names of Tuchkov, Bagration, and Kutaysov. In the Petersburg world this sad side of the affair again involuntarily centered round a single incident: Kutaysov s death. Everybody knew him, the Emperor liked him, and he was young and interesting. That day everyone met with the words: \ What a wonderful coincidence! Just during the service. But what a loss Kutaysov is! How sorry I am!\ \ What did I tell about Kutuzov?\ Prince Vasili now said with a prophet s pride. \ I always said he was the only man capable of defeating Napoleon.\ But next day no news arrived from the army and the public mood grew anxious. The courtiers suffered because of the suffering the suspense occasioned the Emperor. \ Fancy the Emperor s position!\ said they,
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and instead of extolling Kutuzov as they had done the day before, they condemned him as the cause of the Emperor s anxiety. That day Prince Vasili no longer boasted of his protege Kutuzov, but remained silent when the commander in chief was mentioned. Moreover, toward evening, as if everything conspired to make Petersburg society anxious and uneasy, a terrible piece of news was added. Countess Helene Bezukhova had suddenly died of that terrible malady it had been so agreeable to mention. Officially, at large gatherings, everyone said that Countess Bezukhova had died of a terrible attack of angina pectoris, but in intimate circles details were mentioned of how the private physician of the Queen of Spain had prescribed small doses of a certain drug to produce a certain effect; but Helene, tortured by the fact that the old count suspected her
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and that her husband to whom she had written (that wretched, profligate Pierre) had not replied, had suddenly taken a very large dose of the drug, and had died in agony before assistance could be rendered her. It was said that Prince Vasili and the old count had turned upon the Italian, but the latter had produced such letters from the unfortunate deceased that they had immediately let the matter drop. Talk in general centered round three melancholy facts: the Emperor s lack of news, the loss of Kutuzov, and the death of Helene. On the third day after Kutuzov s report a country gentleman arrived from Moscow, and news of the surrender of Moscow to the French spread through the whole town. This was terrible! What a position for the Emperor to be in! Kutuzov was
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a traitor, and Prince Vasili during the visits of condolence paid to him on the occasion of his daughter s death said of Kutuzov, whom he had formerly praised (it was excusable for him in his grief CHAPTER II 825 to forget what he had said), that it was impossible to expect anything else from a blind and depraved old man. \ I only wonder that the fate of Russia could have been entrusted to such a man.\ As long as this news remained unofficial it was possible to doubt it, but the next day the following communication was received from Count Rostopchin: Prince Kutuzov s adjutant has brought me a letter in which he demands police officers to guide the
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army to the Ryazan road. He writes that he is regretfully abandoning Moscow. Sire! Kutuzov s action decides the fate of the capital and of your empire! Russia will shudder to learn of the abandonment of the city in which her greatness is centered and in which lie the ashes of your ancestors! I shall follow the army. I have had everything removed, and it only remains for me to weep over the fate of my fatherland. On receiving this dispatch the Emperor sent Prince Volkonski to Kutuzov with the following rescript: Prince Michael Ilarionovich! Since the twenty-ninth of August I have received no communication from you, yet on the first of September I received from the commander in chief of Moscow, via Yaroslavl, the sad news that you, with the army, have decided to abandon Moscow. You
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can yourself imagine the effect this news has had on me, and your silence increases my astonishment. I am sending this by Adjutant-General Prince Volkonski, to hear from you the situation of the army and the reasons that have induced you to take this melancholy decision. CHAPTER III CHAPTER III 826 Nine days after the abandonment of Moscow, a messenger from Kutuzov reached Petersburg with the official announcement of that event. This messenger was Michaud, a Frenchman who did not know Russian, but who was quoique etranger, russe de coeur et d ame,* as he said of himself. *Though a foreigner, Russian in heart and soul. The Emperor at once received this messenger in his study at the palace
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on Stone Island. Michaud, who had never seen Moscow before the campaign and who did not know Russian, yet felt deeply moved (as he wrote) when he appeared before notre tres gracieux souverain* with the news of the burning of Moscow, dont les flammes eclairaient sa route.*[2] *Our most gracious sovereign. *[2] Whose flames illumined his route. Though the source of M. Michaud s chagrin must have been different from that which caused Russians to grieve, he had such a sad face when shown into the Emperor s study that the latter at once asked: \ Have you brought me sad news, Colonel?\ \ Very sad, sire,\ replied Michaud, lowering his eyes with a sigh. \ The abandonment of Moscow.\ \ Have they surrendered my
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ancient capital without a battle?\ asked the Emperor quickly, his face suddenly flushing. Michaud respectfully delivered the message Kutuzov had entrusted to him, which was that it had been impossible to fight before Moscow, and that as the only remaining choice was between losing the army as well as Moscow, or losing Moscow alone, the field marshal had to choose the latter. The Emperor listened in silence, not looking at Michaud. \ Has the enemy entered the city?\ he asked. \ Yes, sire, and Moscow is now in ashes. I left it all in flames,\ replied Michaud in a decided tone, but glancing at the Emperor he was frightened by what he had done. The Emperor began to breathe heavily and rapidly, his lower lip trembled, and tears
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instantly appeared in his fine blue eyes. But this lasted only a moment. He suddenly frowned, as if blaming himself for his weakness, and raising his head addressed Michaud in a firm voice: \ I see, Colonel, from all that is happening, that Providence requires great sacrifices of us… I am ready to submit myself in all things to His will; but tell me, Michaud, how did you leave the army when it saw my ancient capital abandoned without a battle? Did you not notice discouragement?…\ Seeing that his most gracious ruler was calm once more, Michaud also grew calm, but was not immediately ready to reply to the Emperor s direct and relevant question which required a direct answer. \ Sire, will you allow me to speak frankly as befits a
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loyal soldier?\ he asked to gain time. CHAPTER III 827 \ Colonel, I always require it,\ replied the Emperor. \ Conceal nothing from me, I wish to know absolutely how things are.\ \ Sire!\ said Michaud with a subtle, scarcely perceptible smile on his lips, having now prepared a well-phrased reply, \ sire, I left the whole army, from its chiefs to the lowest soldier, without exception in desperate and agonized terror…\ \ How is that?\ the Emperor interrupted him, frowning sternly. \ Would misfortune make my Russians lose heart?… Never!\ Michaud had only waited for this to bring out the phrase he had prepared. \ Sire,\ he said,
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with respectful playfulness, \ they are only afraid lest Your Majesty, in the goodness of your heart, should allow yourself to be persuaded to make peace. They are burning for the combat,\ declared this representative of the Russian nation, \ and to prove to Your Majesty by the sacrifice of their lives how devoted they are….\ \ Ah!\ said the Emperor reassured, and with a kindly gleam in his eyes, he patted Michaud on the shoulder. \ You set me at ease, Colonel.\ He bent his head and was silent for some time. \ Well, then, go back to the army,\ he said, drawing himself up to his full height and addressing Michaud with a gracious and majestic gesture, \ and tell our brave men and all my good subjects wherever
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am well informed, my friend, but I am aware that there are Masons and I hope that you are not one of those who on pretense of saving mankind wish to ruin Russia.\ \ Yes, I am a Mason,\ Pierre replied. \ There, you see, mon cher! I expect you know that Messrs. Speranski and Magnitski have been deported to their proper place. Mr. Klyucharev has been treated in the same way, and so have others who on the plea of building up the temple of Solomon have tried to destroy the temple of their fatherland. You can understand that there are reasons for this and that I could not have exiled the Postmaster had he not been a harmful person. It has now come to my knowledge that you lent him your carriage for his removal
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from town, and that you have even accepted papers from him for safe custody. I like you and don t wish you any harm and–as you are only half my age- I advise you, as a father would, to cease all communication with men of that stamp and to leave here as soon as possible.\ \ But what did Klyucharev do wrong, Count?\ asked Pierre. \ That is for me to know, but not for you to ask,\ shouted Rostopchin. \ If he is accused of circulating Napoleon s proclamation it is not proved that he did so,\ said Pierre without looking at Rostopchin, \ and Vereshchagin…\ \ There we are!\ Rostopchin shouted at Pierre louder than before, frowning suddenly. \ Vereshchagin is a renegade and a
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traitor who will be punished as he deserves,\ said he with the vindictive heat with which people speak when recalling an insult. \ But I did not summon you to discuss my actions, but to give you advice–or an order if you prefer it. I beg you to leave the town and break off all communication with such men as Klyucharev. And I will knock the nonsense out of anybody\ –but probably realizing that he was shouting at Bezukhov who so far was not guilty of anything, he added, taking Pierre s hand in a friendly manner, \ We are on the eve of a public disaster and I haven t time to be polite to everybody who has business with me. My head is sometimes in a whirl. Well, mon cher, what are you doing personally?\ \ Why,
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nothing,\ answered Pierre without raising his eyes or changing the thoughtful expression of his face. The count frowned. \ A word of friendly advice, mon cher. Be off as soon as you can, that s all I have to tell you. Happy he who has ears to hear. Good-by, my dear fellow. Oh, by the by!\ he shouted through the doorway after Pierre, \ is it true that the countess has fallen into the clutches of the holy fathers of the Society of Jesus?\ Pierre did not answer and left Rostopchin s room more sullen and angry than he had ever before shown himself. CHAPTER XI 747 When he reached home it was already getting dark. Some eight
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people had come to see him that evening: the secretary of a committee, the colonel of his battalion, his steward, his major-domo, and various petitioners. They all had business with Pierre and wanted decisions from him. Pierre did not understand and was not interested in any of these questions and only answered them in order to get rid of these people. When left alone at last he opened and read his wife s letter. \ They, the soldiers at the battery, Prince Andrew killed… that old man… Simplicity is submission to God. Suffering is necessary… the meaning of all… one must harness… my wife is getting married… One must forget and understand…\ And going to his bed he threw himself on it without undressing and immediately fell asleep. When he awoke next morning the major-domo came
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to inform him that a special messenger, a police officer, had come from Count Rostopchin to know whether Count Bezukhov had left or was leaving the town. A dozen persons who had business with Pierre were awaiting him in the drawing room. Pierre dressed hurriedly and, instead of going to see them, went to the back porch and out through the gate. From that time till the end of the destruction of Moscow no one of Bezukhov s household, despite all the search they made, saw Pierre again or knew where he was. CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XII 748 The Rostovs remained in Moscow till the first of September, that is, till the eve of the enemy s entry into the
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city. After Petya had joined Obolenski s regiment of Cossacks and left for Belaya Tserkov where that regiment was forming, the countess was seized with terror. The thought that both her sons were at the war, had both gone from under her wing, that today or tomorrow either or both of them might be killed like the three sons of one of her acquaintances, struck her that summer for the first time with cruel clearness. She tried to get Nicholas back and wished to go herself to join Petya, or to get him an appointment somewhere in Petersburg, but neither of these proved possible. Petya could not return unless his regiment did so or unless he was transferred to another regiment on active service. Nicholas was somewhere with the army and had not sent a word since his last letter,
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in which he had given a detailed account of his meeting with Princess Mary. The countess did not sleep at night, or when she did fall asleep dreamed that she saw her sons lying dead. After many consultations and conversations, the count at last devised means to tranquillize her. He got Petya transferred from Obolenski s regiment to Bezukhov s, which was in training near Moscow. Though Petya would remain in the service, this transfer would give the countess the consolation of seeing at least one of her sons under her wing, and she hoped to arrange matters for her Petya so as not to let him go again, but always get him appointed to places where he could not possibly take part in a battle. As long as Nicholas alone was in danger the countess imagined that she loved her first-born more
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than all her other children and even reproached herself for it; but when her youngest: the scapegrace who had been bad at lessons, was always breaking things in the house and making himself a nuisance to everybody, that snub-nosed Petya with his merry black eyes and fresh rosy cheeks where soft down was just beginning to show- when he was thrown amid those big, dreadful, cruel men who were fighting somewhere about something and apparently finding pleasure in it–then his mother thought she loved him more, much more, than all her other children. The nearer the time came for Petya to return, the more uneasy grew the countess. She began to think she would never live to see such happiness. The presence of Sonya, of her beloved Natasha, or even of her husband irritated her. \ What do I want with them?
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I want no one but Petya,\ she thought. At the end of August the Rostovs received another letter from Nicholas. He wrote from the province of Voronezh where he had been sent to procure remounts, but that letter did not set the countess at ease. Knowing that one son was out of danger she became the more anxious about Petya. Though by the twentieth of August nearly all the Rostovs acquaintances had left Moscow, and though everybody tried to persuade the countess to get away as quickly as possible, she would not bear of leaving before her treasure, her adored Petya, returned. On the twenty-eighth of August he arrived. The passionate tenderness with which his mother received him did not please the sixteen-year-old officer. Though she concealed from him her intention of keeping him under her
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wing, Petya guessed her designs, and instinctively fearing that he might give way to emotion when with her–might \ become womanish\ as he termed it to himself–he treated her coldly, avoided her, and during his stay in Moscow attached himself exclusively to Natasha for whom he had always had a particularly brotherly tenderness, almost lover-like. Owing to the count s customary carelessness nothing was ready for their departure by the twenty-eighth of August and the carts that were to come from their Ryazan and Moscow estates to remove their household belongings did not arrive till the thirtieth. From the twenty-eighth till the thirty-first all Moscow was in a bustle and commotion. Every day thousands of men wounded at Borodino were brought in by the Dorogomilov gate and taken to various parts of Moscow, and thousands of
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carts conveyed the inhabitants and their possessions out by the other gates. In spite of Rostopchin s broadsheets, or because of them or independently of them, the strangest and most contradictory rumors were current in the town. Some said that no one was to be allowed to leave the city, others on the contrary said that all the icons had been taken out of the churches and everybody was to be ordered to leave. CHAPTER XII 749 Some said there had been another battle after Borodino at which the French had been routed, while others on the contrary reported that the Russian army bad been destroyed. Some talked about the Moscow militia which, preceded by the clergy, would go to the Three Hills; others whispered that Augustin had
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been forbidden to leave, that traitors had been seized, that the peasants were rioting and robbing people on their way from Moscow, and so on. But all this was only talk; in reality (though the Council of Fili, at which it was decided to abandon Moscow, had not yet been held) both those who went away and those who remained behind felt, though they did not show it, that Moscow would certainly be abandoned, and that they ought to get away as quickly as possible and save their belongings. It was felt that everything would suddenly break up and change, but up to the first of September nothing had done so. As a criminal who is being led to execution knows that he must die immediately, but yet looks about him and straightens the cap that is awry on his head, so Moscow
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involuntarily continued its wonted life, though it knew that the time of its destruction was near when the conditions of life to which its people were accustomed to submit would be completely upset. During the three days preceding the occupation of Moscow the whole Rostov family was absorbed in various activities. The head of the family, Count Ilya Rostov, continually drove about the city collecting the current rumors from all sides and gave superficial and hasty orders at home about the preparations for their departure. The countess watched the things being packed, was dissatisfied with everything, was constantly in pursuit of Petya who was always running away from her, and was jealous of Natasha with whom he spent all his time. Sonya alone directed the practical side of matters by getting things packed. But of late Sonya had
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been particularly sad and silent. Nicholas letter in which he mentioned Princess Mary had elicited, in her presence, joyous comments from the countess, who saw an intervention of Providence in this meeting of the princess and Nicholas. \ I was never pleased at Bolkonski s engagement to Natasha,\ said the countess, \ but I always wanted Nicholas to marry the princess, and had a presentiment that it would happen. What a good thing it would be!\ Sonya felt that this was true: that the only possibility of retrieving the Rostovs affairs was by Nicholas marrying a rich woman, and that the princess was a good match. It was very bitter for her. But despite her grief, or perhaps just because of it, she took on herself all the difficult work of directing the storing
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and packing of their things and was busy for whole days. The count and countess turned to her when they had any orders to give. Petya and Natasha on the contrary, far from helping their parents, were generally a nuisance and a hindrance to everyone. Almost all day long the house resounded with their running feet, their cries, and their spontaneous laughter. They laughed and were gay not because there was any reason to laugh, but because gaiety and mirth were in their hearts and so everything that happened was a cause for gaiety and laughter to them. Petya was in high spirits because having left home a boy he had returned (as everybody told him) a fine young man, because he was at home, because he had left Belaya Tserkov where there was no hope of soon taking part in a
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battle and had come to Moscow where there was to be fighting in a few days, and chiefly because Natasha, whose lead he always followed, was in high spirits. Natasha was gay because she had been sad too long and now nothing reminded her of the cause of her sadness, and because she was feeling well. She was also happy because she had someone to adore her: the adoration of others was a lubricant the wheels of her machine needed to make them run freely–and Petya adored her. Above all, they were gay because there was a war near Moscow, there would be fighting at the town gates, arms were being given out, everybody was escaping–going away somewhere, and in general something extraordinary was happening, and that is always exciting, especially to the young. CHAPTER XIII
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CHAPTER XIII 750 On Saturday, the thirty-first of August, everything in the Rostovs house seemed topsy-turvy. All the doors were open, all the furniture was being carried out or moved about, and the mirrors and pictures had been taken down. There were trunks in the rooms, and hay, wrapping paper, and ropes were scattered about. The peasants and house serfs carrying out the things were treading heavily on the parquet floors. The yard was crowded with peasant carts, some loaded high and already corded up, others still empty. The voices and footsteps of the many servants and of the peasants who had come with the carts resounded as they shouted to one another in the yard and in the house. The count bad been out since morning. The
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countess had a headache brought on by all the noise and turmoil and was lying down in the new sitting room with a vinegar compress on her head. Petya was not at home, he had gone to visit a friend with whom he meant to obtain a transfer from the militia to the active army. Sonya was in the ballroom looking after the packing of the glass and china. Natasha was sitting on the floor of her dismantled room with dresses, ribbons, and scarves strewn all about her, gazing fixedly at the floor and holding in her hands the old ball dress (already out of fashion) which she had worn at her first Petersburg ball. Natasha was ashamed of doing nothing when everyone else was so busy, and several times that morning had tried to set to work, but her
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heart was not in it, and she could not and did not know how to do anything except with all her heart and all her might. For a while she had stood beside Sonya while the china was being packed and tried to help, but soon gave it up and went to her room to pack her own things. At first she found it amusing to give away dresses and ribbons to the maids, but when that was done and what was left had still to be packed, she found it dull. \ Dunyasha, you pack! You will, won t you, dear?\ And when Dunyasha willingly promised to do it all for her, Natasha sat down on the floor, took her old ball dress, and fell into a reverie quite unrelated to what ought to have occupied her thoughts now.
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She was roused from her reverie by the talk of the maids in the next room (which was theirs) and by the sound of their hurried footsteps going to the back porch. Natasha got up and looked out of the window. An enormously long row of carts full of wounded men had stopped in the street. The housekeeper, the old nurse, the cooks, coachmen, maids, footmen, postilions, and scullions stood at the gate, staring at the wounded. Natasha, throwing a clean pocket handkerchief over her hair and holding an end of it in each hand, went out into the street. The former housekeeper, old Mavra Kuzminichna, had stepped out of the crowd by the gate, gone up to a cart with a hood constructed of bast mats, and was speaking to a pale young officer who
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lay inside. Natasha moved a few steps forward and stopped shyly, still holding her handkerchief, and listened to what the housekeeper was saying. \ Then you have nobody in Moscow?\ she was saying. \ You would be more comfortable somewhere in a house… in ours, for instance… the family are leaving.\ \ I don t know if it would be allowed,\ replied the officer in a weak voice. \ Here is our commanding officer… ask him,\ and he pointed to a stout major who was walking back along the street past the row of carts. Natasha glanced with frightened eyes at the face of the wounded officer and at once went to meet the major. \ May the wounded men stay in our house?\ she asked.
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The major raised his hand to his cap with a smile. CHAPTER XIII \ Which one do you want, Ma am selle?\ said he, screwing up his eyes and smiling. 751 Natasha quietly repeated her question, and her face and whole manner were so serious, though she was still holding the ends of her handkerchief, that the major ceased smiling and after some reflection- as if considering in how far the thing was possible–replied in the affirmative. \ Oh yes, why not? They may,\ he said. With a slight inclination of her head, Natasha stepped back quickly to Mavra Kuzminichna, who stood talking compassionately to the officer. \ They may. He says they may!\ whispered
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Natasha. The cart in which the officer lay was turned into the Rostovs yard, and dozens of carts with wounded men began at the invitation of the townsfolk to turn into the yards and to draw up at the entrances of the houses in Povarskaya Street. Natasha was evidently pleased to be dealing with new people outside the ordinary routine of her life. She and Mavra Kuzminichna tried to get as many of the wounded as possible into their yard. \ Your Papa must be told, though,\ said Mavra Kuzminichna. \ Never mind, never mind, what does it matter? For one day we can move into the drawing room. They can have all our half of the house.\ \ There now, young lady, you do take things into your head! Even
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if we put them into the wing, the men s room, or the nurse s room, we must ask permission.\ \ Well, I ll ask.\ Natasha ran into the house and went on tiptoe through the half-open door into the sitting room, where there was a smell of vinegar and Hoffman s drops. \ Are you asleep, Mamma?\ \ Oh, what sleep-?\ said the countess, waking up just as she was dropping into a doze. \ Mamma darling!\ said Natasha, kneeling by her mother and bringing her face close to her mother s, \ I am sorry, forgive me, I ll never do it again; I woke you up! Mavra Kuzminichna has sent me: they have brought some wounded here–officers. Will you let them come? They
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have nowhere to go. I knew you d let them come!\ she said quickly all in one breath. \ What officers? Whom have they brought? I don t understand anything about it,\ said the countess. Natasha laughed, and the countess too smiled slightly. \ I knew you d give permission… so I ll tell them,\ and, having kissed her mother, Natasha got up and went to the door. In the hall she met her father, who had returned with bad news. \ We ve stayed too long!\ said the count with involuntary vexation. \ The Club is closed and the police are leaving.\ CHAPTER XIII \ Papa, is it all right–I ve invited some of the wounded
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into the house?\ said Natasha. 752 \ Of course it is,\ he answered absently. \ That s not the point. I beg you not to indulge in trifles now, but to help to pack, and tomorrow we must go, go, go!….\ And the count gave a similar order to the major-domo and the servants. At dinner Petya having returned home told them the news he had heard. He said the people had been getting arms in the Kremlin, and that though Rostopchin s broadsheet had said that he would sound a call two or three days in advance, the order had certainly already been given for everyone to go armed to the Three Hills tomorrow, and that there would be a big battle there.
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The countess looked with timid horror at her son s eager, excited face as he said this. She realized that if she said a word about his not going to the battle (she knew he enjoyed the thought of the impending engagement) he would say something about men, honor, and the fatherland–something senseless, masculine, and obstinate which there would be no contradicting, and her plans would be spoiled; and so, hoping to arrange to leave before then and take Petya with her as their protector and defender, she did not answer him, but after dinner called the count aside and implored him with tears to take her away quickly, that very night if possible. With a woman s involuntary loving cunning she, who till then had not shown any alarm, said that she would die of fright if they did not leave that
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very night. Without any pretense she was now afraid of everything. CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XIV Madame Schoss, who had been out to visit her daughter, increased the countess fears still more by telling 753 what she had seen at a spirit dealer s in Myasnitski Street. When returning by that street she had been unable to pass because of a drunken crowd rioting in front of the shop. She had taken a cab and driven home by a side street and the cabman had told her that the people were breaking open the barrels at the drink store, having received orders to do so. After dinner the whole Rostov household set to work with enthusiastic haste packing their belongings and preparing
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for their departure. The old count, suddenly setting to work, kept passing from the yard to the house and back again, shouting confused instructions to the hurrying people, and flurrying them still more. Petya directed things in the yard. Sonya, owing to the count s contradictory orders, lost her head and did not know what to do. The servants ran noisily about the house and yard, shouting and disputing. Natasha, with the ardor characteristic of all she did suddenly set to work too. At first her intervention in the business of packing was received skeptically. Everybody expected some prank from her and did not wish to obey her; but she resolutely and passionately demanded obedience, grew angry and nearly cried because they did not heed her, and at last succeeded in making them believe her. Her first exploit, which cost her immense effort
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and established her authority, was the packing of the carpets. The count had valuable Gobelin tapestries and Persian carpets in the house. When Natasha set to work two cases were standing open in the ballroom, one almost full up with crockery, the other with carpets. There was also much china standing on the tables, and still more was being brought in from the storeroom. A third case was needed and servants had gone to fetch it. \ Sonya, wait a bit–we ll pack everything into these,\ said Natasha. \ You can t, Miss, we have tried to,\ said the butler s assistant. \ No, wait a minute, please.\ And Natasha began rapidly taking out of the case dishes and plates wrapped in paper. \ The dishes must go
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in here among the carpets,\ said she. \ Why, it s a mercy if we can get the carpets alone into three cases,\ said the butler s assistant. \ Oh, wait, please!\ And Natasha began rapidly and deftly sorting out the things. \ These aren t needed,\ said she, putting aside some plates of Kiev ware. \ These–yes, these must go among the carpets,\ she said, referring to the Saxony china dishes. \ Don t, Natasha! Leave it alone! We ll get it all packed,\ urged Sonya reproachfully. \ What a young lady she is!\ remarked the major-domo. But Natasha would not give in. She turned everything out and began quickly repacking, deciding that the inferior Russian carpets and unnecessary crockery should not be taken
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at all. When everything had been taken out of the cases, they recommenced packing, and it turned out that when the cheaper things not worth taking had nearly all been rejected, the valuable ones really did all go into the two cases. Only the lid of the case containing the carpets would not shut down. A few more things might have been taken out, but Natasha insisted on having her own way. She packed, repacked, pressed, made the butler s assistant and Petya–whom she had drawn into the business of packing–press on the lid, and made desperate efforts herself. \ That s enough, Natasha,\ said Sonya. \ I see you were right, but just take out the top one.\ CHAPTER XIV 754 \
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I won t!\ cried Natasha, with one hand bolding back the hair that hung over her perspiring face, while with the other she pressed down the carpets. \ Now press, Petya! Press, Vasilich, press hard!\ she cried. The carpets yielded and the lid closed; Natasha, clapping her hands, screamed with delight and tears fell from her eyes. But this only lasted a moment. She at once set to work afresh and they now trusted her completely. The count was not angry even when they told him that Natasha had countermanded an order of his, and the servants now came to her to ask whether a cart was sufficiently loaded, and whether it might be corded up. Thanks to Natasha s directions the work now went on expeditiously, unnecessary things were left, and the most valuable packed as compactly as
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possible. But hard as they all worked till quite late that night, they could not get everything packed. The countess had fallen asleep and the count, having put off their departure till next morning, went to bed. Sonya and Natasha slept in the sitting room without undressing. That night another wounded man was driven down the Povarskaya, and Mavra Kuzminichna, who was standing at the gate, had him brought into the Rostovs yard. Mavra Kuzminichna concluded that he was a very important man. He was being conveyed in a caleche with a raised hood, and was quite covered by an apron. On the box beside the driver sat a venerable old attendant. A doctor and two soldiers followed the carriage in a cart. \ Please come in here. The masters are going
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away and the whole house will be empty,\ said the old woman to the old attendant. \ Well, perhaps,\ said he with a sigh. \ We don t expect to get him home alive! We have a house of our own in Moscow, but it s a long way from here, and there s nobody living in it.\ \ Do us the honor to come in, there s plenty of everything in the master s house. Come in,\ said Mavra Kuzminichna. \ Is he very ill?\ she asked. The attendant made a hopeless gesture. \ We don t expect to get him home! We must ask the doctor.\ And the old servant got down from the box and went up to the cart.
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\ All right!\ said the doctor. The old servant returned to the caleche, looked into it, shook his head disconsolately, told the driver to turn into the yard, and stopped beside Mavra Kuzminichna. \ O, Lord Jesus Christ!\ she murmured. She invited them to take the wounded man into the house. \ The masters won t object…\ she said. But they had to avoid carrying the man upstairs, and so they took him into the wing and put him in the room that had been Madame Schoss . This wounded man was Prince Andrew Bolkonski. CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XV 755 Moscow s last day had come. It
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was a clear bright autumn day, a Sunday. The church bells everywhere were ringing for service, just as usual on Sundays. Nobody seemed yet to realize what awaited the city. Only two things indicated the social condition of Moscow–the rabble, that is the poor people, and the price of commodities. An enormous crowd of factory hands, house serfs, and peasants, with whom some officials, seminarists, and gentry were mingled, had gone early that morning to the Three Hills. Having waited there for Rostopchin who did not turn up, they became convinced that Moscow would be surrendered, and then dispersed all about the town to the public houses and cookshops. Prices too that day indicated the state of affairs. The price of weapons, of gold, of carts and horses, kept rising, but the value of paper money and city articles kept
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falling, so that by midday there were instances of carters removing valuable goods, such as cloth, and receiving in payment a half of what they carted, while peasant horses were fetching five hundred rubles each, and furniture, mirrors, and bronzes were being given away for nothing. In the Rostovs staid old-fashioned house the dissolution of former conditions of life was but little noticeable. As to the serfs the only indication was that three out of their huge retinue disappeared during the night, but nothing was stolen; and as to the value of their possessions, the thirty peasant carts that had come in from their estates and which many people envied proved to be extremely valuable and they were offered enormous sums of money for them. Not only were huge sums offered for the horses and carts, but on the previous
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evening and early in the morning of the first of September, orderlies and servants sent by wounded officers came to the Rostovs and wounded men dragged themselves there from the Rostovs and from neighboring houses where they were accommodated, entreating the servants to try to get them a lift out of Moscow. The major-domo to whom these entreaties were addressed, though he was sorry for the wounded, resolutely refused, saying that he dare not even mention the matter to the count. Pity these wounded men as one might, it was evident that if they were given one cart there would be no reason to refuse another, or all the carts and one s own carriages as well. Thirty carts could not save all the wounded and in the general catastrophe one could not disregard oneself and one s own family.
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So thought the major-domo on his master s behalf. On waking up that morning Count Ilya Rostov left his bedroom softly, so as not to wake the countess who had fallen asleep only toward morning, and came out to the porch in his lilac silk dressing gown. In the yard stood the carts ready corded. The carriages were at the front porch. The major-domo stood at the porch talking to an elderly orderly and to a pale young officer with a bandaged arm. On seeing the count the major-domo made a significant and stern gesture to them both to go away. \ Well, Vasilich, is everything ready?\ asked the count, and stroking his bald head he looked good-naturedly at the officer and the orderly and nodded to them. (He liked to see new faces.) \
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We can harness at once, your excellency.\ \ Well, that s right. As soon as the countess wakes we ll be off, God willing! What is it, gentlemen?\ he added, turning to the officer. \ Are you staying in my house?\ The officer came nearer and suddenly his face flushed crimson. \ Count, be so good as to allow me… for God s sake, to get into some corner of one of your carts! I have nothing here with me…. I shall be all right on a loaded cart…\ Before the officer had finished speaking the orderly made the same request on behalf of his master. \ Oh, yes, yes, yes!\ said the count hastily. \ I shall be very pleased, very pleased. Vasilich, you ll see to
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it. Just unload one or two carts. Well, what of it… do what s necessary…\ said the count, muttering some indefinite CHAPTER XV order. 756 But at the same moment an expression of warm gratitude on the officer s face had already sealed the order. The count looked around him. In the yard, at the gates, at the window of the wings, wounded officers and their orderlies were to be seen. They were all looking at the count and moving toward the porch. \ Please step into the gallery, your excellency,\ said the major-domo. \ What are your orders about the pictures?\ The count went into the house with him, repeating his order not to refuse the
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wounded who asked for a lift. \ Well, never mind, some of the things can be unloaded,\ he added in a soft, confidential voice, as though afraid of being overheard. At nine o clock the countess woke up, and Matrena Timofeevna, who had been her lady s maid before her marriage and now performed a sort of chief gendarme s duty for her, came to say that Madame Schoss was much offended and the young ladies summer dresses could not be left behind. On inquiry, the countess learned that Madame Schoss was offended because her trunk had been taken down from its cart, and all the loads were being uncorded and the luggage taken out of the carts to make room for wounded men whom the count in the simplicity of his heart had ordered that
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they should take with them. The countess sent for her husband. \ What is this, my dear? I hear that the luggage is being unloaded.\ \ You know, love, I wanted to tell you… Countess dear… an officer came to me to ask for a few carts for the wounded. After all, ours are things that can be bought but think what being left behind means to them!… Really now, in our own yard–we asked them in ourselves and there are officers among them…. You know, I think, my dear… let them be taken… where s the hurry?\ The count spoke timidly, as he always did when talking of money matters. The countess was accustomed to this tone as a precursor of news of something detrimental to the children s interests, such as the
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building of a new gallery or conservatory, the inauguration of a private theater or an orchestra. She was accustomed always to oppose anything announced in that timid tone and considered it her duty to do so. She assumed her dolefully submissive manner and said to her husband: \ Listen to me, Count, you have managed matters so that we are getting nothing for the house, and now you wish to throw away all our- all the children s property! You said yourself that we have a hundred thousand rubles worth of things in the house. I don t consent, my dear, I don t! Do as you please! It s the government s business to look after the wounded; they know that. Look at the Lopukhins opposite, they cleared out everything two days ago. That s what other people
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do. It s only we who are such fools. If you have no pity on me, have some for the children.\ Flourishing his arms in despair the count left the room without replying. \ Papa, what are you doing that for?\ asked Natasha, who had followed him into her mother s room. \ Nothing! What business is it of yours?\ muttered the count angrily. \ But I heard,\ said Natasha. \ Why does Mamma object?\ \ What business is it of yours?\ cried the count. Natasha stepped up to the window and pondered. CHAPTER XV \ Papa! Here s Berg coming to see us,\ said she, looking out of the window.
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757 CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVI 758 Berg, the Rostovs son-in-law, was already a colonel wearing the orders of Vladimir and Anna, and he still filled the quiet and agreeable post of assistant to the head of the staff of the assistant commander of the first division of the Second Army. On the first of September he had come to Moscow from the army. He had nothing to do in Moscow, but he had noticed that everyone in the army was asking for leave to visit Moscow and had something to do there. So he considered it necessary to ask for leave of absence for family and domestic reasons. Berg drove up to his father-in-law s house in his spruce
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little trap with a pair of sleek roans, exactly like those of a certain prince. He looked attentively at the carts in the yard and while going up to the porch took out a clean pocket handkerchief and tied a knot in it. From the anteroom Berg ran with smooth though impatient steps into the drawing room, where he embraced the count, kissed the hands of Natasha and Sonya, and hastened to inquire after \ Mamma s\ health. \ Health, at a time like this?\ said the count. \ Come, tell us the news! Is the army retreating or will there be another battle?\ \ God Almighty alone can decide the fate of our fatherland, Papa,\ said Berg. \ The army is burning with a spirit of heroism and the leaders, so
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to say, have now assembled in council. No one knows what is coming. But in general I can tell you, Papa, that such a heroic spirit, the truly antique valor of the Russian army, which they–which it\ (he corrected himself) \ has shown or displayed in the battle of the twenty-sixth–there are no words worthy to do it justice! I tell you, Papa\ (he smote himself on the breast as a general he had heard speaking had done, but Berg did it a trifle late for he should have struck his breast at the words \ Russian army\ ), \ I tell you frankly that we, the commanders, far from having to urge the men on or anything of that kind, could hardly restrain those… those… yes, those exploits of antique valor,\ he went on rapidly. \ General Barclay de
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Tolly risked his life everywhere at the head of the troops, I can assure you. Our corps was stationed on a hillside. You can imagine!\ And Berg related all that he remembered of the various tales he had heard those days. Natasha watched him with an intent gaze that confused him, as if she were trying to find in his face the answer to some question. \ Altogether such heroism as was displayed by the Russian warriors cannot be imagined or adequately praised!\ said Berg, glancing round at Natasha, and as if anxious to conciliate her, replying to her intent look with a smile. \ Russia is not in Moscow, she lives in the hearts of her sons! Isn t it so, Papa?\ said he. Just then the countess came in from
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the sitting room with a weary and dissatisfied expression. Berg hurriedly jumped up, kissed her hand, asked about her health, and, swaying his head from side to side to express sympathy, remained standing beside her. \ Yes, Mamma, I tell you sincerely that these are hard and sad times for every Russian. But why are you so anxious? You have still time to get away….\ \ I can t think what the servants are about,\ said the countess, turning to her husband. \ I have just been told that nothing is ready yet. Somebody after all must see to things. One misses Mitenka at such times. There won t be any end to it.\ CHAPTER XVI 759 The count
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was about to say something, but evidently restrained himself. He got up from his chair and went to the door. At that moment Berg drew out his handkerchief as if to blow his nose and, seeing the knot in it, pondered, shaking his head sadly and significantly. \ And I have a great favor to ask of you, Papa,\ said he. \ Hm…\ said the count, and stopped. \ I was driving past Yusupov s house just now,\ said Berg with a laugh, \ when the steward, a man I know, ran out and asked me whether I wouldn t buy something. I went in out of curiosity, you know, and there is a small chiffonier and a dressing table. You know how dear Vera wanted a chiffonier like that and
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how we had a dispute about it.\ (At the mention of the chiffonier and dressing table Berg involuntarily changed his tone to one of pleasure at his admirable domestic arrangements.) \ And it s such a beauty! It pulls out and has a secret English drawer, you know! And dear Vera has long wanted one. I wish to give her a surprise, you see. I saw so many of those peasant carts in your yard. Please let me have one, I will pay the man well, and…\ The count frowned and coughed. \ Ask the countess, I don t give orders.\ \ If it s inconvenient, please don t,\ said Berg. \ Only I so wanted it, for dear Vera s sake.\ \ Oh, go to the devil, all
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of you! To the devil, the devil, the devil…\ cried the old count. \ My head s in a whirl!\ And he left the room. The countess began to cry. \ Yes, Mamma! Yes, these are very hard times!\ said Berg. Natasha left the room with her father and, as if finding it difficult to reach some decision, first followed him and then ran downstairs. Petya was in the porch, engaged in giving out weapons to the servants who were to leave Moscow. The loaded carts were still standing in the yard. Two of them had been uncorded and a wounded officer was climbing into one of them helped by an orderly. \ Do you know what it s about?\ Petya asked Natasha. She
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understood that he meant what were their parents quarreling about. She did not answer. \ It s because Papa wanted to give up all the carts to the wounded,\ said Petya. \ Vasilich told me. I consider…\ \ I consider,\ Natasha suddenly almost shouted, turning her angry face to Petya, \ I consider it so horrid, so abominable, so… I don t know what. Are we despicable Germans?\ Her throat quivered with convulsive sobs and, afraid of weakening and letting the force of her anger run to waste, she turned and rushed headlong up the stairs. Berg was sitting beside the countess consoling her with the respectful attention of a relative. The count, pipe in hand, was pacing up and down the room, when Natasha, her face distorted by anger, burst
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in like a tempest CHAPTER XVI and approached her mother with rapid steps. \ It s horrid! It s abominable!\ she screamed. \ You can t possibly have ordered it!\ Berg and the countess looked at her, perplexed and frightened. The count stood still at the window and listened. \ Mamma, it s impossible: see what is going on in the yard!\ she cried. \ They will be left!…\ \ What s the matter with you? Who are they ? What do you want?\ 760 \ Why, the wounded! It s impossible, Mamma. It s monstrous!… No, Mamma darling, it s not the thing. Please forgive me, darling…. Mamma, what
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does it matter what we take away? Only look what is going on in the yard… Mamma!… It s impossible!\ The count stood by the window and listened without turning round. Suddenly he sniffed and put his face closer to the window. The countess glanced at her daughter, saw her face full of shame for her mother, saw her agitation, and understood why her husband did not turn to look at her now, and she glanced round quite disconcerted. \ Oh, do as you like! Am I hindering anyone?\ she said, not surrendering at once. \ Mamma, darling, forgive me!\ But the countess pushed her daughter away and went up to her husband. \ My dear, you order what is right…. You know I don t
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understand about it,\ said she, dropping her eyes shamefacedly. \ The eggs… the eggs are teaching the hen,\ muttered the count through tears of joy, and he embraced his wife who was glad to hide her look of shame on his breast. \ Papa! Mamma! May I see to it? May I?…\ asked Natasha. \ We will still take all the most necessary things.\ The count nodded affirmatively, and Natasha, at the rapid pace at which she used to run when playing at tag, ran through the ballroom to the anteroom and downstairs into the yard. The servants gathered round Natasha, but could not believe the strange order she brought them until the count himself, in his wife s name, confirmed the order to give up all the carts to
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understand either her ways or yours, but I am sure the granddaughter of ten thousand jeddaks would never grieve like this over any who held but the highest claim upon her affections. They are a proud race, but they are just, as are all Barsoomians, and you must have hurt or wronged her grievously that she will not admit your existence living, though she mourns you dead. \ Tears are a strange sight upon Barsoom,\ she continued, \ and so it is difficult for me to interpret them. I have seen but two people weep in all my life, other than Dejah Thoris; one wept from sorrow, the other from baffled rage. The first was my mother, years ago before they killed her; the other was Sarkoja, when they dragged her from me today.\ \ Your
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mother!\ I exclaimed, \ but, Sola, you could not have known your mother, child.\ \ But I did. And my father also,\ she added. \ If you would like to hear the strange and un-Barsoomian story come to the chariot tonight, John Carter, and I will tell you that of which I have never spoken in all my life before. And now the signal has been given to resume the march, you must go.\ \ I will come tonight, Sola,\ I promised. \ Be sure to tell Dejah Thoris I am alive and well. I shall not force myself upon her, and be sure that you do not let her know I saw her tears. If she would speak with me I but await her command.\ Sola mounted the chariot, which
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was swinging into its place in line, and I hastened to my waiting thoat and galloped to my station beside Tars Tarkas at the rear of the column. We made a most imposing and awe-inspiring spectacle as we strung out across the yellow landscape; the two hundred and fifty ornate and brightly colored chariots, preceded by an advance guard of some two hundred mounted warriors and chieftains riding five abreast and one hundred yards apart, and followed by a like number in the same formation, with a score or more of flankers on either side; the fifty extra mastodons, or heavy draught animals, known as zitidars, and the five or six hundred extra thoats of the warriors running loose within the hollow square formed by the surrounding warriors. The gleaming metal and jewels of the gorgeous ornaments of the men
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and women, duplicated in the trappings of the zitidars and thoats, and interspersed with the flashing colors of magnificent silks and furs and feathers, lent a barbaric splendor to the caravan which would have turned an East Indian potentate green with envy. The enormous broad tires of the chariots and the padded feet of the animals brought forth no sound from the moss-covered sea bottom; and so we moved in utter silence, like some huge phantasmagoria, except when the stillness was broken by the guttural growling of a goaded zitidar, or the squealing of fighting thoats. The green Martians converse but little, and then usually in monosyllables, low and like the faint rumbling of distant thunder. We traversed a trackless waste of moss which, bending to the pressure of broad tire or padded foot, rose up
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CHAPTER XV 51 again behind us, leaving no sign that we had passed. We might indeed have been the wraiths of the departed dead upon the dead sea of that dying planet for all the sound or sign we made in passing. It was the first march of a large body of men and animals I had ever witnessed which raised no dust and left no spoor; for there is no dust upon Mars except in the cultivated districts during the winter months, and even then the absence of high winds renders it almost unnoticeable. We camped that night at the foot of the hills we had been approaching for two days and which marked the southern boundary of this particular sea. Our animals had been two
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days without drink, nor had they had water for nearly two months, not since shortly after leaving Thark; but, as Tars Tarkas explained to me, they require but little and can live almost indefinitely upon the moss which covers Barsoom, and which, he told me, holds in its tiny stems sufficient moisture to meet the limited demands of the animals. After partaking of my evening meal of cheese-like food and vegetable milk I sought out Sola, whom I found working by the light of a torch upon some of Tars Tarkas trappings. She looked up at my approach, her face lighting with pleasure and with welcome. \ I am glad you came,\ she said; \ Dejah Thoris sleeps and I am lonely. Mine own people do not care for me, John Carter; I am too unlike
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them. It is a sad fate, since I must live my life amongst them, and I often wish that I were a true green Martian woman, without love and without hope; but I have known love and so I am lost. \ I promised to tell you my story, or rather the story of my parents. From what I have learned of you and the ways of your people I am sure that the tale will not seem strange to you, but among green Martians it has no parallel within the memory of the oldest living Thark, nor do our legends hold many similar tales. \ My mother was rather small, in fact too small to be allowed the responsibilities of maternity, as our chieftains breed principally for size. She was also less cold and cruel than most green
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Martian women, and caring little for their society, she often roamed the deserted avenues of Thark alone, or went and sat among the wild flowers that deck the nearby hills, thinking thoughts and wishing wishes which I believe I alone among Tharkian women today may understand, for am I not the child of my mother? \ And there among the hills she met a young warrior, whose duty it was to guard the feeding zitidars and thoats and see that they roamed not beyond the hills. They spoke at first only of such things as interest a community of Tharks, but gradually, as they came to meet more often, and, as was now quite evident to both, no longer by chance, they talked about themselves, their likes, their ambitions and their hopes. She trusted him and told him of the
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awful repugnance she felt for the cruelties of their kind, for the hideous, loveless lives they must ever lead, and then she waited for the storm of denunciation to break from his cold, hard lips; but instead he took her in his arms and kissed her. \ They kept their love a secret for six long years. She, my mother, was of the retinue of the great Tal Hajus, while her lover was a simple warrior, wearing only his own metal. Had their defection from the traditions of the Tharks been discovered both would have paid the penalty in the great arena before Tal Hajus and the assembled hordes. \ The egg from which I came was hidden beneath a great glass vessel upon the highest and most inaccessible of the partially ruined towers of ancient Thark. Once
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each year my mother visited it for the five long years it lay there in the process of incubation. She dared not come oftener, for in the mighty guilt of her conscience she feared that her every move was watched. During this period my father gained great distinction as a warrior and had taken the metal from several chieftains. His love for my mother had never diminished, and his own ambition in life was to reach a point where he might wrest the metal from Tal Hajus himself, and thus, as ruler of the Tharks, be free to claim her as his own, as well as, by the might of his power, protect the child which otherwise would be quickly dispatched should the truth become known. CHAPTER XV 52
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\ It was a wild dream, that of wresting the metal from Tal Hajus in five short years, but his advance was rapid, and he soon stood high in the councils of Thark. But one day the chance was lost forever, in so far as it could come in time to save his loved ones, for he was ordered away upon a long expedition to the ice-clad south, to make war upon the natives there and despoil them of their furs, for such is the manner of the green Barsoomian; he does not labor for what he can wrest in battle from others. \ He was gone for four years, and when he returned all had been over for three; for about a year after his departure, and shortly before the time for the return of an expedition which had
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gone forth to fetch the fruits of a community incubator, the egg had hatched. Thereafter my mother continued to keep me in the old tower, visiting me nightly and lavishing upon me the love the community life would have robbed us both of. She hoped, upon the return of the expedition from the incubator, to mix me with the other young assigned to the quarters of Tal Hajus, and thus escape the fate which would surely follow discovery of her sin against the ancient traditions of the green men. \ She taught me rapidly the language and customs of my kind, and one night she told me the story I have told to you up to this point, impressing upon me the necessity for absolute secrecy and the great caution I must exercise after she had placed me with the
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other young Tharks to permit no one to guess that I was further advanced in education than they, nor by any sign to divulge in the presence of others my affection for her, or my knowledge of my parentage; and then drawing me close to her she whispered in my ear the name of my father. \ And then a light flashed out upon the darkness of the tower chamber, and there stood Sarkoja, her gleaming, baleful eyes fixed in a frenzy of loathing and contempt upon my mother. The torrent of hatred and abuse she poured out upon her turned my young heart cold in terror. That she had heard the entire story was apparent, and that she had suspected something wrong from my mother s long nightly absences from her quarters accounted for her presence there on that
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fateful night. \ One thing she had not heard, nor did she know, the whispered name of my father. This was apparent from her repeated demands upon my mother to disclose the name of her partner in sin, but no amount of abuse or threats could wring this from her, and to save me from needless torture she lied, for she told Sarkoja that she alone knew nor would she even tell her child. \ With final imprecations, Sarkoja hastened away to Tal Hajus to report her discovery, and while she was gone my mother, wrapping me in the silks and furs of her night coverings, so that I was scarcely noticeable, descended to the streets and ran wildly away toward the outskirts of the city, in the direction which led to the far south, out toward the
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man whose protection she might not claim, but on whose face she wished to look once more before she died. \ As we neared the city s southern extremity a sound came to us from across the mossy flat, from the direction of the only pass through the hills which led to the gates, the pass by which caravans from either north or south or east or west would enter the city. The sounds we heard were the squealing of thoats and the grumbling of zitidars, with the occasional clank of arms which announced the approach of a body of warriors. The thought uppermost in her mind was that it was my father returned from his expedition, but the cunning of the Thark held her from headlong and precipitate flight to greet him. \ Retreating into the shadows
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of a doorway she awaited the coming of the cavalcade which shortly entered the avenue, breaking its formation and thronging the thoroughfare from wall to wall. As the head of the procession passed us the lesser moon swung clear of the overhanging roofs and lit up the scene with all the brilliancy of her wondrous light. My mother shrank further back into the friendly shadows, and from her hiding place saw that the expedition was not that of my father, but the returning caravan bearing the young Tharks. Instantly her plan was formed, and as a great chariot swung close to our hiding place she slipped stealthily in upon the trailing tailboard, crouching low in the shadow of the high side, straining me to her CHAPTER XVI bosom in a frenzy of love.
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53 \ She knew, what I did not, that never again after that night would she hold me to her breast, nor was it likely we would ever look upon each other s face again. In the confusion of the plaza she mixed me with the other children, whose guardians during the journey were now free to relinquish their responsibility. We were herded together into a great room, fed by women who had not accompanied the expedition, and the next day we were parceled out among the retinues of the chieftains. \ I never saw my mother after that night. She was imprisoned by Tal Hajus, and every effort, including the most horrible and shameful torture, was brought to bear upon her to wring from her lips the name of my father;
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but she remained steadfast and loyal, dying at last amidst the laughter of Tal Hajus and his chieftains during some awful torture she was undergoing. \ I learned afterwards that she told them that she had killed me to save me from a like fate at their hands, and that she had thrown my body to the white apes. Sarkoja alone disbelieved her, and I feel to this day that she suspects my true origin, but does not dare expose me, at the present, at all events, because she also guesses, I am sure, the identity of my father. \ When he returned from his expedition and learned the story of my mother s fate I was present as Tal Hajus told him; but never by the quiver of a muscle did he betray the slightest emotion; only he
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did not laugh as Tal Hajus gleefully described her death struggles. From that moment on he was the cruelest of the cruel, and I am awaiting the day when he shall win the goal of his ambition, and feel the carcass of Tal Hajus beneath his foot, for I am as sure that he but waits the opportunity to wreak a terrible vengeance, and that his great love is as strong in his breast as when it first transfigured him nearly forty years ago, as I am that we sit here upon the edge of a world-old ocean while sensible people sleep, John Carter.\ \ And your father, Sola, is he with us now?\ I asked. \ Yes,\ she replied, \ but he does not know me for what I am, nor does he know who
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betrayed my mother to Tal Hajus. I alone know my father s name, and only I and Tal Hajus and Sarkoja know that it was she who carried the tale that brought death and torture upon her he loved.\ We sat silent for a few moments, she wrapped in the gloomy thoughts of her terrible past, and I in pity for the poor creatures whom the heartless, senseless customs of their race had doomed to loveless lives of cruelty and of hate. Presently she spoke. \ John Carter, if ever a real man walked the cold, dead bosom of Barsoom you are one. I know that I can trust you, and because the knowledge may someday help you or him or Dejah Thoris or myself, I am going to tell you the name of my father, nor
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place any restrictions or conditions upon your tongue. When the time comes, speak the truth if it seems best to you. I trust you because I know that you are not cursed with the terrible trait of absolute and unswerving truthfulness, that you could lie like one of your own Virginia gentlemen if a lie would save others from sorrow or suffering. My father s name is Tars Tarkas.\ CHAPTER XVI WE PLAN ESCAPE The remainder of our journey to Thark was uneventful. We were twenty days upon the road, crossing two sea bottoms and passing through or around a number of ruined cities, mostly smaller than Korad. Twice we crossed the famous Martian waterways, or canals, so-called by our earthly astronomers. When we approached these points a warrior would be sent
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far ahead with a powerful field glass, and if no great body of red Martian CHAPTER XVI 54 troops was in sight we would advance as close as possible without chance of being seen and then camp until dark, when we would slowly approach the cultivated tract, and, locating one of the numerous, broad highways which cross these areas at regular intervals, creep silently and stealthily across to the arid lands upon the other side. It required five hours to make one of these crossings without a single halt, and the other consumed the entire night, so that we were just leaving the confines of the high-walled fields when the sun broke out upon us. Crossing in the darkness, as we did, I was unable
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to see but little, except as the nearer moon, in her wild and ceaseless hurtling through the Barsoomian heavens, lit up little patches of the landscape from time to time, disclosing walled fields and low, rambling buildings, presenting much the appearance of earthly farms. There were many trees, methodically arranged, and some of them were of enormous height; there were animals in some of the enclosures, and they announced their presence by terrified squealings and snortings as they scented our queer, wild beasts and wilder human beings. Only once did I perceive a human being, and that was at the intersection of our crossroad with the wide, white turnpike which cuts each cultivated district longitudinally at its exact center. The fellow must have been sleeping beside the road, for, as I came abreast of him, he raised upon one elbow
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and after a single glance at the approaching caravan leaped shrieking to his feet and fled madly down the road, scaling a nearby wall with the agility of a scared cat. The Tharks paid him not the slightest attention; they were not out upon the warpath, and the only sign that I had that they had seen him was a quickening of the pace of the caravan as we hastened toward the bordering desert which marked our entrance into the realm of Tal Hajus. Not once did I have speech with Dejah Thoris, as she sent no word to me that I would be welcome at her chariot, and my foolish pride kept me from making any advances. I verily believe that a man s way with women is in inverse ratio to his prowess among men. The weakling and the
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saphead have often great ability to charm the fair sex, while the fighting man who can face a thousand real dangers unafraid, sits hiding in the shadows like some frightened child. Just thirty days after my advent upon Barsoom we entered the ancient city of Thark, from whose long-forgotten people this horde of green men have stolen even their name. The hordes of Thark number some thirty thousand souls, and are divided into twenty-five communities. Each community has its own jed and lesser chieftains, but all are under the rule of Tal Hajus, Jeddak of Thark. Five communities make their headquarters at the city of Thark, and the balance are scattered among other deserted cities of ancient Mars throughout the district claimed by Tal Hajus. We made our entry into the great central plaza early in the
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afternoon. There were no enthusiastic friendly greetings for the returned expedition. Those who chanced to be in sight spoke the names of warriors or women with whom they came in direct contact, in the formal greeting of their kind, but when it was discovered that they brought two captives a greater interest was aroused, and Dejah Thoris and I were the centers of inquiring groups. We were soon assigned to new quarters, and the balance of the day was devoted to settling ourselves to the changed conditions. My home now was upon an avenue leading into the plaza from the south, the main artery down which we had marched from the gates of the city. I was at the far end of the square and had an entire building to myself. The same grandeur of architecture which was so noticeable
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a characteristic of Korad was in evidence here, only, if that were possible, on a larger and richer scale. My quarters would have been suitable for housing the greatest of earthly emperors, but to these queer creatures nothing about a building appealed to them but its size and the enormity of its chambers; the larger the building, the more desirable; and so Tal Hajus occupied what must have been an enormous public building, the largest in the city, but entirely unfitted for residence purposes; the next largest was reserved for Lorquas Ptomel, the next for the jed of a lesser rank, and so on to the bottom of the list of five jeds. The warriors occupied the buildings with the chieftains to whose retinues they belonged; or, if they preferred, sought shelter among any of the thousands of
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CHAPTER XVI untenanted buildings in their own quarter of town; each community being assigned a certain section of the 55 city. The selection of building had to be made in accordance with these divisions, except in so far as the jeds were concerned, they all occupying edifices which fronted upon the plaza. When I had finally put my house in order, or rather seen that it had been done, it was nearing sunset, and I hastened out with the intention of locating Sola and her charges, as I had determined upon having speech with Dejah Thoris and trying to impress on her the necessity of our at least patching up a truce until I could find some way of aiding her to escape. I searched in vain until the upper
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rim of the great red sun was just disappearing behind the horizon and then I spied the ugly head of Woola peering from a second-story window on the opposite side of the very street where I was quartered, but nearer the plaza. Without waiting for a further invitation I bolted up the winding runway which led to the second floor, and entering a great chamber at the front of the building was greeted by the frenzied Woola, who threw his great carcass upon me, nearly hurling me to the floor; the poor old fellow was so glad to see me that I thought he would devour me, his head split from ear to ear, showing his three rows of tusks in his hobgoblin smile. Quieting him with a word of command and a caress, I looked hurriedly through the
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approaching gloom for a sign of Dejah Thoris, and then, not seeing her, I called her name. There was an answering murmur from the far corner of the apartment, and with a couple of quick strides I was standing beside her where she crouched among the furs and silks upon an ancient carved wooden seat. As I waited she rose to her full height and looking me straight in the eye said: \ What would Dotar Sojat, Thark, of Dejah Thoris his captive?\ \ Dejah Thoris, I do not know how I have angered you. It was furtherest from my desire to hurt or offend you, whom I had hoped to protect and comfort. Have none of me if it is your will, but that you must aid me in effecting your escape, if such a thing
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be possible, is not my request, but my command. When you are safe once more at your father s court you may do with me as you please, but from now on until that day I am your master, and you must obey and aid me.\ She looked at me long and earnestly and I thought that she was softening toward me. \ I understand your words, Dotar Sojat,\ she replied, \ but you I do not understand. You are a queer mixture of child and man, of brute and noble. I only wish that I might read your heart.\ \ Look down at your feet, Dejah Thoris; it lies there now where it has lain since that other night at Korad, and where it will ever lie beating alone for you until death
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stills it forever.\ She took a little step toward me, her beautiful hands outstretched in a strange, groping gesture. \ What do you mean, John Carter?\ she whispered. \ What are you saying to me?\ \ I am saying what I had promised myself that I would not say to you, at least until you were no longer a captive among the green men; what from your attitude toward me for the past twenty days I had thought never to say to you; I am saying, Dejah Thoris, that I am yours, body and soul, to serve you, to fight for you, and to die for you. Only one thing I ask of you in return, and that is that you make no sign, either of condemnation or of approbation of my words until
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you are safe among your own people, and that whatever sentiments you harbor toward me they be not influenced or colored by gratitude; whatever I may do to serve you will be prompted solely from selfish motives, since it gives me more pleasure to serve you than not.\ \ I will respect your wishes, John Carter, because I understand the motives which prompt them, and I accept your service no more willingly than I bow to your authority; your word shall be my law. I have twice wronged CHAPTER XVI you in my thoughts and again I ask your forgiveness.\ 56 Further conversation of a personal nature was prevented by the entrance of Sola, who was much agitated and wholly unlike
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her usual calm and possessed self. \ That horrible Sarkoja has been before Tal Hajus,\ she cried, \ and from what I heard upon the plaza there is little hope for either of you.\ \ What do they say?\ inquired Dejah Thoris. \ That you will be thrown to the wild calots [dogs] in the great arena as soon as the hordes have assembled for the yearly games.\ \ Sola,\ I said, \ you are a Thark, but you hate and loathe the customs of your people as much as we do. Will you not accompany us in one supreme effort to escape? I am sure that Dejah Thoris can offer you a home and protection among her people, and your fate can be no worse among them than
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it must ever be here.\ \ Yes,\ cried Dejah Thoris, \ come with us, Sola, you will be better off among the red men of Helium than you are here, and I can promise you not only a home with us, but the love and affection your nature craves and which must always be denied you by the customs of your own race. Come with us, Sola; we might go without you, but your fate would be terrible if they thought you had connived to aid us. I know that even that fear would not tempt you to interfere in our escape, but we want you with us, we want you to come to a land of sunshine and happiness, amongst a people who know the meaning of love, of sympathy, and of gratitude. Say that you will, Sola;
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tell me that you will.\ \ The great waterway which leads to Helium is but fifty miles to the south,\ murmured Sola, half to herself; \ a swift thoat might make it in three hours; and then to Helium it is five hundred miles, most of the way through thinly settled districts. They would know and they would follow us. We might hide among the great trees for a time, but the chances are small indeed for escape. They would follow us to the very gates of Helium, and they would take toll of life at every step; you do not know them.\ \ Is there no other way we might reach Helium?\ I asked. \ Can you not draw me a rough map of the country we must traverse, Dejah Thoris?\
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\ Yes,\ she replied, and taking a great diamond from her hair she drew upon the marble floor the first map of Barsoomian territory I had ever seen. It was crisscrossed in every direction with long straight lines, sometimes running parallel and sometimes converging toward some great circle. The lines, she said, were waterways; the circles, cities; and one far to the northwest of us she pointed out as Helium. There were other cities closer, but she said she feared to enter many of them, as they were not all friendly toward Helium. Finally, after studying the map carefully in the moonlight which now flooded the room, I pointed out a waterway far to the north of us which also seemed to lead to Helium. \ Does not this pierce your grandfather s territory?\ I asked.
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\ Yes,\ she answered, \ but it is two hundred miles north of us; it is one of the waterways we crossed on the trip to Thark.\ \ They would never suspect that we would try for that distant waterway,\ I answered, \ and that is why I think that it is the best route for our escape.\ Sola agreed with me, and it was decided that we should leave Thark this same night; just as quickly, in fact, as CHAPTER XVI 57 I could find and saddle my thoats. Sola was to ride one and Dejah Thoris and I the other; each of us carrying sufficient food and drink to last us for two days, since
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and then, he thought he might very likely run better than the best of them. Chapter 5 Chapter 5 There were moments of waiting. The youth thought of the village street at home before the arrival of the circus parade on a day in the spring. He remembered how he had stood, a small, thrillful boy, prepared to 21 follow the dingy lady upon the white horse, or the band in its faded chariot. He saw the yellow road, the lines of expectant people, and the sober houses. He particularly remembered an old fellow who used to sit upon a cracker box in front of the store and feign to despise such exhibitions. A thousand details of color and form surged in his mind.
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The old fellow upon the cracker box appeared in middle prominence. Some one cried, \ Here they come!\ There was rustling and muttering among the men. They displayed a feverish desire to have every possible cartridge ready to their hands. The boxes were pulled around into various positions, and adjusted with great care. It was as if seven hundred new bonnets were being tried on. The tall soldier, having prepared his rifle, produced a red handkerchief of some kind. He was engaged in knotting it about his throat with exquisite attention to its position, when the cry was repeated up and down the line in a muffled roar of sound. \ Here they come! Here they come!\ Gun locks clicked. Across the smoke-infested fields came a brown swarm of
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running men who were giving shrill yells. They came on, stooping and swinging their rifles at all angles. A flag, tilted forward, sped near the front. As he caught sight of them the youth was momentarily startled by a thought that perhaps his gun was not loaded. He stood trying to rally his faltering intellect so that he might recollect the moment when he had loaded, but he could not. A hatless general pulled his dripping horse to a stand near the colonel of the 304th. He shook his fist in the other s face. \ You ve got to hold em back!\ he shouted, savagely; \ you ve got to hold em back!\ In his agitation the colonel began to stammer. \ A-all r-right, General, all right, by Gawd! We-we ll
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do our–we-we ll d-d-do-do our best, General.\ The general made a passionate gesture and galloped away. The colonel, perchance to relieve his feelings, began to scold like a wet parrot. The youth, turning swiftly to make sure that the rear was unmolested, saw the commander regarding his men in a highly resentful manner, as if he regretted above everything his association with them. The man at the youth s elbow was mumbling, as if to himself: \ Oh, we re in for it now! oh, we re in for it now!\ The captain of the company had been pacing excitedly to and fro in the rear. He coaxed in schoolmistress fashion, as to a congregation of boys with primers. His talk was an endless repetition. \ Reserve your fire, boys–don t shoot
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till I tell you–save your fire–wait till they get close up–don t be damned fools–\ Perspiration streamed down the youth s face, which was soiled like that of a weeping urchin. He frequently, with a nervous movement, wiped his eyes with his coat sleeve. His mouth was still a little ways ope. He got the one glance at the foe-swarming field in front of him, and instantly ceased to debate the question of his piece being loaded. Before he was ready to begin–before he had announced to himself that he was about to fight–he threw the obedient well-balanced rifle into position and fired a first wild shot. Directly he was working at his weapon like an automatic affair. Chapter 5 He suddenly lost concern for himself, and forgot to
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look at a menacing fate. He became not a man but a member. He felt that something of which he was a part–a regiment, an army, a cause, or a country–was in 22 crisis. He was welded into a common personality which was dominated by a single desire. For some moments he could not flee no more than a little finger can commit a revolution from a hand. If he had thought the regiment was about to be annihilated perhaps he could have amputated himself from it. But its noise gave him assurance. The regiment was like a firework that, once ignited, proceeds superior to circumstances until its blazing vitality fades. It wheezed and banged with a mighty power. He pictured the ground before it as strewn with the discomfited. There
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was a consciousness always of the presence of his comrades about him. He felt the subtle battle brotherhood more potent even than the cause for which they were fighting. It was a mysterious fraternity born of the smoke and danger of death. He was at a task. He was like a carpenter who has made many boxes, making still another box, only there was furious haste in his movements. He, in his thoughts, was careering off in other places, even as the carpenter who as he works whistles and thinks of his friend or his enemy, his home or a saloon. And these jolted dreams were never perfect to him afterward, but remained a mass of blurred shapes. Presently he began to feel the effects of the war atmosphere–a blistering sweat, a sensation that his eyeballs were about
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to crack like hot stones. A burning roar filled his ears. Following this came a red rage. He developed the acute exasperation of a pestered animal, a well-meaning cow worried by dogs. He had a mad feeling against his rifle, which could only be used against one life at a time. He wished to rush forward and strangle with his fingers. He craved a power that would enable him to make a world-sweeping gesture and brush all back. His impotency appeared to him, and made his rage into that of a driven beast. Buried in the smoke of many rifles his anger was directed not so much against the men whom he knew were rushing toward him as against the swirling battle phantoms which were choking him, stuffing their smoke robes down his parched throat. He fought frantically
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for respite for his senses, for air, as a babe being smothered attacks the deadly blankets. There was a blare of heated rage mingled with a certain expression of intentness on all faces. Many of the men were making low-toned noises with their mouths, and these subdued cheers, snarls, imprecations, prayers, made a wild, barbaric these subdued cheers, snarls, imprecations, prayers, made a wild, barbaric these subdued cheers, snarls, imprecations, prayers, made a wild, barbaric these subdued cheers, snarls, imprecations, prayers, made a wild, barbaric song that went as an undercurrent of sound, strange and chantlike with the resounding chords of the war march. The man at the youth s elbow was babbling. In it there was something soft and tender like the monologue of a babe. The tall soldier was swearing in a loud voice. From his lips
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came a black procession of curious oaths. Of a sudden another broke out in a querulous way like a man who has mislaid his hat. \ Well, why don t they support us? Why don t they send supports? Do they think–\ The youth in his battle sleep heard this as one who dozes hears. There was a singular absence of heroic poses. The men bending and surging in their haste and rage were in every impossible attitude. The steel ramrods clanked and clanged with incessant din as the men pounded them furiously into the hot rifle barrels. The flaps of the cartridge boxes were all unfastened, and bobbed idiotically with each movement. The rifles, once loaded, were jerked to the shoulder and fired without apparent aim into the smoke or at one of the blurred and
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shifting forms which upon the field before the regiment had been growing larger and larger like puppets under a magician s hand. Chapter 5 23 The officers, at their intervals, rearward, neglected to stand in picturesque attitudes. They were bobbing to and fro roaring directions and encouragements. The dimensions of their howls were extraordinary. They expended their lungs with prodigal wills. And often they nearly stood upon their heads in their anxiety to observe the enemy on the other side of the tumbling smoke. The lieutenant of the youth s company had encountered a soldier who had fled screaming at the first volley of his comrades. Behind the lines these two were acting a little isolated scene. The man was blubbering and staring with
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sheeplike eyes at the lieutenant, who had seized him by the collar and was pommeling him. He drove him back into the ranks with many blows. The soldier went mechanically, dully, with his animal-like eyes upon the officer. Perhaps there was to him a divinity expressed in the voice of the other–stern, hard, with no reflection of fear in it. He tried to reload his gun, but his shaking hands prevented. The lieutenant was obliged to assist him. The men dropped here and there like bundles. The captain of the youth s company had been killed in an early part of the action. His body lay stretched out in the position of a tired man resting, but upon his face there was an astonished and sorrowful look, as if he thought some friend had done him an ill turn. The babbling
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man was grazed by a shot that made the blood stream widely down his face. He clapped both hand to his head. \ Oh!\ he said, and ran. Another grunted suddenly as if he had been struck by a club in the stomach. He sat down and gazed ruefully. In his eyes there was mute, indefinite reproach. Farther up the line a man, standing behind a tree, had had his knee joint splintered by a ball. Immediately he had dropped his rifle and gripped the tree with both arms. And there he remained, clinging desperately and crying for assistance that he might withdraw his hold upon the tree. At last an exultant yell went along the quivering line. The firing dwindled from an uproar to a last vindictive popping. As the smoke slowly eddied away, the youth saw that
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the charge had been repulsed. The enemy were scattered into reluctant groups. He saw a man climb to the top of the fence, straddle the rail, and fire a parting shot. The waves had receded, leaving bits of dark \ debris\ upon the ground. Some in the regiment began to whoop frenziedly. Many were silent. Apparently they were trying to contemplate themselves. After the fever had left his veins, the youth thought that at last he was going to suffocate. He became aware of the foul atmosphere in which he had been struggling. He was grimy and dripping like a laborer in a foundry. He grasped his canteen and took a long swallow of the warmed water. A sentence with variations went up and down the line. \ Well, we ve helt em
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back. We ve helt em back; derned if we haven t.\ The men said it blissfully, leering at each other with dirty smiles. The youth turned to look behind him and off to the right and off to the left. He experienced the joy of a man who at last finds leisure in which to look about him. Under foot there were a few ghastly forms motionless. They lay twisted in fantastic contortions. Arms were bent and heads were turned in incredible ways. It seemed that the dead men must have fallen from some great height to get into such positions. They looked to be dumped out upon the ground from the sky. From a position in the rear of the grove a battery was throwing shells over it. The flash of the guns
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startled the youth at first. He thought they were aimed directly at him. Through the trees he watched the black figures of the gunners as they worked swiftly and intently. Their labor seemed a complicated thing. He wondered how they could remember its formula in the midst of confusion. The guns squatted in a row like savage chiefs. They argued with abrupt violence. It was a grim pow-wow. Their busy servants ran hither and thither. Chapter 5 24 A small procession of wounded men were going drearily toward the rear. It was a flow of blood from the torn body of the brigade. To the right and to the left were the dark lines of other troops. Far in front he thought
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he could see lighter masses protruding in points from the forest. They were suggestive of unnumbered thousands. Once he saw a tiny battery go dashing along the line of the horizon. The tiny riders were beating the tiny horses. From a sloping hill came the sound of cheerings and clashes. Smoke welled slowly through the leaves. Batteries were speaking with thunderous oratorical effort. Here and there were flags, the red in the stripes dominating. They splashed bits of warm color upon the dark lines of troops. The youth felt the old thrill at the sight of the emblems. They were like beautiful birds strangely undaunted in a storm. As he listened to the din from the hillside, to a deep pulsating thunder that came from afar to the left, and to
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the lesser clamors which came from many directions, it occurred to him that they were fighting, too, over there, and over there, and over there. Heretofore he had supposed that all the battle was directly under his nose. As he gazed around him the youth felt a flash of astonishment at the blue, pure sky and the sun gleamings on the trees and fields. It was surprising that Nature had gone tranquilly on with her golden process in the midst of so much devilment. Chapter 6 Chapter 6 25 The youth awakened slowly. He came gradually back to a position from which he could regard himself. For moments he had been scrutinizing his person in a dazed way as if he
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had never before seen himself. Then he picked up his cap from the ground. He wriggled in his jacket to make a more comfortable fit, and kneeling relaced his shoe. He thoughtfully mopped his reeking features. So it was all over at last! The supreme trial had been passed. The red, formidable difficulties of war had been vanquished. He went into an ecstasy of self-satisfaction. He had the most delightful sensations of his life. Standing as if apart from himself, he viewed that last scene. He perceived that the man who had fought thus was magnificent. He felt that he was a fine fellow. He saw himself even with those ideals which he had considered as far beyond him. He smiled in deep gratification. Upon his fellows he beamed tenderness and good
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will. \ Gee! ain t it hot, hey?\ he said affably to a man who was polishing his streaming face with his coat sleeves. \ You bet!\ said the other, grinning sociably. \ I never seen sech dumb hotness.\ He sprawled out luxuriously on the ground. \ Gee, yes! An I hope we don t have no more fightin till a week from Monday.\ There were some handshakings and deep speeches with men whose features were familiar, but with whom the youth now felt the bonds of tied hearts. He helped a cursing comrade to bind up a wound of the shin. But, of a sudden, cries of amazement broke out along the ranks of the new regiment. \ Here they come ag in! Here they come ag in!\ The
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man who had sprawled upon the ground started up and said, \ Gosh!\ The youth turned quick eyes upon the field. He discerned forms begin to swell in masses out of a distant wood. He again saw the tilted flag speeding forward. The shells, which had ceased to trouble the regiment for a time, came swirling again, and exploded in the grass or among the leaves of the trees. They looked to be strange war flowers bursting into fierce bloom. The men groaned. The luster faded from their eyes. Their smudged countenances now expressed a profound dejection. They moved their stiffened bodies slowly, and watched in sullen mood the frantic approach of the enemy. The slaves toiling in the temple of this god began to feel rebellion at his harsh tasks. They fretted
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and complained each to each. \ Oh, say, this is too much of a good thing! Why can t somebody send us supports?\ \ We ain t never goin to stand this second banging. I didn t come here to fight the hull damn rebel army.\ There was one who raised a doleful cry. \ I wish Bill Smithers had trod on my hand, insteader me treddin on his n.\ The sore joints of the regiment creaked as it painfully floundered into position to repulse. The youth stared. Surely, he thought, this impossible thing was not about to happen. He waited as if he expected the enemy to suddenly stop, apologize, and retire bowing. It was all a mistake. But the firing began somewhere on the regimental line and
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ripped along in both directions. The level sheets of flame developed great clouds of smoke that tumbled and tossed in the mild wind near the ground for a Chapter 6 moment, and then rolled through the ranks as through a gate. The clouds were tinged an earthlike yellow in 26 the sunrays and in the shadow were a sorry blue. The flag was sometimes eaten and lost in this mass of vapor, but more often it projected, sun-touched, resplendent. Into the youth s eyes there came a look that one can see in the orbs of a jaded horse. His neck was quivering with nervous weakness and the muscles of his arms felt numb and bloodless. His hands, too, seemed large and awkward as if
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he was wearing invisible mittens. And there was a great uncertainty about his knee joints. The words that comrades had uttered previous to the firing began to recur to him. \ Oh, say, this is too much of a good thing! What do they take us for–why don t they send supports? I didn t come here to fight the hull damned rebel army.\ He began to exaggerate the endurance, the skill, and the valor of those who were coming. Himself reeling from exhaustion, he was astonished beyond measure at such persistency. They must be machines of steel. It was very gloomy struggling against such affairs, wound up perhaps to fight until sundown. He slowly lifted his rifle and catching a glimpse of the thickspread field he blazed at a cantering cluster. He stopped then
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and began to peer as best as he could through the smoke. He caught changing views of the ground covered with men who were all running like pursued imps, and yelling. To the youth it was an onslaught of redoubtable dragons. He became like the man who lost his legs at the approach of the red and green monster. He waited in a sort of a horrified, listening attitude. He seemed to shut his eyes and wait to be gobbled. A man near him who up to this time had been working feverishly at his rifle suddenly stopped and ran with howls. A lad whose face had borne an expression of exalted courage, the majesty of he who dares give his life, was, at an instant, smitten abject. He blanched like one who has come to the edge of
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a cliff at midnight and is suddenly made aware. There was a revelation. He, too, threw down his gun and fled. There was no shame in his face. He ran like a rabbit. Others began to scamper away through the smoke. The youth turned his head, shaken from his trance by this movement as if the regiment was leaving him behind. He saw the few fleeting forms. He yelled then with fright and swung about. For a moment, in the great clamor, he was like a proverbial chicken. He lost the direction of safety. Destruction threatened him from all points. Directly he began to speed toward the rear in great leaps. His rifle and cap were gone. His unbuttoned coat bulged in the wind. The flap of his cartridge box bobbed wildly, and his canteen, by
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its slender cord, swung out behind. On his face was all the horror of those things which he imagined. The lieutenant sprang forward bawling. The youth saw his features wrathfully red, and saw him make a dab with his sword. His one thought of the incident was that the lieutenant was a peculiar creature to feel interested in such matters upon this occasion. He ran like a blind man. Two or three times he fell down. Once he knocked his shoulder so heavily against a tree that he went headlong. Since he had turned his back upon the fight his fears had been wondrously magnified. Death about to thrust him between the shoulder blades was far more dreadful than death about to smite him between the eyes. When he thought of it later, he conceived
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the impression that it is better to view the appalling than to be merely within hearing. The noises of the battle were like stones; he believed himself liable to be crushed. Chapter 6 As he ran on he mingled with others. He dimly saw men on his right and on his left, and he heard footsteps behind him. He thought that all the regiment was fleeing, pursued by those ominous crashes. 27 In his flight the sound of these following footsteps gave him his one meager relief. He felt vaguely that death must make a first choice of the men who were nearest; the initial morsels for the dragons would be then those who were following him. So he displayed the zeal of an insane sprinter
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in his purpose to keep them in the rear. There was a race. As he, leading, went across a little field, he found himself in a region of shells. They hurtled over his head with long wild screams. As he listened he imagined them to have rows of cruel teeth that grinned at him. Once one lit before him and the livid lightning of the explosion effectually barred the way in his chosen direction. He groveled on the ground and then springing up went careering off through some bushes. He experienced a thrill of amazement when he came within view of a battery in action. The men there seemed to be in conventional moods, altogether unaware of the impending annihilation. The battery was disputing with a distant antagonist and the gunners were wrapped in admiration of their shooting.
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They were continually bending in coaxing postures over the guns. They seemed to be patting them on the back and encouraging them with words. The guns, stolid and undaunted, spoke with dogged valor. The precise gunners were coolly enthusiastic. They lifted their eyes every chance to the smoke-wreathed hillock from whence the hostile battery addressed them. The youth pitied them as he ran. Methodical idiots! Machine-like fools! The refined joy of planting shells in the midst of the other battery s formation would appear a little thing when the infantry came swooping out of the woods. The face of a youthful rider, who was jerking his frantic horse with an abandon of temper he might display in a placid barnyard, was impressed deeply upon his mind. He knew that he looked upon a man who would presently
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be dead. Too, he felt a pity for the guns, standing, six good comrades, in a bold row. He saw a brigade going to the relief of its pestered fellows. He scrambled upon a wee hill and watched it sweeping finely, keeping formation in difficult places. The blue of the line was crusted with steel color, and the brilliant flags projected. Officers were shouting. This sight also filled him with wonder. The brigade was hurrying briskly to be gulped into the infernal mouths of the war god. What manner of men were they, anyhow? Ah, it was some wondrous breed! Or else they didn t comprehend–the fools. A furious order caused commotion in the artillery. An officer on a bounding horse made maniacal motions with his arms. The teams went swinging up from
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the rear, the guns were whirled about, and the battery scampered away. The cannon with their noses poked slantingly at the ground grunted and grumbled like stout men, brave but with objections to hurry. The youth went on, moderating his pace since he had left the place of noises. Later he came upon a general of division seated upon a horse that pricked its ears in an interested way at the battle. There was a great gleaming of yellow and patent leather about the saddle and bridle. The quiet man astride looked mouse-colored upon such a splendid charger. A jingling staff was galloping hither and thither. Sometimes the general was surrounded by horsemen and at other times he was quite alone. He looked to be much harassed. He had the appearance of a business man
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whose market is swinging up and down. Chapter 6 28 The youth went slinking around this spot. He went as near as he dared trying to overhear words. Perhaps the general, unable to comprehend chaos, might call upon him for information. And he could tell him. He knew all concerning it. Of a surety the force was in a fix, and any fool could see that if they did not retreat while they had opportunity–why– He felt that he would like to thrash the general, or at least approach and tell him in plain words exactly what he thought him to be. It was criminal to stay calmly in one spot and make no effort to stay destruction. He loitered in a fever of eagerness
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for the division commander to apply to him. As he warily moved about, he heard the general call out irritably: \ Tompkins, go over an see Taylor, an tell him not t be in such an all-fired hurry; tell him t halt his brigade in th edge of th woods; tell him t detach a reg ment–say I think th center ll break if we don t help it out some; tell him t hurry up.\ A slim youth on a fine chestnut horse caught these swift words from the mouth of his superior. He made his horse bound into a gallop almost from a walk in his haste to go upon his mission. There was a cloud of dust. A moment later the youth saw the
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general bounce excitedly in his saddle. \ Yes, by heavens, they have!\ The officer leaned forward. His face was aflame with excitement. \ Yes, by heavens, they ve held im! They ve held im!\ He began to blithely roar at his staff: \ We ll wallop im now. We ll wallop im now. We ve got em sure.\ He turned suddenly upon an aide: \ Here–you–Jons–quick–ride after Tompkins–see Taylor–tell him t go in–everlastingly–like blazes–anything.\ As another officer sped his horse after the first messenger, the general beamed upon the earth like a sun. In his eyes was a desire to chant a paean. He kept repeating, \ They ve held em, by heavens!\ His excitement made
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his horse plunge, and he merrily kicked and swore at it. He held a little carnival of joy on horseback. Chapter 7 Chapter 7 The youth cringed as if discovered in a crime. By heavens, they had won after all! The imbecile line had remained and become victors. He could hear cheering. He lifted himself upon his toes and looked in the direction of the fight. A yellow fog lay wallowing on the treetops. From beneath it came the clatter of musketry. Hoarse cries told of an advance. He turned away amazed and angry. He felt that he had been wronged. He had fled, he told himself, because annihilation approached. He had done a good part in saving himself, 29
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who was a little piece of the army. He had considered the time, he said, to be one in which it was the duty of every little piece to rescue itself if possible. Later the officers could fit the little pieces together again, and make a battle front. If none of the little pieces were wise enough to save themselves from the flurry of death at such a time, why, then, where would be the army? It was all plain that he had proceeded according to very correct and commendable rules. His actions had been sagacious things. They had been full of strategy. They were the work of a master s legs. Thoughts of his comrades came to him. The brittle blue line had withstood the blows and won. He grew bitter over it. It seemed that the blind
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ignorance and stupidity of those little pieces had betrayed him. He had been overturned and crushed by their lack of sense in holding the position, when intelligent deliberation would have convinced them that it was impossible. He, the enlightened man who looks afar in the dark, had fled because of his superior perceptions and knowledge. He felt a great anger against his comrades. He knew it could be proved that they had been fools. He wondered what they would remark when later he appeared in camp. His mind heard howls of derision. Their density would not enable them to understand his sharper point of view. He began to pity himself acutely. He was ill used. He was trodden beneath the feet of an iron injustice. He had proceeded with wisdom and from the most righteous motives under heaven
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s blue only to be frustrated by hateful circumstances. A dull, animal-like rebellion against his fellows, war in the abstract, and fate grew within him. He shambled along with bowed head, his brain in a tumult of agony and despair. When he looked loweringly up, quivering at each sound, his eyes had the expression of those of a criminal who thinks his guilt little and his punishment great, and knows that he can find no words. He went from the fields into a thick woods, as if resolved to bury himself. He wished to get out of hearing of the crackling shots which were to him like voices. The ground was cluttered with vines and bushes, and the trees grew close and spread out like bouquets. He was obliged to force his way with much
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noise. The creepers, catching against his legs, cried out harshly as their sprays were torn from the barks of trees. The swishing saplings tried to make known his presence to the world. He could not conciliate the forest. As he made his way, it was always calling out protestations. When he separated embraces of trees and vines the disturbed foliages waved their arms and turned their face leaves toward him. He dreaded lest these noisy motions and cries should bring men to look at him. So he went far, seeking dark and intricate places. After a time the sound of musketry grew faint and the cannon boomed in the distance. The sun, suddenly apparent, blazed among the trees. The insects were making rhythmical noises. They seemed to be grinding their teeth in unison. A woodpecker stuck his impudent head around
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the side of a tree. A bird flew on lighthearted wing. Chapter 7 Off was the rumble of death. It seemed now that Nature had no ears. This landscape gave him assurance. A fair field holding life. It was the religion of peace. It would die if its 30 timid eyes were compelled to see blood. He conceived Nature to be a woman with a deep aversion to tragedy. He threw a pine cone at a jovial squirrel, and he ran with chattering fear. High in a treetop he stopped, and, poking his head cautiously from behind a branch, looked down with an air of trepidation. The youth felt triumphant at this exhibition. There was the law, he said. Nature had
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river is rapidly recovering itself. There are some very large perch in it, and wherever you see the bank gravelly and free from reeds, the bottom will be hard too, and a haunt of perch. Look at those bulrushes.\\ \\ What huge ones, and what a quantity of them!\\ \\ Yes, the marshmen sometimes dry the heads, and rub them up to stuff pillows and cushions with.\\ XIV. On the north bank is the church of Burgh St. Peter, the tower of which is built in gradually-lessening steps, and presents a very strange, un-English appearance. 38 The sail up to Beccles is a very pleasant one, and pretty bits continually present themselves. Two present themselves. Two miles below Beccles there is a swing railway bridge, which is tolerably easy to get through, as there is not a great rush of tide through it, as under the
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bridges lower down. Beccles church had been a prominent object all the way, and when we arrived at Sayer s Grove, so prettily sylvan a place that we decided to stay there the night, we went in the useful jolly another mile to Beccles bridge, 23 miles from Yarmouth, until lately a narrow arched stone structure, but now replaced by a wider and more convenient bridge. Passing through, we skirted the town of Beccles, until we came below the church, a sight no one should miss who is in the neighbourhood. Viewed from the river, it stands on the brow of a hill, in a commanding position. Landing, we climbed Landing, we climbed up a series of steps and reached the churchyard, whence a splendid view westward is obtained, the river winding in and out through the green marshes towards Bungay. The south doorway of the
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church is richly ornamented, but the peculiar feature of the church is that the tower, a very high and massive structure, is separate from it. Beccles is a quiet, old-fashioned place, with good railway accommodation, as a glance at the map will show. It is a cheap place to live in, as there are no heavy rates, these being defrayed by the letting of valuable marshes belonging to the town. It is a healthy little place, and pretty withal, and would, I think, be a capital place for retired persons with small incomes to settle in. The river is navigable for wherries and small yachts, and small yachts, for about ten miles further up to Bungay, but the navigation is rather troublesome, and there are two or three locks to be passed through. It is worth while to row up the river a few miles to
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Shipmeadow lock. The river all the way is very pretty, with crystal clear water, and the lock itself is quaint and old-fashioned. [Picture: River Waveney] After laying in some stores we returned to the yacht, and spent a peaceful evening in the shadow of the wooded hill, beneath which we were moored. [Picture: Decorative header] XV. XV. OULTON BROAD. 39 [Picture: Decorative drop capital] In the night we were awakened by were awakened by the sound of very heavy rain pattering on the deck and cabin roof, and presently we discovered that the recent very dry weather had opened the seams of the wood, and sundry persistent droppings evaded our attempts to escape them. \\ My nose is wearing away with one dreadful drop.\\ \\ Then open your mouth and catch it. Oh!\\ \\ What s the matter?\\ \\ A drop went splash into my eye!\\
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We made merry for a time, but presently it clearly became a case of \\ a drop too much,\\ and we sat up in despair. Just as things were getting uncomfortably wet, the storm passed off, and the morning dawned with a wondrous clearness and brilliance, while the air was full of the sweet, of the sweet, earthy scents that arise after rain. The reeds were fresher and greener, and the grasses and flowers glittered in the sun, like the radiant ripples on the water. And so, amid the songs of birds and the quickened joy of nature, we bowled along down the Waveney at a merry pace, and in two hours we had reached the mouth of Oulton Dyke, the sharp turn into which necessitated a heavy gibe. [Picture: Oulton Broad] A mile and a half of this and Oulton Broad opened out before us.
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This is the most civilized of all the Broads, and is always gay with yachts sailing about, and populous with yachts lying at their moorings. It is of an irregular shape, and in the bight, or \\ ham,\\ at the north-east end of it, the yachts are thickly yachts are thickly clustered. Also, for what reason it is hard to say, many of the old and worn-out fishing smacks of Lowestoft are brought into this corner, and moored against the bank, where very many of them have sunk, and all are picturesque in the extreme. Some large sea yachts also use this bight as a laying-up place for the winter. The river yachts and sailing boats are of every size and rig, and a paddle in and out among them is of interest to a nautical mind. At the lower end of the lake is a
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lock which gives access for sea-going vessels to Lake Lothing, which is a tidal lake, two miles long, ending in Lowestoft harbour and the sea. By the lock is one of the most charming hostelries it is possible to conceive. It ought to be called the \\ Angler the \\ Angler s Rest,\\ were it not already called the \\ Wherry Hotel.\\ Here there is capital accommodation for anglers, and boats, bait, etc., are provided at reasonable rates. There is also another comfortable inn, called the \\ Commodore,\\ and there are two smaller inns, the \\ Waveney Hotel\\ –the landlord of which, George Smith, is an excellent waterman–and the \\ Lady of the Lake.\\ The railway station is close by, and is now called Oulton Broad Station, but was formerly Mutford, that being the name of the village at the east end of the Broad. The
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village is very prettily situated between the two lakes, and is only two miles from the sea. There are lodgings to be had there, and for a place combining the attractions of lake, river, and sea, it has few equals. Of course, the Broad course, the Broad is within easy reach of Lowestoft, the most attractive watering-place on the coast of Norfolk and Suffolk. It has a fine pier, good houses, cliffs, a capital harbour for yachts, a harbour for fishing vessels, where the artist will find much that is picturesque, and an old part of the town on the higher ground to the north, which has many features of interest. It has not the noise and bustle of Yarmouth, but it is gay enough for reasonable people. At Lowestoft, facing the harbour, is the club house of the Norfolk and Suffolk Yacht Club, and annual
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visitors to Lowestoft would find it an advantage to join the Yacht Club for the sake of the conveniences afforded by the club-house. XV. 40 Oulton Broad has Oulton Broad has plenty of fish in it, and the fishing is free. When the rivers are flooded, and the rank water off the marshes pours into the river, the fish of all kinds crowd into the purer waters of the Broad in surprising numbers. Formerly it was noted for its perch, but for some time they appear to have decreased in numbers. Lately, however, they have been more freely caught. In a few more years the benefits of the Norfolk and Suffolk Fisheries Act will be more widely felt, as the abundance of small fish in the rivers plainly testifies. Pike are present sometimes in great quantity, but the supply seems to fluctuate considerably. For a few
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weeks each season they seem to be uncommonly numerous, and large catches are made. Then they fall off, and none are caught for some caught for some time. The shooting on the Broad is also free, and in the large room at the \\ Wherry Inn\\ is a most attractive collection of fishes and birds, which have met their death in this locality. The most interesting and tantalizing inhabitant of the Broad is the grey mullet, large shoals of which may be seen disporting themselves on the surface. They run to a large size, and seem to average two or three pounds in weight. Anglers cannot catch them as a general rule, but some persons say that they have succeeded, using small hooks baited with strange baits, such as the beard of an oyster, or a bit of boiled cabbage stump. I fancy that by using
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a fly cast, buoyed at intervals by bits of cork, and having small hooks baited with gentles, and then paying gentles, and then paying out a long line so as to cover a shoal, some sport might be had. At all events, the experiment is worth trying some day when there is no wind for sailing. The mullet, when alarmed by a net or other obstruction, has a habit of leaping high out of the water, and frequently leaps into boats. Once, while I was sailing through Reedham Bridge, a grey mullet, of four pounds in weight, leaped into the jolly-boat towing astern, and was captured. [Picture: Ruffe] At Oulton the mullet are often shot with arrows having heavy lines attached, while they are accidentally confined in the lock between the Broad and Lake Lothing. Well, we spent the rest of our holiday at Oulton, and
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as I was saying good-bye to Wynne at the station, I asked him what he him what he thought of the Broads. \\ The finest places for boat-sailing and bottom-fishing in England. I shall bring a boat here in the winter for wild-fowl shooting on Breydon, and I shall certainly come again next summer.\\ So ended our cruise. [Picture: Decorative header] XVI. XVI. ORMESBY AND FRITTON. 41 [Picture: Decorative drop capital] There are still some very important Broads in Norfolk and Suffolk, which I could not mention in an account of a cruise, because they are not accessible from the navigable waters, and, as a matter of fact, I know comparatively little about them for that reason. There are the Ormesby, Filby and Rollesby Broads, lying together Broads, lying together in a straggling group four or five miles north-eastward of Acle. Altogether,
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they contain 800 acres of water, but much of this is overgrown by reeds. The Muck Fleet, which we passed below Acle Bridge, is their outlet into the river Bure. They are very easily accessible from Yarmouth by rail to Ormesby station, on the North Norfolk Railway, and boats may be obtained at the Eel s Foot, and the Sportsman s Arms, the former having fair staying accommodation. The fishing is free, at all events to persons going to the houses named, and uncommonly good sport is to be had amongst pike, rudd, and bream, the number of a catch being counted by the hundred, and the weight by the stone. For fishing, pure and simple, Ormesby Broad is as good a place as any to visit. [Picture: Fritton Decoy] The [Picture: Fritton Decoy] The other lake I have not described is Fritton Decoy, a long
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curving lake, about a mile from St. Olave s station, on the Yarmouth and Lowestoft Railway, and Haddiscoe station, on the Norwich and Lowestoft Railway. It is only open to anglers from April to September, being closed the rest of the year, to protect the wild-fowl decoys, which are still worked on it, by the two proprietors. For a note upon these decoys, and others in Norfolk, I must refer the reader to a paper upon decoys, written by Mr. Thos. Southwell, F.Z.S., published in a new edition of that most fascinating book, Lubbock s \\ Fauna of Norfolk,\\ issued by the publishers of this book, and for descriptive accounts to my own larger book, \\ Norfolk Broads and Rivers,\\ published by Wm. Blackwood by Wm. Blackwood and Sons. Fritton is an exceedingly beautiful Broad, and its waters are very deep. It is, in fact, a
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lake, rather than a Broad proper. It is extremely well stocked with fish, and good sport may generally be obtained there. Boats can be obtained at \\ Fritton Old Hall.\\ [Picture: Decorative end] [Picture: Decorative header] APPENDIX. RAILWAY ACCESS TO FISHING STATIONS. [Picture: Decorative drop capital] To begin with, it may be well to state that Norwich itself can be reached from London by two lines of railway–one via Colchester and Ipswich, and the other by Cambridge and Ely, the journey taking from three to four hours. From Norwich, Yarmouth and Lowestoft may be reached in an hour of slow travelling, and as the line runs by the runs by the river the whole way, and every station is convenient for fishing purposes, it will be desirable to give a list of them, with remarks upon the adjacent fishing places. WHITLINGHAM. This is too close to
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Norwich for very good fishing, although occasionally the fish seem to head up, and good takes are to be had. Good rowing boats may be obtained at Thorpe Gardens, five minutes walk from the station. Omnibuses ply between the Gardens and Norwich every hour. The reach of the old river is very lovely. BRUNDALL XVI. Is the station for \\ Coldham Hall,\\ at which inn visitors can be accommodated. The inn is ten minutes walk from the station down the river, and across the ferry. There are ferry. There are plenty of boats, and the place is much 42 frequented. From here down to Buckenham Ferry there are large numbers of pike, and it is customary to row down trailing a bait behind. Roach and bream are plentiful. BUCKENHAM FERRY. From this station you have ten minutes walk down to the Ferry, where boats are to
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be obtained, and the fishing generally is good. CANTLEY. Close by the station is the \\ Red House\\ Inn, where there is good accommodation for visitors. Boats can be had. The fish, as a rule, run larger here than higher up. The water is deep and the tide swift. When the water is fairly clear, some good pike may be had. REEDHAM. The \\ Ferry\\ The \\ Ferry\\ Inn is ten minutes walk. Good accommodation. The bream run large, so do the perch, of which there used to be large numbers under the ferry boat. The line divides at Reedham, one part going to Yarmouth and the other to Lowestoft. There is no fishing place on the Yarmouth branch, but on the Lowestoft line there are– HADDISCOE, whence the Cut may be fished. Boats are difficult to obtain, but the landlord of the \\ Bell\\ Inn,
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at St. Olave s bridge, might procure you one. This is the station for Fritton Decoy. SOMERLEYTON. This would be an excellent fishing station if boats could be procured, but you cannot rely upon being able to borrow one. The porters at the swing-bridge, or the landlord or the landlord of the \\ Duke s Head,\\ might direct you where to obtain a boat. I think the latter has one or two. The bream are very large and numerous. The good fishing in this part of the river has been exemplified by Mr. Winch, of Norwich, who has taken 8 stone in a day–five bream weighing 20 lbs., and one bream weighing 6.75 lbs. OULTON BROAD. See the last for full information as to this important fishing station. Another line from Norwich leads to– WROXHAM. 7 miles. The river is full of roach, bream, perch, and
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pike, although it is much fished. Boats at Jimpson s or Whittaker s, where there is also fair accommodation for visitors. The Broad is a mile and a half down stream, from the bridge. stream, from the bridge. It can be fished by permission only. Tickets to fish on the Broad can be obtained through Mr. C. J. Greene, Fishing Tackle Maker, London Street, Norwich, at 2s. 6d. per boat. COLTISHALL. XVI. Two miles further. The fishing is much better here than is generally supposed, but boats are not plentiful. Enquire at the waterside who is likely to have one at liberty. 43 The Eastern and Midlands line runs from Yarmouth through the heart of the Broad District to North Walsham, on the Norwich, Wroxham, and Cromer line. The stations from Yarmouth are– ORMESBY. A mile and a half from its Broads, about 200 acres of
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which are free. The fishing is as fishing is as good as it can be for pike, rudd, roach, and bream. Boats at the \\ Eel s Foot\\ and \\ Sportsman s Arms.\\ Staying accommodation at the former. MARTHAM. Not far from the river Thurne, but the next station is more convenient. POTTER HEIGHAM. Inns, the \\ Falgate\\ and \\ Waterman s Arms,\\ where there is staying accommodation. Good boats at Applegate s. The river Thurne and the channels through Heigham Sounds and Hickling swarm with bream, rudd, perch, roach, pike, and eels. CATFIELD. The nearest station to Hickling, but not so convenient for boats. STALHAM. Barton Broad is within a mile and a half, where the fishing is excellent. Plenty of boats obtainable at the end of the the end of the dyke. Inns, the \\ Maid s Head\\ and the
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\\ Swan,\\ both very comfortable. Stalham is a pretty village. Thence to North Walsham there is no fishing station of interest. On the direct line between Yarmouth and Lowestoft, ST. OLAVE S is the nearest station to Fritton. ACLE Is now a station on the new line between Norwich and Yarmouth, joining the old line at Brundall. Of places not accessible by rail, the chief is Horning Ferry, on the Bure, where there is a capital inn to stay at, kept by a good host and sportsman, Mr. Thompson, who can be relied upon to make his visitors comfortable. At Horning village, the \\ New\\ Inn deserves mention, and boats can be procured there. Horning is about four miles about four miles drive from Wroxham, and ten from Norwich. The reader is requested to look at the Map, and note the relative position of the various
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places. As to fishing, it can hardly be said that one is better than another, for all are so good. NORFOLK AND SUFFOLK FISHERIES ACT. Under this Act, which was passed in 1877, certain Bye-laws have been made, with which the reader should make himself acquainted. XVI. APPROVED BYE-LAWS. CLOSE TIME–ALL WATERS. 44 1. No person shall fish for, catch, take, or kill, or attempt to catch, take, or kill, otherwise than by rod and line, within the limits of the above Act, any Trout, between the 10th between the 10th day of September and the 25th day of January, both days inclusive, or any other kind of fish, between the 1st day of March and the 30th day of June, both days inclusive, except Smelts, Bait, and Eels, as hereinafter provided. NETS GENERALLY. 2. No person shall, for the purpose of taking Fish within the limits
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of the above Act, do any of the following things:– 1. Use or attempt to use any Net between one hour after sunset and one hour before sunrise, except in the River Ouse below Denver Sluice, and in the River Nene below Wisbeach Bridge. 2. Use or attempt to use, at any time before the 30th day of June, 1890, for the purpose of taking Fish, other than Tench, Smelts, Bait, and Eels, any Net having a mesh of less dimensions when wet than three inches from three inches from knot to knot, measured on each side of the square, or twelve inches all round. 3. Use or attempt to use any Net having a wall or facing, with a mesh of less dimensions when wet than seven inches from knot to knot, measured on each side of the square, or 28 inches all round. 4.
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Use or attempt to use, in any navigable river, any Bow Net. 5. Use or attempt to use, in any navigable river, any Drag Net having a poke or pocket. 6. Use or attempt to use a drag net of any kind in the under-mentioned waters:– 1. The River Yare or Wensum– 2. The River Waveney– 3. The River Bure, below the lower entrance into Wroxham Broad– 4. The River Ant, below the lower entrance into Barton Broad– 5. The River Broad– 5. The River Thurne, below the entrance into Somerton Broad– except with the previous permission in writing of the Board of Conservators, under their Common Seal. 3. No person shall, within the limits of the above Act, use or attempt to use, any net for taking Fish, unless it is sufficiently weighted to sink vertically in the water, or take, or attempt to take,
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Fish by placing two or more Nets behind or near to each other, or use any other device or artifice so as practically to diminish the size of the mesh of any net allowed to be used by these Bye-Laws, or to evade this provision. PROHIBITING USE OF TRIMMERS, &C., IN NAVIGABLE RIVERS. 4. No person shall use, or attempt to use, any Trimmer, Ligger, Dead Line, or Snare, or any like Instrument or Engine, for the purpose for the purpose of taking Fish in any navigable river within the limits of the above Act, except Lines for taking Eels as hereinafter provided. TAKING SMELTS.–RIVERS YARE AND WENSUM. 5. No person shall, within the limits of the above Act, use, or attempt to use, any Net in the River Yare or Wensum for the purpose of taking Smelts, except a Cast Net or Drop Net, between
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the 10th day of March and the 12th day of May, both days inclusive, and then only between the New Mills, in the parish of Saint Swithin, in the City of Norwich, or Trowse Bridge, in Trowse, or Trowse Newton, and the junction of the Rivers Yare and Wensum at a place known as Trowse Hythe, and between Hardley Cross and the junction of the Rivers Yare and Waveney. 6. No person shall use, or attempt to use, attempt to use, a Cast Net or Drop Net exceeding 16 feet in diameter, in the River Yare or Wensum, within the limits of the above Act. TAKING SMELTS.–RIVER WAVENEY. 7. No person shall, within the limits of the above Act, use, or attempt to use, in the River Waveney, above the Burgh Cement works, any Net for the purpose of taking Smelts, except between the 10th day
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of March and the 12th day of May, both days inclusive, and then only at the places and by the means hereinafter mentioned, viz., between Rose Hall Fleet, and the Boat-house Hill, near Beccles, and in the pen of Shipmeadow Lock, by a Cast Net or Drop Net not exceeding 16 feet in diameter, and if any such Net be used between one hour after sunset and one hour before sunrise, the same shall be used with a used with a light or flare, and not otherwise. TAKING SMELTS.–RIVERS OUSE, NAR, AND NENE. 8. No person shall, within the limits of the above Act, take or kill, or attempt to take or kill, Smelts in the Rivers Ouse, Nar, or Nene, between the 1st day of April and the 31st day of August, both days inclusive. 9. No person shall, within the limits of the above
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Act, use or attempt to use, in the Rivers Ouse, Nar, or Nene, for the purpose of taking Smelts, any Net having a mesh of less dimensions, when wet, than five-eighths of an inch from knot to knot, XVI. 45 measured on each side of the square. TAKING SMELTS.–BREYDON WATER. 10. No person shall, within the limits of the above Act, the above Act, use, or attempt to use, in the water known as Breydon Water, for the purpose of taking Smelts, any Net in the months of May, June, July, and August, or any Net between the 1st day of September and the 30th day of April, both days inclusive, having a mesh of less dimensions, when wet, than five-eighths of an inch from knot to knot, measured on each side of the square. TAKING BAIT.–NAVIGABLE RIVERS. 11. No person shall, for the purpose of
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taking Bait in any navigable river within the limits of the above Act (except in the River Ouse below Denver Sluice, and in the River Nene below Wisbeach Bridge), use any Net other than a Cast Net, or any Cast Net having a mesh of less dimensions, when wet, than five-eighths of an inch from knot to knot, measured on each measured on each side of the square. TAKING BAIT.–ALL WATERS. 12. No person shall, within the limits of the above Act, use, or attempt to use, any Cast Net exceeding twelve yards in circumference, between the 11th day of October and the 1st day of April in each year, or any Cast Net exceeding eight yards in circumference at any other time of the year, or any such net, having a sack, or purse exceeding fourteen inches in depth, when extended, for the purpose of
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taking Fish for Bait; and the word \\ Bait\\ shall mean Roach, Rudd or Roud, Bream, Dace, Ruff or Pope, Gudgeons, and Minnows, measuring less than eight inches from the nose to the fork of the tail. 13. No person shall, within the limits of the above Act, Net for Bait at any time on a Sunday; and no person and no person shall, within such limits, Net for Bait at any time on a week-day except between one hour before sunrise and one hour after sunset, nor unless such Bait is for use in angling, or trolling, or taking Eels within the limits of the above Act. TAKING EELS.–RIVERS YARE AND WENSUM, ABOVE HARDLEY CROSS. 14. No person shall, for the purpose of taking Eels in the Rivers Yare and Wensum, above Hardley Cross, do any of the following things:– 1. Use or attempt to
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use in the months of April, May, and June, a line with a hook or hooks, except in connection with a rod used for the purpose of Angling. 2. Use or attempt to use any Net in the months of April, May, and June. 3. Use or attempt to use at any other time of the year, a Line, whether a Line, whether fixed or not, with more than one hook, except in connection with a rod used for the purpose of Angling. 4. Use or attempt to use any Net other than a Skim or Skein Net. TAKING EELS.–ALL OTHER WATERS. 15. In all other waters within the limits of the above Act, lines with one hook only, whether fixed or not, and fixed Nets, but no others, may be used at any time for taking Eels only. 16. No person shall use or attempt
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to use, in any water within the limits of the above Act, a Dag or Spear, for the purpose of taking Fish other than Eels. ALL WATERS. 17. Any person, within the limits of the above Act, taking any Fish except Smelts, Eels, or Bait in any Net allowed by the Bye Laws to be used for taking Smelts, Eels, taking Smelts, Eels, or Bait respectively, shall immediately return such first-mentioned Fish to the water without avoidable injury. 18. The foregoing Bye-laws shall not apply to any other than fresh-water Fish, or to the water known as Breydon Water, except as to Smelts, as hereinbefore provided. I hereby certify that the foregoing is a true Copy of the Bye-laws made by the Board of Conservators under the above Act, and that such Bye-laws have been approved by one of Her Majesty s Principal Secretaries of State,
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and have been duly advertised as approved Bye-laws in newspapers circulated in the Counties of Norfolk and Suffolk, and have been otherwise published as the Board directed. Sealed by order of the Board. TABLE OF RIVER DISTANCES. FROM CARROW BRIDGE. YARE. Miles. To Trowse Hythe .5 ,, Thorpe Second ,, Thorpe Second Bridge 1.5 ,, Whitlingham Ferry 2 ,, Corby s Dyke 2.25 ,, Postwick Grove 3.25 ,, ,, Hall 3.75 ,, Wood s End 4.25 ,, Wilde s Cottage 4.5 ,, Surlingham Ferry 5.75 ,, Coldham Hall 7.75 ,, Walpole s Reed Bush 9 ,, Buckenham Ferry 10 ,, Hassingham Dyke 10.75 ,, Langley Dyke 11.75 To Cantley Red House 12.75 ,, Devil s House 13.25 ,, Hardley Mill 14 ,, ,, Dyke 14.25 ,, ,, Cross 15.25 ,, Norton Staithe 15.25 ,, Reedham Ferry 15.5 ,, ,, End of New Cut 17 ,, Upper
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Seven Mile House 18.5 ,, Berney Arms 20.75 ,, Burgh Flats 21 ,, Yarmouth Drawbridge 25 ,, Gorleston Pierhead 27.25 FROM REEDHAM BRIDGE. WAVENEY. To Herringfleet Bridge 3 ,, Somerleyton Bridge 4.5 ,, Oulton Dyke 7.5 ,, ,, Broad 8.75 To Mutford Lock 9.75 ,, Lowestoft Bridge 11.5 ,, Bridge 11.5 ,, ,, Pierhead 11.75 FROM YARMOUTH BRIDGE. YARE. To Berney Arms 4.25 ,, Reedham Town 8 ,, Norton Staithe 9.75 ,, XVI. Hardley Cross 10 ,, Cantley 12.5 ,, Buckenham Ferry 15 ,, Coldham Hall 18.25 ,, Surlingham Ferry 19.75 ,, Bramerton Wood s End 21 ,, Postwick Grove 22 ,, Whitlingham 23 ,, Carrow Bridge 25 WAVENEY. To 46 Burgh Cage 4.75 ,, St. Olave s Bridge 9.5 ,, Mouth of New Cut 9.75 ,, Somerleyton Bridge 12.25 ,, Mouth of Oulton Dyke 15 ,, Carlton Share Mill 16.25 ,, Seven-Mile Corner 17.75 ,,
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Six-Mile Corner 18.75 ,, Worlingham Staithe 20 ,, Aldeby Staithe 20.5 ,, Beccles Mill 21 ,, Sayer s Grove 22 ,, Beccles Bridge 23 ,, Nine Poplars 24.25 To Dawson s Dip Dawson s Dip House 24.75 ,, Barsham s Boat House 25.75 ,, Mouth of Oulton Dyke 15 ,, Horse Shoe Point 16 ,, Oulton Broad 16.5 ,, Mutford Bridge 17.25 ,, Lowestoft Bridge 19 ,, Length of New Cut 2.5 BURE. To Three-Mile House 3 ,, Runham Swim 5.5 ,, Six-Mile House 6.5 ,, Seven-Mile House 8.5 ,, Stokesby Ferry 10 ,, Acle Bridge 12 ,, Fishley Mill 12.5 ,, Thurne Mouth 15.25 ,, St. Benet s Abbey 17 ,, Mouth of Ant 17.5 ,, Horning Ferry 21 ,, Horning Point 22 ,, Wroxham Broad 25.5 ,, Wroxham Bridge 27 ,, Belaugh 31 ,, Coltishall Bridge 34 ,, Aylsham Bridge 45 THURNE. To Thurne
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Mouth 15.25 ,, Potter Heigham Bridge 19 ,, Candler s Dyke 19.5 ,, Hickling Staithe 22.25 ANT. To Mouth of Ant 17.5 ,, Ludham Bridge 18.25 ,, Mouth of Barton Broad 21.75 Barton Broad 21.75 ,, End of Barton Broad 22.5 ,, Stalham 23.5 ,, Stalham Staithe 24.25 From Yarmouth Bridge to Runham Swim 5.5 ,, ,, ,, Six-Mile House 6.5 ,, ,, ,, Seven-Mile House 8.5 ,, ,, ,, Stokesby Ferry 10 ,, ,, ,, Acle Bridge 12 From Acle Bridge to Fishley Mill .5 ,, ,, ,, Thurne Mouth 3.25 ,, ,, ,, St. Benet s 5 ,, ,, ,, Mouth of Ant 5.5 ,, ,, ,, Horning Rectory 7.5 ,, ,, ,, ,, Ferry 9 ,, ,, ,, ,, Point 10 ,, ,, ,, Entrance to Wroxham Broad 13.5 ,, ,, ,, Wroxham Bridge 15 From Wroxham Bridge to Belaugh 4 ,, ,,
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,, ,, Coltishall 7 ,, ,, ,, ,, Aylsham 18 From Yarmouth Bridge to Wroxham Bridge 27 ,, ,, ,, ,, Coltishall 34 ,, ,, ,, ,, Aylsham 45 From Thurne Mouth to Thurne Mouth to Heigham Bridge 3.75 ,, ,, ,, ,, Kendal Dyke 4.25 ,, ,, ,, ,, Hickling Staithe 7 From River Ant to Ludham Bridge .75 ,, ,, ,, ,, Mouth of Barton Broad 4.25 ,, ,, ,, ,, End of ,, ,, 5 ,, ,, ,, ,, End of Stalham Broad 6 ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, Staithe 6.75 TIDES. h. m. It is high water at Lowestoft 0 43 later than at Yarmouth Bar ,, ,, ,, ,, Cantley 3 0 ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, Coldham 4 0 ,, ,, Hall ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, Oulton 4 0 ,, ,,
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,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, Horning 4 0 ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, The Tide flows and ebbs in the Bure one hour later than at later than at Yarmouth Bridge. Springs. Neap. The rise at Yarmouth is 6 feet 4.5 feet ,, ,, ,, Lowestoft ,, 6.5 ,, 5.25 ,, ,, ,, ,, Cantley ,, 2.5 ,, 1.5 ,, ,, ,, ,, Oulton ,, 2 ,, 1.25 ,, The Tides, however, vary according to the strength and direction of the wind and the quantity of flood water in the river. FISHING GENERALLY. In the rivers it is customary to fish in 10 to 14 feet of water, and the shortness of the swims necessitates the line being heavily weighted, in order that it may sink rapidly. The floats are necessarily large, particularly when used for the lower reaches, where there is a considerable
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tidal current. The boats are moored in a line with the stream, not across it, as on the as on the Thames, and the swims are thus very short. For the upper and clearer waters, the Nottingham system of angling might be advisable, but in the more turbid lower reaches the Norfolk style is practically the best. Worms are used for bream, and paste for roach. Worms are procurable at some of the tackle shops, but anglers will do well to provide them for themselves if possible. Boats are charged for at the rate of from 1s. to 2s. a-day, but are rather rough concerns, except at Oulton. Ground-bait, consisting chiefly of meal and clay, is largely used, but a place is rarely baited beforehand. As there is ample choice of stations, always moor so that the wind is at your back, and you will thus
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have smooth water in front of you. XVI. Small XVI. Small roach as bait for pike, are procurable at most of the waterside inns, at 1s. to 1s. 6d. a score, but to get the best sport obtain fish from other waters, particularly dace and gudgeon. 47 Pike are, of course, the chief fish in Norfolk, and are plentiful everywhere. In the rivers they do not run very large, a ten-pound fish being considered a good one, but in a few years time, with the freedom from netting the rivers now enjoy, we may expect some very large ones to be caught in the rivers. In private waters there are veritable monsters, but the stranger is not likely to make acquaintance with them. Live-baiting and spinning with a spoon, or artificial bait trailed behind a boat, are a boat, are the usual
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modes of fishing for pike in Norfolk. Trolling with a dead gorge, and spinning with a dead bait by casting, as in the Thames, are comparatively rarely practised, although I believe that in some portions of the rivers these methods would \\ pay.\\ I have seen fly-fishing for pike practised with success here, and I firmly believe that on some of the shallower Broads it would be very deadly. [Picture: Ormesby Broad--Landing stage] Perch are only locally common wherever there is a suitable bottom for them, as at Irstead Shoals and Hickling, and in some portions of the Bure and Waveney, but they run to a large size, and are sometimes caught between three and four pounds in weight. Bream are most common of all, and may be caught by hundreds and by hundreds and the stone weight. They run up to five and six pounds
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and saffron-coloured blur shot out and hissed around the walls in quest of an exit. But Tara had taken the canny precaution of closing every door and window before opening the box. As the cat hurled itself desperately against the windowpanes, Tara had laid out her vision for its “cold turkey” domestication. Until further notice, all external doors and windows would have to be scrupulously kept shut. If the cat saw so much as a chink of open doorway, Tara maintained, he would be out it like a shot in order to re- embrace his former life as a “prisoner of a “prisoner of the streets.” And Tara was determined to avert such a tragedy. If averting it meant Fenton’s having to “scrape the odd turd off the carpet,” that was a price she was willing to pay. Right from the start, she’d made no secret
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of her belief that she and the maverick cat enjoyed a deep spiritual bond. Being, she felt, something of a damaged survivor in her own right, she considered herself uniquely equipped to understand the animal’s troubled psyche. For a while, indeed, she had tinkered with the notion of naming the cat “Tara,” so as to bring this bond to everyone else’s attention. But in the end she had gone with “Streetwise.” Privately, Fenton believed this name to be considerably more than the cat deserved. If this half-bald amputee was half-bald amputee was street-wise, then what did a cat that wasn’t street-wise look like? A pile of whiskers and some teeth? Today, some three months after his enforced salvation from the alley, it was hard to pinpoint a single respect in which Streetwise was appreciably less fucked-up than he had been to start with. Psychologically, he still
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seemed to be carrying a lot of rage. Physically, he still looked every bit as underfed as he had on that first day. Look at him right now, limping bonily along the laminex. Was it possible that Tara had forcibly converted him to veganism? Certainly that would explain his constant attempts to intervene in Fenton’s meals. It would also explain how rarely one came across his stools on the floor, and how ash-like they were when they were when one did. Perhaps it was a straightforward hunger for meat that fuelled his still-constant bids for escape, his vicious arrowings towards the front door whenever you walked anywhere near it. But Fenton had never managed to think up a tactful way of broaching, with either Trixie or Tara, the topic of Streetwise’s diet. Besides, it was none of his business. 52 Now, as the nauseating cat eyed
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him from the benchtop, Fenton conceived a plan to go immediately to his bedroom and spend the next several hours there, if not the whole remainder of the night. He departed at an un- threatening pace. Halfway down the hall he stopped off at the bathroom, where he aggressively douched the claw-marks on his wrists with lashings of with lashings of neat disinfectant. He moved next door to the toilet. Urinating, he fastidiously averted his eyes from the multiple discolourations at the bottom of the bowl. On TV, on ads for cleaning products, they referred to blemishes of this kind as “rust stains.” To him they looked an awful lot like shit stains. A pink Post- it was stuck to the toilet brush. Don’t you know what this is for? it said. Fenton averted his eyes from that too. A third pink Post-it was stuck to
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his bedroom door. This one said: 1. Garbage Night. 2. Washing Up. 3. There Are Many Pubes In The Bathtub. 4. ! 5. ! 5. See Toilet Brush. He peeled the note off and dropped it to the hall carpet. Short of dusting it for prints, there was no way they could prove it hadn’t fallen down there by itself. He shut himself in his room and stood in the middle of it for a while. His curtainless window admitted, as usual, a searing cataract of artificial white light. This emanated from the industrial-strength floodlamp clamped to the roof of his neighbour’s back shed. Arrayed in various attitudes around this shed – leaning drunkenly against it, heaped beside it like drooping flapjacks – were innumerable sheets of corrugated iron. The old man who lived there, who looked a lot like Ed Lauter, spent the
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best part of best part of every day adding fur- ther sheets of corrugated iron to these piles. And then at dusk he switched on this blazing floodlight, so that he could spend the best part of every night doing it too. Here he came now. Or rather: here came a large upright sheet of corrugated iron with a pair of dusty boots staggering beneath it, and a leathery arm and tuft of silver armpit hair sticking out on either side. The boots stopped staggering when they were about six feet shy of the shed. The old man had previously identified this as the point from which a freshly obtained sheet of corrugated iron, when flung to meet any one of the existing piles, would generate the greatest possible yield of noise. Sure enough, the Sure enough, the present sheet came down with a
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savage mother of a crash that Fenton felt through his soles. And there, pot-bellied in its backdraft, the singleted old Lauter lookalike stood, grimacing with low-level satisfaction, whacking his palms together to free them of powdered rust. Where, Fenton had often asked himself, were all these sheets of corrug- 53 ated iron coming from? What, moreover, did the old philistine hope to ach- ieve by stacking them all against his shed? Was it an end in itself, or was it a mere preliminary to some vaster and even more inane project? Fenton had long had the sense that he was overlooking, amid the banks and decks of scabby metal, some vital clue that would supply him would supply him with the answer. Surely if he looked at the stuff hard enough, and long enough, the old man’s design would ultimately reveal itself … Suddenly the air
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was filled by another sound: massive and brutal, solid with bass. Up in the TV room Trixie or Tara had put on the stereo, at unconscionable volume. The old man next door flinched. His gaze swung hostilely across the fence. He spotted Fenton through the throbbing window. Their eyes met. The old man shot him a look of weary disgust, like a tennis star disputing the tenth bad line call of the match. Fenton spread his hands, looking to convey the impression that he was as much a victim here as victim here as the old man was. The old man shook his head and stalked away, either to call the police or get another sheet of corrugated iron. About twenty minutes later, Fenton became aware that he was hungry. Since vomiting so exhaustively after the Maoist meeting, he had eaten nothing. His thoughts returned, therefore,
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to the pair of leftover chicken drumsticks in his sector of the fridge. These of course would need to be thoroughly sniffed before any final decision about eating them could be made. And then if they passed muster he would bring them back here to his bedroom, eat them cold, and settle in for the night. Out Out in the TV room the noise from the stereo was thick as smog. The air visibly quivered. Tara and Trixie had moved from the beanbag to the couch. Now it was Trixie who was moisturising the back of Tara. Beside them, un- rebuked, Streetwise was methodically vandalising one of the couch cushions. On the muted TV a lady was lifting her sundress to show some liposuction scars to a wincing reporter. They looked a lot worse than fat thighs would have looked, but maybe that was the point.
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Just short of the fridge, Fenton halted. He believed he could hear, from deep inside the typhoon of stereophonic shit, a feeble trilling from the telephone on the kitchen wall. He put his ear to it. Yes: it was ringing, bash- fully clearing ringing, bash- fully clearing its throat into the din. Could it be her, Charmaine? It wasn’t impossible. He picked up. “Hello?” he yelled. “Fent. What’s doing with the marathon pick-up delay, champ? Don’t tell me I caught you laying some cable. Or facing the cistern? Christ forbid I caught you at that!” “Sorry?” It sounded like Gus, but that couldn’t be right. “Facing the cistern mate. Having a crank. There’s no shame in it, mate – 54 I’ve been there meself.” “Gus?” “How’s it swinging, comrade?” the big Maoist casually confirmed. “I’m just ringing to chew over a chew
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over a couple of things from today’s meeting. Chiefly this, ah, this terrorism thing. Bear with me for a moment.” Vague mumbling, a shuffling of papers. “The thing is, we’re going to have to convene a special meeting to flesh this thing out. We need to put some details on it. Get ourselves the right target, sort out what type of gear we’re going to need – technicalities like that. When I say ‘secret meeting,’ Fent, I’m talking about without Charmaine. Behind her back sort of thing. Let’s be honest: this isn’t the type of stuff we’re going to want on the front page of Mao Now, is it? More to the point, the whole concept just wouldn’t be her cup of tea. Trust me on that. So don’t ever mention it to her, it to her, okay? She’d be bound to kick up a massive
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stink about it. Which’d put an unwanted dent in our forward progress mate, not to mention playing havoc with my sex life. I’m anxious to keep the ball rolling on this thing, Fent. I’m like a bull at a gate sometimes – you’ll learn that about me. And the more I think about it, mate, the more I reckon we’d better get on with this caper real bloody quick, before some other mob gets the same idea. Call me paranoid, Fent, but if the Anarchists got in ahead of us on this one, I … I wouldn’t be a happy camper mate, let’s put it that way.” Over on the couch, all back-rubbing work had been suspended. Tara had shut off had shut off the stereo. Now, in the silence, they were both quite shamelessly watching him, waiting to listen in on his end of the
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conversation. If he ever got one. “Needless to say mate,” Gus briskly pressed on, “I’m not blind to the gravity of what I’m talking about here. This is heavy stuff, I appreciate that. That’s why I’m working the blower now. I’m giving everyone a decent chance to pull out before it’s too late. And if you do want out, Fent, that’s a decision I’ll totally respect. What I won’t respect is blokes who say they’re up for it now, then develop qualms about it when we get to the business end. the business end. So if you haven’t got the stomach for it, I’d much rather hear that now. But don’t answer me verbally, mate. You never know who could be hearing this. Just give me a short silence if you’re in, or a long silence if you want out.” Gus left a short silence, then
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emitted a bray of delight. “That’s the way, Fent. That’s the stuff. I knew you’d be a starter, mate. The second I clapped eyes on you this morning, I’ve said to myself: ‘Gus, this bloke’s a short-fused visionary very much in the mould of yourself.’ I could see that telltale bloody glint in your eye, mate. Bear with me while I put you down put you down on the acceptance list. Between you and me Fent, them other morons, Smithy and that, they’re passengers mate. Strictly footsoldiers. You and me are going to be the brains of this operation, don’t worry about that. Now: this meeting. I haven’t set a date for it yet. All I can tell you is, I’m fairly adamant we should hold it some time in the dead of night. About three 55 a.m. sort of thing.” “Three a.m.!” Fenton involuntarily cried.
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Trixie and Tara exchanged intrigued glances. “Not over the phone, Fent!” Gus said urgently. “Mind you, I see your point. And it’s cogent. Why say three a.m. when you can say o-thirteen hundred?” He paused. He gave an affectionate chuckle. an affectionate chuckle. “I have to tell you, Fent: this gung-ho attitude of yours … it’s music to my ears, mate. It really is. It’s a dead-set joy to talk to a bloke that’s as fired up about this as what I am. Frankly, Fent – I can tell you this now – frankly, I wasn’t that sure about it to start off with. Frankly, I was wary about even putting it on the table. I feared it might scare a few blokes off. It’s a pretty emotive issue, like I say. But you don’t think it’s too wacky, obviously. You don’t think it’s biting off
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more than we can chew?” “Not at all,” Fenton replied after a significant pause, hoping Gus would pick up on the manifest half-heartedness of his tone. He lacked the energy, lacked the energy, for the moment, to voice his reservations about becoming a terrorist more formally, to open the question up to a full ethico-legal debate. There would, he felt, be plenty of other opportunities for that. “If we do this thing right, Fent,” Gus was saying now, “it’s going to go right off the Richter. It’s going to put us squarely on the map. By the way mate, is what I hear true? My mail is – and correct me if I’m wrong – but I hear you’ve got yourself shacked up with a couple of chicks over there? Pretty sensual atmosphere, is it?” “Yes and no.” Again Gus chuckled affectionately. “That’s the way Fent.
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That’s the way. Keep your cards close your cards close to your chest, you enigmatic little ladies’ man. I swear but, mate, I don’t know how you do it. Chicks, mate. Chicks! I just find ’em that much of an enigma, Fent, in so many ways. And here you are shacked up with two of ’em! Maybe I should sit you down one day, get a few sage words of your advice.” He paused. “I’m not being serious there, of course,” he added, unconvincingly. “But chicks these days, Fent” – he breathed a philosophical sigh – “I don’t know. They read all these feminist magazines, mate, and their head gets filled with all these funny ideas. About … you know, about getting pampered and that. About how behaving like a normal red-blooded bloke makes you some kind of bloody Neanderthal! Christ Fent,
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Neanderthal! Christ Fent, I hardly need to tell you this. Like I say, my hat goes off to you for juggling two of ’em simultaneously. One’s bad enough sometimes.” “Is that right?” “Oh don’t get me started, mate. I mean, half the time she’s at me to quit smoking mull, the other half she’s at me to quit smoking durries. She could at least be consistent, Fent. She could at least make up her mind, don’t you reckon? I mean, what does she want me to smoke? Cheroots? I don’t even know what the fuck a cheroot is …” “Maybe you should show her who’s boss,” Fenton proposed. “Tell her 56 you’ll smoke what you like when you like when you like.” This uncharacteristic utterance took Trixie and Tara by surprise. Their eyes widened. Their mouths trembled with amusement. For a bad moment Fenton thought they
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were going to laugh out loud. Gus whistled respectfully. “Ouch, Fent. You really are a fuckin’ fire- brand, aren’t you? But we can’t all be like yourself, mate. We haven’t all got a spare one tucked away for insurance purposes.” In theory Fenton was eager to press this theme further, much further. But the presence of Trixie and Tara hampered, for the moment, his ability to work freely in his new persona of hardline Maoist ladies’ man. Another uneasy silence, then. Gus began to drum his fingers nervously on a surface close to his phone. to his phone. Finally he said, in a pained tone: “Fent, since we’ve, ah … strayed onto this topic, there’s something I’d better say. I … Don’t take this the wrong way, mate. But I’m a bloke that bel- ieves in putting his concerns right out there on the table. Fent?
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You still there?” “I’mhere.” “I’m talking about Charmers, Fent. I may joke about her … But me and her, we’ve got something special. You’re a man of the world, mate. You can see what I’m driving at. I’m just saying – and the mere fact I have to say it, Fent, it’s actually kind of a tribute to you, when you think about it. All I’m saying is, from one man of the world to another, mate, if I catch you I catch you entertaining thoughts in that direction I … I won’t be a happy camper. Let’s just leave it at that. And I’m not suggesting that you would, Fent. Far from it. All I’m saying is, she’s bubbly, right? She’s effervescent. She does a lot of touching people on the forearm. And look, I wouldn’t change that for the world. I’m just saying, don’t
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go mistaking it for some sort of invitation to have a crack. That’s all I’m saying.” “Gus: say no more.” “You’re a class act, Fent. A class act.” But still he sounded troubled. “I … Look, I don’t want to dwell on this stuff, mate. But …” “Not at all. Go ahead.” “Thanks Fent. Thanks for making this no harder this no harder than it has to be. I just wanted to say, like, given that you are such a class act, I’m going to take it as read that … that if you do get talking to her one day, you won’t go steering the conversation round to some sensual sort of topic like female circumcision so you can commit it to memory and have a wank about it later. Can I take it as read that I needn’t have any worries on that front?
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I mean, I look on that as taboo. And again, I’m not suggesting you’d do it. Not for a second. I’m just being clear up front that that’s something I do frown on. And don’t go pretending to be her ‘friend’ so you can keep scoring yourself the old full- frontal hugs. old full- frontal hugs. I know all these techniques, Fent. I invented half of ’em. And I frown on them all. In fact, let’s make the whole thing nice and straightforward. I’m thinking it’d be easiest for all concerned if you just 57 basically agreed to never talk to her at all. How does that grab you?” “I don’t foresee any problems with that,” Fenton monstrously lied. “That might make the whole thing a little clearer, don’t you think?” “Absolutely. Say no more.” “Fent, you don’t know how relieved I am to hear you
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say that.” “Think nothing of it.” “You’re a champion, Fent. All right. Fent. All right. I reckon I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll leave you to it, mate. Unless of course you’ve got any ques- tions?” As dearly as he wanted to hang up immediately, and cradle his face gently in both hands, Fenton could see that the conversation couldn’t be allowed to end on the present note. No: he had to reaffirm his innocence somehow. He had to flush these grotesque yet strangely accurate suspicions right out of Gus’s corrupt mind. But what would an innocent man say right now? What kind of question would he ask? Something jocular and man-of-the-worldish. Something that showed he’d forgotten the unpleasantness already. Something like this: “Only one, Gus. I don’t have to grow a beard, do I?” For five seconds or so
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Gus supplied no response. Fenton, indeed, was beginning to wonder whether something had gone wrong with the line. And then Gus said coldly: “You think that’s funny, cunt? You think this is a game? You think we’re a bunch of schoolboys playing dress-ups? Of course you’ve got to fucking grow one!” Then with an ugly clatter the line went dead. Fenton recradled the receiver. He rubbed his affronted earhole. The phone rang again. He picked it up. “Sorry about that Fent. It’s just, sometimes I get a little passionate about these things. I hardly need to explain that to a powderkeg like yourself. But the beard’s mandatory, mate. It was remiss It was remiss of me not to state that from the outset. I like to think of it as a visible token of a bloke’s commitment. We’re not a bloody social club, as I say.
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You of all people should appreciate that. And the way I see it, any bloke that’s not prepared to put up with an itchy neck for the cause – and it’ll itch you like buggery for the first few days, I won’t lie to you about that – well, any bloke who won’t make that sacrifice isn’t worth having in the first place. Am I right? But take my word for it, mate – after them first few days you won’t look back. Anyhow, Fent. No hard feelings. Water under the bridge, mate. As much my fault as it was yours. I’ll was yours. I’ll get out of your hair now. Keep your legs together, pal. And that other thing. The thing I rung up about. The wheels are in motion, okay? Remember that. I can see us getting out of this thing scot free, provided
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we play our cards right.” “What cards?” “Precisely, Fent. Precisely. Couldn’t have said it better myself. Good talking to you. Ciao mate.” 58 He hung up again, this time for good. At a late stage of the phone call Trixie and Tara had adjourned down the hall to the bathroom, having judged Fenton’s end of things unworthy of further surveillance. Bathwater was running heavily down there now, muffled by the firmly closed door. firmly closed door. Assorted plonks and giggles drifted up the corridor, and the deep clunk of submerged limbs hitting the tub’s inner walls. They would be in there for a while. Fenton pulled open the fridge. Suppressed spinach furled out like flowers from a magician’s sleeve. Streetwise skittered in across the lino, tuned as ever to any noise that betokened the imminent availability of food. Stump swaying, he loitered angrily around Fenton’s ankles.
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Fenton made a snap decision: he would surrender an entire drumstick to the rancid cat, so that he would at least get to enjoy the other one unmolested. Holding the animal’s gaze, he reached back into the fridge, and blindly probed the top shelf till his fingers located and lifted the relevant plate. It felt strangely It felt strangely weightless. Bringing it out, he saw why. The plate contained nothing but a handful of crumbs and a greasy shred of cling film. For several long seconds Fenton just held the empty plate there and stared at it, as if with a bit of patience he might cause the vanished poultry to rematerialise. Streetwise was having none of this. Like a trained dolphin attacking a beach ball, he sprang up and butted the plate from Fenton’s grasp. It hit the floor and smashed, peppering the legs of
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his jeans with flying chips of china. Streetwise started pawing hungrily through the wreckage. “Fenton!” came an alarmed cry from the bathroom. Fenton stepped around the cat and moved obediently down the hall. down the hall. He saw in passing that the pink Post-it had reappeared on his bedroom door. Again he peeled it off and dropped it to the carpet. “What?” he said through the shut bathroom door. “What do you mean, what? What the fuck was that giant smash?” “It was Streetwise.” A gasp. “Don’t say he went through a window!” “Relax. It was just a plate.” “Oh right Fenton,” said Trixie sarcastically. “Streetwise just picked up a plate and frisbeed it into a window, did he?” “Howtwisted are you Fenton?” Tara demanded to know. “Who throws a plate at a window and blames it on a cat?” “Who throws a plate
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at a plate at a window at all?” glossed Trixie. “Honestly Fenton, how much rage are you carrying?” “Well go on then,” Tara urged him. “Go and board it up before he jumps out.” “And get us a new plate tomorrow,” Trixie added. 59 But Fenton lingered. He put his ear to the door. He heard the drip of the tap, the gentle lapping of water on skin, the soft music of small aquatic disturbances. “As a matter of interest,” he politely asked them, “what does the word ‘terrorism’ mean to you?” “If you’re suggesting we ate those bits of chicken,” Trixie coldly replied, “remember that we’re “remember that we’re both vegans. So I’d watch who you go accusing of terrorism, Fenton. I’d watch that very closely.” “But you do eat white meat,” Fenton pointed out. Tara let fly with an indignant burst of
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quasi Japanese. Trixie said, “If you’re suggesting the meat on those drumsticks was white, Fenton, you’ve got bigger problems than we thought. Now go and board up that window.” Their attention returned to bathing. One of them shifted position with a meaty squeak. Churned water slapped against reddened flesh. “I had this nightmare last night about a dick,” he heard Tara say quietly, as he moved away. “Just moved away. “Just this huge dick. Maybe you’re right that all dreams are about sex.” “Oh that’s not about sex, you poor baby,” Trixie advised her sagely. “That’s about snakes, you see. You must have this unconscious fear of snakes.” Lying in bed, Fenton thought about beards. Rain played on his roof like the fingers of a veteran typist. The lamp on his neighbour’s shed still blazed. There was, he thought, something uniquely unpleasant about being made to
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grow a beard when you didn’t want to grow one. It was the kind of unpleasantness you thought you’d left behind in childhood. How would he look with one? Would he look like the other Maoists? Knowing that their beards were compulsory explained a lot. It a lot. It explained why Col hadn’t long ago removed the wispy, moustacheless, almost Henrik Ibsen-style offering that clung to his lower face. It explained why Warren was prepared, in the late twentieth century, to go around looking like somebody in a dag- uerreotype: Dr Crippen, W. G. Grace, Mad Dog Morgan. That was what a beard could look like when you were forced to grow it and weren’t allowed to shave it off! What had Fenton got himself into? He knew already that he was going to hate his own beard, regardless of what it looked like. He hated
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the idea of it. He hated what it would represent: commitment, obligation, the unshakeable nastiness of being in something over your head. It would remind him every day that he had involved himself in something himself in something preposterous but all too real, something that had already moved well out of his control. He shut his eyes and tried to think about her. He tried to picture her face, but kept seeing Gus’s pressed up against it, feeding bestially on her lips and tongue. What were the odds that Gus would die very soon? On the face of it, not that good. On the other hand: think of the sheer variety of ways in which 60 a person could meet with sudden death in the course of a normal day. Con- sider, to start with, the infinite assortment of flying objects that could hit and kill
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a man as he went about his daily business. Cars, trucks, buses, trains, motorbikes, bolts of lightning, stray javelins, lightning, stray javelins, bullets from bank jobs gone sour, concrete slabs dropped from building sites fifteen storeys above. And when a man took up as much space as Gus did, the odds of his getting mowed down by one of these things improved considerably. Moreover, the fatter a man was, the poorer were his chances of being able to leap spryly out of the way when he found such an object coming at him. In fact it was something of a miracle, when you thought about it, that the fat fuck had managed to stay alive as long as he had … And what about natural causes? Think of his cholesterol count. Think of the constant strain on his heart. Think of the thick slurry of abused
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substances that oozed like wet cement through his cement through his veins. “Fenton!” He opened his eyes. “Fenton!” They were calling him from their bedroom. “What?” he called back. “You’re remembering it’s garbage night?” The bin was cold and heavy against his thighs. The wet driveway chilled his bare feet. Setting the bin down at the kerb, he found that its rim had left a great damp stripe across the groin of his pyjamas. He stood there and looked out at the suburbs, at the lights spread out like dots on a radar screen. In one of those houses out there she lay. Maybe Gus was lying with her, and maybe he wasn’t. Either way, his days at her side at her side were numbered. Fenton was sure of that now. This time last night, he hadn’t even known her name. Now
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he did, and she knew his. And that felt very good. The wheels were in motion all right. More wheels than Gus knew. He turned and headed back up the wet driveway, and each step felt like a step towards her. 61 6 Two weeks later Two weeks later Fenton stood at a urinal on the top floor of the University Library. He was alone. His policy with respect to urinals was as follows. He used them only if they were unattended. The sight of an incumbent urinator invariably sent him swerving for the nearest cubicle. He didn’t like pissing with a complete stranger standing beside him, and he didn’t like standing with a complete stranger pissing beside him. Still less did he relish sharing a trough with someone he knew. If he was prepared to step up – as now – to a vacant urinal,
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this was only because he judged the slight risk that he would be joined there by a second urinator to be more acceptable, on balance, than the near certainty that he certainty that he would see something abominable in the stall. Right now, however, he was having an unprecedented problem. He was utterly failing to urinate. It was now some two or three minutes since he’d first addressed the steel, and still it remained undrenched. What was going on down there? Had his dick now ceased to function as a urinary tract as well? Was a piss now asking too much of it? He wondered at what point, in cases like this, one was supposed simply to zip up and walk away, writing off the whole venture as a mistake. Certainly he didn’t feel ready to make such a radical concession just yet. And so he
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stayed grimly in position, with the arrival of witnesses arrival of witnesses getting ever more likely as each minute passed. Almost certainly the malfunction was due to mental stress. Gus had scheduled an extraordinary meeting of the Maoists for two o’clock the following morning. Repeat: two o’clock in the morning. This meeting, Gus had indicated, would be about becoming terrorists. At it, the Maoists would decide what particular branch of terrorist activity they were going to become involved in, and at what person or institution these activities would be aimed. One part of Fenton – a part that liked sleeping and disliked conspiring to commit violent crime – yearned to give this meeting a wide berth. But the pragmatist in him pragmatist in him knew that he would have to be there, for several overwhelmingly good reasons. For one thing, his career
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as a simulated Maoist was still very much in its infancy. It would be folly, at this delicate stage, to give the others any reason to doubt his revolutionary zeal. Furthermore, out of concern for the welfare of the general public, coupled with a reluctance to spend the rest of his life in jail, he felt compelled to keep a close eye on this nascent little conspiracy, and make sure that it never got out of hand. As things stood, he felt reasonably confident that Gus, while undoubtedly warped, was nevertheless far too much of a buffoon to present a genuine threat to anyone. There was no call to panic yet, Fenton believed, 65 Fenton believed, 65 and definitely no call to even think about involving the police. But the situation was worth keeping an eye on, just the same. Finally, there was the question of
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Charmaine. It seemed a safe bet that her boyfriend’s secret commitment to terrorism would lower her opinion of him, if she ever found out about it. Fenton was therefore determined that she would find out about it, one way or another. If no more subtle method occurred to him, he would simply have to come straight out and tell her about it. But in order to tell her about it in any detail he first had to know about it in detail himself, and in order to know about it in detail he had to go to the meeting. to the meeting. Whichever way you looked at it, he had no real choice but to attend. Another thing playing havoc with his mental equilibrium was the large piece of graffiti that occupied almost all of the toilet wall to his right. It said, in black letters
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that were immense to begin with, but shrank markedly as they approached the floor: There was no mistaking the belligerent handwriting. It was Pamela Scratch’s. It was a multi-media affair, this graffito of hers. For that gargantuan first word gargantuan first word she had employed spraypaint. Then, no doubt having perceived that the space remaining to her was seriously limited, she had switched to some kind of jumbo marker. Finally, in deep trouble down near the floor, struggling to preserve the dwindling acronym on the left-hand side, she had been obliged to squeeze in those diminutive final words with a regular felt-tipped pen. Had she brought all of these writing implements along in the first place, or had she composed the slogan in three separate sessions? More to the point, when and how had she infiltrated the male toilets? And “Yuletide” – what the hell, apart
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from the fact that it started with a Y, made Yuletide an appropriate deadline for Aggot’s release? That festive season was only a few months away – months away – an optimistically brief time-frame, if you asked Fenton, in which to turn around public opinion on freeing a confessed multiple thrill-killer. Or maybe she meant the Yuletide after next. Either way, the development made Fenton feel uneasy. The inescapable fact was that it was he who had brought up Aggot’s name in the first place. He could only hope that Pamela was too nuts to remember that – or, failing 66 that, too nuts to see that it was something that sane people might hold against him. His key role in the campaign’s inception haunted him. He had terrible visions of being confronted, and denounced, by weeping members of the extended Baker family; or being illiterately
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the crowd. She was still crouched beside the barricade. Thomas saw what she had been waiting for. The Host surged up toward the barricade and met a wall of hostile air. Some dissolved into myriad colors that shrieked toward the ceiling and away like fleeing ghosts. Some popped like soap bubbles and disappeared while others fell backward, marked by horrible wounds. Kade smiled tightly to herself, leapt to her feet, and ran. Thomas waited for her to reach the stairway before starting up. She was a little ahead of him halfway up the second tier when she was thrown back against the banister as if something had struck her. The Host started to pour over to pour over the barricade. Thomas reached Kade and lifted her up. She was unconscious but still breathing and weighed practically nothing. The third tier passed in a blur with the
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fay on the stairs below. Then the Albon knights were closing the siege doors behind him, foot-thick oak panels sheathed with iron. They slammed them to and shoved the heavy locking-bolts home. The foyer was crowded with wounded guards and refugees, and the light was dim and smoky. Kade let him know she was awake and wanted to be put down with a sharp elbow in his ribs. He set her on her feet and she staggered slightly. \\ What happened to you?\\ he demanded, his breath coming hard from the climb. \\ I don t know. Ow.\\ She felt the side of her head of her head gingerly. \\ Where s Galen?\\ The old sorcerer was already on the other side of the gallery, helping with the wounded. As Kade turned away to go to him Thomas said, \\ Wait.\\ She paused, wary, and he
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asked, \\ Did you know this was going to happen?\\ \\ No.\\ Her voice was scornful. \\ That is the Unseelie Court, the Dark Host, the enemy of light. I wouldn t have anything to do with them. They were the ones who tricked my mother into accepting a wager she couldn t possibly win. I wasn t much fond of her, but no one deserves– And they would just as soon do the same to me.\\ He had to be sure. \\ You didn t mention you knew how to knew how to manipulate the wards.\\ \\ I wouldn t have been able to call that ward down if the keystone had still been in its place. Removing it destroyed the etheric structure that held the wards in their courses.\\ She winced and touched her head again, then continued more calmly. \\ Galen taught me
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how to track wards in a puddle of ash, and the way I called Ableon-Indis to me was only a variation on the spells used to temporarily hold a ward in one place, which every apprentice knows. Ask him if you don t believe me.\\ There was a muffled thump from the other side of the siege doors, then an echoing roar, as some thwarted creature expressed its displeasure. If Kade had not bothered to aid the defenders, they would have been on the been on the Chapter Eight other side of those doors now. Thomas thought, She didn t have to do it, and it certainty wouldn t serve her purpose if she meant us any harm. He said, \\ It won t be necessary to ask him.\\ Kade hesitated, as if she was just as inexperienced at accepting trust as he was at giving
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it, then she turned without a word and slipped into the crowd. Renier pushed past the other Albons clustering near the siege doors to reach Thomas and said, \\ The doors are holding.\\ 99 Thomas asked, \\ What started it?\\ It had occurred to him that he still didn t know exactly what had exploded or where, except that it was that it was somewhere in the Old Palace or the Gallery Wing. The big knight looked like he had been run over by a wagon. The final touch was a perfect black eye. He said, \\ I only know we ve lost half the Cisternan Guard and anyone who was posted past the main hall of the Old Palace. Including one of your lieutenants. I saw him going that way just before it happened.\\ Gideon would be with Falaise in the King s Bastion. \\
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Lucas Castil?\\ \\ Yes, that s him.\\ \\ God damn.\\ Thomas leaned back against the wall and used the full sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He could still smell the fay-horse s acrid blood. \\ Where s Ravenna?\\ \\ She s \\ She s here in the bastion; I ve seen her. Roland was in the Gallery Wing when it happened. We got him out barely in time.\\ Renier hesitated, then said, \\ I have to talk to you in private.\\ Thomas looked up at him. With Kade on the other side of the gallery, there was no one to eavesdrop except for their own men, who were standing or lying about in various positions of pain or exhaustion, but Renier s expression was deadly serious. As they moved off a little, Thomas asked, \\ How did you get that
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eye?\\ Considering everyone else s wounds, it was oddly minor. \\ The King was a trifle upset at certain developments,\\ Renier answered with a noticeable lack of expression. \\ Well, he s Well, he s a great comfort to all of us,\\ Thomas snapped. We ve given our lives for an idiot child. And Lucas was dead. Renier didn t seem to notice the comment. He seemed almost dazed. \\ Thomas, I m not sure about this but…\\ Renier hesitated such a long moment Thomas had to take a better hold on what was left of his patience. \\ Go on,\\ he said in a level tone. \\ A knight stationed on the Prince s Gate Tower reported to me a short while ago. He said they could see fires and fighting in the streets. It s not just the palace quarter; it s the city.\\
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Chapter Nine Chapter Nine RENIER SPREAD THE gilt-edged map on gilt-edged map on the table and indicated a spot with one calloused finger. \\ The Cisternan Barracks were overwhelmed in the first few moments.\\ He cast a worried glance at Commander Vivan, who was slumped in a chair by the fire. \\ They came through St. Anne s Gate, then?\\ Thomas asked. \\ No. Mind, the reports we have come from grooms and stableboys who were able to seal off the Mews to 100 keep the creatures out of the Old Courts, but they said the attack seemed to come from the inner gate into the palace, not the outer gate. As to how that was managed…\\ Renier shook his head. They were in the Queen s Guard House, in one of the small rooms adjacent to the practice hall. the practice
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hall. The walls were hung with leather and parchment maps and the door was open to the hum of talk from the hall. They knew the human, or once-human, members of the Host had been used as cannon fodder in the initial attack, and that the fay had come after, but Thomas felt they still did not have an accurate picture of how the invasion had taken place. He said, \\ We still don t know what that explosion was.\\ \\ It wasn t the city armories. You can see them from the top of the inner wall. But that s what everyone thought. The off-duty Queen s guards were heading that way to repel what they thought was an attack through St. Anne s Gate when they were stopped at the Old Hall. My men were right behind them.\\ Thomas behind them.\\ Thomas saw Gideon
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drawing breath to make a comment, and cleared his throat. Their eyes met and the younger man subsided with disgruntled reluctance. Most of the guards felt that the main body of the Albon Knights should have followed them down into the Old Hall, instead of staying in the relative safety at the top of the stairs. Thomas was willing to concede that someone had to hold the siege doors; whether the task had required almost the entire Albon troop was another matter. But it had been an act of disorganization rather than cowardice, and he wanted to keep the trouble among the two troops to a minimum. Looking back to Renier, Thomas said, \\ In the cellars it sounded as if the explosion was almost directly overhead; it must have been somewhere in the Gallery Wing.\\ \\ Gallery Wing.\\ \\ But there s nothing there to
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explode, not with that sort of force, not unless they brought it with them,\\ Renier protested. \\ Maybe they did.\\ Vivan s voice startled them. Only an accident of history had placed the Queen s Guard House in the area protected by the ancient wards of the inner walls. They had lost far too many men as it was, but the Cisternan Guard, and their families living within the barracks and adjacent to it, had been nearly destroyed. After a moment, Renier cleared his throat. \\ We should hear from the commanders of the city levies by morning.\\ Thomas shook his head. There were over six thousand city volunteers, half musketeers and half pikemen, organized into regiments based on their based on their neighborhoods. Both the crown and the Ministry had the right to call them out, but in the chaos of this night that would
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be impossible. \\ The city levies won t be able to form; they ll be too busy defending their own homes and it will be suicide to go out into the streets tonight.\\ Renier regarded the map again. \\ The Host has never attacked in force before. It has harried travelers, solitary farmsteads, but never… Well, the gate garrisons will be trapped inside until daylight at least. The Host can t attack when the sun s out.\\ Chapter Nine 101 Thomas had been told by Kade that the main body of the Host was composed of powerful quarrelsome spirits from the Unseelie spirits from the Unseelie Court, who could agree on nothing but revelry and fighting the Seelie Court, their opposites in Fayre. In their wake would be fay predators: hags, bogles, spriggans, things that haunted lonely places or preyed on travelers. Thomas said, \\ They
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can t attack in the kind of organized force they used on us in the Old Palace, but there s a mob of dark fay following them like scavengers after an army. They aren t organized, but they can stand the daylight and they will attack at any opportunity.\\ Renier pursed his lips in disapproval. \\ You heard that from Kade Carrion, I assume. I d prefer another source for that intelligence.\\ Thomas controlled an inexplicable surge of irritation, and without too much acid in his voice asked, \\ Who else did you have did you have in mind to question?\\ Frowning, Renier shook his head. \\ Still… There s no help for it, I suppose. Does she know if Grandier is aiding them?\\ \\ No, but he must be involved somehow.\\ Thomas considered a moment. \\ The Host was depending on surprise, and they had
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help. Someone knew to go down into that cellar and take the keystone, and whoever it was is probably still here with us.\\ Dontane might have known who that traitor was, but he must have died with the other prisoners and the guards in the Cisternan Guard House. Renier looked up. \\ Perhaps the man who killed Dr. Braun got the location of the keystone out of him before he died.\\ Thomas managed not to roll his eyes. \\ his eyes. \\ Braun was killed instantly; he wasn t tortured for information.\\ \\ If we could get the keystone back–\\ \\ It could be hidden anywhere.\\ Thomas shook his head, frustrated. \\ We can t count on that.\\ \\ Well, we can t beat our heads about it now.\\ Renier leaned over the map. \\ The corridors in the outer walls have been sealed. The rooftops
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and the open areas of the Old Courts are protected by the wards, and the iron-shod siege doors are keeping them from coming through the King s Bastion to us. The only thing we can do now is wait it out.\\ If Renier wanted to \\ wait it out\\ with a traitor in their camp it was his business. But Thomas had no reason had no reason to argue the point while he still had a few more preparations to make. Lord General Villon and the siege engine cavalry were posted at the Granges, a royal fortress about fifty-five miles to the south. It was the mobile force closest to the city, except for Denzil s small private garrison still in residence at Bel Garde. The fay might be able to take the city, but they couldn t hold it. They couldn t close the iron-hinged
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gates, use the cannon mounted on the walls, or the stockpiles of arms. Villon had proven troops and a populace that would rise to aid him as soon as they saw his flags. Renier rolled up his map and went back out into the hall. Thomas caught Gideon s arm and said softly, \\ If anyone s going to s going to offer to hold Renier s sword while he falls on it, it s going to be me; is that clear, Sir?\\ Gideon smiled reluctantly. \\ Yes, Sir, it s clear.\\ As the others left, Thomas hesitated a moment over Vivan, but he had no idea what to say to him. He walked out through the hall, where things were beginning to calm down as the night wore on without Chapter Nine 102 attack. The refugees in the house were mainly palace servants and retainers
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who didn t mind bedding down on a clear space of floor as long as there was a roof overhead and plenty of iron lying about. They were stretched out on blankets along the walls or the walls or huddled in groups telling each other their horror stories from the last few hours. Their children played on the second-floor balconies with nerveless unconcern, but no one apparently felt secure enough to put out any of the lanterns, despite the number of people trying to sleep. The only real disturbance was an old woman kneeling in the far corner praying at the top of her lungs, while a nervous young girl anxiously pleaded with her to stop. Queen s guards and the few remaining Cisternans were prowling the house like caged cats, checking their weapons over and over again and alert for anything. The refugees of higher
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class were crowded in the Albon Tower and the Gate Bastion, with the King s Bastion being kept as a buffer area between the fay in the Old Palace and the fortified court. the fortified court. Thomas had preferred this arrangement, knowing that if he had to have a large group of civilians under his protection in a battle, it was better to have ones who were trained to take orders without question. Ravenna and Falaise and their entourages were safely ensconced on an upper floor. In the entrance hall he found Phaistus, standing before the partly open doors and looking tentatively up at the cloudy night sky. \\ What are you doing?\\ Thomas asked him. Phaistus jumped, then shifted the heavy coil of rope tucked under his arm. \\ Berham wanted this in the tower, Captain.\\ His reluctance was understandable. On the open roads of
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the country, the Host traditionally attacked from above, swooping down on men like hawks on mice. Except that hawks were unquestionably kinder in dispatching their kinder in dispatching their mice quickly than the Host would be with human captives. The wards still clinging to this side of the palace were supposed to protect them while outside, but the wards had failed before. \\ Well, come on then.\\ Thomas hauled him out into the open court. The night air was chill, the court lit only by light seeping through cracks in shutters and closed doors. The Albon Tower high above them was only a dim shape in the darkness, clouds streaming swiftly across the moon. Phaistus hurried along in Thomas s shadow, casting worried glances at the sky. The first level of the tower had become an infirmary, and the sick familiar odor of cauterization hit Thomas
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as soon as he went in. The wounded lay on pallets along the walls along the walls of the high-ceilinged hall. There were women and children among them, far too many. They had been hacked up by the bronze blades of the human servants of the Host, burned in the sporadic fires that had broken out from overturned lamps, or bitten and clawed by the fay. There were no victims of elf-shot. If someone was hit by one of those tiny harmless-looking stones he fell down and never moved or spoke again, no better than breathing dead, and was lucky if starvation or thirst killed him before the stone found his heart. Anyone struck by elf-shot had been left behind, or smothered by Dr. Lambe or one of the other apothecaries. Fires had been lit in the two great hearths, and dozens of lamps and candles
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added their stains to the smoke-blackened rafters. The furniture had been furniture had been pushed aside to make way for more pallets, and Thomas had to climb over a couple of tables to reach the other end of the room. It brought back less-than-pleasant memories of the Bisran War, of border villages overrun and taken before the inhabitants could scatter into the forest, and of the aftermath of battle. Dr. Lambe stood near the long draw table where bags of instruments and jars of medicinal herbs were laid out. He looked exhausted and considerably the worse for wear. He looked up at Thomas s approach and said, \\ Captain, when can we leave?\\ Chapter Nine 103 \\ As soon as it s daylight. The Host won t be able to form then.\\ Thomas made himself sound sure himself sound sure despite his
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own doubts. Lambe didn t look reassured. \\ And how sure are we of that?\\ \\ I have it on fairly good authority.\\ He had to admit, \\ What might be wandering the streets is another matter, but they won t be after just anyone.\\ Lambe glanced upward. The King was on one of the upper floors, guarded heavily. \\ You re right about that.\\ The palace was a trap, and they couldn t afford to be caught in it. Ravenna and Roland would have to be gotten to safety. Whether Ravenna likes it or not, Thomas thought. His first choice was to get them out of the city and to Villon at the Granges–and they would have to be together. Roland would be swept under by the chaos under by the chaos and lose his throne to the first opportunist with a troop. Ravenna could
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ride the storm. Galen Dubell crossed the room toward them. Like Dr. Lambe, the hem and sleeves of his robe were stained with dried blood. \\ What sort of protections are we employing for the evacuation?\\ he asked. Before Thomas could answer, an Albon knight stepped up to them and said, \\ His Majesty requires an audience, Captain Boniface.\\ Thomas looked at him, but the knight s face betrayed nothing. After a moment he said, \\ Very well,\\ and turned to Dubell. \\ Doctor, could you send a message to my lady Ravenna and let her know I ll be unable to attend her for a short time?\\ Startled, Dubell looked from Dr. Lambe s Dr. Lambe s stricken expression to the other Albon knights who had suddenly appeared in the room. He said, \\ Yes, of course.\\ Thomas followed the knight to the bottom of
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the narrow stairwell that led up into the tower, where there were two more Albons waiting for them. He took in their appearance without comment and they started up the stair. It was a long way up to the fifth level of the tower, the many lamps that illuminated the stone steps making the air smoky and close. There were knights standing guard at each level. On the landing there were two more Albons at the wide oaken door. The knight who had come after Thomas smiled and said, \\ His Majesty has requested that you disarm before coming in to him.\\ Thomas met his Thomas met his eyes. As a member of the Queen s Guard and an appointed officer he had the right to go armed in the royal presence, and he also knew what any sort of protest to that effect would mean
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to Roland, and what would happen if they searched him inside and found a concealed weapon. In silence he handed over both pistols, his main gauche, boot dagger, and unbuckled the rapier from his baldric. One of the knights opened the door and they went inside. The room was far too warm and too crowded. The gold threads in the red tapestries caught the candlelight and cast it back. There were more Albon knights, all showing signs of the past battle. Some of Roland s younger courtiers were playing cards at a table in a corner, and a corner, and somewhere out of sight a musician played a soprano recorder. Renier wasn t present. Roland was seated in a tapestry-draped armchair, Denzil at his side. As Thomas bowed, Roland said, \\ Kneel, Sir.\\ Chapter Nine Even though he was hearing the latch of a trap snap
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shut, it was second nature to make it look like an easy gesture. 104 Denzil smiled lazily and said something inaudible to Roland that made the young King giggle and redden with embarrassment. Thomas realized Roland was not drunk yet, but he was definitely well on the way, and he would have bet anything it was Denzil s doing. Roland fiddled with a torn piece of lace on his cuff, his eyes large his eyes large and dark. \\ What is my mother doing now?\\ \\ She s resting, Your Majesty.\\ Thomas kept his expression even and his voice level. The room had quieted, and the courtiers were watching with a fascinated intensity that combined sly amusement at someone else s misfortune and fear for their own necks. \\ And my Queen? My cousin has said she refuses to attend me here.\\ Thomas wondered if Falaise
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knew she had refused to attend Roland. Probably not. \\ She isn t well, Your Majesty, and your mother required her to stay in her rooms.\\ This was a lie, but he wasn t going to throw the young Queen to the wolves to save his own skin. If the matter doesn t become academic in the next few moments. Roland said, \\ moments. Roland said, \\ Oh.\\ Even at this time, he realized Falaise was not likely to ignore a direct order from Ravenna. But Denzil nudged him with an elbow, causing the knight standing guard behind their chairs to tighten his grip on his sword-hilt. Thus prompted, Roland said, \\ And my sister?\\ \\ She s in the Guard House, Your Majesty.\\ Denzil idly twisted one of his rings. His hands were trembling slightly, probably from excitement. He said, \\ She was seen smearing
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blood on the lintels and cornerposts of the Guard House. Now why was she doing that, we wonder?\\ How the hell should I know? \\ I don t know, Your Majesty.\\ Thomas directed his answer to Roland, just to see Denzil s expression tighten with anger. It was anger. It was hardly likely to be anything detrimental; even Kade wouldn t put a curse on a house and then settle down in it for the night. And she obviously hadn t made a secret of what she had done. It sounded more like a feast-day practice one of the foreign cults in the city performed. Roland absently rubbed the carved arm of the chair, thinking over his next move. Denzil leaned toward him familiarly, watching Thomas out of the corner of his eye, and whispered something. Roland giggled and looked guilty. Thomas allowed himself to look
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just slightly bored. Denzil s attempts to prey on his nerves were having more effect on the Albon who was standing behind him and could hear what he was saying. Finally Roland said, \\ Perhaps you told her to do it.\\ to do it.\\ \\ Why would I do that, Your Majesty?\\ Thomas had always known that if he had to die to please a royal ego, he wanted it to be as scandalous, messy, and politically inconvenient for as many persons as possible. Disappearing into the depths of the Albon Tower was not a scenario he preferred. Roland didn t answer immediately. He bit his lower lip and looked at his cousin. Denzil stood and strolled around the room, behind Thomas and out of his sight. He said, \\ We don t know what part she had in this attack.\\ Chapter Nine 105 Thomas kept
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his eyes on Roland. \\ She was almost killed in the retreat from the main hall.\\ the main hall.\\ Defending her this way could be dangerous for both of them, but he wasn t sure what Denzil was after. Roland looked surprised. \\ She was?\\ Standing too near him, Denzil brushed Thomas s hair aside to reveal the pearl drop in his right ear. \\ That s a gift from the Dowager Queen, is it not?\\ The door opened and a knight bowed his way in. \\ Pardon, Your Majesty.\\ Denzil stepped away from Thomas. Roland shifted in his chair nervously. \\ What is it?\\ \\ The Queen… The Dowager Queen has sent a messenger requesting Captain Boniface s immediate presence.\\ All eyes in the room went to Roland as most of those present realized the implications of this. Thomas thought, Don t
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thought, Don t provoke her, boy, not now. Ravenna was exhausted and angry and sitting on top of the best-organized force left in the palace with an armory at her back. But if Roland pushed her into a civil war just because he could, then he didn t deserve to be King, let alone to live. Roland stared at the knight. Denzil started to speak but abruptly Roland waved him to silence and said, \\ Fine, then, go on. I m tired.\\ Thomas stood, bowed, and left the room. He collected his weapons in complete silence from the knights on the landing, then went down the stairs. Martin was pacing restlessly near the outside door. Reaching him, Thomas said, \\ Tell her you saw me outside and I ll be there in a few moments.\\ Martin said, \\ Martin said, \\ Yes, Sir,\\ and bolted
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back across the court. Thomas went the other way, along the tower s wall, until he came to a place in deep shadow but with a good view of the door. He pulled his cloak around him and stood with folded arms, watching the cloud-strewn sky. The cool wind lifted the hair off the back of his neck, and he thought for a few moments about treason and murder. But he had learned more from Denzil than the Duke had from him. He thought He had me. He was sure of it. He had tried to provoke Thomas to fight. He wanted Ravenna and Roland at each other s throats; he wanted the palace in chaos. Denzil was confident. He had expected the attack. He took the He took the keystone, or he ordered it done. Never mind how he knew where it was; I ll
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work that out later. He may have killed Braun himself. And I don t have a shred of proof against him. There was only one thing Denzil could want in return for treason of such a magnitude. The young Duke of Alsene had so much already from Roland. Would he abandon a secure existence on a chancy bid for the throne, based on such infirm ground as the help of a foreign sorcerer? But is Denzil s existence secure? Thomas asked himself. Or more importantly, does he think his existence is secure? Roland was still Ravenna s son, and Fulstan s. He could have Denzil killed on a whim, at any time. And he was still a young man; he could man; he could become as changeable in later life as his father had. As a patch of moonlight illuminated the court, a swift smooth shadow
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crossed it. Something large enough to be flying above the wards yet throw a man-sized shadow on the pearl gray paving stones. Chapter Nine 106 Thomas leaned back against the wall, his dark clothing blending into the rough stonework. A reminder from the Host. As it passed out of sight and the clouds crept back over the moon, the Albon knight he had suspected was following him stepped quietly out into the court from the door of the tower. Thomas waited until the man gave up and disappeared back inside, then started back to the Guard House. Denzil was in House. Denzil was in league with Grandier, and regardless of the consequences, he was going to have to die. * * * In the Guard House, Kade was sitting on the floor near the stairs. She turned over another card from the deck she had found,
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winced, swept the scattered cards together, and reshuffled them. Something was happening in the Albon Tower, something interesting, and no one would tell her about it. Who can I pry it out of, she wondered, looking speculatively around the quiet hall and laying out the cards again. No one seemed to find her presence objectionable. The refugees had brought her everything from amulets to prayer books to bless for luck, and she had collected several apples, an egg, a few ribbons, and a battered daisy as propitiatory gifts. The guards gifts. The guards were all nobles and so less superstitious, but treated her as a sort of mascot, which was better behavior than she had had from anyone connected with the crown in a long time. They knew who had been on the wrong side of the bastion s siege doors with them, and were acting
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accordingly. Falaise had sent her a pair of boots. The woman who had brought them had said they were a boy-page s boots, made for a masque last month and brought along accidentally in the trunk the Queen s ladies had hastily packed before leaving the King s Bastion, but the Queen had \\ thought they would suit best.\\ She meant they looked big enough, Kade thought. Falaise and her ladies had small perfect feet, not ugly long-toed things better suited for walking on tree branches. on tree branches. But the boots were soft, blue-stamped leather with gold stitching, and she liked them immensely. She rubbed the bruised lump on her head thoughtfully. That is, no one objected to her presence openly. She still didn t know what she had been hit with in the retreat to the King s Bastion. An object that small of
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wood or stone would have certainly startled her, but not knocked her reeling and half-conscious against the banister. No, the object had been cold iron, and no fay had cast it at her. And Thomas Boniface had carried her up the stairs. That had triggered a memory, a tactile child s memory. She had been six or seven, playing on the warm dusty stones of a palace court with servants children, and suddenly found herself among a forest among a forest of sharp hooves and tall equine legs, horses snorting and dancing around her. For a moment she had found it wonderful. But just as fear had time to set in, a strong arm had caught her around the waist and lifted her out of danger with a muttered \\ And what do you think you re doing.\\ She had been deposited on the side of
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the court out of harm s way, and left with a memory of a deep voice and a masculine scent combined with the musky sweat of horses. Her father had heard about it somehow. He heard about everything somehow. He had called her a whore. When she had told Galen about it, he had slammed things around his small study and muttered to himself for an hour, but he was not quite worldly enough to worldly enough to realize what was bothering her and explain it away. It wasn t until weeks later when a scrubwoman had explained to her what a whore was that she understood she couldn t possibly be one. A whore, she thought, old stale anger rising again. At that age and about as alluring as an awkward puppy. It s a wonder that I m not mad as a wool-dyer. It
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was a wonder she wasn t as helplessly at sea in the world as Roland was. Chapter Nine \\ Excuse me, my lady?\\ 107 She looked up to see a nervous dark-haired gentlewoman on the stairs above, looking down at her hesitantly. Kade thought her one of Falaise s ladies, but she wasn t the one t the one who had come before. Then the woman said, \\ My lady, the lady Ravenna would like to speak to you in her chamber.\\ \\ Oh,\\ Kade said. She collected the cards and stood up. She followed the woman up the lamplit stairs to the third floor. The rooms Ravenna and Falaise had taken were in a single suite. There was a group of Queen s guards and two Cisternans standing in the anteroom having a low-voiced, intense, and agitated conversation Kade was sure would have been quite
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interesting, but the gentlewoman opened the inner door to Ravenna s chamber for her, curtseyed, and fled. Ravenna sat alone near the shuttered window, head turned to look down at the empty hearth. A few carved chests stood open, and richly embroidered robes and rugs were tumbled rugs were tumbled about and piled in the chairs. Kade fought a surge of anxiety that suddenly welled up in her gut; she was not a child anymore. \\ I wanted to know your intentions.\\ Ravenna turned to look at her, finally. \\ Why you are still here.\\ Kade looked down and noticed her feet again. She said, \\ Why shouldn t I be here?\\ \\ Why shouldn t I be, \\ Ravenna mocked. \\ Your wit astonishes me. Of course, everything I ve built with my life and my blood is tumbling down around my ears; why shouldn
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t you stay and watch?\\ \\ If you already know then why are you asking?\\ Kade said it quietly, and looked up to deliberately meet Ravenna s eyes. That was good. I was good. I did that well. \\ Oh, never mind.\\ It was Ravenna who looked away. \\ I suppose if you actually had some sort of motive, you would give me an answer.\\ Kade sighed, then realized the old Queen s sharp eyes were on her again and felt a chill that didn t come from the air. Ravenna had set a trap for that telltale expression of relief. \\ Well,\\ Ravenna said slowly. \\ Do you still want the throne?\\ \\ No! I just said that; I didn t mean it.\\ I should have known that would come back to haunt me. \\ Can t you just leave me out of your idiot
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power struggles?\\ But it was easy to talk about the throne. Ravenna couldn t understand how little it meant little it meant to her. Ravenna s mouth hardened. \\ No, I cannot. I m old, and frightened. I get angry when I m frightened and your brother does not know when to stop pressing me. Or rather, he lets Denzil tell him that it is all some sort of game, and that his mother will forgive him anything, because she wants him on the throne. Well, I m having second thoughts about that.\\ \\ Don t bother having first thoughts about me, because I won t do it.\\ Ravenna s hard eyes came back to her again, cynical and doubting. Kade said, \\ I m serious. It s hard enough being a queen in Fayre, but this is…real.\\ \\ I wish Roland knew that. I tried
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He figured that was HowiePs job as his eyes carried him unaware to the dark water where Forster died. Seeing it, he flicked the beam off and cringed as the experience washed over him. He saw part of ForsterPs face splatter on him again. He tried to make every- thing still. Still, the sight remained, as if the experience was all that was ever there. Inside the absolute darkness of his mind he saw it. There wasnPt a lot you could do when the picture wouldnPt turn off, when black was the medium. And it got spooky quickly for Bobby L surreal. To escape, he To escape, he had to leave. His eyes were only half open as he started his way along and up the inside companionway. He worked to calm himself while his pace quickened. Think simple, he told himself, make it nothing L
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the way it was when youPre a kid and the crocodiles are going to bite your foot if you donPt get it up into bed and under the covers. Or snakes. Bobby always preferred crocodiles. They were slower, bigger, and noisier, too. It didnPt help. His heart pounded and the companionway stayed dark. The motion of the ship cooperated. The ominous sounds of the grating chain became her voice as the elements around him combined in — 146 — — 146 — a strange unity. He felt her at his feet with each rung of the walkway, not wanting him to leave without the promise, reminding him with each step. The promise. She demanded it. The prom- ise to avenge her. His fear got him topside, into the late after- noon sun, into the world above, light and life. Leaning heavily on the stern rail, he
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watched the dead wake curl out from under her. He took all the time he needed to catch himself. For want of something to put in his head he noticed she sat a little deeper in her stern. It wasnPt much, but it helped. Somebody working the it helped. Somebody working the deck of the stern tug waved from the distance. He raised his arm ab- sently, as Gomez slipped back into his mind. He wanted to check on him, get some human contact. He realized if Gomez died hePd get the money for nothing. On the way he stopped off in the crewPs quar- ters beneath the stern wheelhouse and scrounged some partially decayed blankets, heading out through the ransacked galley. There was nothing to take there; it had been stripped of everything. Back at the forecastle, Gomez appeared to be sleeping. Bobby checked him
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to be sure it was just sleep. Satisfied he was not yet alone, he spread two blankets over his friend, trying to slide one under his one under his head without waking him. Gomez moaned and produced low, inaudible Spanish. He pulled his own gear over close to him as the Mex- ican came around. MMucha siesta, amigo.N Bobby said it low as — 147 — he rummaged for the sensimilia and rolled a joint. He drew a glow from it and held it out to him. Gomez shook his head. MI stay, Bubby. MYo travajo mucho, amigo. Anything.N MSi, amigo.N Bobby found it curious how the two of them interchanged the language now, fig- ured it must be some kind of mutual compliment. MCompaneros.N Bobby smiled the words across to him. Gomez emitted a soft noise a soft noise with his
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response. MGracias, mucho, amigo.N It was the kind of quiet muffle that meant he hurt. Bobby laid down on some of the cot matting hePd dragged from the officersP quarters earlier and slid the box of Oreos to Gomez. He wanted to tell him about the feelings hePd gotten from The Lady in the engine room but didnPt. MEverythingPs under control.N He looked at his watch. MItPs four- thirty.N Saying it aloud, he realized he was late calling in. He checked the tug, fighting the irri- tation of the static as he awaited a response. They came back and reminded him he was late. Bobby was thinking motion and distance while his voice distance while his voice crackled and broke into theirs. It was done quickly and he was off the air as if hePd never been on. Lying on his side now, Gomez is settled
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and quiet. Bobby watched the menagerie of bugs running about under the chunks of rust and garbage. He fought to leave the spook of the engine room be- hind. He wanted to sleep, to move only inside his — 148 — thoughts. They were his thoughts, nobody else would give a damn about them, why should any- one. It was irrelevant to everybody and every- thing but himself. But he had them L ownership through default. It was his world because he was the only one the only one who showed up in it. He stopped himself. Another lizard skittered across his deck level line of sight. He wondered if it was the same lizard. He wondered where he had been L where he was from. The lizard stopped suddenly and stared back at him L eyeball to eyeball. He was watching the lizard watch him
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when it opened its mouth and spoke to him. MJustice, promise her justice.N He did, and just like that he got safe. It was almost six oPclock and they hadnPt seen land for a couple of hours. Bobby figured they should get it back as they approached the Pilo- town rendezvous. HePd rendezvous. HePd known without looking theyPd left sight of land. The sway and pull of The Lady Inca increased with the swell of the Gulf. It would be a roller coaster once they were secured to the sea tug and moving straight out into the open Gulf. The thought enticed Bobby to linger in sleep. He took a few moments looking for a dream. Re- ality was too persistent at the moment. The two-way jostled Bobby from his meander- ings. Bobby answered. MShip to tug. I read you, five by five.N — 149 —
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MPilotown in sight. Make ready to transfer lines.N MRoger.N The radio broke up on him. MLet go bow him. MLet go bow lines first. Let them get you in tow before you detach us astern. Over.N MRoger.N MAre you shipshape?N Bobby looked across at Gomez who knew the question without the English. MRoger.N He smiled at Gomez without conviction. MWePre healthy.N Gomez said nothing but his eyes thanked Bobby for his silence. Bobby noted it and headed to the bow lines. He got his first glimpse of the giant sea tug coming at them fast from landward. He struggled to unbind the towlines while the sea tug closed the gap. It was a two-man job but he managed. Waiting for the loudspeaker command, he let go the bow lines just as the sea tug came along- side. With side. With the forward
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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. — 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.
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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. 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
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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 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
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up into the sky where his daughterPs face emerged, and cornered him. 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 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
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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 sea tug is sea tug is taking charge. MYouPre under tow from us now.N He could feel the unsteady lurching already, the gnash and bang of the cable against the Lady. To Bobby it rang like life. He watched the big tug start a slow turn to sea, cable reeling off her deck. MShip to tug.N He spoke as he headed forward. MGive me an
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ETA Brownsville.N The radio broke up. He slapped it. MOver.N META Brownsville forty-eight hours.N It died again, came back as static muffle. MThursday. Same time. Over.N MRoger. Radio check.N The two-way was leav- ing, but he kept talking anyway. MMidnight. Over.N It was done. They were They were underway. He noticed her hogging more severely than before and hoped it was because they were still running cable out. Night started to close in. The sky grew clouded and full-blown, unlit and omnipotent. He got rations and weather lamps from the forecastle storage. He found Gomez half-asleep, fed the two of them, and talked a little. He tried to get com- fortable. Drifting off to the ocean around him, he saw his daughterPs face before him. It was all he had, and it was enough. — 153 — International Salvage Brownsville, Texas Tuesday
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International Salvage Brownsville, Texas Tuesday Night The senator sat in Hertzel MarkovitzPs office at International Salvage. He tapped a pencil slowly and with irritating regularity as he lis- tened to Hertzel alternate between arrogance and squirm. Enrico, EstaphanPs specialist in pest control, stood at the door, a big, shiny-suited statue L cold, smart, and very predictable. The senator was working EstaphanPs side of the tracks, following the party line. He presented a new, secretive attitude to an old business part- ner, letting Hertzel roast slowly, while he put ef- fort into assuring Enrico knew where his loyalty lay. MWe picked MWe picked him up at the ship this morning.N Hertzel talked while he took a seat on the couch across the room. MCharleyPs driving him back, tak- ing him to his trailer on South Padre.N The strain was starting to show on HertzelPs face. MThey got
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him to a doctor in New Orleans, patched him up.N He watched Enrico the executioner out of the corner of his eye. MItPs all hushed, senator.N — 154 — MHow do you know?N The senatorPs pencil tap- ping picked up the tempo. MWePve got a lot of peo- ple still knowing about this.N Hertzel was shuffling. MWe can take care of the boys on the ship. No problem. TheyPre no- bodies. TheyPre no- bodies. NobodyPs going to notice.N The senator surveyed the shuffle. MWhat about your ace idiot Morgan?N MCharley called me from the highway a few hours ago. They should be in early tomorrow morning.N Hertzel got into his positive mode. MHePs okay. We can hide him out.N Hertzel said it like it was good news. MHePll be okay.N The senator questioned the intelligence of HowiePs continuing good health. He waited for Hertzel to absorb
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it before moving on. MWhat about the doctor?N MThe gunshot wound? Is it going to end up in a up in a police report?N MDonPt worry,N Hertzel said. MWe own the doc- tor. HePs a quack, no license, no need to report anything.N The senator snapped the pencil, as it slammed hard on the desk. MYou get some quack addict to patch him? We shouldnPt worry? You better start worrying, Hertzel!N He pulled his giant frame from the chair as the storm in his eyes headed to- wards rage. MI donPt want any loose ends here, Hertzel. Neither does Houston. TherePs the doc- tor. And the other two L the ones still on the ship.N The senator was almost talking to himself now. His voice had gone soft and wishful, as and wishful, as if it was his Christmas list. He glanced
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quietly be- — 155 — tween Hertzel and Enrico. MSome people might even consider adding your name to the list of loose ends.N Hertzel had clarification now. The implication was obvious. MYouPve given us quite a list of loose ends here, Hertzel.N The senator sat down. An eerie and powerful calm settled on him, as if he could crush Hertzel just with the words. MI guess a lot de- pends on how you handle yourself from here on in. How well you take care of some of these loose ends yourself.N Hertzel lifted himself from the couch, his eyes moving more than they should. MRelax, senator. ThisPll get sorted out. get sorted out. I already arranged for this Bobby character to take care of the Mexican.N The senator saw he was looking to get off the list. MOnce hePs back, wePll take care of him.N MAnd
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Howie? WePre going to have Lloyds and the cops all over everything before this is over.N The senator leaned back, his arms behind his head. MThis Howie character is a loose cannon, Hertzel.N MLike I said, HowiePs on his way back now. I can take care of it. No problem.N MDonPt rush it on Howie.N The senator kept his mind on business. MYou said there were loose ends? The cops. Lloyds. We donPt want We donPt want him dis- appearing too mysteriously, too soon.N The sena- tor let the message linger. MSend him to the farm for a holiday. He wonPt get suspicious. HePs been there before.N The senator smiled, feeling a little more as if hePd gotten everybody in place. MTell — 156 — him we got new whores up there.N He glanced over for EnricoPs silent approval. EstaphanPs man just kept staring. MNo problem,
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Senator. IPll make sure Howie tidies everything up before I cut him loose to you. Yeah, loose ends. I had two calls waiting for me when I got back here. Some New OrleansP cop.N He pointed to the document on his desk. MAnd Lloyds.N The Lloyds.N The senator picked it up. MThey didnPt have a copy. WePve got HowiePs.N The senator looked at it, kept listening. MI faxed them a copy already.N Hertzel smiled. MIt seems this Robert Forster never made it back.N Nobody joined the humor wave, an intentional omission. MNo loose ends Hertzel.N The senator stayed tunnel-visioned. MNone.N MOkay. Okay. We keep Howie to talk to them.N Hertzel had the theme. MHePs okay when hePs straight. He can pull it off.N MThen hePs gone.N The senator still didnPt look up from the document. MA vacation to the farm. A permanent one.N When he did
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look up, it was to imply the meeting imply the meeting was about over. MIPve got to get a ten oPclock flight back to Austin. IPll get this sit- uation back to Houston.N He headed for the door- way. MGet me this doctorPs name and whereabouts. Tomorrow morning.N He was on his way out, Hertzel trailing him. MNo loose ends.N They got outside. Hertzel stood at the car door as the senator climbed in. MWhat about the goon, Henry? I donPt want him around. He makes me — 157 — nervous.N MHePs here to keep an eye on things, Hertzel.N The senator gave him solid eye contact as he set- tled onto the seat. MI donPt blame you for being nervous.N you for being nervous.N He enjoyed the discomfort, figured it was time Hertzel got a feel for heat. MBe good to
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him. HePs got a lot to say about your future.N The door closed as the window lowered. Hertzel followed the beckoning crook of the sena- torPs finger from the open window. Up close, he grabbed Hertzel by the throat like a vice and pulled him against the window frame, cracking his glasses against his forehead. His voice was low and cruel. MWePve got some problems here, Hertzel. People will die to take care of your fuck- ing greed. ItPs very inconvenient, doesnPt look good.N Spit hit Hertzel in hit Hertzel in the face, MYou should really start worrying about ending up with your balls up your ass.N Hertzel gagged for breath as the senator re- leased him, holding his throat, and wiping spit from his face. His twisted glasses fell to the gravel as the car disappeared into the darkness. MYou cocksucker!N The senator didnPt hear,
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he was too busy smil- ing. The shaft broke loose somewhere close to mid- night; right after the faulty radio check with the tug gave a garbled weather warning. The scream- ing didnPt start right away, not until the free-spin- ning shafts had burned off most of the oily sludge — 158 — in the engine room, depriving her of makeshift lu- brication. of makeshift lu- brication. The eerie increase of the noise and vibration finally started to pull him back from sleep. It had a supernatural quality to it, distant yet immedi- ate. It was as if she was crying to him to set her free L cut the cables, abandon her, let her go her way. That part of it bothered him most L when he got to thinking shePd come alive, had taken hold on her destiny. She walked right into his head
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and found the power to cry aloud to him, only to him, and to no one else. It frightened and strengthened him at the same time. In that moment he jerked himself awake and shook with the shook with the peculiar shivers running through him. He checked his watch. He would like to think he shivered from the weather change, the spitting rain, but he knew better. It was four oPclock. He thought with re- lief that night wouldnPt hold him forever. It al- ways ended. Soon L he would look at her soon. Gomez wasnPt moving. Bobby picked up the two-way and tried the tug for some outside contact. He heard only static crackle, but still felt almost in touch. He kept on it until they finally came back to him, broken up but audible. The captain is sleeping, he was told. Bobby insisted on
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speaking with him. They shut the radio down on him while they went to pull their skipper out their skipper out of bed. He waited and the bad crackle of the two-way came back. The irritated captain reiterated the — 159 — obvious L they were doing five knots, the pres- sure from the props must have snapped the shaft chains. He promised to reduce speed, investigate, and repair at first light. There was no point stop- ping now, Bobby thought he heard the message. It was too dark to see or do anything. The tug signed off and Bobby still didnPt want to be alone in the dark. The kid in him wanted the covers over his head, feet tucked safely under the blanket edges. He decided to check in with Gomez. He suspected the Mexican knew. Gomez spoke before Bobby
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Gomez spoke before Bobby made the move. He had a way of reading BobbyPs thoughts. MYou hear eh, Bubby. She break loose, Bubby. She angry Lady.N Gomez rolled onto his back, slowly. MShe talk now, eh Bubby?N Bobby nodded invisibly in the darkness. MEsto no esta bueno. We stop. We wait. No sail now. She burn, catch fire sure.N MThey no stop, Gomez,N His English was work- ing like Gomez, Mslow down until light.N Bobby sat in discomfort and yet enjoyed the company. MThen we fix.N MToo fast.N Gomez was a realist. MChains no hold, we burn.N He wiped rain from his face. MWeather, Bubby, esta face. MWeather, Bubby, esta mal.N They sat there in silence, swaying with the spreading roll of The Lady against the waters. They listened as plumes of spray banged off her sides, feeling the slow build of the wind through the
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rigging and the rain against their faces. They tried to gauge its growth. Twenty minutes passed before Bobby got up, — 160 — his body rigid and unnatural. He rose as if God talked to him, startling Gomez. The Mexican watched as Bobby turned and headed astern. His words rolled back from him. MIPm going to look, IPve got to see what shePs doing.N The noise grew around noise grew around him as he moved to- wards it, his motion unsteady from the seas, his footing uncertain in the rain. Three quarters of the way astern he smelled the sear drifting out of her engine room. It chilled him. The faint beam of the flashlight at the top of the hatch outlined the smoky shadows drifting up and slipping out into the cool of the Gulf. He felt heat rising out of her, too. The heat
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and smoke combined with the anguished whine, making him decide to wait for better light. He waited, spending the time thinking what might still be down there to burn. He remem- bered lots of sludgy oil. Once the water was gone shePd get hot enough to catch fire, that was a cer- tainty. was a cer- tainty. The thought didnPt soothe him. He climbed into another door in his head, the empty room. He came back when the sky started breaking red to the east. He couldnPt wait any longer, and raised the tug, telling them he was ready L al- ready below, ready to work. HePd say anything to get shut down and stop the scream. He killed a few more minutes with the thought. The smoke didnPt let up but the sound fell off to less than intermittent. The silence cheered him. In a
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world of no mercies, neutrality made him happy. No noise meant no friction, no — 161 — no — 161 — heat, less chance of her exploding into flame while he was below. The lower he went the more it stunk L fresh burn. She made very little noise now, just tiny, whimpering sounds, coming with the absent roll and pitch. It was just bright enough to give him phantoms everywhere. The light picked up a little through the engine room vents, the smoke drifting up thick in free swirling shadows against it. There was little vis- ibility and breathing was almost impossible. He tied his kerchief across his face, something he should have done sooner. Acrid smoke slid into his lungs with every breath. He pulled the ker- chief tighter, wadded chief tighter, wadded part of it into his mouth, and
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sucked slow, shallow breaths. This did nothing to help the sting against his eyes. He waded thick-legged and blind to the shaft. There was no chain anywhere. The slime was thicker now, the water evaporated from the fric- tion. He worried theyPd start moving while he was wrapping the shaft. He had no plans to turn into ground beef. There was already too much absent roll in the shafts just from her pitch. He immersed himself in the effort, gagging and swallowing crap. Coughing up sludge, he worked submerged on the bottom of the shaft. He looked for chain. for chain. His fingers slid against the point where the links had parted from stress. Some of it he managed to double link. With some of it he reset the shackles to allow less play under pres- sure. It took him twenty minutes before he knew he
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— 162 — must leave or lose consciousness. He was almost blind now. It would have to do. He started to be- lieve he was going to die there. He tumbled across the shafts and groped himself onto the catwalk, certain he had left it too long. All thoughts left him but the quest for air. Each step transformed him until he saw him- self as a demon, at home in it, coming in it, coming from there to the world above. He floated in the imagery, until he neared the top and fell against the hatch- way, sliding back, losing consciousness. He was dying when the Lady took him, carried him the last tiny distance as a mother would her child. Lying on the deck, he searched to find con- sciousness but couldnPt. He collapsed in exhaus- tion, his body caring for itself, running on
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automatic. His lungs let go oil and smoked water. His mind had exited; gone to visit Tanya, to talk to her, ask her about school and her pretty dress. Did she miss him today? Time passed, minutes, days maybe. days maybe. He stayed with his daughter, smiling. He saw her wide eyes the first time he ever took her aboard ship. She was a lady of ships, his daughter, like the lady in every ship, the strength, the dignity, the honor. The tightness around his heart gave way as his lungs loosened their atrophy. He felt the rain on his face, and the conscious part of his mind found him. Keep breathing, it said. Get to your knees. Get to your daughter. It took time before he stood on shaky legs, still coughing, and spitting slime. He staggered his way forward, noticing the worsening weather and
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— 163 — the increased roll and skid of of the Lady as he worked harder for his footing. He hadnPt expected anything else. He found Gomez awake and more alert. HePd been securing their shelter a little. MEstas muerto, Bubby?N His eyes took in the spectacle of someone back from the dead or head- ing to it. MEres muy macho, Bubby.N It perked him to have somebody notice the wear and tear. The effort hadnPt been in complete obscurity. MYou a filthy man too, Bubby.N Gomez smiled. Bobby squatted as Gomez stood. MI help now, amigo.N He flexed his good arm. MStrong now.N He grinned. He tried a Mr. Universe posture with his torso and slipped back into the back into the pain mode. He tried to hide it as he forced his bad arm up again. MNo pain.N He fell
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isolate the humans
isolate the humans of Tramora; however, rather than oppose his brother, Sytherek had implemented a private backup plan. Taking proto-queens and placing them along Syraqua’s northern shores, he’d created a defense against human incursion. As many years passed, his attention was drawn away by other concerns, and the hives had been left to their own devices. Only one guardian hive survived, near Jozin’s survived, near Jozin’s Peak. In a strange turn of fate, that lone colony had grown to unusual magnificence in isolation; it had even attempted to fulfill its intended destiny, thwarted only by Symurall’s intercession on behalf of Kaylen’s people. Yet in their defeat, the kehklik had demonstrated unexpected, original, strategic thought – proof that a key existed to unlock the sentience of the kehklik. Sytherek treasured that discovery, grudgingly admitting gratitude – rather than annoyance – for his brother’s actions. He would find
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a way to
a way to recreate that key, and apply it to other hives. Other mysteries lacked answers as well. The finale of The Reckoning, the unprecedented and unique kehklik assault on humanity – that, too, required an explanation, in case he had need of such power. Sytherek’s deep thoughts were pleasantly interrupted by pleasantly interrupted by the arrival Vallahnoka, who found a comfortable spot near him, saying nothing as she lay down, eyes closed. “Your silence suggests annoyance with me,” Sytherek said. “I did not want to disturb you,” she replied. “These insects must be fascinating if they keep you away from me.” His tail snaked over to touch hers. “It is not just the kehklik,” she continued. “You have been distracted for a long time, even before Symurall’s pets arrived.” “I do not understand why he is fond of some small people.” Wrapping his tail around
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hers, Sytherek added,
hers, Sytherek added, “If I have neglected you, I regret doing so.” “Explain your obsession.” “The kehklik are on the verge of true awareness. Such things do not happen often in the universe.” 86 She looked She looked at him, clearly astonished. “Have you shared your thoughts with anyone else?” “No. I need a deeper understanding of kehklik history before I present my thesis to others. Assuming I tell anyone other than you, that is.” Before she could ask, he answered her obvious question. “I cannot predict how others of our kind will react to the concept. It is possible some may try to prevent the emergence of sentience.” “You care for the kehklik!” she said. “Yes I do.” “Then I will aid your research. On the conditions that you spend more time with me, and take Tyreon with you on your next journey.” “Tyreon is
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young.” “He is
young.” “He is strong, like his father. Do not underestimate him. Shortly, he will demonstrate his powers, demonstrate his powers, and join us as an adult.” “Your point is valid and I agree to your terms.” His tail squeezed hers. “What is your suggestion, my love?” “Visit the great turtles. Their leader, KhKhorrak, is ancient. He once lived far to the south, east of the See’ee’ah, on the delta islands where the kehklik originated.” “How do you know this? I have tried speaking to him before and it was not fruitful.” “I counsel patience,” she said. “I have conversed with him, though only briefly. He claims that you did not approach him with respect. KhKhorrak is much like an ancient dragon. Keep that in mind, and you may have more success.” “I will go. Thank you for the advice.” “When you finish with the turtle,” she
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said, “Come home,
said, “Come home, be with me, and think me, and think of how you can include your eldest son in your adventures.” At least Kudric could find spies with skill, Alanora thought, insulted by the ineptitude of the man following her; he was trying to blend in with other people in the market, and failing miserably. He’d been dogging her footsteps for hours, ever since lunch. In the days since their first meeting, she and Ezra had been getting together at mid-day; she’d come to enjoy the conversations, his almost puppy-like eagerness to learn more about the world, and his insights into Caerelon’s political web. She felt guilty using their conversations to glean an inside view of the Prime Minister’s machinations. Ezra was a good soul, she’d decided, and his company was pleasant. In was pleasant. In spite of protests to the
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contrary, he was
contrary, he was obviously smitten 87 with her. Certainly, she liked him, but not in the way he wanted her to. As for stray thoughts she kept having about Kaylen… smirking, Alanora formulated a plan to escape her shadow. She explored the merchant’s produce, testing mushrooms for freshness, buying a moonapple and eating it while walking. Slowly, she moved away from the center of the market, toward an unlit area once used by a young girl during games of hide-and-seek. When people moved in front of the stalker, she darted into a side room. It held stacks of crates and barrels; she almost didn’t find the covert entrance. The pressure points still worked, much to worked, much to her relief. The door slid inward and to one side. Jumping through, she pressed her body into the darkness, waiting for the entrance to automatically close. The original
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purpose of the
purpose of the secret passages was a mystery. Perhaps, she thought, it was simply a dwarven habit to build hidden ways through their dwellings. For the moment, she was grateful to have an escape from prying eyes. She followed the illuminated line in the center of the floor. It was green and brighter than the skymoss used in the main caverns; even so, the smooth walls of the tunnel seemed to absorb the light, and she moved slowly, cautiously. Dust puffed as she walked, and her dress was being ruined. The thought pleased her. The guide line ended. Alanora crouched; the floor was the floor was damp. The moss had died ahead of her. From memory, she guessed that a major junction was nearby, where a short tunnel that would lead to an exit. Slowly, her hand on the right wall, she moved ahead, relying on
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twenty-year-old memories. Alanora
twenty-year-old memories. Alanora took one turn, then another, and found a dead-end. Back tracking, she expected to see the faint glow of the moss on the floor. After several turns, she cursed her own stupidity and moved on. Finally, a light ahead heralded an exit. She stepped into an unrecognized corridor, wide, with simple decoration. This has to be north of the market, she told herself. To the right, in the distance, a simple stone door waited at the far end of the passage. It was vaguely familiar; her internal compass suggested that compass suggested that it would lead somewhere familiar. In the other direction, closer, a pair of carved red-granite doors stood. The patterns were distinctly dwarven. Metal spikes, driven crudely around the sides and bottom of the door, kept something inside. Thick dust told her that the act of vandalism had occurred in the
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distant past. A
distant past. A sledge hammer lay carelessly in a corner, forgotten by whoever had sealed the door. Dark curiosity outweighed common sense. Alanora picked up the hammer, and knocked aside spikes, one by one, working out her frustrations with Caerelon’s other secrets. Some took several strikes before they loosened. She didn’t worry about anyone hearing her; if the other end of the corridor opened where she expected, there was no one nearby. 88 The last spike The last spike removed, she set the tool aside, and pulled the handle again. Surprisingly quiet, the door swung toward her. Inside, a familiar white-blue light greeted her. When she saw the round room below layered balconies, she wondered if the door had opened into Caerelon. Several people sat on the floor by the door. She stifled a cry. The sunken eyes, tattered skin clinging closely to bone… these were
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corpses. Many of
corpses. Many of them. Alanora stepped back, steeled her nerves, and moved forward. A quick examination of the skeletons by the door sent shivers through her body. Stocky, thick-boned, too few ribs… it was a dwarf. They were all dwarves. Hundreds of them, scattered as far as she could see, alone or in piles large and small. Was that a Was that a child’s body in one collection? Looking back, she saw deep scars on the inside of the doors. Had the dwarves been unable to dig their way out of the trap? Who had locked them in… Alanora ran away, not in fear, but anger. She hurried to the opposite end of the corridor, through the stone door, slamming it behind her. Breathing heavily, another room of the dead greeted her. These, however, were her kin, former leaders of Caerelon, interred in neat sarcophagi, so
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incongruous with the
incongruous with the casual murder she’d just discovered. “Which one of you gave the order?” she demanded, looking from one gilded coffin to the next. “Did you have the courage to lock them in yourself?” No one answered. Looking back, there was no obvious way to reopen the door she’d the door she’d just passed through. That didn’t surprise her; as a child, she’d visited the tombs during her clandestine excursions, and the door had always been a mystery. Nearby, a winding stair had been her route to freedom and the castle outside. Down a long tunnel in the opposite direction, another door would open in a quiet family shrine near her chambers. She considered running away, going back to her travels with Norgrim and Tohkay, maybe even joining the refugees in Tornaval. A certain sailor was a strong, unexpected lure. Duty called her back to
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Caerelon. Sytherek had
Caerelon. Sytherek had little trouble finding KhKhorrak. The great turtle, a hundred feet long and sixty wide, foraged openly among long plants growing in shallows between sandy islands. Six-legged, brown and Six-legged, brown and deep blue, with teal highlights on his shell, his neck stretched so his 89 elongated head could grab mouthfuls of vegetation, KhKhorrak was surrounded by many smaller versions of himself. Hoping he was being polite, Sytherek landed on a nearby sandbar, as close to the turtle as he could get without standing in the grassy water. “Greetings,” said the turtle in draconic, its voice low, pleasant. It did not look at the dragon, but continued pulling up clumps of grass and swallowing them. Sytherek lifted his head in surprise. “Greetings as well. I have tried to talk to you many times before, and you never replied. What is different now?” The turtle
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lifted its head
lifted its head to look directly at look directly at the dragon. He blinked. “Your mate is very nice,” the turtle said. “And you did not step in my food this time.” “Ah,” said Sytherek. “I shall be very careful in the future.” “You came with a question,” the turtle continued. “No one ever comes to KhKhorrak without a question. I like it that way.” “Please tell me about the kehklik.” The turtle was rock-still for a brief moment. When he spoke again, KhKhorrak’s voice had a sharper tone to it. “Only one other dragon has asked me about the kehklik, and he destroyed them.” “The kehklik are not destroyed,” Sytherek replied. “Thousands live –” “Something may be destroyed and still live!” KhKhorrak interrupted. Then, in calmer tones, he asked, “What has happened to the kehklik recently? One of the forest people was here
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sixty-eight was here
sixty-eight was here sixty-eight days ago, also asking questions about them.” “Forest people?” Sytherek asked. “Do you mean See’ee’ah?” “Yes, a resident of the great rift jungle. His name was Tohkay Ahtok.” “Fascinating.” “If you say so. What is your interest in the kehklik?” “They are becoming sentient,” Sytherek said. “I wish to understand their origins, and perhaps help them.” The turtle rumbled in laughter. “The arrogance of dragons!” it said. “Yet you amuse me. Where should my telling start?” “How were the kehklik destroyed?” “They have been sentient before!” declared the turtle. “Three thousand, two hundred and seventy one years ago, another dragon destroyed their mind, turning them into simple creatures.” “Who?” Sytherek suspected he knew the answer. “His name was Garthonnex.” 90 Jennur watched 90 Jennur watched the children leave the classroom. The day had gone well, by most measures; in the
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few days since
few days since opening the school, he’d done little formal teaching. His focus had been on letting the children express their concerns and ask questions, providing the best answers he could. Jennur didn’t care if those answers would have annoyed Kaylen; the sailor and his friends paid little or no attention to children. He savored the irony: They had handed him the opportunity to mold young minds. “Bishop Ott?” a female voice asked. He looked up, and saw a middle-aged blond woman standing in the doorway. “I am he,” said Jennur. “Please come in, Magister Rahnor. I’d been told of been told of your arrival. It’s good to meet you in person.” “Please, call me Danelle,” she said, striding into the room. She looked over the simple benches, the few supplies he’d managed to scrounge. “You’ve done well with limited resources, bishop.” “I do what I
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can under the
can under the circumstances,” Jennur said coolly. “I am surprised that you’re alone. The town is somewhat… unstable at times.” “I was escorted to your door,” said Danelle. “They will return in a few moments.” “And why did you want to see me in private, then?” asked Jennur suspiciously. “Please forgive me, but my time in this new country has not fostered trust in others.” “Your attitude is understandable. I just spent the day observing the people who think they are in charge.” Her voice contained a hint of humor. Jennur hint of humor. Jennur looked at her suspiciously. “Maybe you’re here to spy on me, or maybe we have common interests.” He bent to collect writing materials from where the children had been sitting. “Let me put your concerns at ease,” she said pleasantly. “Kaylen Thyr is an adventurer. So are his friends. For them,
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survival is a
survival is a game. I have a more serious plan for the future, and seek allies who might help me. Since you and I are part of the same theocratic structure, we might have a great deal in common.” Jennur stood slowly, facing away from her, placed the pencils and papers in a small box. When he looked at her again, his eyes were intense. “We were part of a theocracy. In one fell moment, our beliefs and homes were swept homes were swept away, dropping us into the laps of insidious creatures. I do not believe that our good captain was simply lucky when he befriended his strange allies. Nor am I convinced that the death of our homeland is entirely 91 natural.” He noted the look in her eyes. “Think me paranoid if you wish. You were herded to Tornaval by a dragon, were
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you not?” “I
you not?” “I hadn’t thought of it quite that way.” “It’s not just dragons,” Jennur continued. “In the castle, dwarves dig into our past, stealing our heritage! What are they hiding in the northern reaches of the courtyard? Kaylen and his friends haven’t asked, or won’t tell what they’ve learned. No, Magister, I am Magister, I am not the crazed old man of their imagination.” Danelle looked thoughtful for a moment. “It seems,” she said, “that we have much to discuss.” Symurall enjoyed the journey to Irramar, long as it was. He flew south, across his home mountains, into dwarven territory. He assumed Kyazura, long associated with dwarves, understood why the artificial constructs became more geometric with proximity to the capitol city of Darnok. Wild rivers from the mountains became straight canals; instead of going around hills, roads in the inner regions passed straight as arrows
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through neatly- flattened
through neatly- flattened lands. Norgrim and the dwarves at Tornaval came from the wild and diverse frontier city of Norokden. The dragon wondered if he would like dwarves from the ordered regions. He’d never regions. He’d never met any. His path crossed a vast lake; through the crystal-clear waters, he saw schools of colorful fish swimming amid huge crystals. To the south, he caught his first glimpse of jagged black mountains, spurring him to greater speed; he had plenty of reserve energy. Leaving behind dry hills and scrub forest, he entered a volcanic land; sharp glassy peaks and deep valleys had been created in a matter of days during the remarkable rescue of the dwarves. Three thousand years had not been enough time for nature to recover, even with help. The great rip in the world was home to his parents, ancient dragons who had chosen
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to spend their
to spend their later years healing the wounds of Narrahnjarra’s generosity. Family found Symurall quickly, as siblings, nephews, nieces, and in-laws felt his in-laws felt his arrival and came to hail him. They were typical dragons, those who stayed in a home range, never venturing far, living stable lives. He was the unusual one, a son who had gone away to make a separate life in the outer world. Irramar was his birthplace – but it was not truly his home anymore. Tossing stories and “hellos” to those he met, Symurall flew straight for the presence he sought. 92 Morgrannon – his full name was hundreds of complex syllables long – rested at the edge of a caldera, working on an epic poem about another world. The volcano was only slightly active; the surrounding rock was warm, but not molten or not
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molten or violent;
molten or violent; a steady breeze carried the few noxious fumes away. The perch provided both warmth and a view of the great scarlet dragon’s realm. Twice as big as Symurall, with remarkable black horns on his neck and back, he pulled his wings closer to leave room on the ledge for the visitor. “You have been gone too long,” said the ancient dragon. “It is good to see you, father,” said Symurall, landing lightly beside him. “Is mother nearby?” “She is not. Yssahjorna is three valleys south and west of here, watching a new forest grow. It was planted with seeds descended from the lost world. Oak, elm, and maple, among others.” “Her work has progressed so far?” Symurall said with surprise. “I have been gone for a long time.” “Twenty-three years, eighty-seven “Twenty-three years, eighty-seven days,” Morgrannon intoned. “Not very long, really. Your sister
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comes more often,
comes more often, your brother less. It is not a matter for concern. Tell me what brought you to us.” “Humans.” “We are aware of the recent cataclysm. Since the people of Novalion are safe and healthy, I assume that you are talking about the residents of Tramora.” “Tramora was destroyed by vast eruptions, much like the ones that created this scar. In this case, the cause appears to be natural. Most of the humans were killed. Very few survived to land on the shores of my domain. That is where the complications begin. I am uncertain of how to proceed.” “I feel that your hatred for them has abated.” “It has. I wanted to know more about why you and mother have and mother have been so fond of humans over the years, and why you brought them to Syraqua.” The red dragon stretched. “They
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are a complex
are a complex species, difficult to quantify. At its finest, humanity is magnificent. Such is not always evident; it is too easy to miss the good amid the bad. Through their bloody, mad history, humans have somehow progressed, becoming greater with each generation. Never underestimate humanity; never forget that, flawed as they are, the universe would be less for their passing.” Symurall was quiet for a moment, contemplating. “I have seen glimmerings of what you say,” he said. “I now must decide how to involve myself in human affairs.” Morgrannon nodded. “Your entire story will take much time, I assume?” “Yes.” 93 “Then I will “Then I will stop working on my poem, and listen. If you have come to me, the situation must be troubling.” Symurall arched an eyebrow. “Is this the poem about the human home planet? Where you once lived? Didn’t you start
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writing it before
writing it before I was born?” “And I will be working on it when this mountain is cold,” Morgrannon said. He shifted his great bulk into a very comfortable position. “Now, tell me everything, including how your sister and brother are doing.” Another week had passed, and Kaylen almost let himself hope that people would survive its own idiosyncrasies. The fishing fleet was at sea; the docks were prepared to receive the catch when they returned. Jennur’s school seemed to be seemed to be a success. More houses had roofs, and more building materials would soon be trickling into town. On this afternoon, Kaylen rode a horse slowly toward the castle. He’d spent the past two days helping with the quarry and lumber mill run by Torin Hanso. The blacksmith seemed to have inexhaustible energy and knowledge of practical matters, from the construction of a water-powered
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saw to demonstrating
saw to demonstrating the art of splitting limestone. Letting dozens of people live ten leagues from the safety of the city had seemed risky; after seeing Torin in action, Kaylen decided that any kehklik would regret inconveniencing the smith. The horse was one of only a dozen that had survived from Tramora. It was a big animal, probably a light draft horse in its former life. It had taken to him immediately, to him immediately, and he named it Borrus. Kaylen wondered if naming the animal had been a mistake; he hated to think of it as his horse. In idle moments, he formulated plans to tame the wild horses on the nearby plains. It sounded like an interesting challenge. Of course, dragons thought of horses as tasty meals – he would need to work that out with Symurall. He entered the castle courtyard, dismounted, and
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In turn, Kyazura
In turn, Kyazura shared her observations, and Sytherek described the destruction of Tramora in vivid detail. The others listened, some thoughtful, others seemingly bored. “You suspect humans have complicity in the destruction of their homeland,” Symurall said, speaking to Narrahnjarra. He moved aside, relinquishing the center to the golden dragon. “That is possible,” she began. “A similar event from my own past may shed light on the matter. Twenty-nine hundred and eighteen years ago, before many of you came here, Garthonnex and I were surveying the sentient species of the galaxy. There are so few, and each is part of understanding ourselves and the universe itself…” “In your opinion,” Sytherek interrupted darkly. “Indeed,” drawled Yvarrtasah. “Yet I must caution against disrespecting your elders, Sytherekkor-oran-issikkar…” She rumbled his entire name; the
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grey-purple dragon bowed
grey-purple dragon bowed his head slightly, and was silent. “On one dream walk, I discovered the dwarves,” Narrahnjarra continued. “Living on a dying planet, they had moved their civilization underground, away from the searing light of their expanding star. Garthonnex determined that their time was almost at an end. We found a way to save them, by building harmonic gateways, such as our ancestors used to 37 come to this world. At the time, my knowledge of crystalline dynamics was rudimentary. I could not have succeeded without the help of a dwarven woman named Istona; together, she and I constructed a dozen gateways and found their songs. On Syraqua, I opened the gateways in the mountains northeast of Wyvernrift,
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the kind of
the kind of issue worth dying over, except maybe to Lloyds. He moved deeper into her stern section, his in- tuition seemed to get stronger the longer he stayed below decks. More relaxed with it now, he actually started to enjoy the company. Ships and the sea L you have to be part of it to understand. Women never seem able to relate. At least none hePd ever met. And it only affected certain men. Robert Forster had given him that feeling, just passing him on deck. Gomez had it too, but in a different way. Gomez, Bobby figured, had that kind of karmic re- lationship with everything in his life.
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Bobby could see
Bobby could see the depth in Gomez, but just couldnPt get in- side it. He was a man close to his roots, at times eating them to stay alive, probably. From atop the walkway gratings he could see the chains taut, locked on, bitching and grating noises coming from them as they bound against the torque of the shafts. It was the grotesque king of scream only steel on steel could make, but to Bobby it could just as easily be The Lady. He fig- ured the chains were strong enough, but didnPt — 145 — want to think about the power of an ocean tug pulling them in the open Gulf. The beam from his flashlight ran across the shafts, dancing hastily
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across the bloodstains
across the bloodstains on the burned-up electrical panel. Somebody should wash them off, he thought. He figured that was HowiePs job as his eyes carried him unaware to the dark water where Forster died. Seeing it, he flicked the beam off and cringed as the experience washed over him. He saw part of ForsterPs face splatter on him again. He tried to make every- thing still. Still, the sight remained, as if the experience was all that was ever there. Inside the absolute darkness of his mind he saw it. There wasnPt a lot you could do when the picture wouldnPt turn off, when black was the medium. And it got spooky quickly for Bobby L surreal.
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To escape, he
To escape, he had to leave. His eyes were only half open as he started his way along and up the inside companionway. He worked to calm himself while his pace quickened. Think simple, he told himself, make it nothing L the way it was when youPre a kid and the crocodiles are going to bite your foot if you donPt get it up into bed and under the covers. Or snakes. Bobby always preferred crocodiles. They were slower, bigger, and noisier, too. It didnPt help. His heart pounded and the companionway stayed dark. The motion of the ship cooperated. The ominous sounds of the grating chain became her voice as the elements around him combined in
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— 146 —
— 146 — a strange unity. He felt her at his feet with each rung of the walkway, not wanting him to leave without the promise, reminding him with each step. The promise. She demanded it. The prom- ise to avenge her. His fear got him topside, into the late after- noon sun, into the world above, light and life. Leaning heavily on the stern rail, he watched the dead wake curl out from under her. He took all the time he needed to catch himself. For want of something to put in his head he noticed she sat a little deeper in her stern. It wasnPt much, but
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it helped. Somebody working the
it helped. Somebody working the deck of the stern tug waved from the distance. He raised his arm ab- sently, as Gomez slipped back into his mind. He wanted to check on him, get some human contact. He realized if Gomez died hePd get the money for nothing. On the way he stopped off in the crewPs quar- ters beneath the stern wheelhouse and scrounged some partially decayed blankets, heading out through the ransacked galley. There was nothing to take there; it had been stripped of everything. Back at the forecastle, Gomez appeared to be sleeping. Bobby checked him to be sure it was just sleep. Satisfied he was not yet alone, he spread two blankets over his friend, trying to slide
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a go.\ \
a go.\ \ Really?\ Kade asked, her tone a shade too ingenuous, but not so much so that the other two women suspected subtle mockery. \ Much better than an actor,\ Silvetta said, and jerked her head in the direction of the tavern entrance. The actor who played the Arlequin stood there talking to one of the tavern-keeps, having just come in from the street. He was darkly handsome, clean-shaven after the current fashion in Adera, and didn t look at all like the other actors who played clowns. After a moment, Kade said, \ How well do you know him?\ Silvetta answered, \ He s new. Baraselli hired him last month when the other Arlequin died.\ Kade glanced at her. \ Was he an old
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man?\ \ Oh,
man?\ \ Oh, no, all our clowns are young. He died of a fever. It was very bad luck.\ The Arlequin had looked in their direction, and seemed to be staring at Kade. Corrine, who apparently had only one thought in her head, grinned and said, \ He likes you.\ Chapter Three 33 But Kade, who could read wolfish contempt in those dark eyes, snorted. \ Hardly,\ she said, and by sleight of hand managed to insinuate the card for future wealth into Silvetta s fortune. * * * Thomas had spent the afternoon checking on the progress of the inquiries he had set in motion last night, but the King s Watch had
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made little headway
made little headway so far. He had wanted to sound out Galen Dubell on the subject of his one time student Kade Carrion, but last night hadn t seemed the right moment after the sorcerer s rescue from three harrowing days as Urbain Grandier s prisoner. Galen Dubell had moved into the late Dr. Surete s old rooms, and Thomas found him there when the afternoon sun was glowing through the windows and filling the high-ceilinged room with light. The old Court Sorcerer had needed this room when his eyes had started to fail; the multipaned windows in the west wall took full advantage of the daylight. Gold-trimmed bookshelves covered the other walls and a globe still shielded by its protective leather cover stood in the corner. The rest of the furniture was buried under piles of more books and
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a fine layer
a fine layer of dust. When the servant led Thomas into the room, Dubell looked up from his writing desk and smiled. \ Captain.\ He was wearing a battered pair of gold-rimmed reading spectacles and open books were spread out on one side of the partners desk Dr. Surete had once shared with his assistant Milan. Thomas said, \ I wanted to thank you for what you did for my man last night. He would have died if you hadn t healed him.\ Dubell smiled. \ You are welcome, but I don t think that is the only thing you came to speak about. Please be direct.\ Well, well. Thomas leaned on a bookshelf and tipped his plumed hat back, finding himself more amused than discomfited. Directness was not something
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\ And now
\ And now for Bayswater and my shrinking young bride,\ he thought. \ I declare,\ he said, half aloud, with a forced laugh, \ I can sympathize, for the first time, with the fly who had a bid from the spider to walk into his parlor. Is there a roaring farce on anywhere?\ he asked the bar-tender. \ Yes, sir; a reg lar side-splitter at the Haymarket. You will ave time to take in the matinee and dinner at Broadlawns, Bayswater, too, sir.\ \ How the deuce did you know I was due there?\ \ Mr. Stone and Miss Villiers have called three times to look you up, sir.\ \ Indeed!\ \ Yes, sir; Mr. Stone, he came in, and Miss
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Villiers, she waited
Villiers, she waited outside in the trap.\ The mere mention of the people from Broadlawns having come to hunt him up, had such a depressing effect, that he abandoned all idea of distraction at the play. \ There is not a particle of use of my trying to sit through the farce with this thumping headache; have a hansom here for me in a couple of hours, to convey me to Broadlawns; I shall walk out and get a glimpse of the city.\ \ All right, thank you, sir.\ \ Some one hath it,\ he thought, entering Trafalgar Square, \ that the grand panacea, the matchless sanative which is an infallible cure for the blues, is exercise, exercise, exercise! so now for a trial; here goes for five miles
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an hour.\ On,
an hour.\ On, and ever onwards, with, and yet apart from, the stream of busy life, alone and lonely amidst the throngs not once staying his steps; winging his flight in the vain effort to flee from self, drifting on the waves of unrest, they engulfing him, his face white and worn as a ghost, his blue eyes weary and with a hunted look, a neuralgic headache driving him to the brink of madness; the panorama of wonderful sights on which, under other circumstances, he would have feasted his eyes. Peers of the realm, having gained notoriety in one way or another, passed unnoticed, with lovely women, from professional beauties reclining in their own carriages, whose toys were men s hearts, with the world as a stage, to the avowed actress, whose bright eyes looked from a hired equipage,
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who played for
who played for men s gold on the stage of the theatre; far-famed Regent Street was traversed with less interest than he would have accorded to Lombard Street, Toronto; for man loves freedom as a bird–there he was free, now he feels his fetters. CHAPTER VIII. \ Take care, sir,\ said a policeman, kindly. 63 \ Blockhead! it would serve him right to come to his senses under the feet of my horse,\ said the only occupant of a low carriage, in the voice of a shrew, as she drove on. At this juncture Cole shook himself to rights, as it were. \ She was ugly enough to give a fellow a scare, after our pretty Canadian women,\
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he said to
he said to the policeman. \ Oh, she isn t no type of what we can show you, sir; she s but small, but enough o her sort, say I.\ \ Ditto; and now be good enough to hail a cab for me.\ \ Yes, sir; here you are, and thank you, sir.\ \ To Morley s hotel.\ \ All right, sir.\ On reaching his destination he learned that Mr. Stone had driven in to ascertain whether he had arrived, when, on hearing that he had, but was out, had waited; when a lady, calling for him, had gone, leaving a note for him, which on opening read thus: \ DEAR BABBINGTON-COLE,–Am very pleased to hear of your safe arrival; have
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important business, so cannot
important business, so cannot wait; in fact arrangements for the immediate marriage of my niece to yourself; kindly come out at once, on your return. \ Yours sincerely, \ TIMOTHY STONE.\ \ The net is well laid,\ thought poor Cole; \ they are bound to rope me in; how strange it all seems; even my name sounds unfamiliar, having at home, in dear old Toronto, dropped the Babbington; but I must adorn myself for the altar.\ And once more he seeks retirement in his own chamber. \ Hang that evolution of a woman s corsets and curling tongs, viz., the modern dude! such a choking and tightening a fellow s throat and legs undergo; I wonder if my shrinking bride will expect me to kneel to her. Ah! there goes for a rip; under the
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save occasionally when
save occasionally when I have gone a-riding in the Sixth Avenue elevated, but it is my honest belief that my sword would promptly leave its scabbard if the hand ever waved from the ivied tower.\ 18 She nodded her pleasure in this avowal. For a chimney-doctor I was doing well. In fact, as I submitted to Miss Octavia s examination, I felt equal to charging a brigade single-handed. Something about the woman made it possible and pleasant to be absurd. \ If a king or an emperor of Europe should ask you to inspect his chimneys, would you be content to perform your service in the most expeditious and professional manner and depart with a nominal fee?\ \ Decidedly
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not, Miss Hollister.
not, Miss Hollister. On the other hand I should nurse the job for all it was worth, plunder the public treasury, explore the dungeons, make love to the princesses, and free the rightful heir to the throne from his cell beneath the bosom of the lake.\ My friends at the Hare and Tortoise would have heard this avowal with some surprise, for no man s life had ever been tamer than mine. I am by nature timid, and fall but a little short of being afraid of the dark. Prayers for deliverance from battle, murder, and sudden death cannot be too strongly expressed for me. My answer had, however, pleased Miss Octavia, and she clapped her hands with pleasure. \ Cecilia,\ she cried, \ something told me, that afternoon at the Asolando, that my belief in the
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potential seven was not
potential seven was not ill-placed, and now you see that in introducing myself to Mr. Ames at the seventh table from the door, in the seventh shop from Fifth Avenue, I was led to a meeting with a gentleman I had been predestined to know.\ As we talked further, a servant appeared and laid fresh logs across the still-smouldering fire. This I thought would suggest to Miss Hollister the professional character of my visit; but the fire kindled readily, the smoke rose freely in the flue; and Miss Hollister paid no attention to it other than to ask the man whether the fuel he had taken from a carved box at the right of the hearth was apple-wood from the upper orchard or cherry from a tree which, it appeared, she had felled herself. It was apple-wood, the man
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informed her, and
informed her, and she continued talking. The merits of chain-armor, I think it was, that held us for half an hour, Cecilia and I listening with respect to what, in my ignorance, seemed a remarkable fund of knowledge on this recondite subject. \ We dine at seven, Mr. Ames, and you may amuse yourself as you like until that hour. Cecilia, you may order dinner in the gun-room to-night.\ \ Certainly, Aunt Octavia.\ Once more I glanced at the girl, hoping that some glimmer in her eyes would set me right and establish a common understanding and sympathy between us; but she was moving out of the room at her aunt s side. The man who had tended the fire met me in the hall and, conducting me to my room, suggested various offices
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that he was ready
that he was ready to perform for my comfort. The house faced south, and my windows, midway of the east wing, afforded a fine view of the hills. The room was large enough for a chamber of state, and its furniture was massive. A four-poster invited to luxurious repose; half a dozen etchings by famous artists–Parrish and Van Elten among them–hung upon the walls; and on a table beside the bed stood a handsome decanter and glasses, reinforced by the quart of Scotch which Miss Hollister had recommended for my refreshment. My bag had been opened and my things put out, so that, there being more than an hour to pass before I need dress for dinner, I went below and explored the garden and wandered off along a winding path that stole with charming furtiveness toward a venerable orchard
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extraterrestrial race associated
extraterrestrial race associated with Dominion that possesses a reptilian type genetic structure. Astral – A type of spirit world for disembodied spirits awaiting rebirth. Astral Center – Centers in the third dimensional astral realm, where individuals are taken by agents of Dominion, for the purpose of receiving allotted karma, and prepared for their next life. Auric Capsule – See auric field Auric Field – The aura, which is made up of the Etheric Body (DNA Template), the Astral Body (Sparkling or Emotional Body), The Casual Body (Subconscious Mind), the Mental Body (Pure Mind Essence), and the Upper Etheric Energy Matrix. Bardo – An after-death state experienced by many, in which they float through the worlds of their unconscious. Bhagavad-Gita – A book of Hindu scripture. Bi Polar – A mental disorder with alternating periods of elation and depression. Causal Body – That
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portion of the
portion of the Auric Field which serves as the subconscious mind. Detachment – Not to be confused with indifference, detachment is a state of consciousness which allows the individual to experience life without the rollercoaster ride associated with emotional extremes. DNA Template – The “Etheric Double” which consists of a Sound Matrix, and serves as a template for the manifestation of the physical form and its DNA. Dominion – The god of this world, also known as Lucifer. Dracos – An extraterrestrial race, possessing the Dragon-Moth type genetic structure. This is an albino race, also known as the Draconians. Ego-Self – The physical consciousness which is separate from the Higher Self, that says “I did such and such yesterday, I’m doing this now, and I have such and such plans for tomorrow”. Einherjar – Literally, “Odin’s Chosen”. Mythologically, these were the battle-slain, who were
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escorted to Valhalla.
escorted to Valhalla. Today, they are available to assist those of us who can call upon them. Elder Futhark – The oldest known runic system of Northern Europe. Esoteric – Spiritual knowledge that has traditionally been reserved for those who become ready, and who are entering the priesthood. Evolution – A process of upward development, not to be confused with notions of humanity having evolved from apes. Exoteric – Religious teachings given to the masses that are designed to promote good behavior. Goyim – A Jewish term for all non-Jews, meaning “animals” or “cattle”. Great Abyss – The demarcation between the Spiritual Planes of the 13th, 14th, and 15th dimensional realms, and the material worlds of dualism. Hamingja – The Old Norse term for the Higher Self. Hamr – The Old Norse term for the DNATemplate. Harmonic Universe – A sub-universe,
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consisting of three
consisting of three dimensional realms and their astral planes. Higher Self – The higher aspect of the self, which is indigenous to the spiritual planes above the Great Abyss, and which is capable of guiding and directing us. This has been known variously, as the Soul, Spirit, the Holy Spirit, and the God within. Higher Will – Consists of Natural Law, the activities of the Silent Ones, and the “All”. Hugr – The Old Norse term for the Auric Field. Inner Sanctum – A place established within the Astral Body, where we can access our inner wisdom, peace, and the Higher Self. Karma – The result of a past deed, or an emotional reaction to environmental stimuli. This can also be seen as the result of the law of compensation. Macrocosm – The whole of a complex structure. Maya – Illusion. Mental
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liggers\ dangling
liggers\ dangling about them. The fishing and shooting on the Broad are, at present, open to all. This Broad is also much affected by the tide, as, notwithstanding its distance from the river, there are II. numerous connecting dykes permitting easy flow and re-flow of water. 11 Back in the yacht again, we reached Buckenham Ferry (ten and a half miles), a favourite angling rendezvous, with a railway station of the same name close by. A long row of trees on the left bank is the cause of daily trouble to wherrymen and sailormen, as it shuts off the wind. The man who plants trees by the side of a navigable river, where the navigation depends upon the wind, is the
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very reverse of
very reverse of a benefactor to mankind, and only selfishness or thoughtlessness can permit such an act. There is fair mooring for yachts just below the Inn, on the same side, but they must be kept well off the shore by poles, or as the tide ebbs they will strand and perhaps fall over. The Ferry Inn is noted for its comfort; and its limited staying accommodation is good. The fishing is very good both up and down the river, and there are good boats for hire for fishing purposes. The river now becomes very wide and deep, and the shoals near the banks, which abound in the higher reaches, are not so frequent. I would call the especial attention of the river authorities to the disgraceful state of the river as far as Buckenham Ferry. Each year
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the shoals and
the shoals and weeds increase, and the channel narrows, until in some places not more than a third of the river-width is available for the navigation. The natural consequence will be that the navigation must gradually cease to be made use of, as it becomes a matter of difficulty, and the railway will take the trade, which might be kept to the river if a more energetic care of the navigable stream were taken. This is a most serious matter, and ought to be attended to. [Picture: Langley Dyke] Next is Langley Dyke, near which are the reaches of the river where the principal regattas are held, and by the river side is Cantley Red House (fourteen miles). Cantley railway station is very close to the river, and as the water is deep close to the bank, and
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hardly succeed, for she
hardly succeed, for she is a queen!\ \ That is nothing!\ said the old folks; \ has she a house?\ \ She has a palace!\ said the ant–\ the finest ant s palace, with seven hundred passages!\ \ I thank you!\ said Mother Snail; \ our son shall not go into an ant-hill; if you know nothing better than that, we shall give the commission to the white gnats. They fly far and wide, in rain and sunshine; they know the whole forest here, both within and without.\ \ We have a wife for him,\ said the gnats; \ at a hundred human paces from here there sits a little snail in her house, on a gooseberry bush; she is quite lonely, and old enough to
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be married. It
be married. It is only a hundred human paces!\ \ Well, then, let her come to him!\ said the old ones; \ he has a whole forest of burdocks, she has only a bush!\ And so they went and fetched little Miss Snail. It was a whole week before she arrived; but therein was just the very best of it, for one could thus see that she was of the same species. And then the marriage was celebrated. Six earth-worms shone as well as they could. In other respects the whole went off very quietly, for the old folks could not bear noise and merriment; but old Dame Snail made a brilliant speech. Father Snail could not speak, he was too much affected; and so they gave them as a dowry and inheritance,
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the whole forest
the whole forest of burdocks, and said–what they had always said–that it was the best in the world; and if they lived honestly and decently, and increased and multiplied, they and their children would once in the course of time come to the manor-house, be boiled black, and laid on silver dishes. After this speech was made, the old ones crept into their shells, and never more came out. They slept; the young couple governed in the forest, and had a numerous progeny, but they were never boiled, and never came on the silver 12 dishes; so from this they concluded that the manor-house had fallen to ruins, and that all the men in the world were extinct; and as no one contradicted them, so, of course
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it was so.
it was so. And the rain beat on the dock-leaves to make drum-music for their sake, and the sun shone in order to give the burdock forest a color for their sakes; and they were very happy, and the whole family was happy; for they, indeed were so. ———— THE STORY OF A MOTHER A mother sat there with her little child. She was so downcast, so afraid that it should die! It was so pale, the small eyes had closed themselves, and it drew its breath so softly, now and then, with a deep respiration, as if it sighed; and the mother looked still more sorrowfully on the little creature. Then a knocking was heard at the door, and in came a poor old, man wrapped up as in a large horse-cloth, for
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\ Madam,\
\ Madam,\ spoke up the bearded stranger by the window, in a deep voice which made everybody jump, \ I will tell you what the men are doing–they are in the army, preparing themselves for the defense of their fatherland. Do you think it is of choice they leave the harvesting and street-cleaning and carrying of burdens to their mothers and wives and sisters? No; it is because for them is reserved a greater task–the task of confronting the revengeful hate of France, the envious hate of England, the cruel hate of Russia. That is their task to-day, madam, and they accept it with light hearts, confident of victory!\ There was a moment s silence. Mrs. Field was the first to find her voice. \ All the same,\ she said, \ that does
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not justify the
not justify the use of cows as draft animals!\ The German stared at her an instant in astonishment, then turned away to the window with a gesture of contempt, as of one who refuses to argue with lunatics, and paid no further heed to the Americans. With them, the conversation turned from war, which none of them really believed would come, to home, for which they were all longing. Home, Stewart told himself, means everything to middle-aged women of fixed habits. It was astonishing that they should tear themselves away from it, even for a tour of Europe, for to them travel meant martyrdom. Home! How their eyes brightened as they spoke the word! They were going through to Brussels, then to Ostend, after a look at Ghent and Bruges, and so to England and their boat.
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\ I intend
\ I intend to spend the afternoon at Aix-la-Chapelle,\ said Stewart, \ and go on to Brussels to-night or in the morning. Perhaps I shall see you there.\ Miss Field mentioned the hotel at which the party would stop. \ What is there at Aix-la-Chapelle?\ she asked. \ I suppose I ought to know, but I don t.\ \ There s a cathedral, with the tomb of Charlemagne, and his throne, and a lot of other relics. I was always impressed by Charlemagne. He was the real thing in the way of emperors.\ \ I should like to see his tomb,\ said Miss Field. \ Why can t we stop at Aix-la-Chapelle, mother?\ But Mrs. Field shook her head. \ We
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