lie down an git some sleep.\ The youth, with his manner of doglike obedience, got carefully down like a crone stooping. He stretched out with a murmur of relief and comfort. The ground felt like the softest couch. But of a sudden he ejaculated: \ Hol on a minnit! Where you goin t sleep?\ His friend waved his hand impatiently. \ Right down there by yeh.\ \ Well, but hol on a minnit,\ continued the youth. \ What yeh goin t sleep in? I ve got your–\ The loud young soldier snarled: \ Shet up an go on t sleep. Don t be makin a damn fool a
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yerself,\ he said Chapter 13 severely. 53 After the reproof the youth said no more. An exquisite drowsiness had spread through him. The warm comfort of the blanket enveloped him and made a gentle langour. His head fell forward on his crooked arm and his weighted lids went softly down over his eyes. Hearing a splatter of musketry from the distance, he wondered indifferently if those men sometimes slept. He gave a long sigh, snuggled down into his blanket, and in a moment was like his comrades. Chapter 14 Chapter 14 54 When the youth awoke it seemed to him that he had been asleep for a thousand years, and
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he felt sure that he opened his eyes upon an unexpected world. Gray mists were slowly shifting before the first efforts of the sun rays. An impending splendor could be seen in the eastern sky. An icy dew had chilled his face, and immediately upon arousing he curled farther down into his blanket. He stared for a while at the leaves overhead, moving in a heraldic wind of the day. The distance was splintering and blaring with the noise of fighting. There was in the sound an expression of a deadly persistency, as if it had not began and was not to cease. About him were the rows and groups of men that he had dimly seen the previous night. They were getting a last draught of sleep before the awakening. The gaunt, careworn features and dusty figures
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thought of them only to dismiss the idea of life upon them as impossible or improbable. It is curious to recall some of the mental habits of those departed days. At most terrestrial men fancied there might be other men upon Mars, perhaps inferior to themselves and ready to welcome a missionary enterprise. Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. And early in the twentieth century came the great disillusionment. 8 The planet Mars, I scarcely need remind the reader, revolves about the sun at a mean distance of 140,000,000 miles, and the light and heat it
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receives from the sun is barely half of that received by this world. It must be, if the nebular hypothesis has any truth, older than our world; and long before this earth ceased to be molten, life upon its surface must have begun its course. The fact that it is scarcely one seventh of the volume of the earth must have accelerated its cooling to the temperature at which life could begin. It has air and water and all that is necessary for the support of animated existence. Yet so vain is man, and so blinded by his vanity, that no writer, up to the very end of the nineteenth century, expressed any idea that intelligent life might have developed there far, or indeed at all, beyond its earthly level. Nor was it generally understood that since Mars is older than
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our earth, with scarcely a quarter of the superficial area and remoter from the sun, it necessarily follows that it is not only more distant from time s beginning but nearer its end. The secular cooling that must someday overtake our planet has already gone far indeed with our neighbour. Its physical condition is still largely a mystery, but we know now that even in its equatorial region the midday temperature barely approaches that of our coldest winter. Its air is much more attenuated than ours, its oceans have shrunk until they cover but a third of its surface, and as its slow seasons change huge snowcaps gather and melt about either pole and periodically inundate its temperate zones. That last stage of exhaustion, which to us is still incredibly remote, has become a present-day problem for the inhabitants of
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Mars. The immediate pressure of necessity has brightened their intellects, enlarged their powers, and hardened their hearts. And looking across space with instruments, and intelligences such as we have scarcely dreamed of, they see, at its nearest distance only 35,000,000 of miles sunward of them, a morning star of hope, our own warmer planet, green with vegetation and grey with water, with a cloudy atmosphere eloquent of fertility, with glimpses through its drifting cloud wisps of broad stretches of populous country and narrow, navy-crowded seas. And we men, the creatures who inhabit this earth, must be to them at least as alien and lowly as are the monkeys and lemurs to us. The intellectual side of man already admits that life is an incessant struggle for existence, and it would seem that this too is the belief of the minds
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upon Mars. Their world is far gone in its cooling and this world is still crowded with life, but crowded only with what they regard as inferior animals. To carry warfare sunward is, indeed, their only escape from the destruction that, generation after generation, creeps upon them. And before we judge of them too harshly we must remember what ruthless and utter destruction our own species has wrought, not only upon animals, such as the vanished bison and the dodo, but upon its inferior CHAPTER ONE races. The Tasmanians, in spite of their human likeness, were entirely swept out of existence in a war of 9 extermination waged by European immigrants, in the space of fifty years. Are we such apostles of mercy as to
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complain if the Martians warred in the same spirit? The Martians seem to have calculated their descent with amazing subtlety–their mathematical learning is evidently far in excess of ours–and to have carried out their preparations with a well-nigh perfect unanimity. Had our instruments permitted it, we might have seen the gathering trouble far back in the nineteenth century. Men like Schiaparelli watched the red planet–it is odd, by-the-bye, that for countless centuries Mars has been the star of war–but failed to interpret the fluctuating appearances of the markings they mapped so well. All that time the Martians must have been getting ready. During the opposition of 1894 a great light was seen on the illuminated part of the disk, first at the Lick Observatory, then by Perrotin of Nice, and then by other observers. English readers heard
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of it first in the issue of NATURE dated August 2. I am inclined to think that this blaze may have been the casting of the huge gun, in the vast pit sunk into their planet, from which their shots were fired at us. Peculiar markings, as yet unexplained, were seen near the site of that outbreak during the next two oppositions. The storm burst upon us six years ago now. As Mars approached opposition, Lavelle of Java set the wires of the astronomical exchange palpitating with the amazing intelligence of a huge outbreak of incandescent gas upon the planet. It had occurred towards midnight of the twelfth; and the spectroscope, to which he had at once resorted, indicated a mass of flaming gas, chiefly hydrogen, moving with an enormous velocity towards this earth. This jet of fire had become
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invisible about a quarter past twelve. He compared it to a colossal puff of flame suddenly and violently squirted out of the planet, \ as flaming gases rushed out of a gun.\ A singularly appropriate phrase it proved. Yet the next day there was nothing of this in the papers except a little note in the DAILY TELEGRAPH, and the world went in ignorance of one of the gravest dangers that ever threatened the human race. I might not have heard of the eruption at all had I not met Ogilvy, the well-known astronomer, at Ottershaw. He was immensely excited at the news, and in the excess of his feelings invited me up to take a turn with him that night in a scrutiny of the red planet. In spite of all that has happened since, I still
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remember that vigil very distinctly: the black and silent observatory, the shadowed lantern throwing a feeble glow upon the floor in the corner, the steady ticking of the clockwork of the telescope, the little slit in the roof–an oblong profundity with the stardust streaked across it. Ogilvy moved about, invisible but audible. Looking through the telescope, one saw a circle of deep blue and the little round planet swimming in the field. It seemed such a little thing, so bright and small and still, faintly marked with transverse stripes, and slightly flattened from the perfect round. But so little it was, so silvery warm–a pin s-head of light! It was as if it quivered, but really this was the telescope vibrating with the activity of the clockwork that kept the planet in view. As I watched, the planet seemed to
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grow larger and smaller and to advance and recede, but that was simply that my eye was tired. Forty millions of miles it was from us–more than forty millions of miles of void. Few people realise the immensity of vacancy in which the dust of the material universe swims. Near it in the field, I remember, were three faint points of light, three telescopic stars infinitely remote, and all around it was the unfathomable darkness of empty space. You know how that blackness looks on a frosty starlight night. In a telescope it seems far profounder. And invisible to me because it was so remote and small, flying swiftly and steadily towards me across that incredible distance, drawing nearer every minute by so many thousands of miles, came the Thing they were sending us, the Thing that was to bring so
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much struggle and calamity and death to the earth. I never dreamed of it then as I watched; no one on earth dreamed of that unerring missile. That night, too, there was another jetting out of gas from the distant planet. I saw it. A reddish flash at the CHAPTER ONE 10 edge, the slightest projection of the outline just as the chronometer struck midnight; and at that I told Ogilvy and he took my place. The night was warm and I was thirsty, and I went stretching my legs clumsily and feeling my way in the darkness, to the little table where the siphon stood, while Ogilvy exclaimed at the streamer of gas that came out towards us. That night another
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invisible missile started on its way to the earth from Mars, just a second or so under twenty-four hours after the first one. I remember how I sat on the table there in the blackness, with patches of green and crimson swimming before my eyes. I wished I had a light to smoke by, little suspecting the meaning of the minute gleam I had seen and all that it would presently bring me. Ogilvy watched till one, and then gave it up; and we lit the lantern and walked over to his house. Down below in the darkness were Ottershaw and Chertsey and all their hundreds of people, sleeping in peace. He was full of speculation that night about the condition of Mars, and scoffed at the vulgar idea of its having inhabitants who were signalling us. His idea was that
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meteorites might be falling in a heavy shower upon the planet, or that a huge volcanic explosion was in progress. He pointed out to me how unlikely it was that organic evolution had taken the same direction in the two adjacent planets. \ The chances against anything manlike on Mars are a million to one,\ he said. Hundreds of observers saw the flame that night and the night after about midnight, and again the night after; and so for ten nights, a flame each night. Why the shots ceased after the tenth no one on earth has attempted to explain. It may be the gases of the firing caused the Martians inconvenience. Dense clouds of smoke or dust, visible through a powerful telescope on earth as little grey, fluctuating patches, spread through the clearness of the planet
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s atmosphere and obscured its more familiar features. Even the daily papers woke up to the disturbances at last, and popular notes appeared here, there, and everywhere concerning the volcanoes upon Mars. The seriocomic periodical PUNCH, I remember, made a happy use of it in the political cartoon. And, all unsuspected, those missiles the Martians had fired at us drew earthward, rushing now at a pace of many miles a second through the empty gulf of space, hour by hour and day by day, nearer and nearer. It seems to me now almost incredibly wonderful that, with that swift fate hanging over us, men could go about their petty concerns as they did. I remember how jubilant Markham was at securing a new photograph of the planet for the illustrated paper he edited in those days. People in these latter
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times scarcely realise the abundance and enterprise of our nineteenth-century papers. For my own part, I was much occupied in learning to ride the bicycle, and busy upon a series of papers discussing the probable developments of moral ideas as civilisation progressed. One night (the first missile then could scarcely have been 10,000,000 miles away) I went for a walk with my wife. It was starlight and I explained the Signs of the Zodiac to her, and pointed out Mars, a bright dot of light creeping zenithward, towards which so many telescopes were pointed. It was a warm night. Coming home, a party of excursionists from Chertsey or Isleworth passed us singing and playing music. There were lights in the upper windows of the houses as the people went to bed. From the railway station in the distance came the
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sound of shunting trains, ringing and rumbling, softened almost into melody by the distance. My wife pointed out to me the brightness of the red, green, and yellow signal lights hanging in a framework against the sky. It seemed so safe and tranquil. CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER TWO THE FALLING STAR Then came the night of the first falling star. It was seen early in the morning, rushing over Winchester eastward, a line of flame high in the atmosphere. Hundreds must have seen it, and taken it for an ordinary 11 falling star. Albin described it as leaving a greenish streak behind it that glowed for some seconds. Denning, our greatest authority on meteorites, stated that the height of its first appearance was
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about ninety or one hundred miles. It seemed to him that it fell to earth about one hundred miles east of him. I was at home at that hour and writing in my study; and although my French windows face towards Ottershaw and the blind was up (for I loved in those days to look up at the night sky), I saw nothing of it. Yet this strangest of all things that ever came to earth from outer space must have fallen while I was sitting there, visible to me had I only looked up as it passed. Some of those who saw its flight say it travelled with a hissing sound. I myself heard nothing of that. Many people in Berkshire, Surrey, and Middlesex must have seen the fall of it, and, at most, have thought that another meteorite had
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descended. No one seems to have troubled to look for the fallen mass that night. But very early in the morning poor Ogilvy, who had seen the shooting star and who was persuaded that a meteorite lay somewhere on the common between Horsell, Ottershaw, and Woking, rose early with the idea of finding it. Find it he did, soon after dawn, and not far from the sand pits. An enormous hole had been made by the impact of the projectile, and the sand and gravel had been flung violently in every direction over the heath, forming heaps visible a mile and a half away. The heather was on fire eastward, and a thin blue smoke rose against the dawn. The Thing itself lay almost entirely buried in sand, amidst the scattered splinters of a fir tree it had
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shivered to fragments in its descent. The uncovered part had the appearance of a huge cylinder, caked over and its outline softened by a thick scaly dun-coloured incrustation. It had a diameter of about thirty yards. He approached the mass, surprised at the size and more so at the shape, since most meteorites are rounded more or less completely. It was, however, still so hot from its flight through the air as to forbid his near approach. A stirring noise within its cylinder he ascribed to the unequal cooling of its surface; for at that time it had not occurred to him that it might be hollow. He remained standing at the edge of the pit that the Thing had made for itself, staring at its strange appearance, astonished chiefly at its unusual shape and colour, and dimly perceiving even
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then some evidence of design in its arrival. The early morning was wonderfully still, and the sun, just clearing the pine trees towards Weybridge, was already warm. He did not remember hearing any birds that morning, there was certainly no breeze stirring, and the only sounds were the faint movements from within the cindery cylinder. He was all alone on the common. Then suddenly he noticed with a start that some of the grey clinker, the ashy incrustation that covered the meteorite, was falling off the circular edge of the end. It was dropping off in flakes and raining down upon the sand. A large piece suddenly came off and fell with a sharp noise that brought his heart into his mouth. For a minute he scarcely realised what this meant, and, although the heat was excessive, he
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clambered down into the pit close to the bulk to see the Thing more clearly. He fancied even then that the cooling of the body might account for this, but what disturbed that idea was the fact that the ash was falling only from the end of the cylinder. And then he perceived that, very slowly, the circular top of the cylinder was rotating on its body. It was such a gradual movement that he discovered it only through noticing that a black mark that had been near him five minutes ago was now at the other side of the circumference. Even then he scarcely understood what this CHAPTER TWO 12 indicated, until he heard a muffled grating sound and saw the black mark jerk
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forward an inch or so. Then the thing came upon him in a flash. The cylinder was artificial–hollow–with an end that screwed out! Something within the cylinder was unscrewing the top! \ Good heavens!\ said Ogilvy. \ There s a man in it–men in it! Half roasted to death! Trying to escape!\ At once, with a quick mental leap, he linked the Thing with the flash upon Mars. The thought of the confined creature was so dreadful to him that he forgot the heat and went forward to the cylinder to help turn. But luckily the dull radiation arrested him before he could burn his hands on the still-glowing metal. At that he stood irresolute for a moment, then turned, scrambled out of the pit, and set off running wildly into Woking. The time
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then must have been somewhere about six o clock. He met a waggoner and tried to make him understand, but the tale he told and his appearance were so wild–his hat had fallen off in the pit– that the man simply drove on. He was equally unsuccessful with the potman who was just unlocking the doors of the public-house by Horsell Bridge. The fellow thought he was a lunatic at large and made an unsuccessful attempt to shut him into the taproom. That sobered him a little; and when he saw Henderson, the London journalist, in his garden, he called over the palings and made himself understood. \ Henderson,\ he called, \ you saw that shooting star last night?\ \ Well?\ said Henderson. \ It s out on Horsell Common now.\
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\ Good Lord!\ said Henderson. \ Fallen meteorite! That s good.\ \ But it s something more than a meteorite. It s a cylinder–an artificial cylinder, man! And there s something inside.\ Henderson stood up with his spade in his hand. \ What s that?\ he said. He was deaf in one ear. Ogilvy told him all that he had seen. Henderson was a minute or so taking it in. Then he dropped his spade, snatched up his jacket, and came out into the road. The two men hurried back at once to the common, and found the cylinder still lying in the same position. But now the sounds inside had ceased, and a thin circle of bright metal showed between the top and the body of the
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cylinder. Air was either entering or escaping at the rim with a thin, sizzling sound. They listened, rapped on the scaly burnt metal with a stick, and, meeting with no response, they both concluded the man or men inside must be insensible or dead. Of course the two were quite unable to do anything. They shouted consolation and promises, and went off back to the town again to get help. One can imagine them, covered with sand, excited and disordered, running up the little street in the bright sunlight just as the shop folks were taking down their shutters and people were opening their bedroom windows. Henderson went into the railway station at once, in order to telegraph the news to London. The newspaper articles had prepared men s minds for the reception of the idea.
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By eight o clock a number of boys and unemployed men had already started for the common to see the \ dead men from Mars.\ That was the form the story took. I heard of it first from my newspaper boy about a quarter to nine when I went out to get my DAILY CHRONICLE. I was naturally startled, and lost no time in going out and across the Ottershaw bridge to the sand pits. CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER THREE ON HORSELL COMMON I found a little crowd of perhaps twenty people surrounding the huge hole in which the cylinder lay. I have 13 already described the appearance of that colossal bulk, embedded in the ground. The turf and gravel about it
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seemed charred as if by a sudden explosion. No doubt its impact had caused a flash of fire. Henderson and Ogilvy were not there. I think they perceived that nothing was to be done for the present, and had gone away to breakfast at Henderson s house. There were four or five boys sitting on the edge of the Pit, with their feet dangling, and amusing themselves–until I stopped them–by throwing stones at the giant mass. After I had spoken to them about it, they began playing at \ touch\ in and out of the group of bystanders. Among these were a couple of cyclists, a jobbing gardener I employed sometimes, a girl carrying a baby, Gregg the butcher and his little boy, and two or three loafers and golf caddies who were accustomed to hang
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about the railway station. There was very little talking. Few of the common people in England had anything but the vaguest astronomical ideas in those days. Most of them were staring quietly at the big table like end of the cylinder, which was still as Ogilvy and Henderson had left it. I fancy the popular expectation of a heap of charred corpses was disappointed at this inanimate bulk. Some went away while I was there, and other people came. I clambered into the pit and fancied I heard a faint movement under my feet. The top had certainly ceased to rotate. It was only when I got thus close to it that the strangeness of this object was at all evident to me. At the first glance it was really no more exciting than an overturned carriage or a tree blown
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across the road. Not so much so, indeed. It looked like a rusty gas float. It required a certain amount of scientific education to perceive that the grey scale of the Thing was no common oxide, that the yellowish-white metal that gleamed in the crack between the lid and the cylinder had an unfamiliar hue. \ Extra-terrestrial\ had no meaning for most of the onlookers. At that time it was quite clear in my own mind that the Thing had come from the planet Mars, but I judged it improbable that it contained any living creature. I thought the unscrewing might be automatic. In spite of Ogilvy, I still believed that there were men in Mars. My mind ran fancifully on the possibilities of its containing manuscript, on the difficulties in translation that might arise, whether we should find
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coins and models in it, and so forth. Yet it was a little too large for assurance on this idea. I felt an impatience to see it opened. About eleven, as nothing seemed happening, I walked back, full of such thought, to my home in Maybury. But I found it difficult to get to work upon my abstract investigations. In the afternoon the appearance of the common had altered very much. The early editions of the evening papers had startled London with enormous headlines: \ A MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM MARS.\ \ REMARKABLE STORY FROM WOKING,\ and so forth. In addition, Ogilvy s wire to the Astronomical Exchange had roused every observatory in the three kingdoms. There were half a dozen flies or more from the Woking station standing
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in the road by the sand pits, a basket-chaise from Chobham, and a rather lordly carriage. Besides that, there was quite a heap of bicycles. In addition, a large number of people must have walked, in spite of the heat of the day, from Woking and Chertsey, so that there was altogether quite a considerable crowd–one or two gaily dressed ladies among the CHAPTER THREE others. It was glaringly hot, not a cloud in the sky nor a breath of wind, and the only shadow was that of the few 14 scattered pine trees. The burning heather had been extinguished, but the level ground towards Ottershaw was blackened as far as one could see, and still giving off vertical streamers of smoke. An enterprising sweet-stuff
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dealer in the Chobham Road had sent up his son with a barrow-load of green apples and ginger beer. Going to the edge of the pit, I found it occupied by a group of about half a dozen men–Henderson, Ogilvy, and a tall, fair-haired man that I afterwards learned was Stent, the Astronomer Royal, with several workmen wielding spades and pickaxes. Stent was giving directions in a clear, high-pitched voice. He was standing on the cylinder, which was now evidently much cooler; his face was crimson and streaming with perspiration, and something seemed to have irritated him. A large portion of the cylinder had been uncovered, though its lower end was still embedded. As soon as Ogilvy saw me among the staring crowd on the edge of the pit he called to me to come down, and asked
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me if I would mind going over to see Lord Hilton, the lord of the manor. The growing crowd, he said, was becoming a serious impediment to their excavations, especially the boys. They wanted a light railing put up, and help to keep the people back. He told me that a faint stirring was occasionally still audible within the case, but that the workmen had failed to unscrew the top, as it afforded no grip to them. The case appeared to be enormously thick, and it was possible that the faint sounds we heard represented a noisy tumult in the interior. I was very glad to do as he asked, and so become one of the privileged spectators within the contemplated enclosure. I failed to find Lord Hilton at his house, but I was told he was expected
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from London by the six o clock train from Waterloo; and as it was then about a quarter past five, I went home, had some tea, and walked up to the station to waylay him. CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FOUR THE CYLINDER OPENS When I returned to the common the sun was setting. Scattered groups were hurrying from the direction of 15 Woking, and one or two persons were returning. The crowd about the pit had increased, and stood out black against the lemon yellow of the sky–a couple of hundred people, perhaps. There were raised voices, and some sort of struggle appeared to be going on about the pit. Strange imaginings passed through my mind. As I drew nearer I heard
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Stent s voice: \ Keep back! Keep back!\ A boy came running towards me. \ It s a-movin ,\ he said to me as he passed; \ a-screwin and a- screwin out. I don t like it. I m a-goin ome, I am.\ I went on to the crowd. There were really, I should think, two or three hundred people elbowing and jostling one another, the one or two ladies there being by no means the least active. \ He s fallen in the pit!\ cried some one. \ Keep back!\ said several. The crowd swayed a little, and I elbowed my way through. Every one seemed greatly excited. I heard a peculiar humming sound from the
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pit. \ I say!\ said Ogilvy; \ help keep these idiots back. We don t know what s in the confounded thing, you know!\ I saw a young man, a shop assistant in Woking I believe he was, standing on the cylinder and trying to scramble out of the hole again. The crowd had pushed him in. The end of the cylinder was being screwed out from within. Nearly two feet of shining screw projected. Somebody blundered against me, and I narrowly missed being pitched onto the top of the screw. I turned, and as I did so the screw must have come out, for the lid of the cylinder fell upon the gravel with a ringing concussion. I stuck my elbow into the person behind me, and turned my head towards the Thing again.
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For a moment that circular cavity seemed perfectly black. I had the sunset in my eyes. I think everyone expected to see a man emerge–possibly something a little unlike us terrestrial men, but in all essentials a man. I know I did. But, looking, I presently saw something stirring within the shadow: greyish billowy movements, one above another, and then two luminous disks–like eyes. Then something resembling a little grey snake, about the thickness of a walking stick, coiled up out of the writhing middle, and wriggled in the air towards me–and then another. A sudden chill came over me. There was a loud shriek from a woman behind. I half turned, keeping my eyes fixed upon the cylinder still, from which other tentacles were now projecting, and began pushing my way back from the edge of
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the pit. I saw astonishment giving place to horror on the faces of the people about me. I heard inarticulate exclamations on all sides. There was a general movement backwards. I saw the shopman struggling still on the edge of the pit. I found myself alone, and saw the people on the other side of the pit running off, Stent among them. I looked again at the cylinder, and ungovernable terror gripped me. I stood petrified and staring. CHAPTER FOUR A big greyish rounded bulk, the size, perhaps, of a bear, was rising slowly and painfully out of the cylinder. As it bulged up and caught the light, it glistened like wet leather. Two large dark-coloured eyes were regarding me steadfastly. The mass that framed them, the head of the thing,
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was rounded, and had, one might say, a face. There was a mouth under the eyes, the lipless brim of 16 which quivered and panted, and dropped saliva. The whole creature heaved and pulsated convulsively. A lank tentacular appendage gripped the edge of the cylinder, another swayed in the air. Those who have never seen a living Martian can scarcely imagine the strange horror of its appearance. The peculiar V-shaped mouth with its pointed upper lip, the absence of brow ridges, the absence of a chin beneath the wedgelike lower lip, the incessant quivering of this mouth, the Gorgon groups of tentacles, the tumultuous breathing of the lungs in a strange atmosphere, the evident heaviness and painfulness of movement due to the greater gravitational energy of the earth– above all, the extraordinary intensity of
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the immense eyes–were at once vital, intense, inhuman, crippled and monstrous. There was something fungoid in the oily brown skin, something in the clumsy deliberation of the tedious movements unspeakably nasty. Even at this first encounter, this first glimpse, I was overcome with disgust and dread. Suddenly the monster vanished. It had toppled over the brim of the cylinder and fallen into the pit, with a thud like the fall of a great mass of leather. I heard it give a peculiar thick cry, and forthwith another of these creatures appeared darkly in the deep shadow of the aperture. I turned and, running madly, made for the first group of trees, perhaps a hundred yards away; but I ran slantingly and stumbling, for I could not avert my face from these things. There, among some
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young pine trees and furze bushes, I stopped, panting, and waited further developments. The common round the sand pits was dotted with people, standing like myself in a half-fascinated terror, staring at these creatures, or rather at the heaped gravel at the edge of the pit in which they lay. And then, with a renewed horror, I saw a round, black object bobbing up and down on the edge of the pit. It was the head of the shopman who had fallen in, but showing as a little black object against the hot western sun. Now he got his shoulder and knee up, and again he seemed to slip back until only his head was visible. Suddenly he vanished, and I could have fancied a faint shriek had reached me. I had a momentary impulse to go back and help him that my
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stopped, and buried her face in her hands. He stepped close and pulled her hands away from her face. She wasn t crying. He might have expected grief and rage, but this wounded silence was pain itself. \\ I m going to need your help.\\ Kade seemed to realize he was holding her hands and pulled free. Standing up, she moved away a few steps. Not turning to look at him, she said, \\ I m leaving. That s what I was going to tell Galen when I heard you call him Grandier.\\ \\ Why?\\ She looked back at him. This time there were tears streaking her face, but her expression was that familiar one of exasperation. \\ There is nothing for me here, especially now.\\ But he had But he had still told her what the plan was, how he had intended for Dubell to
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cover the escape to Bel Garde, the closest defensible position that could be reached before nightfall. She had listened without comment. Before leaving he had said, \\ There s a difference between running away from your fears and walking away from your past. For your own sake, make sure you know which is which.\\ And that was a damn pompous thing to say to her, he thought now. The first of the six wagons carrying the wounded who had survived the night left the shelter of the gate and trundled down the frozen mud of the street. They were guarded by about half the surviving Cisternans and a large party of servants and retainers–men, women, and children. Thomas would rather have would rather have kept the Cisternans together, but he knew they would obey his orders whereas there was no guarantee of that with Albon knights.
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Vivan and the other few remaining Cisternans would come with his group. It was a relief to be outside, to be moving. Inside the walls, it seemed everything was held together by threads which were beginning to unravel. Thomas looked back at his men grouped around the gate. Baserat was checking the set of his pistols in the holsters on the saddlebow. Thomas also had two long wheellock pistols in saddle holsters and was wearing a rapier with a wide cavalry blade. A dueling rapier was slung over his shoulder. One large armed party, mounted with only one wagon for supplies, left the gate and headed down the street in the opposite direction. the opposite direction. It was the Count of Duncanny, who had chosen to lead away his family, retainers, and Chapter Ten 123 some of the other nobility who could not be counted on
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to keep up in a hard ride. They had some Albons with them, and Thomas could only guess what their chances might be. The count did not turn around as they rode away, but he lifted one hand to them in farewell. Thomas noted the similarity to a funeral procession. The men on the palace wall had vanished. He hoped the fay, and Grandier, didn t guess the significance of that for another few moments at least. The last wagon passed out of the shadow of the Prince s the Prince s Gate and Thomas nodded a signal to one of the guards waiting there. Thomas spurred his horse and they were off. The crash of two coaches barreling through the gate signaled the eruption of the quiet street into pandemonium. Surrounding the coaches were Lucas and about twenty Queen s guards, the other Cisternans, and
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a few volunteer Albon knights. Behind them rode the rest of the Queen s Guard and the Albon troop. Grandier would anticipate their escape. He knew they would have to move now, before the snow choked the streets. Thomas hoped he hadn t anticipated any further. The promenades and tall houses of the palace quarter flashed by. Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw a horse stumble and go down. He couldn t tell who its rider who its rider was. The attack came. A large dark-winged creature struck the top of the first coach, leaping away immediately as its claws encountered the iron nails embedded in the roof. But the coach swayed under the weight and fell sideways, two of its wheels crushed beneath it. The driver tumbled free and the horses screamed, staggering and fighting their harness. The second coach shuddered to
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a halt beyond it as more fay leapt off rooftops and sprang up out of the mud and snow in the street. Thomas wheeled his horse, leading the escort group of Queen s guards and Cisternans to surround the two coaches. They fetched up against the dressed stone wall of a fortified town house. Thomas looked back toward the second company. If Renier didn t follow his instructions… No, the Albon troop and the Albon troop and the rest of his men had split off with the wagons as the fay had attacked the coaches. They were heading up the Avenue of Flowers, riding pell-mell for the gate out of the city. But even as he saw them go, an illusion of a confused roiling mass of horsemen settled in their place. She s here, she s done it. A moment later he saw Kade leap
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off the back of the coach that Berham had driven and disappear into the illusion she had created. He had intended for Dubell to cover the retreat of the second troop with illusion, the plan he had fortunately not had time to reveal to the old sorcerer. Kade could do it with fayre glamour, which neither the fay nor Grandier would be immune to. Until this moment he had not thought she had not thought she would. The coaches had been empty but for their drivers. Ravenna, Roland, and Falaise were on horseback in the midst of the Albon troop, the wagons carrying the supplies and the wounded, and the rest of the Queen s Guard. Ravenna had ridden under conditions almost as desperate during the war, it was one of the few things Roland did well on his own, and Gideon was under orders to
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keep Falaise on her mount if he had to tie her there. If Grandier was watching, Thomas knew his own presence with the coaches would add verisimilitude to the deception. Chapter Ten Then the fay were on them and there was no more time for worry about the others. Thomas emptied both 124 pistols at pistols at the flying creature that had struck the first coach as it stooped on them again, then used the heavy cavalry rapier to slash down at the fay that clustered about his horse. A gunpowder blast erupted somewhere nearby, with the shriek of wounded men and horses–the barrel of a too hastily loaded wheellock exploding. The horses were trained to kick in battle and their iron-shod hooves kept the fay back at first. Then Thomas saw Baserat go down and an instant later something struck the side of his own
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horse, knocking it sprawling. He managed to fall clear and the horse tore itself free, staggered up, and bolted. As Thomas struggled to get to his feet, a fay leapt on him from behind and slammed him to the ground. He twisted and shoved an elbow back into it, back into it, expecting a bronze blade in his vitals, then the hilt of the rapier that was still slung across his back touched the thing s head. He heard the creature s flesh sizzle and it yelped as it leapt away. Thomas stood and cleared a path through the creatures with his cavalry blade and put his back to the wall of the house. Blood was slicking his swordhilt–his own possibly, though he couldn t remember being wounded. He saw the second coach collapse and the misshapen dark fay swarming over it, and grimly anticipated their
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disappointment at its empty interior. He wished Kade had not come with them after all. He hoped she was controlling the illusion from a distance, or had gotten herself away by now. Above the screams and shouts of men, horses, and fay, he heard the he heard the crash of a door slamming open from further down the side of the house. He thought to work his way down there in case someone had found a way inside where they could retreat, but one of the humanlike servants of the Host came at him, swinging its sword wildly. He stepped forward and neatly speared its throat with the rapier s point, then something struck him in the leg just above his right knee. For a moment he felt only the slight pain of a bee sting. Then the ground was rushing up at him, then nothing.
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Chapter Eleven Chapter Eleven 125 AS KADE TRIED to reach the partial shelter of the wall of the house, a clawed hand caught her hair and the back hair and the back of her cloak, hauling her around. It was a bogle, a short squat ugly thing with muddy gray skin and harsh yellow eyes, and it was grinning at her. She pulled a handful of glamour out of the cold air and flung it into its eyes, giving it an all too temporary blindness, and it fled away shrieking. Damn things, she thought, dodging one of the coaches and its plunging horses. Why anyone allows them to exist is beyond me. If she ever got back to Fayre she would consider dedicating the rest of her life to removing its inhabitants from the face of the earth. Kade fetched up against the wall of the
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house, just as the carriage doors slammed open and men poured out. Private troops… No, there were sprigs of white and red tucked into some tucked into some of their hatbands, the colors of city service. A trained band. She could feel the iron mixed into the mortar of the wall behind her as a distant heat. The proximity of so much iron made her wary, but she hadn t felt any real emotion she could identify since early this morning. She hadn t been able to leave. The idea of returning to Knockma and being alone with her thoughts was difficult enough to face, and the lump that had been in her throat for hours seemed to be keeping her from any decisive action. Men came to the aid of the small group formed into a defensive knot between the two wrecked coaches and the
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house, and the fay began to disperse. The bulk of the house was probably what had saved many of the Guards. many of the Guards. The flighted fay large enough to carry off humans had not been able to reach them. A thick haze of white smoke from pistols and muskets hung over the street now, but Kade could see that the glamour that formed her illusion was beginning to dissipate. The reflective quality of ice and snow had produced glamour in abundance. A trick on Grandier, that his foul weather produced material for her illusions. Kade slipped inside the door with the others as the house troops withdrew. In the large stone-floored room within were half a dozen coaches, stabling for many horses, and the confusion of wounded and dying men. She made her way across the chamber. Nearly to the bottom of the stair
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into the main house, she saw a dead man on the floor in Cisternan colors. She Cisternan colors. She recognized him as their commander, Vivan, who had helped her in the palace hall battle. She hesitated, but there was nothing to be done, and in another moment the crowd pushed her on. She couldn t see any of the Queen s guards, or Thomas, anywhere. With nothing else to do, she decided to look for them. She made her way up the stairs and into the maze of rooms on the second floor. From outside, faced with only the one uncompromising gray wall, she hadn t realized the house was so large. The beautifully appointed rooms were crowded with refugees from the surrounding neighborhood, mostly shopkeepers or members of the more wealthy classes whose homes hadn t withstood the attacks. They were making an awful noise,
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yelling, screaming, complaining, children crying, though as far as Kade far as Kade could tell the house had never been penetrated by fay. Surely they were only stirred up by the battle outside. Surely they hadn t been like this since last night. She fought her way through crowded rooms until she saw a young servant bustling through, carrying an armload of rolled linen bandages. She caught his arm. \\ Whose house is this?\\ He didn t even look at her oddly. It probably wasn t the most witless question he had answered today. \\ Lord Aviler s house, the High Minister.\\ Chapter Eleven Kade let him go. She remembered Aviler a little from the night of the Commedia, but mostly from the conversation between Thomas and Lucas she had eavesdropped on. His position in all this was obscure, at best. was
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obscure, at best. And why do I care? She found another stairway and went up. The third floor would hold audience chambers and more private 126 entertaining rooms and salons. It was unguarded, since custom and fear of irritating their patrons kept any of the refugees from venturing up there. It was mercifully quiet. Then she heard voices raised in argument, and in a sudden silence one familiar voice. It can t be… She followed the sound to a carved double door that let her into a large state dining room with a long polished table and candelabra hung with colored glass drops. A group of battered Queen s guards and the lieutenant Gideon faced Denzil and a group of Albon knights while tall sallow Lord Aviler looked on. But seated nearby was seated nearby was Falaise. Kade stood still a moment, trying to disbelieve her
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eyes. The Queen was sitting in an armchair, her head down and her hands knotted in her lap. She looked like a prisoner. Kade started down the room toward them before they saw her. Denzil noticed her first, and Gideon stopped shouting to follow his gaze. She thought, If Denzil smiles at me there will be trouble. But the Duke s expression of angry contempt didn t change. Kade focused on Falaise. \\ What are you doing here?\\ The Queen looked up, her eyes locked on Kade s with desperate intensity. She was dressed for hard riding, in a man s breeches under a plain hunting habit, with a cloak wrapped around her. \\ We were attacked, and I was separated from my was separated from my guards. Lord Denzil found me and brought me here.\\ Falaise s voice held suppressed hysteria. \\ He abducted her
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and brought her here,\\ Gideon corrected Falaise, watching Aviler. \\ She would be safely out the city gates by now if–\\ \\ If you had been competent to get her out the gates–\\ Denzil interrupted. \\ Sorceress,\\ Aviler said. His voice, used to addressing the loud and argumentative city assemblies, overrode theirs. Kade looked at him. His expression was watchful and carefully wary. A part of her not concerned with death and the present had time to observe: I must look more than half mad. Aviler said, \\ Lord Denzil told me you had left the city.\\ She said, \\ Ask said, \\ Ask him why he didn t take her after Roland and the others. Ask him why he didn t take advantage of the escape we bought for them.\\ And when did it become \\ we,\\ she asked herself. Aviler s gaze went from
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Kade to Denzil. \\ He has already explained himself.\\ Gideon swore in exasperation. \\ You re in this with him, aren t you?\\ One of the other guards put a cautioning hand on his shoulder. Denzil said, \\ We were separated from the main troop, and the Queen had to be gotten to safety.\\ His expression reflected angry concern, and Kade thought, He s acting. He s doing it very well, but he s acting. Does Aviler know that? She couldn t tell. Aviler seemed to be mainly worried over mainly worried over what she was going to do. Chapter Eleven I m not the danger here, you idiot. To Falaise, she said, \\ Do you want to be here?\\ 127 As the Queen started to answer, Denzil interrupted smoothly, \\ Of course she doesn t. She would rather be with her king.\\ Aviler spared an
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unreadable glance for him, but kept his attention on Kade. He said, \\ The Queen must choose for herself whom she wishes to accompany. I offered to let her go with her guards, but–\\ \\ My lady, please,\\ Gideon begged Falaise, going to his knees beside her chair. \\ For your honor and your safety, you know we ll protect you.\\ ll protect you.\\ Kade looked down at the Queen. \\ Or come with me.\\ Falaise s frightened eyes went to Denzil. She was afraid to accept help from another woman, Kade realized. With that thought came a cold fury, but it was a fury wrapped in cotton wool, like the rest of her reality. Falaise turned back to her and shook her head helplessly. Kade walked out of the room. She went out into the maze of salons, seeing servants and a few battered soldiers,
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but no one she recognized. She could have asked for directions, she supposed, but she was not in the mood for questions. Then she saw Berham disappearing into one of the doorways carrying an armload of firewood. She hurried to catch up with him. It was the antechamber to the antechamber to a suite. Inside were Queen s guards she recognized and two men in Cisternan colors. Several were wounded, and all looked up at her in surprise. Berham stopped as he saw her. He said, \\ Oh, I m glad to see you. We thought you d gone off.\\ \\ Where s Thomas?\\ The words were out before she quite realized it. It crossed her mind that this was the first time she had called him anything but \\ you bastard.\\ Berham eyed her a moment, then he opened the next door and stepped back
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to let her go in. She stopped in the doorway. It was a bedchamber, cold and musty despite a new fire in the hearth. Thomas lay unconscious on the bed, still wearing the doublet and bloodstained buff and bloodstained buff coat from the battle. It took her moments to recognize him. She had never thought to see him so still, so white. A thin elderly man in a velvet doctor s cope sat next to him on the bed. Lucas was standing over him. He was hatless, and looked as if he had been caught too near a pistol blast; his face and the side of his doublet were flecked with powder burns. Martin was standing at the foot of the bed, leaning on the bedpost, and the sleeves of his white shirt were blood soaked. The young servant Phaistus was backed into a corner, trying
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to stay out of the way. Kade took a step into the room, Berham brushing past behind her. She asked, \\ What is it?\\ Her voice was unsteady and she hated herself she hated herself for it. The doctor glanced back at her, but said nothing. Lucas said, \\ Answer her.\\ The lieutenant s tone was even and reasonable but the doctor looked up at him and blanched. He said hastily, Chapter Eleven \\ I can t find a wound serious enough to cause this. It has to be elf-shot. There s nothing to be done.\\ 128 Sensation returned and hit Kade with the force of a hammer. She stumbled and steadied herself against the wall. \\ Get him out of here,\\ she said. Martin consulted Lucas with a quick glance. He saw something in the other man s expression that constituted agreement, and caught
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the doctor by the doctor by the thick collar of his cope and slung him toward the door. The doctor had a highly developed sense of self-preservation. He scrambled to his feet and darted out without a threat or protest. Kade went to sit on the bed. She touched Thomas s face. His skin was hot but his sweat was freezing. Distractedly she noticed that the striped wool of the bedclothes was faded, but the plumes topping the canopy were still pure white and the headboard had a design of twining laurel leaves. It spoke well for Aviler. She knew Denzil would have been too petty to provide his enemy a decent place in which to die. She found the elf-shot by finding the hole it had burnt through his trouser leg. Elf-shot never appeared to leave a mark, and the tiny and
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the tiny fragment was lodged just under the skin of his lower thigh. It must have glanced off the heavy leather of his boot top and entered his flesh at an angle. It was why he was still alive. The stone had not had time to work its way further into his body on its eventual track toward his heart. She said, \\ I need a silver knife. It doesn t have to be pure, but it should have as little base metal as possible.\\ Martin said, \\ That s an alchemy tool. Where would–\\ \\ Or a piece of family plate,\\ Lucas interrupted. \\ Berham.\\ \\ No sooner said.\\ Berham dropped the wood and hurried for the door. He was limping, Kade noticed. It s not too bad; he s walking. he s walking. Worry about him later. \\ Have you done this before?\\ Lucas
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asked her. He didn t ask her if she thought she could do it, and she was so grateful she answered honestly. \\ No, but I ve seen it done.\\ Or at least attempted. Other doctors or sorcerer-healers had tried to cut out a fragment of elf-shot on the rare occasions when it was close enough to the surface of the skin to find, but most made the mistake of using iron rather than silver. And elf-shot didn t lose its power once it was embedded in a human body; if a sorcerer did manage to remove it he was just as likely to have it seek his own heart instead. The fay who cast the shot sometimes removed it for reasons of their own, but their own, but those instances were few and far between. Victims of elf-shot were usually killed to keep them from
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suffering further, if they didn t die immediately. It was a perfect opportunity for Denzil, or High Minister Aviler. And Thomas Boniface was a disliked favorite whose patron and troop were out of the city by now, if they lived. The doctor might talk. Maybe we should have killed him. It was too late for that now. And why do I care? Because from the moment you set foot in the palace, he did not treat you as a child, a fool, or worse, a court lady. He treated you as exactly what you are, whatever that is, and he knew what Galen s death did to you. She paced the room with rabid impatience until Berham returned. He Berham returned. He shut the door hastily behind him and brought a small delicate paring knife out of his doublet. \\ Will this do?\\ Kade took it
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from him and felt the nearly pure silver resonate through her. \\ Perfect,\\ she said. \\ Now all of you Chapter Eleven get the hell out of the way.\\ If she had spared enough notice, she would have been surprised to see that they did just that. 129 She passed the knife through a candle quickly, and that would have to do. It was a little too dull but Thomas would be in no position to notice. She sat down on the bed and gently probed for the fragment. It wasn t It wasn t there anymore. It had worked its way deeper already. She cursed, fighting a foolish surge of panic, and thought, Why can t anything ever be easy? She knew where it had to be. It hadn t had time to move more than an inch or so down into the muscle. She
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saw her hand was trembling, and she was glad Thomas was deeply unconscious because he would otherwise have surely said something infuriating at this point. Now, she thought, and carefully inserted the knife. A little blood welled up, and after a long heartbeat she felt the knife vibrate as the elf-shot adhered to it. My God, it worked. Gently she withdrew the blade. As soon as the tiny fragment was free she closed her fist around it to keep it from flying at someone, stood, and started toward the fireplace. toward the fireplace. Then she felt it pushing at the skin of her palm. She froze, staring at her closed hands. If she let it go, God knew who it would head for. But I m fay, she thought against the rising dread. It can t hurt me. There s no such thing as half human,
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Galen Dubell had told her once long ago, and she had typically ignored his words. One drop of red blood is enough. She whispered a fay charm of warding danger, and felt the elf-shot press at her hand, pushing through the skin. Fighting panic, she hoped the planet of influence was close enough and shouted the Lodun formula for the destruction of dangerous objects. The sorcery worked where the fay magic had not. She felt the fragment catch fire and hastily scraped it hastily scraped it off her hands onto the hearthstone. It burned bright blue for an instant, then disappeared. She sank down and sat on the floor. All those years that elf-shot could have put her out of their misery and the Unseelie Court had never thought to make the experiment, to test to see if she had the same immunity to it as
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the other fay did. Idiots, she thought. Her palm hurt like hell. She turned back to the bed and saw Thomas move his head on the pillow. Feverishly, but he had moved. She had forgotten anyone else was still in the room, and was startled to find Lucas standing next to her. He took her hand and turned it over. \\ God damn,\\ he muttered when he saw the burn. \\ Hey, Ber–\\ \\ Hey, Ber–\\ Berham appeared with a handful of snow scraped from a window ledge. He slapped it into her palm. She snatched her hand away, then realized the cold had cut the intensity of the pain nearly in half. She watched Thomas while Berham fussily bandaged the burn, and was rewarded by seeing him move twice more. * * * Much later Kade sat on a stool by the fire and looked
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at the deep red mark on her hand. It didn t seem inclined to blister, so she supposed it couldn t be too bad. Unlike pure fay magic, the craft of mortal sorcery was a messy business and she was used to hurting herself occasionally. Messy, but more certain, she thought. She had helped the other wounded as best she could, best she could, but without the philtres and salves that were so necessary Chapter Eleven 130 to healing-sorcery, or the ingredients with which to mix them, there wasn t much she could do. She could have made a healing stone, but that only worked for disease, not torn flesh. A well-stocked apothecary box would have saved lives tonight. The charms to give strength and to hold the soul to the body had little efficacy without the herbal preparations that soothed the wounds. The effort had
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left her cold and dreadfully tired, and she would have traded all her fay ancestry for half of Galen Dubell s skill at healing-sorcery. And she knew that if she had devoted all her attention to study, she would have had that skill by now. Kade was by now. Kade was worried about the wound in Thomas s leg. The spell she had used to knit the flesh together had seemed to work, but the wound was deep and there was no telling how the elf-shot had affected it. By the firelight, his hair and beard were inky black against his fever-pale skin. She resisted the urge to get up and walk over to the bed again. You thought the world ended when you found out Galen was dead, but when you heard that fool of a doctor say elf-shot… She took a deep breath and
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faced herself. It was idiocy to deny it. How could she not know? But looking back, she couldn t see when it had happened. She was not sure how her childhood passion figured into it, or when her carefully preserved her carefully preserved distant appreciation of him had been intensified by intimacy. She was even less certain when the thought I want this man for a friend had become I want this man. Simply because she had never felt it before didn t mean she couldn t recognize it, even though it wasn t very much like the poets and books had described it. Some had implied that the depth of the emotion would hurt; they had not said it would be like the blunt end of a poleax in the pit of the stomach. She had wondered if being fay would make her unable to
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love; it had certainly made her unable to feel even the slightest fondness for any of her relations. She had thought she loved Roland once, but then had decided that if she really had, she would had, she would not have been able to leave him. She had thought herself as cold as her mother Moire and the rest of the fay, who put on a great show of grand passion but who, underneath their shallow surfaces, had hearts as empty as broken wine barrels. To find that she was capable of love, that it was happening now and under less than ideal circumstances, was more than a shock. It was horrific. And worse, like every other bubbleheaded court lady, she had fallen in love with the Captain of the Queen s Guard. When she was a child at court, someone had proclaimed undying passion for
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him every other week. Trying to guess who he was going to show interest in and who he was going to brush off had been a game with Ravenna s gentlewomen. Kade felt herself a fool, herself a fool, and she had seen too much bloodshed and horror in the last few days to seek the comfort of childishly wishing herself dead. She would have to think about what to do at some point. Not right now, she told herself. Just not right now. * * * Thomas turned his head toward the light. It resolved into a glowing orange fire in an unfamiliar hearth. The room was dark, except for one candle that he could see as a dim glow through the curtain at the foot of the bed. He felt the sweat-drenched heat of a receding fever, and everything ached. Except the wound in
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his thigh that felt like a hot coal had been buried beneath the skin. He sat up on one elbow and parted the bloody and burned (Burned? and burned (Burned? he wondered) fabric to examine what looked like an especially clean sword thrust. It was closed over with a new pink scab, a sign of sorcerous healing. Then he saw Kade sitting on a footstool by the fire, where she had blended into the light and its reflection on the polished stone hearth, a creature of amber, rose,and old gold. One could never tire of looking at her, he decided. There was always something new to see, an effect made even more interesting because she produced it unintentionally and entirely without artifice. They stared at one another for a time, until Kade blinked and Chapter Eleven shook herself. \\ Where are we?\\ he asked her. \\
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Lord Aviler s town house. You ve been near ve been near dead most of the day, because you were hit by elf-shot.\\ It took a moment for the words to sink in. He said, \\ I couldn t have been.\\ \\ Very well, argue about it as if you weren t unconscious when it happened.\\ Thomas looked at the wound again. \\ Did you cut it out?\\ \\ Yes.\\ \\ It couldn t have been easy.\\ It was supposed to be impossible. \\ I have had a hard day,\\ she admitted with dignity, lifting a handful of sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead. He saw the bandage wrapped around her hand and asked, \\ What happened there?\\ \\ Nothing.\\ After a moment of hesitation, she said, \\ she said, \\ Denzil s here, with Falaise.\\ Thomas closed his eyes. \\ No.\\
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\\ Yes. He got her away from Gideon and the others when they were attacked. They followed him here, but 131 she s too terrified of Denzil to take their help and Aviler stands about like a great idiot saying the Queen must decide who escorts her.\\ Thomas fell back on the bed and contemplated the underside of the tester for a moment. \\ You realize that a short while ago I was as good as dead and this was all someone else s problem.\\ \\ You re welcome. I think I know why Denzil s here.\\ He sat up again, taking a deep breath to steady himself as steady himself as dizziness threatened. \\ I d appreciate it if you d tell me.\\ \\ Aviler. If he s in this plot with Denzil and Grandier, that s one thing, but if he s not…he isn
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t just going to stand there and watch.\\ The High Minister. A man who would support Roland despite personal differences, knowing he could increase the political power of the Ministry and it would never occur to the young King to stop him. A man with no patience for royal favorites. A man with nothing but suspicion for royal favorites. \\ You re right.\\ With the help of the bedpost, Thomas hauled himself up and stood carefully, wincing at the tight pain of the wound. Limping around on it wasn t going to do it any good but he hardly had a hardly had a choice. Kade was fiddling with her hair again. She said, \\ Falaise knows something.\\ Thomas looked down at her. She was obviously reluctant. \\ Why do you think so?\\ \\ She s afraid of Denzil.\\ Chapter Eleven 132 \\ She should be.\\
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He limped to the foot of the bed and found his dueling rapier and main gauche. He drew the sword to check the blade and saw it was nicked and dented but still unbent. \\ I know that,\\ Kade said with asperity. \\ But she doesn t know that, not unless she knows more than she should.\\ Thomas hesitated, thinking it through. \\ How much do you think do you think she knows?\\ \\ She won t tell me. She doesn t think I can protect her. But I think she ll tell you.\\ \\ She may have tried to already, and I thought she was after something else. I should have listened to her but the woman never gave any sign she could think before.\\ If they somehow escaped the current situation, that might save Falaise s neck. He could say she had confided to
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him early suspicions of Denzil but had been unable to give him anything definite. That would keep Roland or some ambitious courtier from charging her with treason along with Denzil. If they got out of this. Damned optimist. Then he realized the full implication of what Kade had said and looked down at her in surprise. \\ Doesn t think you t think you could protect her? That s ridiculous. You re not a supporter of Ravenna, Roland, or Denzil; you re the only one who could protect her with impunity.\\ Kade considered that. \\ Maybe she just can t trust anyone anymore.\\ Slipping his baldric over his head, Thomas thought, That s an idea we could all have sympathy with. The door opened and Lucas entered, then stopped abruptly as he saw Thomas. \\ You re alive,\\ he said, smiling. \\ And I thought I
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her now across seas serene and savage. He ate in her galley, laughed with her crew and stood with each man at his watch. He talked amongst them, knowing them by name. He was one with all of them. HePd heard it hap- pened to sailors before they died. He returned as she screamed to him. A wave crashed across her beam, broaching her, throwing her to her side. Gomez and Bobby hung vertical with the deck, safety lines alone standing between them and the end. Thrashing like epileptic pup- pets while the the top twenty feet of the freak col- lapsed tons of water over them, the two twirled in tangled line and black water, lost. It was anything but peaceful, not the way Bob- byPd imagined it many times when hePd thought about drowning. Time slowed while they hovered in a pressurized vacuum. GomezPs
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face passed close in front of Bobby, all mixed in with foam and debris. Bobby beheld his matePs pain L the sheer terror and impotence. His mouth moved as if he was in distorted conversation, chewing air from water. BobbyPd been a diver for a long time, kept his mouth closed from habit, staying calm. HePd been — 186 — underwater before with before with no air. He knew the tricks L everything in slow motion. Make it a movie, a dream. Make it anything but reality. Reality means panic. Play the game, hold your breath until you wake up. There will be air again. HePd done it before, and lived. He wanted to tell Gomez but couldnPt find him. And the end did come, as the peak of the wave withdrew, disappearing into the ocean bed as quickly as it had arrived. The sentence was
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sus- pended, for a moment, perhaps. Still, Bobby took the offer. His lungs sucked air as he fought the draining of the deck. He struggled through it to Gomez, strangled in Gomez, strangled in his safety line, full of water, and drowning. Bobby heard himself shrieking to God. He pounded GomezPs chest while a slashing rainsquall pummelled him from nowhere. Gomez gagged, puked watered vomit, and contorted back into life. The sea screamed for them. Bobby knew with- out looking the holds had ripped open. The Lady would have cargo at last L too much, to be sure. He sought her out again, entreating her to endure, to keep them with her. The squall slackened and the waves came on again, growing. Sheering white foam tore in under the brow of the forecastle, his safety line cutting into him hard as the seas tried to tear
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him from her. Through it he stayed it he stayed close to her, heard her saying she was tiring. She could deliver no more, could give him only the moment, no more. Wait for the moment, she murmured. Bobby heard the seven short and one long — 187 — blast of the general emergency signal. He drifted in and out with it, not wanting to go. He prayed. She blew the signal again, seven short and one long, no mistaking it. Abandon ship. Bobby moved between realities. The lightning skies talked to him, the wind climbed. Another freak and The Lady would roll right over. There was no doubt. Again, seven long and one short. Again. He crawled He crawled to Gomez, and shouted into his face, telling him The Lady was dying, they must leave. It was only a question now
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of how much time, ten minutes or ten seconds. Squatting there under the forecastle it didnPt matter anymore, he didnPt notice. He listened only for her now, for her voice. Again. And again, she spoke within him, confirming the cataclysm, her Armageddon. Bobby affirmed her voice. He accepted it completely now, as his reality. Leave he would, on command, in her mo- ment. It was what he believed. He pulled close to Gomez, pressing his face against the Mexican. He shouted at him and hit him, looking far into his far into his eyes, for he was far away. They staggered together to their feet. Flounder- ing, they united in the conflict, cursing and screaming into the rage, the language garbled and universal, spitting bile and anger. They made the raft. Bobby cut the lines and tied them to it. He was clinging with Gomez to
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the raft and the rail, the two of them joined, screaming allegiance, screaming it to no one. Clinging to her against all of it, the unceasing — 188 — pound disappeared inside her voice. Water was everywhere upon her. upon her. Still he waited on her word. Nothing could take them but her command. Lightning broke and showed the sea standing mountains on all sides, breaking the length of their slopes as they avalanched down. His lungs sucked for air through it. In that avalanche, Bobby died, hallucinating drowning. And in that moment she spoke to him, his eyes opened from death, untroubled, trusting. It was then that the wind stilled, the squall ceased, the waves quelled themselves. A clear full moon sat mute in the sky above him. Everything slowed to a stop. Now, she whispered softly, you are in the eye. Obedient, he dragged
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them atop the rail. He turned back to turned back to her for a moment and went over, obedient. He watched himself topple, attached and fantasy-like, into the water, under it. It was warm and quiet, all around him soft. Womblike, he transferred into the dream state, knew he must hold his breath a long time. It was okay, he thought. He had practice. He used to be a diver. Rachel awoke at nine oPclock Thursday morn- ing. The rain and wind still beat an evil tune against the fifteenth floor window of her hotel room. RachelPd slept fitfully at best, her mind twisting in the storm, the conversation with the conversation with Le Clerc, RobertPs whereabouts, and her assumption of the worst. She couldnPt evaluate what rated — 189 — which percent of her insomnia. The thoughts brought her back to
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the tor- mented sky outside her window. The worst was over, but the clouds remained too impenetrable for her to see the airport, something shePd been told was possible from her vantage point. ShePd been told something else L if you couldnPt see the air- port, you shouldnPt fly. That narrowed her trans- portation options for the day. She tried the phone and got nothing. She tried the lights and the television, and got nothing again. At again. At this point she wondered if she could make the lobby, much less Brownsville. Her forced impotence bothered her. She was- nPt used to having so little control over her situa- tion. Rachel made herself settle back onto the bed. She began to wonder about her meeting with Le Clerc. What was his purpose? The vagueness frightened her, made her think about the un- thinkable. She knew she
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had to. Should she just leave, go back to San Diego and wait? Let the authorities handle it? Maybe she would call Barney. Let him know what had happened. No, BarneyPd want her out of there right away. If he got on Le ClercPs case, then shePd have him on have him on hers, again. If Robert was dead, what she feared was true, what was the point? She didnPt answer the ques- tion because she didnPt know. Only continuing might bring an answer. She decided to leave for Brownsville. She didnPt know, but had come too far to turn back now. It scared her. Le Clerc had scared her, but — 190 — there were things to know, some kind of answers. It had to be Brownsville. There were really no other leads besides Brownsville. She headed for the shower. She found no water. To
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her, it was the worst news yet. She dry brushed her teeth and kept thinking. International Salvage. International Salvage. It was an old habit, her unrelenting desire to push forward. It always made them crazy at the club. That attitude had gotten her the club and made it successful. She packed and got into the hall. She would have liked to check Lloyds one more time just to be sure, but there were no phones. No phones, no Sunny. It didnPt matter, Brownsville kept giving her a bad feeling, and she would get there some- how. She cursed quietly as she bagged her way down fifteen flights of stairs, civil defence static and emergency lighting her constant companions. The lobby was a disaster. Two plate glass win- dows had been blown in, chandeliers were scat- tered across scat- tered across the floor.
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Outside, a car had overturned just by the entrance. Hysteria had re- placed the touristsP gleeful curiosity from the pre- vious evening. And theyPd wanted her to come down there for safety; she smiled. Everyone was wandering around half-dressed and fully glazed. Bandages and bloodstains abounded. She could hear man- agement figuring it. Let’s all die in one spot, one great big splat. She picked her way through the chaos to the hotel entrance. Here the doorman still func- tioned, incongruous but impressive, opening the — 191 — door for her. MAnother day another MAnother day another dollar.N His large warm eyes and broad smile said it better than the words. Rachel valued the unexpected sense of humor and started a conversation. MDoes this happen a lot?N MItPs the season for it, maPam.N He motioned to the overturned car. MI think this one had a little
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twister in it.N He glanced inside. MA little some- thing extra for the tourists to remember her by.N He bent, posed a little fatherly. MI hear the situa- tion could be better out there this morning, Ms.N It was something of an understatement. MYou have any place in particular youPre head- ing?N Rachel absorbed his nametag as she spoke, MCharles, I appreciate MCharles, I appreciate your concern in the midst of all this. I need transportation.N MWell. Where you headingP?N MDowntown, and then out of town.N She watched his weathered face spread disap- pointment for her. MI think youPre going to have trouble getting any kind of transportation, any- where, today, Ms.N Charles said it the instant before the horn blared, as if there were plans afoot to make him a liar. SunnyPs head hung out the driverPs window as though his windshield wasnPt designed to
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look through. MI guess you got friends in high places, Ms.N Charles smiled as he pulled open the rear door of the limo. MGood luck to you.N Rachel had nothing but a good but a good feeling for the — 192 — unexpected presence of the young Cajun. MA pleasant sight, Sunny. YouPre a pleasant sight. You have no idea.N MItPs a mutual feelinP, Ms Rachel.N Sunny bent across the seat to greet her. MThought you might be lookinP for some transportation today.N She felt like shePd run into an old friend. MHow did you know? I couldnPt call.N MI never left. I watched you talk to that creep cop.N He looked at her. MI donPt think you under- stand.N He smiled at her. MI owe my life to Jimmy. He adopted me off the streets off the streets when he was
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the champ. ItPs a long story.N His head moved with his words as though there was a song playing somewhere just for him. MHe told me to look after you anP IPm gonna do just that.N He pulled away from the curb while he spoke, MWhere we headed first?N MFirst, Lloyds. Old town.N MThe shipping Lloyds?N MThatPs right.N They pulled away slowly, moving around a lot of things that shouldnPt be cluttering the street. MTheyPre gonna be shut down, Ms Rachel.N Sunny kept the car moving while he talked. MI think we check it but I think they shut down. EverythingPs shut down. EverythingPs shut down today. Maybe tomorrow too. We got hurt bad. Floods. No power. Cars upside down everywhere.N He smiled his big smile, body moving with it. MIPm the only ride in New Orleans today. And you own it..N MYouPre a good man,
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Sunny. I need you more than you know. What about Brownsville. Can we — 193 — get to Brownsville?N MItPs fourteen hours in good weather.N He an- swered as water splashed high on either side. MIf we get out of town, wePll have a chance. They got hit bad down in the border country. I heard itPs still blowing pretty good south of here.N south of here.N The bot- tom of the car banged across tree branches. MIf the troopers havenPt closed too many roads, wePll do it. Doubt we can make it a one-day thing.N He motioned to the dash, MYou see what kind of time wePre making right now? Lots more slowdowns ahead. Troopers. Washouts. Detours. When you gotta be there?N MToday. Tomorrow. Soon as possible.N MYou know what kinda country it is down there, eh, Ms Rachel. DonPt want to be asking questions
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about why a lovely lady like you should want to visit a border town full of rednecks and wetbacks. You just hang on, Ms Rachel. WePre going to Brownsville L Cajun style. Louisiana in- vasion. Take in- vasion. Take us a day and a bit, probably. Be there Friday. I know a nice place to stop over. You can get some local color.N MThanks, Sunny.N She leaned back into the seat as they picked their way past a closed Lloyds. After an hour of inner city post-storm adven- tures they rolled over the Pontchartrain Cause- way, picking up Interstate South. Twice the troopers stopped them, once checking for looters and a second time warning them about the road conditions, discouraging travel. The rain picked up a little as they headed south, whipping onto the windshield in angry — 194 — spurts. spurts.
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Rachel felt the sway of the car against the gusting wind. Glad Sunny was driving, she was comforted by the fact he drove a big Detroit car. She didnPt know the make, but it sat well on the road, the back seat big and comfortable. They encountered little other traffic on the usually well-travelled highway, one small benefit of the conditions. She accepted SunnyPs dictum about an overnight stop. It was just as well. Her sleepless night in New Orleans, not to mention the red-eye from San Diego two nights earlier, had taken its toll. The motion of the car lulled her, took her mind from her thoughts like medicine, her body melt- ing deeper into the deeper into the soft comfort of the rear seat, her mind not far behind. Her thoughts worked hard at hanging on to her. She thought about the ship, The
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Lady Inca, due in some time Thursday night. She knew she wouldnPt be there to meet it. TheyPd get as far as they could. Sunny was look- ing after the itinerary. It felt good to let someone else make plans. TheyPd find a little motel in the middle of nowhere. There was something pleasant about the thought, about anonymity. TheyPd get there Friday. The Gulf weather wouldnPt allow the ship to be there on time anyway. International Salvage. Hertzel Markovitz. Howard Morgan. Her earlier calls to the salvage company had gotten her had gotten her nowhere. Everybody was too busy, a communication stance that always got her edgy. Hertzel Markovitz. She rolled the name — 195 — around her tongue and didnPt like the taste. Howard Morgan had a similar flavour. There were lots of things she didnPt know yet. Three hours out of New Orleans
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and she had a pretty good idea of the monotony of a fourteen- hour drive through raw cattle range and semi-arid wasteland. The fatigue and the scenery finally got to her. Her eyes turned heavy, her mind roaming the memories of her childhood L her parents and younger brother, the farm brother, the farm they worked before her parentsP death, before the foster homes. Yes, there were reasons to make the trip re- gardless of RobertPs status L regardless of the outcome. It was near noon Thursday before Bobby began to differentiate conscious action from un- conscious reaction. Still floundering badly on the seas, Bobby couldnPt believe he was still alive. The winds and still-breaking waves tossed them, tormented them without consent, without end in sight, helpless in the raft. Fifteen-foot swells chuted them about the Gulf, the lash of in- termittent rainsqualls still beating on
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them. Several times during the day they were day they were tossed from the raft, Gomez rolling uncontested into the seas. Bobby managed to pull his mate atop, again and again. He labored intensely to keep Gomez with him. He shouted, hitting the Mexican, curs- ing him, and cursing himself. The sound of his shouts was reassurance that he lived. The elements slowly continued to slack, but — 196 — exposure became the new, immediate enemy. It was cold and constantly wet. The loss of body heat worried Bobby. He knew Gomez was victim to it. Bobby was more fortune, wet suited for more than just flotation. He wrapped loose canvas over his amigo, hit- ting him on the bad shoulder and anywhere else hard and repeatedly as he repeatedly as he tried to draw him back. Even the pain from GomezPs
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injuries did little to rouse him. But he did return L almost, for a lit- tle while L then went back into his drift. Bobby watched him to keep himself conscious. He knew if he slept he would return, reliving the terror. Despite his best efforts, he drifted, falling off, falling back into the automatic, gagging strug- gle of those earlier predawn hours. He felt the in- nate dread of death by drowning. Many times the demon dragged him under in the cold, black night, cramming water into him, filling his lungs beyond limits. The sudden, fran- tic grappling with the seas that mounted them as rapists, too sadistic to just kill. Death would be a relief. He writhed within a relief. He writhed within the monsterPs belly all that night, flailing, spinning about. Miscreant winds pushed the giant freaks over them for no reason beyond
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devious pleasure. Bobby relived it in his delirium that afternoon. In death The Lady let them loose on rampag- ing seas to seek their fortune without her to stand between them and eternity. Faculty and judg- ment had no place in that dense monstrosity, only instinct was awake. The only law was gravity, — 197 — nothing more L a law from the same deity who gave them the eye in the moment they slipped away from The Lady. The only moment, the last moment, never to see her to see her again. But he wasnPt there now. He only dreamt it. He knew not how many times hePd drowned that night, how many times hePd met God. He journeyed in delirium into that afternoon, not aware when the sun snuck tiny peaks through the horizon. For Bobby, so much began after it was over. —
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198 — International Salvage Brownsville, Texas Thursday International Salvage Brownsville, Texas Thursday Night MDonPt worry, Hertzel. She donPt speak no fuckinP English.N Howie grabbed the heavily made-up Mexican girl by the neck, smearing a drunken kiss across her lipstick. MSee, Hertzel, she loves me. WouldnPt tell nobody nothinP if she could.N He laughed, drunk, drugged, and belli- cose. MLove conquers all!N He stumbled on the carpet and fell across the couch, seemingly suf- fering physical astonishment at the realities of gravity, the young hooker trapped beneath him. MWherePd you find him?N Hertzel asked Charley. The hostility in his words in his words was aimed at the world in general, for the moment. MAnd whyPd you bring the pig?N MI pulled him off her in the alley, behind the Starlight.N Even CharleyPs voice held disgust. MHe wouldnPt come without her. It ainPt easy
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get- tinP Howie to cooperate anytime. He was pissed and stoned worse than this when we found him. He rubbed his shoulder. MTook three of us. WouldPve been easier without the chaperone along. You know, Howie donPt like strangers to — 199 — begin with.N Charley threw in his own axe. MWhatPs this Enrico guy doinP Enrico guy doinP anyway, Hertzel?N There was an awkward pause while Charley and Enrico traded cold glares. Hertzel ignored CharleyPs question. MYou been stuffing that shit up your nose again, Howie?N He wasnPt about to tell him people were worried about his ability to take care of business. Howie was busy laughing. He tried unsuc- cessfully to straighten himself on the couch. MI donPt snort no more, Hertzel. Fucks up my nose too much.N Inventive pride slid across his drunken face. MI smoke it now. Sometimes I shoot.N He winced.
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MBut them fuckinP needles…N Hertzel stayed focused. MGet the bitch out of here, Charley.N of here, Charley.N He knew her presence added to EnricoPs anger and didnPt want anything but good news returning to Houston. He still figured he was the chosen one. As Charley pulled her from HowiePs clutches, Howie resisted with the strength of a drunken bull seeing red. Quietly, Enrico crossed the room and slapped Howie hard across the head with the barrel of a chromed beretta in response to his aim- less lunge. The woman screamed as Howie fell back on the couch, and Enrico cuffed her hard with his other hand. Charley dragged her from the room. The pistol whip had managed to break through the stupor, stupor, sobering Howie. Hertzel watched him sway on the couch. When he finally got some dazed eye contact with Howie,
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Hertzel started. MWePve got to have a talk, Howie.N He im- — 200 — itated a businesslike calm. MTherePs a few prob- lems we need to discuss, some items we need to take care of here. Some loose ends.N MLike what?N Rubbing the side of his head, Howie centered his eyes on the blood on his hand. MLike how IPm gonna kill that piece of shit for smackinP me. ThrowinP my lady around. RuininP my love life!N MHowie, I want you to meet Enrico.N Enrico kept his Enrico kept his glare fixed on Howie and his hand close to the beretta. MEnrico represents the Senator and our back- ers in Houston.N HertzelPs eyes bore in on Howie. MWe need to have good relations here, Howie. We canPt be unsettling anyone, fighting amongst our- selves. WePre all working together, here, looking for the same solutions. WePre a
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team, Howie.N MSomebody cut me, too.N Howie felt the inside of his lip where a tooth had cut him earlier in the evening. MYou call this lookinP after each other? I didnPt do nothinP, Hertzel. NothinP!N Indicating Enrico, he yelled. MAnd keep this asshole away from me!N MI didnPt say you did.N HertzelPs voice had the fatherly tone he knew Howie expected at times like this. times like this. MRelax.N HePd always impressed himself with his knack for dealing with Howie. MYouPve got to listen. WePve got business to take care of now. We need you to go to the police tomorrow, give them a deposition about New Orleans.N MCops? Go to the cops? You nuts?N MYeah, the cops,N Enrico reiterated. MGet your- self straight and do what youPre told.N — 201 — MI got no reason to see the cops.N Howie said it to the
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room, but kept his eyes on Enrico. MEvery- bodyPs dead!N He slid very fast into arrogance. MEverythingPs tidy. No ship. No bodies.N He smiled. MNo problem.N Getting problem.N Getting himself up from the couch, he took a few steps towards Enrico. MRight?N Hertzel glared at him and Howie stopped, but kept talking. MThe shipPs gone. The tug cut them loose like we planned; we know that. And the Coast Guard wonPt even find flotsam out there this morning.N He laughed at his own nautical humor. MIPm glad Gomez drowned. DonPt get me wrong, I liked the little fuck. I wasnPt looking for- ward to killinP him.N He smiled. MBut the other one, that would have been a pleasure.N He looked at Enrico while he finished. MJust another know- it-all bullshit asshole!N Enrico know- it-all bullshit asshole!N Enrico took the step this time.
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MThis guyPs got a big mouth, Hertzel. NobodyPs gonna like it.N Hertzel got his words between the two of them. MI want you to stop talking about killing anybody.N His face stayed deadpan, and authoritative. MSomebodyPll stay with you at your place tonight while you get yourself straightened out.N There was an air of consequence in his voice. MTomor- row youPre going to see the Brownsville cops at three oPclock. Fill out some forms. A deposition.N Hertzel paused for emphasis. MNo big deal. You know most of them anyway.N He faked a laugh nobody joined. MThen he leaves town for a while,N Enrico said, obviously working on HowiePs nerves. — 202 — — 202 — MTake it easy, Enrico.N The bravado was un- characteristic from Hertzel. MHowiePs a good man. HePll do what he has to do for us.N Hertzel held up his hand like a
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traffic cop, stopping Howie from blurting something hostile. MWhen youPre done at your place, you get Charley to take you up to the senatorPs farm for a while.N Howie didnPt say anything for a full minute L nobody did L as if the question was long dead. MAnd why am I goinP to the farm?N MYou tell them what happened in New Or- leans.N Enrico said. MSign it and leave. Simple?N His tone and expression told Hertzel MsimpleN was just too complicated just too complicated a word for Howie at the mo- ment. Howie headed for Enrico again. MIPm gonna rip your fuckinP head off and jam it up your ass for ya, ya greasy fuck!N Enrico didnPt appear to move as he sent Howie sprawling into the corner like a sack of potatoes. Before HowiePd stopped rolling Enrico was kneel- ing over him, the beretta
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stuck hard into the side of his face. MYouPre one stupid motherfucker. DonPt push it. Just tell us what youPre gonna say tomorrow.N Some things Howie understood quickly, par- ticularly violence. Enrico eased the barrel from the side of his face as Howie spoke. MNothinP hap- pened in New Orleans. The fag inspected fag inspected the ship, signed it off, and left.N He smiled at Enrico as he eased himself to his feet. MDonPt call him a fag when you tell them.N — 203 — Hertzel added. Charley returned, breaking into HowiePs hate glare. MJuanPs got the broad in the car. WePre ready to go.N MWhat about the farm? I got no reason to go to the farm,N Howie said, pressing his ankle against his boot and feeling nothing. Charley sat the derringer on the desk. MYou looking for this? You pulled it on us at the
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Starlight last night,N Charley last night,N Charley glared. MYou got a shot off too. Damn near killed Juan.N MOh yeah.N Howie muttered with sudden re- call. MSorry.N He paused only momentarily. MOkay. IPll do it. Just like you want.N Hertzel got suspicions of the sudden coopera- tion. MDonPt get this figured the wrong way, Howie.N Hertzel tried to reduce HowiePs paranoia. MWePre going to look after each other. One big family.N Hertzel crossed the room, got close to Howie, and worked his confidante number. MTherePs a broad down here somewhere, Howie, looking for her brother, the Lloyds inspector.N MHowPd you know MHowPd you know that?N Howie said. Hertzel looked across at Enrico, acknowledg- ing the value of connections. MShePs looking to talk to you as well.N He stood beside him now, an arm around his shoulder. MAll you have to do is
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make the statement. Then disappear to the farm for a while. WePve done it before.N Hertzel thought he was being followed obedi- ently. MYou know youPve got a bit of a reputation for being unreliable.N Howie nodded, showing them his entire good- — 204 — boy mode. His paranoia talking to him silently. MSo it wonPt look out of place that youPre out of town, whereabouts unknown.N Hertzel smiled, buying into HowiePs buying into HowiePs sudden grip on it all. MYou got anything to drink here, Hertzel?N Howie said. MI got it all straight.N Nobody spoke. He looked around the room for a bottle. MWhoPs this broad, anyway? Why not dust her?N MI told you, the sister.N Hertzel headed to his desk. MShe comes down here. Nobody to talk to. She goes home. She feels good. She tried.N He opened a drawer and threw a wrapped
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up shortly thereafter. 
up shortly thereafter. Danelle took several people into the town hall, including Zarah; others drifted away, leaving just a few people at the table. “So what’s really going on?” Dorna asked grumpily. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal. “Not here,” Alanora said. “And not everyone at once. First, I’ll talk to Dorna and Norgrim. Kaylen, I’ll catch up with you a later.” She and the two dwarves went to a nearby tent, leaving Kaylen alone with Jahsha. “Don’t look at me,” Kaylen said, speaking quietly, responding to Jahsha’s inquisitive look. “I have no idea what’s going on. She wanted me to know this whole diplomatic mission was a farce from the outset.” “How so?” “Norgrim’s shown me plenty of maps. Alanora placed Caerelon right on top of his home town his home town of Norokden. I don’t think the dwarves missed an entire city of
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humans in their 
humans in their midst. She wanted Norgrim, and maybe me, to know the location was a lie.” “Which still leaves us wondering what’s going on,” Jahsha said. “I did enjoy her little power play with Danelle. Doesn’t a future Countess outrank a mere Magister?” She clearly thought the idea was humorous. “I can never keep that stuff straight,” Kaylen replied. “Damn it, I almost forgot – did you get a chance to speak with Tedd Gan?” “I took the job. Thanks for dropping hints in the right places.” “Good – now I know you’ll be coming back,” she said with a grin. “After this escapade, we’ll put to sea.” “And sail where?” he asked. “As you’ve said, there’s only one port.” 107 “I one port.” 107 “I talked to Norgrim earlier. He suggested an eastern route, around the horn and down the coastal a city named
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Daranadok. We might 
Daranadok. We might open a trade route. If nothing else, we’ll get a chance to explore new territory.” Kaylen was lost in thought for a few moments. “That’s a long trip. We’d take the three trading clippers, I suppose. Any idea what sort of goods we might load? I’d hate to show up with an empty hold and empty purses. We’re traders, not beggars.” “I’m working on that,” she said. Norgrim ambled up. Looking for Alanora, Kaylen saw her by the dwarven tents, talking to Dorna and Kalinda. “I’m going back to the docks,” Jahsha the docks,” Jahsha said. “Have fun figuring it all out.” “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Kaylen asked the dwarf as they watched her leave. Norgrim shrugged. “I’ll leave that to Alanora. She told me enough for now. I think she’ll tell you a lot more.” For a
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while, Kaylen talked 
while, Kaylen talked to Norgrim about what they needed to take, and speculated about what they might find. He kept expecting Alanora to join the conversation. “What’s taking her so long?” Kaylen pondered out loud. “She said I wouldn’t see her again until morning,” Norgrim said. “Maybe she’s just tired; I heard Kalinda offer her a place to stay.” He patted Kaylen on the back. “Put the curiosity away, and get some sleep. That’s what I’m going to do.” Kaylen didn’t want to wait, but he wait, but he also needed time to think. He started walking toward town, telling his rampant questions to be quiet. “Wait up!” Alanora’s voice called. She was running to catch up with him, still wearing the red dress. Even without her weapons, she inspired dangerous thoughts; his questions ran and hid. Suddenly, he felt very grungy, wishing he’d taken another
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bath after a 
bath after a day of pumping bilge water. “Did you think I’d forgotten you?” she asked. There was an awkward silence. His gaze drifted to her cleavage… he slapped himself mentally. “Norgrim thought you were heading to bed,” he said, starting to walk again. “I figured we’d go into details tomorrow morning. The real details.” She laughed lightly. “Dancing around the truth has become a habit. I hope you understand why I said what I said what I did earlier.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t lie to my friends. That’s why I’m here; I want you to know the truth. I need your help.” “Are you actually a Countess?” 108 She laughed again. “It’s an old title, granted by a wizard-king who’s been dead for centuries. We don’t use it in Caerelon anymore. With people like Danelle, titles hold meaning.
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As do clothes.” 
As do clothes.” She spun, the dress fanning out around her. “I’m not very fond of dresses, but they have their uses.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t argue with that. You look… quite lovely.” “Thank you. And now for the truth…” They walked slowly as she talked; sometimes, she was sometimes, she was quiet while other people passed them on the street. Alanora told him about Caerelon, her father’s paranoia, and his enslavement of the farmers; from Ezra and clandestine meetings to Kudric’s thugs and her escape, she held nothing back, grateful for the chance to release the secrets of her life. Kaylen drank it all in, asking few questions. When she was done, he spent a few moments thinking. “So you came here, looking for help,” he said. “If we could help rescue your people, Tornaval would give them a safe home. We’d gain
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people with useful 
people with useful skills, and your people would be safer.” “Not quite,” she said. “I have no intention of abandoning Caerelon. It’s my home, Kaylen, and my people don’t deserve to become refugees any more than yours did.” “They can’t stay did.” “They can’t stay in Caerelon, can they?” “No. They can live outside Caerelon. Many of them already did. With Mahgrurra’s dragons providing protection, they’d be safe and free. Then I could deal with my father.” “He doesn’t sound like the reasonable type.” “I wasn’t planning on reasoning with him. His madness grows every day; he’ll find some way to harm even those who want to stay inside the mountain.” She paused, weighing what to say. “My friend Grehn has been building a resistance force.” She laughed sadly. “It’s funny. My father wants me to be a leader, to focus on the people. He’s going
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to get what 
to get what he wants.” She could see Kaylen realizing the implications of her words. “If he won’t see reason, I’ll depose my father. I see no other way. You’re the only You’re the only person I’ve told all of this. Even Norgrim doesn’t know everything. Not yet.” “I’m not sure what to think,” Kaylen said. “And I’m still not clear why you need me – or Norgrim, for that matter.” “Norgrim knows dwarven architecture; he can find passages from the inner city to the outside world. You… impressed me during our first days together, when we fought the kehklik. What I propose isn’t going to be easy, and I can’t do it alone. Norgrim isn’t enough. I need another partner, someone who cares about people and thinks quickly.” She paused again. “I’m not asking you to repay a debt – I want your help because
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I know what 
I know what kind of man you are.” 109 “I’m not even “I’m not even sure what kind of man I am,” Kaylen said with a wry smile. “Yes, I’ll go with you; after those compliments, how could I refuse?” Kaylen realized that they now stood in front of his house. In recent days, it had gained a complete roof and a working door, but still no glass in the windows. He looked at her, and found her more attractive than ever. “I’m glad you’re here, even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.” Kaylen rubbed the back of his neck. He opened the door, and looked for words to end the evening. “Do you want company?” she asked, before he could get his sentences crafted. “Beg your pardon?” “I need a place to stay tonight,” she said. “Kalinda offered me a cot. I’d rather stay
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I’d rather stay 
I’d rather stay with you.” “Uh…” He stumbled for words. She was no tavern trollop or casual acquaintance. What he wanted to do, that he knew. What he should do was less obvious. He couldn’t ignore a glint in her eye, a small smile on her lips. Was she trying to manipulate him? No; she wasn’t that kind of woman, either. Kaylen let out a deep breath, and rambled. “Um… aw hell. We barely know each other. It’s not that… well, I’m interested, but…” Alanora laughed loudly. “You’ve befriended dragons, fought armies of monsters, and one woman leaves you at a loss for words?” “I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he said. He looked down at his messy clothes. “My condition isn’t the best tonight, either.” “Do you have soap and water inside?” He took one inside?” He took one of her hands. “I’ve
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thought about you, 
thought about you, often.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. The embrace lingered and deepened. “She isn’t telling us the truth,” said Danelle, pouring a drink for Jennur. “Oh, she’s very good, I’ll grant her that.” The two of them were in her house, a bigger one than Kaylen’s, located in a side district once populated by merchants. “She wanted Kaylen,” sneered Jennur. “Let her have him. I don’t care why, as long as she keeps him away from Tornaval.” Danelle moved to a window, and looked out at the flickering lights below. “Of course, I already had a plan in place for Kaylen. He’s accepted the captaincy of the Shadowrider, I hear. It was a It was a simple matter to plant the germ of an idea with Jahsha. Once we’ve put Tornaval in order, the pretentious sailors will run away, like
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they always have.” 
they always have.” 110 “He may return from this Caerelon with supporters,” Jennur suggested. “I find the entire matter suspicious. I wouldn’t be surprised if he met with her in recent days, while inspecting the mills. They arranged this little charade for your benefit.” “I doubt it,” she replied. “This Alanora is a very savvy woman. I’m inclined to believe her claims of nobility. Kaylen is simply taking advantage of the situation, whatever it may be. If anything, I worry more about her than I do him.” “She could help Kaylen gain power here.” “He doesn’t want “He doesn’t want power,” she said, downing her drink and pouring more. “None of them do, and that’s why we have troubles. Kaylen and his friends won’t make people do what is required, because they themselves refuse to be directed. Placing the survival of civilization in such hands is
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a frightening thought.” 
a frightening thought.” “Perhaps.” Jennur sounded dubious. “In any case, opportunity knocks for us. Jahsha is putting to sea tomorrow; we will have a few days free of interference. Have you decided to put Zarah in my hands?” “She is a nice girl,” Danelle said. “I think she likes me. I regret using her this way.” “Zarah was disloyal to me,” Jennur growled. “She will side with Kaylen against you, if it comes to that.” The bishop chuckled darkly. “Leave her to me. Once she’s helped remove the helped remove the dwarves, I will find out what they’ve been hiding from us.” He stood, placing his empty glass on a nearby table, joining Danelle at the window. “Do you have enough men to handle any complications?” “The sentinels are in place,” she said. “If Tornaval has an abundance of anything, it’s men who have too much
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time and energy 
time and energy on their hands. Captain Nogg easily recruited a force for our needs.” “I assume Kaylen objected?” “Of course.” She smiled. “If we’re lucky, he won’t come back from this adventure.” “Kaylen has a habit of defying the odds.” “His luck will run out eventually.” “We can only hope it does.” Jennur picked up and donned his cloak. “I must be going. It wouldn’t be seemly for a bishop to be seen leaving the house leaving the house of a lady after dark.” He opened the door. “Good night, Magister.” She watched him walk slowly up the street. The future had potential, though she was not entirely certain of her ally. Jennur was too angry, too interested in his personal agenda. She would need to do something about that, eventually. 111 Kaylen stood at the front door, watching people go about their early morning
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business. He heard 
business. He heard movement behind him, and turned around to find Alanora getting dressed. “I overslept,” she said. “You should have gotten me up.” “It’s still early.” He closed the door and went back inside. “You’re very quiet.” With a slight grin, she added, “I thought last “I thought last night went rather well.” “It did,” he said. “I’m honored, by the way.” “Excuse me?” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Tell you what?” “That this was your first time.” She leaned back on a table, arms behind for support. “It wasn’t important.” “Most women think it is.” “I’m not most women. You might have noticed.” “Oh, I noticed.” He hesitated. “Why me?” “Because it does matter to you,” she said. “You’ve been with other women, haven’t you?” “Yes. A few.” She laughed. “Don’t give me false modesty. I may have been a virgin until last night,
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but I’m not 
but I’m not naïve. Was there anyone in Tramora waiting for you?” “No.” “So… is this going to be difficult?” He sighed. “I don’t know. There wasn’t anyone waiting for me because for me because I never found anyone. Maybe I don’t know how. Given what’s going on…” “If not now, when?” she insisted. “We’re surrounded by conspiracies. The real question is: Do we trust each other? I didn’t sleep with you to create an obligation; I chose you because I like who you are. Because more than sex, I need someone I can trust, and who trusts me.” He put his hands on her waist and kissed her lightly. “Do you trust an impetuous sailor who you’ve only know a short time?” “Do you trust a woman who is as likely to get you into trouble as out of it?” 112 “Would you
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please “Would you 
please “Would you please stop mothering me?” Norgrim growled at his wife. “Go pester our daughter in the next tent over. I know how to pack my own things.” “It’s done,” said Dorna sternly. “I may not approve of this expedition, but I’ll be damned sure you start it off right.” Norgrim walked out of his tent, a bundle under each arm. To one side, he saw Mahgrurra with her wings spread wide, catching what light there was under overcast skies. At one of the long tables, he saw Jahsha and Kalinda. He joined them, dropping his bags in a heap and then piling food on a plate. “Where is Kaylen?” he asked. “Mahgrurra will be ready soon.” “I expect him to be a bit late this morning,” said Jahsha. “This isn’t the day to the day to be late,” he said, fitting his
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words between bites. 
words between bites. “Which brings up a similar question: Where is Alanora?” The two women gave each other knowing looks. Norgrim’s forehead wrinkled in annoyance. “Kalinda, didn’t she stay with you?” “I offered,” his daughter said. “She had other plans.” “What other plans?” he asked. “Where else… oh no. No. They didn’t.” “One of my crew was walking through town late last night,” said Jahsha. “He passed Kaylen’s place. We need to get that man some windows.” The table erupted into laughter. “What’s so funny?” Zarah approached the table and sat next to Kalinda. “We were making fun of Kaylen,” said Jahsha. “That’s what happens to people who’re late for breakfast.” Norgrim brushed crumbs from his beard, and reached for another helping. “It complicates matters, that’s complicates matters, that’s what it does. Something must be wrong with Alanora. She’s always had a level head. You’d think
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Kaylen would have 
Kaylen would have some sense, too.” “I’m lost,” said Zarah. “Did something happen to Kaylen and Alanora?” “You could say that,” said Jahsha. “It looks like Alanora spent the night at Kaylen’s house.” “Oh…” said Zarah quietly and slowly. “I see.” “Here they come,” said Kalinda. Their heads turned as one, following Kaylen and Alanora as they walked into camp. “We might want to find another table,” Kaylen whispered to Alanora. “We’ve been talking about you,” said Jahsha, as the pair began putting food on their plates. “Crude jokes, innuendo, that sort of thing.” Kaylen chuckled. “I expect nothing less from my friends.” 113 “Why?” Zarah snapped, “Why?” Zarah snapped, loudly, startling everyone at the table. She’d been sitting quietly for the last few moments. Her eyes glared at Alanora. “Excuse me?” Alanora asked. “Why?” Zarah demanded again. “Is that how you convinced him to go
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with you?” Kaylen 
with you?” Kaylen felt a flush of anger. “That’s enough, Zarah,” in a tone he’d never used with her before. Jumping up, Zarah ran away. Swearing, Kaylen started to follow. Jahsha put a hand on his arm; he hesitated, and sat down next to Alanora. “Talking to her won’t help,” said Jahsha. “Give her some time alone. She’s been working hard on that crush of hers.” “I never gave her encouragement,” Kaylen stated darkly. “None.” “She didn’t need any,” said Jahsha. “Maybe I should talk to her,” said Alanora. “I said Alanora. “I didn’t know.” “There was nothing to know,” said Kaylen. “We haven’t done anything wrong, and neither of us needs to feel guilty. She invented something that didn’t exist.” “I’ll keep an eye on her,” said Jahsha. “I promise.” Kaylen looked at Norgrim. “You haven’t said much.” “There’s not much to say,” replied the
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dwarf gruffly. “So 
dwarf gruffly. “So let’s start thinking of our little trip. I’ve packed some things I need, and few items I’ll want. What about the two of you?” “You know I don’t carry much,” said Alanora. Sad memories reminded her of a specific need. “My sword… I need to find another blade.” Norgrim pushed his plate back and stood. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried to his tent, and returned with a long bundle. “I was going to give this to Kaylen. It matches Kaylen. It matches the one he already has.” He unfolded the cloth, and held the contents out, hilt first. “It seems appropriate that I give it to you instead.” Alanora stood, reached across the table, and took the milky-white blade. “From the mantelpiece at Drakcaern?” She backed away, into an open area, and made several test swings, jabs, and cuts. “Are you sure
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about this?” “I’ll 
about this?” “I’ll find something new for the fireplace,” Norgrim said. “It looked funny with only one sword. I figured the two blades had been together for a long time, and they should stay that way.” He looked at Kaylen and Alanora in turn. “If you two start together, stay together. Otherwise, I’m going to be a very cranky dwarf.” 114 Oric waited 114 Oric waited patiently. He’d always liked the library. The bright light was, at times, annoying, but the books had always comforted him. But not on this day. The door behind him opened and closed. He did not turn around. “What news, Prime Minister?” Kudric cleared his throat. “My son is dead, Lord. The blood loss was too much.” His voice quavered. “Had I foreseen the events of today, I would have taken a different path.” Oric appeared oblivious to the other man’s
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grief. “Did he 
grief. “Did he regain consciousness? Could he tell us my daughter’s plans?” “No.” “I understand your loss,” Oric said, though his tone was clinical and detached. “We’ve both lost children today.” The following silence was only silence was only broken by the sound of Oric’s footsteps as he moved to a nearby shelf. His face was an unreadable mask. He pulled down a book and opened it, flipping idly through the pages. Turning, he handed Kudric the book, still open. The page contained a picture of a sailing ship. “She was reading that before she left us,” said Oric. “My daughter has gone to her alien friends, who invade from across the sea. I’ve lost her, as assuredly as you’ve lost your son.” Kudric stared at the page for a moment. “What now?” Oric smiled. “We prepare. We must be ready for her return.” Kaylen watched
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Mahgrurra fly away, 
Mahgrurra fly away, shouldered his pack, and followed Alanora and Norgrim into the forest. Dropped off in the early in the early afternoon, they walked under a canopy of trees Kaylen didn’t know, filled with small lizards and colorful birds; the humidity was high, and for once, Kaylen was glad for the cloudiness. They’d gone a few leagues, now walking along a rise, when Alanora stopped, put a finger to her lips, and crouched. Kaylen half-kneeled beside her, and Norgrim became close friends with thick tree trunk. “Watchers,” she whispered, pointing. Kaylen peeked over the foliage. Below them, four armored men walked in a diamond formation, about twenty feet apart, not talking. “They’re looking for someone,” he whispered. “Not us,” she said. “Farmers.” 115 Kaylen motioned with his hand, and they moved quickly away, at quickly away, at a right angle from
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the patrol. A 
the patrol. A half hour later, they found a secluded stream, and stopped for a quick rest. “Could some rebels still be out here?” Norgrim asked. “Possibly,” she said. “A few die-hards. There can’t be many if we only saw four Watchers.” “Isn’t your friend Grehn a Watcher?” She laughed. “No! Grehn is a Warden; my grandfather created their order to protect people outside Caerelon’s walls. The Watchers are something recent; they work for Kudric, enforcing my father’s edicts.” “What about kehklik?” Kaylen asked. “The bugs are east and north of Caerelon,” she said. “We don’t see them often these days, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find one or two.” Norgrim splashed water on his face. Big drops running down his beard, he asked, “Why is anyone outside is anyone outside the mountain? Aren’t you folk supposed to be hiding?” “Sixty years ago, we started
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running short on 
running short on food,” she said. “A fungus attacked the shroom plantations inside the mountain. To solve the crisis, my grandfather established farms in the forest, under the trees. If we find one, I can show you how they mix crops with forest plants. Their houses were covered in turf. From above, dragons wouldn’t have seen anything, and they’re so big they don’t spend much time in dense forests. Oh – and dragons are lousy at noticing small details.” “They can smell you,” said Kaylen. “Symurall talks about ‘scents’ all the time.” “Caerelon has excellent chemists,” she replied. “We need them. Our resources are limited, so we rely on synthesis.” She dug into a pouch on her belt and her belt and handed Kaylen a small brown sphere. “This was an accidental discovery; it was supposed to be a treat for children.” “Chocolate?” he asked. “Just
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the coating,” she 
the coating,” she smiled. “Eat it, and your natural scent will be different. It depends on the person. Most people end up smelling like an arbok.” “I’ve been accused of worse,” he said, handing it back to her. She returned it to her pouch. “People outside the mountain grow everything to make it themselves.” They continued their hike. Just before twilight, they stopped the edge of the forest, on a slight rise. Below lay the remnants of a human city, overgrown with vegetation reclaiming its own. To the east, a jagged formation of dark rock stood against a background of distant, snow-capped mountains. It was an It was an ancient volcanic core, eroded by the valley’s winds and rain, dramatic and ominous. 116 “Caerelon,” said Alanora. “Impressive.” Kaylen pointed. “Is that the castle? All I see is an outline.” “It was never finished,” she said. “There’s
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a curtain wall, 
a curtain wall, a few towers, and several large building shells. It was under construction when the dragons and kehklik came.” They moved to a secluded spot, making camp where a small ridge of rock stood between them and the castle. “No fire,” grumbled Norgrim. “I’ll eat anything cooked or not,” Kaylen said. He began breaking out rations, which included squares of dwarven arken. As he chewed on one, Kaylen couldn’t decide if it was a cookie, was a cookie, a cake of dried meat, or some mixture of the two. It was filling. For a moment, he considered asking Norgrim about the ingredients, but decided ignorance was a better choice. “How do we get in?” Kaylen asked as they were cleaning up. “It’s too dark to see now,” Alanora told him. “There’s a road leading up to the castle. Once there, we look for dwarven
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tunnels.” “Wouldn’t they 
tunnels.” “Wouldn’t they be guarded now? That’s how you escaped.” “I assume that dwarves made more than one exit from the human quarter. That’s what we’ll be looking for.” “I’d like to know more about those dwarves,” said Norgrim. “We thought they were all killed by kehklik.” When Alanora didn’t answer immediately, he continued. “I take it you have unhappy news.” “They died a “They died a long time ago,” she said. “The kehklik didn’t kill them – one of my ancestors did.” She continued, describing what she’d seen in the dwarven area. Norgrim’s face was grim, and he said nothing, poking at the fire with a stick as she talked. “They must have had other exits,” Kaylen said. “I don’t understand why they didn’t escape. Starvation isn’t quick.” “They didn’t starve,” said Norgrim. His voice was deep, the words slower than usual. “Lass, tell me
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the mesa. “Mercy?” 
the mesa. “Mercy?” he said. “I will show them mercy, by giving them a quick death, before the kehklik rip them apart.” “Brutality and hatred gain us nothing,” old Voranytchi grumbled. “I agree with Yvarrtasah – we should neither harm nor aid the humans at this point in time. We could not stop their islands from being destroyed by earthquake and volcano, why should we now be responsible for saving them from the kehklik?” “You compare what was not possible with what can be done,” Kyazura stated. “Some humans rescued dragons from their home world. My brothers and I were born of those who were saved by Murffyd and his people.” “The blood of Murffyd no longer runs in their veins,” Sytherek declared angrily. “They are a corrupt and degenerate species.”
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“These humans are 
“These humans are not the same ones who hurt us,” Kyazura responded. “We do not know if they are corrupt. Revenge is poor motivation, brother.” “I will not see us suffer again at their hands,” Sytherek growled. “In the past we have acted rashly,” Yvarrtasah said. “It is time to observe, and be careful before we make momentous decisions. Since the humans are in Symurall’s territory, he can keep an eye on them. Once we understand the entirety of the situation, we will make new decisions.” “No one ever knows the entirety of any situation,” Kyazura said. “Many humans will die while we wait for answers that may never come.” “Many could die, but probably not all,” Voranytchi said. Symurall growled, swished his tail, and walked a short distance away from the circle.
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side. With 
side. With the forward tug freed, The Lady’s bow started a drift shoreward as the stern tug pulled her seaward. TheyPd tow her astern into the Gulf current while the sea tug locked on forward. He knew theyPd want her tied up fast once the lines came aboard. More work. He wondered how much line theyPd let out once they were into the Gulf. It was a solid half-mile to the shore. Visibility at that distance was poor, but the shoreline had lost its bayou appearance. He checked his watch L it was just past seven. The sky, too, said it was evening, but with a peculiar hue. He noticed the wind was up.
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— 150 — 
— 150 — The sea tug was close up on the starboard, much bigger than the harbor tugs. She looked up to the job, almost new, capable of using a lot of power. Hercules Two was written across her bow- sides in large white letters. It made him feel bet- ter for no justifiable reason. The radar scanner sitting atop the wheelhouse helped, too. Her captain stood prominently in the wheel- house. He probably had a three-man crew. It was right alongside now, bumping rubber against the peeled steel of The Lady. On a muffled word through the loudspeaker, the lead line shot up and across the bow, whistling past BobbyPs head.
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MThar she 
MThar she blows,N he mum- bled, expecting to see Beluga spouting nearby. Scrambling across the bow he got the lead line, knew he wouldnPt be hauling nylon aboard. These guys had the advanced technology. TheyPd go lead line to one-inch nylon to steel cable. Cable was a three-man job, bearable with two. The loudspeaker vibrated sound again. MFeed through port bulwark.N He felt the weight grow as the cable cleared the water. Everything was heavier coming out of the water, he thought, just like evolution. The cable took time, came up grating over the deck railing, grinding against the bulwarks. His arms started to ache from fatigue. The cable did- nPt flex easily. His gloves were ripping up from
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the jagged cable 
the jagged cable threads. Twice the cable pulled up hard against his bare torso. Thin red claw marks ran across him, small rivulets of blood mix- ing with his sweat. — 151 — From a distance the effort had the appearance of smooth, poetic metaphor, flowing rhythm. It was manPs statement, his place in the struggle. Up close, it was sweat, curses and man in labor. It was noble perhaps, but there was no baby to show for it. Bobby leaned back against the winch. Ex- hausted, he looked up into the sky where his daughterPs face emerged, and cornered him.
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Her hope-filled eyes 
Her hope-filled eyes promised him eternity. He felt the sea breeze and heard The Lady Inca promise she would get him to her. The steel slap of cable against The Lady’s rail brought him back quickly. MWe are roger and go aboard ship.N He mouthed into the two-way, his first opportunity to check it against the tugPs radio. MTake it up real slow, shePs gonna mill tight. Over.N It was only a few minutes before the slack started disappearing. MTaking slack. Stay sharp up there. Over.N The grind and rasp moved into full swing. The eerie metal scraping of the bind
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grew louder as 
grew louder as the cable tightened. This was not a sound to sleep by. Grind and scrape, baby, he thought to himself. Wind yourself so tight you never come free. Just pull me home. MYouPre tight. Cables secure.N His own insur- ance policy surfaced. MCome back with weather. Over.N MThree day weather watch across the Gulf. Over.N Thanks for nothing. Weather watch could mean anything from light rain to the end of the — 152 — world. MRequest four-hour radio checks. Over.N He didnPt want to be forgotten for too long, to get too ignorant about the weather movement. MCast off stern lines.N The
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does anything.\ 
does anything.\ No one had been able to answer the question \ why\ when Kade s mother appeared at court twenty-five years ago to captivate the old king Fulstan. No one had known she was Moire, a great queen in her own right from one of the multitude of fayre kingdoms that hid under ancient barrows, deceptively deep lakes, or the disappearing islands that lay off the southern coast. She had held Fulstan s attention constantly, day and night, for one year before departing and leaving behind her a baby daughter like a forgotten piece of baggage and a man who was far worse a king than he had ever been before. Dubell had a way of seeming to pick up on someone else s train of thought. He said, \ I remember her mother. I was a
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young man then. 
young man then. The King s Company was performing The Fortunate Lands and suddenly she was there, dressed in black and her jewels like stars. The Queen of Air and Darkness.\ He picked up a book from the window ledge and absently added it to a stack on a nearby chair. \ A wiser man might have seen a potential danger in Kade. The fay who appear the most human are often more changeable and vindictive than their monstrous brethren. But I saw only an isolated child with the first stirrings of real power and the wit and the will to use it. I admit I have never felt guilty, Captain. I gave her only an elementary tutoring in the craft. If I hadn t, she would have found someone else. I m sorry for what she has done with the knowledge since
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then, but I assume 
then, but I assume no responsibility for it.\ He looked back at Thomas seriously. \ I suspect that may be lese-majeste.\ \ Perhaps, but it s a mild form of it.\ Compared to most of what goes on here. \ And we do need your help.\ He was sure Dubell realized that until another court sorcerer could arrive he had them over a barrel, and Thomas was curious to see if the old scholar would come out and admit it. Dubell shook his head. \ I took a vow of fealty when I first came here years ago. Whatever differences of opinion have arisen since then can have no bearing on it.\ The old sorcerer stood there watching the garden below, his stooped shoulders revealing his bone-weary exhaustion. Galen Dubell
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spoke so freely 
spoke so freely it made suspicion difficult, even for someone in whom suspicion was a deeply ingrained habit. And how many times does a man have to swear undying loyalty before you have to give him the benefit of the doubt? Thomas thought. At least until events prove otherwise. The couple in the court below had moved somewhere out of sight. Dubell asked, \ Has anything been heard of Grandier?\ \ No, not so far. He s not going to be so easy to find again. You haven t remembered anything else you heard Chapter Three 35 that might hint of his plans?\ Thomas asked without much hope. They had gone over all this exhaustively last night on the way back
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of Medusa, the 
of Medusa, the reptiles for hair looking to him, in his highly nervous state, like the tight, crisp curls and braids covering the head of his bride-elect, and the lines from Pitt s \ Virgil\ recurred to his memory: \ Such fiends to scourge mankind, so fierce, so fell, Heaven never summoned from the depths of hell.\ Mr. Stone broke the momentary silence by saying, in matter-of-fact tones: \ It is natural, I suppose, to a man of your seemingly nervous temperament, to be a little upset at not meeting your father; but, in my opinion, life is too short for sentiment, especially when wasted as in this case, for your father, according to cablegram sent us, is improving, and is, I dare swear, kicking his heels about St. Lawrence Hall, Montreal, waiting impatiently
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for your return.\ 
for your return.\ \ Yes, Uncle Timothy, yours is the practical view of it; sentiment is, or should be, a monopoly of the poets; self-interest, with pounds, shillings and pence, are good enough for us.\ \ Margaret means to convey, Mr. Charles, that you should be thankful to Providence that you have been spared to come to us; to a land, also, flowing with milk and honey, ready to your hand and purse,\ said her aunt, sanctimoniously adding, \ How is religious life in Toronto?\ \ Religious life?\ he said, half dazed, wholly absorbed in the thought that he was to be held in bondage by that stony-eyed woman with snake-like hair–his Medusa. \ Alas, I fear you are dead in sin, Mr. Charles. You do not even know
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the meaning of 
the meaning of my words. I have heard that New York is the most wicked city in America, and you, I fear, frequently go there to participate in the pleasures of sin. I dread to allow my niece to go out, even as your wife; it was only the other day I read, copied from one of your newspapers, that at Tahlequah, which I suppose is near you, that a Chickasaw Indian was arrested by a deputy United States marshal with three assistants; the company camped on the prairie, with the exception of the marshal, who, riding on, reached his goal; waited there until weary, he rode back, and what did he find? The entire posse with heads cut off, and the Indian fled. America must be a very Sodom and Gomorrah. But I see you are not listening to me, Mr. Charles.
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We have a 
We have a saintly young man here, the Rev. Claude Parks, whom I must ask to influence you to a better frame of mind, with an intense gratitude to Providence for the favors about to be showered upon you.\ Thus did Miss Stone give vent to her feelings to unlistening ears. Fond of hearing her own voice, it mattered little to her that she received no replies but to be told impatiently that \ he was ill,\ and to be compelled to waste the eloquence she seduced herself into believing she possessed, upon a man with now his hands pressed upon his feverish brow, now his eyes fixed on vacancy, now upon the entrance as though he would fain flee, incensed her almost to rage; during the absence of Mr. Stone and his niece she had determined to improve
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the occasion, and so 
the occasion, and so read him no end of lectures. The two absent ones, after a few minutes whispered conversation in the library, had crossed the lawn to a neat cottage where the clergyman in charge of the Bayswater Mission existed on one hundred and fifty pounds per annum. As they stepped through the flower beds, which the moon rising in unclouded splendor lit with her soft white light, Miss Villiers in cold, hard tones, said: \ Yes, you are right; he showed his hand, and of how much he loved me at first sight, as he asked in that scared way for my sweet sister, but bah! such maudlin folly in our wasting our precious moments over his feelings in the matter; they are of no more consequence than are the blades of grass we crush beneath our
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feet in reaching 
feet in reaching CHAPTER IX. our goal; let him laugh who wins, even though the goal be reached by a foul.\ \ Yes, the sooner we hold the lines the better; he has not spirit enough to be a runaway horse.\ \ Let him but try, there is the curb bit and halter.\ \ Oh, you need not tell me, Margaret, that you will have him well in hand. Yes, and before that paradise of fools, the honeymoon, is over,\ laughed her uncle sardonically. \ Yes, the grey mare will be the best horse this time; but what a blessing his father is laid low; it would have been all up, when he saw how cut up our precious Charles is. I
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Hartley Wiggins would 
Hartley Wiggins would not be continued within earshot. To my relief they moved a trifle farther on; but I still heard their voices. [Illustration: This discussion between Cecilia Hollister and Hartley Wiggins.] \ I cannot listen to you. Now that I m committed I cannot honorably countenance you at all; and I can explain nothing. I came here to meet you only to tell you this. You must go–please! And do not attempt to see me in this way again.\ I was grateful that Wiggins s voice sank so low in his reply that I did not hear it; but I knew that he was pleading hard. Then a motor flashed by, and when the whir of its passing had ceased, the voices were inaudible; but a moment later I heard a light quick
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step beyond the 
step beyond the wall, and Cecilia passed hurriedly, her face turned toward the house. The cape was drawn tightly about her shoulders, and she walked with her head bowed. I breathed a sigh of relief, and when I felt safe from detection climbed the slope. Pausing on the crest to survey the landscape, I saw a man, wearing a derby hat and a light top-coat, leaning against a fence that inclosed a pasture. As I glanced in his direction he moved away hastily toward the road below. The feeling of being watched is not agreeable, and I could not account for him. As he passed out of sight, still another man appeared, emerging from a strip of woodland farther on. Even through the evening haze I should have
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said that he 
said that he was a gentleman. The two men apparently bore no relation to each other, though they were walking in the same direction, bound, I judged, for the highway below. I had an uncomfortable feeling that they had both been observing me, though for what purpose I could not imagine. 20 Then once more, just as I was about to enter the Italian garden from a fallow field that hung slightly above it, a third man appeared as mysteriously as though he had sprung from the ground, and ran at a sharp dog-trot along the fence, headed, like the others, for the road. In the third instance the stranger undoubtedly took pains to hide his face, but he, too, was well dressed and wore a top-coat and a fedora hat of current style.
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I did not 
I did not know why these gentlemen were ranging the neighborhood or what object they had in view; but their several appearances had interested me, and I went on into the house well satisfied that events of an unusual character were likely to mark my visit to the home of Miss Octavia Hollister. IV WE DINE IN THE GUN-ROOM Cecilia sat reading alone when I entered the library shortly before the dinner-hour. She put down her book and we fell into fitful talk. \ I took a walk after tea. I always feel that sunsets are best seen from the fields; you can t quite do them justice from windows,\ she began. She seemed preoccupied, but this may have been the interpretation of my conscience, whose twinges reminded me
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unpleasantly of my 
unpleasantly of my precipitation into the briar bushes at the foot of the pasture, where I had witnessed her meeting with Wiggins. My admiration gained new levels. Her black evening gown became her; a band of velvet circled her throat, emphasizing its firm whiteness. It seemed incredible that I had seen her so recently, in the filmy dusk, talking with so much earnestness to Hartley Wiggins. It was my impression, gained from the few sentences I had overheard by the road, that she did not repulse him, but that some mysterious, difficult barrier kept them apart. Where, I wondered, was Wiggins now, and what were to be the further incidents of this singular affair? While we waited for Miss Hollister to appear, she continued to speak of her joy in the hills. It is not every one who can admire
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faces and eyes. 
faces and eyes. These are not to be trusted under any circumstances. ABOUT THE AUTHOR Jon was born in the State of California in 1950, and grew up surfing, hitchhiking around the country, and studying the martial arts. He earned a black belt by the age of 24, and then served in the army for a time. He attended three universities studying Sociology, Psychology, and Clinical Nutrition. Presently, he works in a family-owned business as an herbalist and clinical nutritionist. Jon walked the path of six spiritual traditions for a period of ten years before learning of the ancient tradition practiced by the Indo-Europeans. Having been in communication with his Higher Self since 1989, he was told to apply what he had learned esoterically, to reestablishing the esoteric principles in the Old Norse tradition that were lost. The “Vitkar” carried the mysteries for that tradition,
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but when they 
but when they were killed during the Inquisition, everything was destroyed, save a few fragments. Jon spent another ten years studying the works of other researchers, and was eventually able to fulfill the wishes of his Higher Self. Since 2007, he has engaged himself in pursuing knowledge regarding Dominion, whom he came across during his shamanic battles on other planes, and in other dimensions. He is a man who believes in pursuing his own knowledge, rather than accepting what is handed to him. Douglas Stauffer Chapter 1: The Murderer and Me Where to Begin? What began me on this journey? What broke me out of the quiet depression I had held so long and the generally negative view of the world I
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had clung to 
had clung to all my life? In some respects…a photo of a man. Till then, I had lived my life on autopilot; simply rising each day as I had always risen, never conscious of who I was, how I was, or why; never truly understanding the self inside this body, or the body inside this world which had always felt so alien to me. I had accumulated a lifetime of hurt, and seen a lifetime of opportunity pass, and I wasn’t enjoying it. In fact, I was hating it. My shyness and general dissatisfaction with how I was led me to dislike most everyone, but I was completely unwilling to change a thing about myself or try. Nor was I willing even
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to admit that 
to admit that perhaps I did not know everything; that I in fact knew nothing – of what was wrong, of who I was, or of life in general. And it hurt. It always hurt. Being who I was hurt. It was painful even; always gnawing at me, forever on my mind, incessantly in my thoughts. “I suck.” “I’m not cool.” “I’m not good enough.” And so I struggled. There were days I’d break down. There were nights I’d cry. There were weeks I’d go without managing a single smile. There were times I was so down, so lost, so unbelievably afraid of everything, that I couldn’t even manage to leave the house…to get to
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REEDHAM TO YARMOUTH. [Picture: 
REEDHAM TO YARMOUTH. [Picture: Decorative drop capital] The next morning we were up betimes to take the last of the ebb down to 13 Yarmouth, and catch the tide up the Bure. As there was a fresh breeze from the east, we had to tack nearly the whole of the way. At Reedham there is a swing bridge, over which the railway passes, and if the wind is foul it is always a difficult matter to sail through, particularly if the tide be against you. On the present occasion we had the tide with us; therefore, on reaching the opening of the bridge, we could shoot the yacht up into the wind, and carry her way on until through, when her head was paid off on the proper tack.
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\ I tell 
\ I tell you what, these Norfolk waters are capital places to learn to steer in. An inch either way, and we should have torn our sail against the bridge.\ \ Yes, and what with getting the utmost on every tack, without going ashore, shaving wherries by a yard or two, and watching for every puff as it comes over the grasses on the marsh, so as to make the most of it, there is more fun in sailing here than on more open waters.\ Just below the bridge is the New Cut, a perfectly straight canal, three miles long, connecting the Yare with the Waveney, and so saving a round of some eighteen miles, which would otherwise be necessary to get from the one river to the other, as a reference to the map will
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show. Now came a 
show. Now came a steady beat for several miles, until we reached the Berney Arms (on the right is the mouth of the river Waveney), when Breydon water opened out before us, with Yarmouth in the distance. When the tide is in, this is a remarkable sheet of water, four and a-half miles long by a mile broad. There are mud flats on either side of the wide channel, where herons and sea-fowl greatly congregate. The strong wind against the tide raises a respectable sea, and the tacks being longer we made rapid progress, and the motion was exhilarating. A sail across Breydon in a strong wind, is a thing I always consider a great treat. The channel is marked out by stout posts at intervals of two hundred yards or thereabouts, but it is not safe to sail too close
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the mother. \ Yes,\ 
the mother. \ Yes,\ said the thorn-bush; \ but I will not tell thee which way he took, unless thou wilt first warm me up at thy heart. I am freezing to death; I shall become a lump of ice!\ And she pressed the thorn-bush to her breast, so firmly, that it might be thoroughly warmed, and the thorns 13 went right into her flesh, and her blood flowed in large drops, but the thorn-bush shot forth fresh green leaves, and there came flowers on it in the cold winter night, the heart of the afflicted mother was so warm; and the thorn-bush told her the way she should go. She then came to a large lake, where there was neither ship nor boat. The lake was not
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frozen sufficiently to bear 
frozen sufficiently to bear her; neither was it open, nor low enough that she could wade through it; and across it she must go if she would find her child! Then she lay down to drink up the lake, and that was an impossibility for a human being, but the afflicted mother thought that a miracle might happen nevertheless. \ Oh, what would I not give to come to my child!\ said the weeping mother; and she wept still more, and her eyes sunk down in the depths of the waters, and became two precious pearls; but the water bore her up, as if she sat in a swing, and she flew in the rocking waves to the shore on the opposite side, where there stood a mile-broad, strange house, one knew not if it were a mountain with forests
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and caverns, or 
and caverns, or if it were built up; but the poor mother could not see it; she had wept her eyes out. \ Where shall I find Death, who took away my little child?\ said she. \ He has not come here yet!\ said the old grave woman, who was appointed to look after Death s great greenhouse! \ How have you been able to find the way hither? and who has helped you?\ \ Our Lord has helped me,\ said she. \ He is merciful, and you will also be so! Where shall I find my little child?\ \ Nay, I know not,\ said the woman, \ and you cannot see! Many flowers and trees have withered this night; Death will soon come and plant them over
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again! You certainly 
again! You certainly know that every person has his or her life s tree or flower, just as every one happens to be settled; they look like other plants, but they have pulsations of the heart. Children s hearts can also beat; go after yours, perhaps you may know your child s; but what will you give me if I tell you what you shall do more?\ \ I have nothing to give,\ said the afflicted mother, \ but I will go to the world s end for you!\ \ Nay, I have nothing to do there!\ said the woman, \ but you can give me your long black hair; you know yourself that it is fine, and that I like! You shall have my white hair instead! and that s always something!\
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carry. As he stepped 
carry. As he stepped aside for a moment out of the way of this torrent, Stewart found himself beside the bearded stranger who had waxed eloquent in defense of Germany. He was watching the crowd with a look at once mocking and sardonic, as a spider might watch a fly struggling vainly to escape from the web. He glanced at Stewart, then turned away without any sign of recognition. \ Where do you go, sir?\ the porter asked, when they were safely through the gates. \ To the Koelner Hof.\ \ It is but a step,\ said the porter, and he unhooked his belt, passed it through the handles of the suit-cases, hooked it together again and lifted it to his shoulder. \ This way, sir, if you please.\
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The Koelner Hof 
The Koelner Hof proved to be a modest inn just around the corner, where Stewart was received most cordially by the plump, high-colored landlady. Lunch would be ready in a few minutes; meanwhile, if the gentleman would follow the waiter, he would be shown to a room where he could remove the traces of his journey. But first would the gentleman fill in the blank required by the police? So Stewart filled in the blank, which demanded his name, his nationality, his age, his business, his home address, the place from which he had come to Aix-la-Chapelle and the place to which he would go on leaving it, handed it back to the smiling landlady, and followed an ugly, hang-dog waiter up the stair. The room into which he was shown was a very pleasant one, scrupulously
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clean, and as 
clean, and as he made his toilet, Stewart reflected how much more of comfort and how much warmer welcome was often to be had at the small inns than at the big ones, and mentally thanked the officer of police who had recommended this one. He found he had further reason for gratitude when he sat down to lunch, served on a little table set in one corner of a shady court–the best lunch he had eaten for a long time, as he told the landlady when she came out presently, knitting in hand, and sat down near him. She could speak a little English, it appeared, and a little French, and these, with Stewart s little German, afforded a medium of communication limping, it is true, but sufficient. She received the compliments of her guest with the dignity of one
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where I fervently 
where I fervently hope he will remain.\ \ But you forget the poor man who was hurled to the earth; I know his face so well.\ \ And I know yours, Mrs. Gower, and you are safe and so am I; and as Joseph, I interpret that you are to give your charming self to an affinity, and don t fly too high.\ \ The first part of your speech is epicurean, in your second you play the mentor,\ she said, laughingly; \ but in your face I see you have something to tell me; go now to the telephone and tell them to send you your dress coat, for you have no time to go all the way to the Walker House and be back by seven.\ \ No
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use; I cannot 
use; I cannot stay for dinner.\ \ Cannot stay! Why?\ \ My father writes me he is going to sail for England at once, and wishes me to meet him at London.\ \ Well, you ought not to look so grave over such a meditated trip, Charlie, it will make a new man of you; and instead of betaking yourself to the Preston baths, a sea voyage, I should say, will set you up, making you forget the word rheumatism better than any sulphur bath in all Canada.\ \ But,\ he said, in serio-comic tones, \ what do you think of my being forced into annexation?\ \ Only that you use the word forced, I should say I congratulate you.\ \
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At the same 
At the same time that you keep your own freedom, though,\ he said, despondently; seeing her look of gravity, he continued, touching her hand, \ beg pardon, Elaine, I should not say that, knowing your past; but,\ he said brightly, \ I should like to see you wed an affinity.\ CHAPTER III. \ I am afraid such pleasant fate is not for me,\ she said, gravely. \ Do you believe in predestination, Mrs. Gower?\ he says, abruptly. 42 \ What next! from annexation to dogma. Tell me all about yourself, and it is too lovely an Indian summer day to remain in the house, come to my favorite seat in the garden.\ \ Where I
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shall give you 
shall give you an instantaneous photograph, from my father s pen, of the girl I am predestined to change the name of.\ \ From your father s pen!\ CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER IV. THE FOOT-BALL OF CIRCUMSTANCE. As they near a knoll under a clump of trees commanding a view of the road, a gentleman sauntering up the street gazes, as many do, at Holmnest with its pretty grounds. 43 \ Look, quick, Charlie,\ said Mrs. Gower, in low and rapid tones, apparently intent on spreading a rug on the rustic bench, \ there he is, I mean—-\ \ Well, I only see a very ordinary and thoroughly independent looking man, seeming
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as though he 

as though he feared nothing, not even you, and as if Toronto was built for him.\ At this Mrs. Gower, laughing merrily, says, \ And not for the Lieutenant-Governor, Mayor Howland, Archbishop Lynch, or the caller herrin -man. \ As the soft laughter fell on the air, the stranger looked towards them, and looked so intently, that involuntarily his hand is raised to his head and his hat lifted. \ You say you have not met him, Mrs. Gower; you are a very prudent woman, I must say, coming out here in your white gown, with ribbons the color of a peach, creating a sensation; you had better wed an affinity since you won t have me, and get a protector at once.\ \ That is the man I
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were there?\ \ 
were there?\ \ Oh, I dropped in quite accidentally one day last spring. I saw the sign, and remembered that somebody had spoken of the place, and I was tired, and it was a long way to the club, and\ — Dissimulation is not an art as Wiggins attempts to practice it at times. He is by nature the most straightforward of mortals. It was clear that he was withholding something, and I resolved to get to the bottom of it. \ I don t think the Asolando is a place that would attract either of us, and yet the viands are good as such stuff goes, and the gentle hand-maidens are restful to the eye,–Pippa, Francesca, Gloria, and the rest of em.\ Wiggins pried open his artichoke with the care of
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a botanist. He 
a botanist. He had regained his composure, but I saw that the subject interested him. \ You were there this afternoon?\ he inquired. \ Yes, my first and only appearance.\ \ And this is Monday.\ \ The calendar has said it.\ \ So you settled your bill with Pippa! I believe this was her day.\ \ Then you really do know the inner workings of the Asolando,\ I continued; \ I thought you would show your hand presently. Then it is perhaps Gloria, Beatrice or Francesca who minds the till on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, alternating with Pippa, who took my coin to-day. It s a pretty idea. It has the delicacy of an arrangement by Whistler or the charm of a
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line in Rossetti. 
line in Rossetti. So you have seen the blessed damozel at the cash-desk.\ \ On the contrary I was never there on Tuesday, Thursday, or Saturday, and I therefore passed no coin to Francesca, Gloria or Beatrice. My only visit was on a day last May, and my recollection of the system is doubtless imperfect.\ \ Then beyond doubt I saw Pippa. She makes the change on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Her eyelashes are a trifle too long for the world s peace.\ \ I dare say. I have n t your charming knack, Ames, of picking up acquaintances, so you must n t expect me to form life-long friendships with young women at cash-desks. I suppose it did n t occur to you that those young women who tend till and
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serve the tables 
serve the tables in there are persons of education and taste. The Asolando is not a common hashery. I sometimes fear that so much crawling through chimneys is clouding your intellect. It ought to have been clear even to your smoky chimney-pot that those girls in there are not the kind you can ask to meet you by the old mill at the fall of dewy eve, or who write notes to popular romantic actors. There s not a girl in that place who has n t a social position as good as yours or mine. The Asolando s a kind of fad, you know, Ames; it s not a tavern within the meaning of the inn-keepers act, where common swine are fed for profit. The servants serve for love of the cause; it s a sort of cult. But I suppose you
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are incapable of 
are incapable of grasping it. There was always something sordid in you, and I m pained to find that you re getting worse.\ Siege of the Seven Suitors, by Meredith Nicholson Wiggins had, before now, occasionally taken this attitude toward me, and it was always with a view to obscuring some real issue between us. He requires patience; it is a mistake to attempt to crowd him; but give him rope and he will twist his own halter. We sparred further without result. I had suggested a topic that had clearly some painful association for my 5 friend. He drank his coffee gloomily and lighted a cigar much blacker than the one I knew to be his favorite in the Hare and Tortoise humidor.
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does not appear 
does not appear to be P. onocrotalus, but a similar species, P. roseus, found chiefly in Indio-China and westward to South-eastern Europe, but occurring as far west as the River Volga (\ Cat. of Birds,\ B. M., xxvi., p. 466). In this Mr. Ogilvie Grant, the author of that section of the Catalogue, whom I consulted, agrees with me, and the locality whence the birds were derived, mentioned by Willughby, renders not unlikely. Onocrotalus in Browne s time was a general term for \ the Pelican,\ and he probably knew but one species and one individual, the escaped bird from Charles II. s Aviary. Browne s very miscellaneous collection was destroyed by the authorities at the time of the plague (see ninth letter to Merrett), and probably the remains of this Pelican perished with the rest. Anas Arctica
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clusii wch though 
clusii wch though hee placeth about the faro Islands is the same wee call a puffin co[=m]on about Anglisea in wales & sometimes [for struck out] taken upon our seas not sufficiently described by the name of puffinus the bill being so remarkably differing from other ducks & not horizontally butt meridionally formed to feed in the clefts of the rocks of insecks, shell-fish & others. The great number of riuers riuulets & plashes of water makes hernes [to abound in these struck out] & herneries to abound in these parts. yong hensies being esteemed a festiuall dish & much desired by some palates. The Ardea stellaris botaurus, or bitour[26] is also co[=m]on & esteemed the better dish. in the belly of one I found a frog in an hard frost at christmas. another I kept in a
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garden 2 yeares 
garden 2 yeares feeding it with fish mice & frogges. in defect whereof making a scrape for sparrowes & small birds, the bitour made shifft to maintaine herself upon them. [26] This is one of the birds once common enough in Norfolk, which in the present day is only a winter and spring migrant. The last eggs of the Bittern were taken in this county on 30th of March, 1868; the last \ boom\ of a resident was heard in May, 1886, in the August of which year a young female was killed at Reedham with down still adhering to its feathers; this was probably the last Norfolk-bred Bittern. In the \ Vulgar Errors,\ book 3, chapter xxvii., section 4, is a discourse on the \ mugient noise\ of the Bittern and the mode of its production,
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and in a 
and in a foot-note in the same place is a curious anecdote illustrating the difficulty of detecting a wounded Bittern, even when marked down in short, recently mown grass and flags. The spring cry of the Bittern is mentioned by Robert Marsham in his unpublished journal nineteen times, between the years 1739 and 1775, as first heard at Stratton Strawless, generally between the 15th of March and the 15th of April; and Notes and Letters on the Natural History of by Thomas Browne 21 it was on the 14th of the latter month that Benjamin Stillingfleet records it in the \ Calendar of Flora\ as heard in the same locality in 1755. He does not describe the note, but uses the words \ makes a noise.\ Marsham,
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caste. They do 
caste. They do nothing for Germany–they add nothing to her art, her science, or her literature–they add nothing to her wealth–they destroy rather than build up–and yet it is they who rule Germany. We are a pacific people, we love our homes and a quiet life; we are not a military people, and yet every man in Germany must march to war when the word is given. We ourselves have no voice in the matter. We have only to obey.\ \ Obey whom?\ asked Stewart. \ The Emperor,\ answered Bloem, bitterly. \ With all our progress, my friend, with all our development in science and industry, with all our literature and art, with all our philosophy, we still live in a medieval State, ruled by a king who believes himself divinely appointed, who can do
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no wrong, and 
no wrong, and who, in time of war at least, has absolute power over us. And the final decision as to war or peace is wholly in his hands. Understand I do not complain of the Emperor; he has done great things for Germany; he has often cast his influence for peace. But he is surrounded by aristocrats intent only on maintaining their privileges, who are terrified by the growth of democratic ideas; who believe that the only way to checkmate democracy is by a great war. It is they who preach the doctrine of blood and iron; who hold that Caesar is sacrosanct. The Emperor struggles against them; but some day they will prove too strong for him. Besides, he himself believes in blood and iron; CHAPTER I he hates democracy as bitterly tv lcd 19

as anyone, for 
as anyone, for it denies the divine right of kings!\ He stopped suddenly, his finger to his ear. \ Listen!\ he said. Down the street, from the direction of the river, came a low, continuous murmur, as of the wind among the leaves of a forest; then, as it grew clearer, it resolved itself into the tramp, tramp of iron-shod feet. Bloem leaned far forward staring into the darkness; and suddenly, at the corner, three mounted officers appeared; 7 then a line of soldiers wheeled into view; then another and another and another, moving as one man. The head of the column crossed the square, passed behind the church and disappeared, but still the tide poured on with slow and regular undulation, dim, mysterious, and threatening. At last the rear of the
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vile gods would 
vile gods would decree such inequities, that many would die, while he would live to enjoy the challenge of survival. The sun was nearly at zenith when he saw the first ship from the top of a salt-grass dune – one of the gigantic inter-island ferries, lying at an angle, masts gone, gaping holes clearly visible in its hull. After walking a bit further, he saw another ship, a trading vessel much like his lost Wayfarer, floating in calm waters beyond the wrecked ferry. His heart lifted as he saw many people. Kaylen started jogging again, waving; the nearest person shouted, and pointed toward him. Within minutes, he was surrounded by dozens, engaged in handshakes and hugs, pummeled by questions, and thoroughly relieved by proof that he wasn’t the only human in the
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universe. “Let him breath!” 
universe. “Let him breath!” a woman’s voice called out. “Don’t smother him.” The crowd separated, and a tall, muscular red-head strode forward. “Well I’ll be damned!” She looked him up and down. “Kaylen Thyr!” Kaylen laughed. “It’s good to see you, Jahsha. How’d the leg heal?” She reached down and pulled up her pant leg. A long pink scar ran down the side of the calf. “Not perfect,” Jahsha said. “But I’m not walking on stick, either.” She led him out of the crowd, chuckling. “At the moment, I’d rather be fighting pirates than dealing with this mess.” “You and me both,” Kaylen nodded. “It’s been a long time.” “It has indeed.” She wounded a bit wistful. “Where’s your ship?” Kaylen’s enthusiasm died instantly. “Gone,” he said. The memory felt oddly old
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and disconnected. They 
and disconnected. They walked quietly for a while, lost in memories. Near the wrecked ferry, 24 they reached a fire pit surrounded by few makeshift chairs, crates, and bags. “My office, for the moment,” Jahsha said, with a wry smile. Kaylen sat on one of the crates. “So you’re in charge here?” he asked, pulling off one of his boots and emptying sand. “As much as anyone is in charge of anything,” she said with a shrug. “People are still in shock, trying to absorb what’s going on.” She sat across from Kaylen, leaning back and stretching her long legs out. “The Gull was blown south by the storms. Hell, I thought we were going under
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L a small 
L a small step for hu- manity. The lock popped from the pressure of the blows, the door slamming into the wall behind it. Howie stood there, returned, suddenly, from the dead, grinning. Bobby gripped the handle of the thirty-eight, thought it over, and let it go. Howie was cleaned and his leg wound tended L dressed and bug-eyed again. MDrop your cock and grab your socks!N He strut- ted across the room, stiff-legged from his wound, and pulled the blankets from Bobby. MGet it up, amigo. WePre outta here.N Bobby pressed his eyelids tight, fighting the reality of Howie along with the early morning sun- light racing through the door. He was silent and sullen, a prisoner
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before the gallows, 
before the gallows, refusing to believe the nightmare lived. It did. He hauled his spent and naked body across the bed and to the shower. MWhat time is it?N MFifteen minutes.N Howie kept bellowing. MFood in the van. Want an upper? WherePs Gomez?N MTwo-oh-five.N Bobby turned the water hotter, hoping to scald him self and get hospitalized. Re- peated his question. MWhat time is it?N He didnPt get an answer L Howie was out the door. He was gone to room two-oh-five. He hoped Gomez killed him. The water beat hot and hard. It couldnPt be more than six in the morning. He couldPve
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slept for two 
slept for two days. — 108 — He stepped out of the shower, noticing his im- proved appearance in the mirror. He fought his thoughts, deciding to skip them altogether. He took a rain check on his memory as well. He wished hePd stayed on South Padre, on the dune, hungry and cold. He could have snuck back into Mexico, got Tanya, bought a burro and got him- self deep into the hills, forever. He squeezed the thirty-eight into his boot, safety on. In all, it took him about seven minutes before he stepped out into the hot Louisiana sun. Six oPclock, he figured, no
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more. 
more. He climbed through the open panel door at the side of the van and started working his way through a couple of take out containers. Drowned his coffee in pack- ets of sugar, holding it between his hands, staring blankly out the opened door at a New Orleans morning. The good life could be anywhere. He no- ticed Robert ForsterPs car was gone. Maybe it was a dream. He wished it were nothing more than last nightPs nightmare. He shook his head. His life was distorted, but it wasnPt making him that stupid. He watched Howie through the windshield, talking to Pierre, pulling money from his brief- case, favoring his
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leg. Gomez, 
leg. Gomez, dripping wet and shirtless, wandered up to the rear door looking a lot as if he was sleepwalking. He climbed in with- out any acknowledgment. MGomez.N The Mexican opened one eye in time to catch the containerized food. MGracias.N He mumbled the word, looked over where the body bag used to be, almost looked at Bobby, took a bite. He kept — 109 — eating while Bobby watched in silence. Difficult to figure, this Gomez, hard to know what went on inside his head. It was an easy out to write him off, as Bobby had initially and erroneously. But this Mexican inex plicably held himself beyond all of them, in his silence, inside himself.
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There was something 
There was something ancient about the man, something of another civiliza tion, someonePs reincarnation. Bobby figured it, looked at him, and realized no- body could disguise himself more com pletely. Howie limped to the van. MIPve got a lot of pain here, guys. IPll get the job done despite it L me and the Demerol.N He looked for sympathy while he glanced through the window at them. He got nothing but blank stares. He put a look on his face as if mommy had just sent him to his room without dinner and if hePs lucky shePll come up and beat him later L confirm she still loves him. The pout didnPt last long. Howie wasnPt able to avoid himself much.
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\ Oh, don 
\ Oh, don t start. Roland could send you to the edge of the earth and I would not care.\ She smiled for a moment, but her expression became bitter as she smoothed a section of the embroidery. \ Master Conadine 21 was sent for today from the Granges to help deal with Grandier. He should be here within the week. It was the worst stupidity not to wait for him and to send you with only Dr. Braun.\ \ If I d had the choice, I might have gone anyway,\ he admitted. \ If we had waited any longer Grandier could have killed Dubell.\ \ And taken a handful of men, and only Dr. Braun?\ Her lips thinned. \ Never mind. Roland did it to
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aggravate me, and we 
aggravate me, and we know who encouraged him to it, don t we?\ Ravenna tested the sharpness of her needle with a finger, then selected another out of the case Lady Anne held ready for her. \ And what other mischief has Denzil been up to lately?\ Thomas took a seat on one of the stools near her chair, feeling his weariness as a tight pain across his shoulders. The episode with Grandier had worried Ravenna more than she had revealed to Aviler or the others, but he let her change the subject. He said, \ He visited a banker on the Riverside Way yesterday, but that was about a gambling debt. If he s planning something now, he s taking more care with it.\ \ Perhaps.\ Ravenna carefully threaded the needle. \ Someday
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he will miscalculate.\ 
he will miscalculate.\ Thomas shrugged. \ Roland can always pardon him.\ Denzil was Duke of Alsene, Roland s older cousin on his father s side, and acknowledged favorite. There were men who had more respect for the finer feelings of their dogs than Denzil had for Roland, but the young King still clung to him. It was undoubtedly Denzil who had talked Roland into sending a small contingent of the Queen s Guard to beard Grandier in his lair, knowing Thomas would be bound to lead them, and knowing that it would infuriate Ravenna. Thomas reminded himself there was nothing to be done about it tonight. But he was looking forward to the moment when the news reached Denzil that he had gone into Grandier s house and brought Galen Dubell out alive without losing a single man.
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\ What did 
\ What did the Bisran ambassador want?\ \ To accuse us of harboring Grandier.\ She made a gesture of exasperation, willing to be led away from the subject of her son s favorite. \ And also to present a new list of their heretics sheltering in Ile-Rien, so they could be arrested and returned to Bisra to burn for their crimes. That the Bisran Inquisition has no authority within our borders is immaterial, apparently. I wish I knew why the ambassador is so certain that Grandier is here with our blessings.\ She coughed, and Lady Anne hastily produced a lace-edged cloth for her. Watching her accusingly, Thomas said, \ You re not feeling well.\ She had caught a lung flux last winter when they had gone to Bannot-on-the-Shore to quell a minor upheaval among the
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Björkan: Ehstí 
Björkan: Ehstí (E): Manar: Lákar: Ingvar: Daku: Othalar (O): These categories are of significance in conceptualizing the role each Rune plays in the context of its general concepts and esoteric aspects; but as we shall see, they all play a role in creation. By way of correlation, we will come to understand runic functions, and thus, to gain a conceptual awareness of how it is that the “All,” through these universal forces, effectuates not only creation, but also every other function in the universe. As vowels in any language cement all words together to form a phonetic cohesiveness, so too, do the vowel Runes of the Elder Futhark ( , , , , ) cement it together into a cohesive working whole, with Solí
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as the axis. 
as the axis. The Runes represent, then, what can be termed “The Magical Language of the Universe,” with Solí lending its support to each of the vowel Runes, or “primaries” as we often refer to them. This “language” is how the “All” communicates itself to us. Through an understanding of each Rune’s function, and through runic attunement, the initiate on the path not only gathers information on the proper use of the Runes, but also learns how to properly communicate with the “All.” The Runic Correlation Chart is divided into five spheres of influence with each set of Runes connected to the primary through mode of operation: Runic Correlation has its application to our development on the path of enlightenment and transcendence, but what we are looking for here, is its application to “creation.” Each sphere is based on a
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primary Rune, which 
primary Rune, which in turn, receives its objective from Solí. – Isar’s objective as the primary Rune in the sphere of Energy’s origin is to manifest the basis upon which creation is founded, and to still the energies of her two very powerful satellites, when required. Light is first, and self-perpetuating. Isar controls, because she magnifies Light. The only Runic forces she does not control are those of Solí, because he is the direct extension of the “All,” which is the source of Light. Although Isar controls all the other Runes, the most interesting relationship of this nature, is her control of Thurisar – . As the 3rd Runic Light which is red, he embodies the subatomic structure of all existence, which is Sound. Therefore, one might reason that Thurisar is out of the realm of Light, and therefore, remains autonomous.
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Isar’s energetic 
Isar’s energetic connection, however, is through Sound, since she embodies both Light and Sound. She controls Thurisar through her ability to magnify more or less Light, which he depends on for his manifestation. The Sound Matrix, after all, is but a magnification of Light. Isar’s other satellite is Reinu – , who directs all movement in the universe. The ongoing creation manifesting in all evolutionary processes, then, is entirely under his direction. Reinu provides the vehicle when we are accessing either the past, or the future time tracks. As an individual power, he maintains his own rhythm independently of outside forces, which makes him the director of all movement in the universe. He, who controls rhythmic structures, controls the direction of movement. This principle can be seen in music, where the rhythmic structure carried by the rhythm section of a band
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