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Page 100
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Not for the first time. How like the imprisonment on the ship this was, and
how dark the prospect had loomed then! Out of that he had risen, but to what?
A choice between Leece and this. A wave of misery swept across him, and then
he thought of Lalette, and her misery equal to his own, and maybe more.
But this was no help either, and he began to examine his prison,
finger-breadth by finger-breadth, for something that might take his mind away
from this procession of regrets and anxieties toward a future he could not
know. There were only accidents of the wall at first, in which he tried to
see pictures and carvings, making up a tale for himself, like those in the
ballads. This had not gone far when he came to a trace of writing which
looked as though someone had tried to wipe it out, for there were only a few
words to be read:
"Horv . . . in the month . . . only for lov . . . God."
A cryptic message, indeed; he tried to imagine the tale behind it, and how the
love of which these Amorosians forever gabbled had brought someone to this
cell. This caused him to ask himself whether it was really love for
Lalette that had brought him there; for that matter whether he loved her, and
what love was; and to none of these questions could he find a satisfactory
answer, because he kept comparing her with Maritzl and wondering whether the
emotion were the same. But this in turn brought a deep weariness; he flung
himself on the straw to rest and work the matter out; and so doing, fell into
an uneasy slumber product of his sleepless night in which he dreamed that
that world was ruled, not by the God he had been taught to believe in, nor
disputed by the two gods of whom the Amorosians spoke, but by three demons,
who sat in a closed space with smoke pouring from their mouths, and decided
what penalties should be exacted for witchery.
A key grated; he woke to see the trap being pulled back from without, and a
voice said roughly:
"Here's your banquet, my lord. The sweetmeats come with the dancing girls."
A plate was thrust through, with a pewter mug of water. On the former were
some vegetables, cold and sticky, and no table utensils, but Rodvard was in a
mood of hunger that forbade him to be over-nice and he ate, saving part of his
water to cleanse his fingers after the meal. It was hardly done before the
trap opened again, and the outer voice demanded; "The tools, pig-face.
The administration doesn't give souvenirs to its guests."
Rodvard passed the dishes through and seated himself again. Time ticked;
the light that had been fading when he woke was all gone, he had slept so much
that he could do so no more, and the uncertainty of his lot held him from
consecutive thought. Somewhere outside there was a thin cry and a sound of
feet. Then quiet again, but for the briefest space; and now another key
grated, in the main lock of his door. It was flung open; in the space stood a
small man and a dark, with no cap. Behind him, a smoky torch held by another
showed this first visitor to be holding a naked sword, that dripped, plash,
plash, on the stone.
"You are Bergelin?" he said. "I call myself Demadé Slair. The revolt has
begun. Have you the Blue Star safe?"
II
Questions whirled in Rodvard's mind, but the larger of the pair said;
"Hurry," and gripped him by the elbow like the guard who had brought him in,
dragging along the corridor.
"Wait!" said Rodvard, resisting. "There is another "
"We must hurry," said Demadé Slair. "You do not know how desperate a business
this is. We have had to kill."
"No. I will not leave her. She is my sweetheart; my witch."
"You have her here? Of the two of you, she is the more important! Where is
she?"
"At the third cell here, I think."
Without another word, Slair counted off. "The torch, Cordisso," and began to
Page 101
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
try keys from a chain of them. The big man advanced the torch, but the place
held only some babbling, furtive creature with white hair and idiot eyes. The
next cell was empty. Slair swore furiously. "You are sure your doxy's here?"
"She was brought in with me."
He tried another door. It was she, rising surprised from the floor in a whirl
of dresses. Rodvard pushed past the small man to grip her by the hands.
"Come, and quickly."
She made small uncomprehending sounds. Rodvard put an arm around her and drew
her toward the door. Reverse of the stair by which they had been brought in;
in the torchlight Rodvard saw a pair of feet at the base. A dead man, one of
the guards. In spite of the hurry, he paused to unbelt the fellow's dag, and
rushed with the rest, feeling more a man again now the lost knife was
replaced.
At the outer gate stood two more men, hoods pulled over their faces.
They saluted Demadé respectively and led across the street to where a carriage
stood, pushing Lalette into the back seat There were three horses, one in
front of the pair, according to the Mancherei fashion. One of the hooded men
cracked his whip, and they were off at a bumping pace, as Demadé Slair said;
"It is as well you were placed in arrest and proclaimed this afternoon. We
should not have known how to find you otherwise."
"Who sent you Dr. Remigorius?"
A shadow winked across the man's face, even in the dark. "The High
Center; I say the revolt has begun and they are in rule. But you shall be
told everything soon." He would say no more; the carriage bumped across [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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Page 100
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Not for the first time. How like the imprisonment on the ship this was, and
how dark the prospect had loomed then! Out of that he had risen, but to what?
A choice between Leece and this. A wave of misery swept across him, and then
he thought of Lalette, and her misery equal to his own, and maybe more.
But this was no help either, and he began to examine his prison,
finger-breadth by finger-breadth, for something that might take his mind away
from this procession of regrets and anxieties toward a future he could not
know. There were only accidents of the wall at first, in which he tried to
see pictures and carvings, making up a tale for himself, like those in the
ballads. This had not gone far when he came to a trace of writing which
looked as though someone had tried to wipe it out, for there were only a few
words to be read:
"Horv . . . in the month . . . only for lov . . . God."
A cryptic message, indeed; he tried to imagine the tale behind it, and how the
love of which these Amorosians forever gabbled had brought someone to this
cell. This caused him to ask himself whether it was really love for
Lalette that had brought him there; for that matter whether he loved her, and
what love was; and to none of these questions could he find a satisfactory
answer, because he kept comparing her with Maritzl and wondering whether the
emotion were the same. But this in turn brought a deep weariness; he flung
himself on the straw to rest and work the matter out; and so doing, fell into
an uneasy slumber product of his sleepless night in which he dreamed that
that world was ruled, not by the God he had been taught to believe in, nor
disputed by the two gods of whom the Amorosians spoke, but by three demons,
who sat in a closed space with smoke pouring from their mouths, and decided
what penalties should be exacted for witchery.
A key grated; he woke to see the trap being pulled back from without, and a
voice said roughly:
"Here's your banquet, my lord. The sweetmeats come with the dancing girls."
A plate was thrust through, with a pewter mug of water. On the former were
some vegetables, cold and sticky, and no table utensils, but Rodvard was in a
mood of hunger that forbade him to be over-nice and he ate, saving part of his
water to cleanse his fingers after the meal. It was hardly done before the
trap opened again, and the outer voice demanded; "The tools, pig-face.
The administration doesn't give souvenirs to its guests."
Rodvard passed the dishes through and seated himself again. Time ticked;
the light that had been fading when he woke was all gone, he had slept so much
that he could do so no more, and the uncertainty of his lot held him from
consecutive thought. Somewhere outside there was a thin cry and a sound of
feet. Then quiet again, but for the briefest space; and now another key
grated, in the main lock of his door. It was flung open; in the space stood a
small man and a dark, with no cap. Behind him, a smoky torch held by another
showed this first visitor to be holding a naked sword, that dripped, plash,
plash, on the stone.
"You are Bergelin?" he said. "I call myself Demadé Slair. The revolt has
begun. Have you the Blue Star safe?"
II
Questions whirled in Rodvard's mind, but the larger of the pair said;
"Hurry," and gripped him by the elbow like the guard who had brought him in,
dragging along the corridor.
"Wait!" said Rodvard, resisting. "There is another "
"We must hurry," said Demadé Slair. "You do not know how desperate a business
this is. We have had to kill."
"No. I will not leave her. She is my sweetheart; my witch."
"You have her here? Of the two of you, she is the more important! Where is
she?"
"At the third cell here, I think."
Without another word, Slair counted off. "The torch, Cordisso," and began to
Page 101
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
try keys from a chain of them. The big man advanced the torch, but the place
held only some babbling, furtive creature with white hair and idiot eyes. The
next cell was empty. Slair swore furiously. "You are sure your doxy's here?"
"She was brought in with me."
He tried another door. It was she, rising surprised from the floor in a whirl
of dresses. Rodvard pushed past the small man to grip her by the hands.
"Come, and quickly."
She made small uncomprehending sounds. Rodvard put an arm around her and drew
her toward the door. Reverse of the stair by which they had been brought in;
in the torchlight Rodvard saw a pair of feet at the base. A dead man, one of
the guards. In spite of the hurry, he paused to unbelt the fellow's dag, and
rushed with the rest, feeling more a man again now the lost knife was
replaced.
At the outer gate stood two more men, hoods pulled over their faces.
They saluted Demadé respectively and led across the street to where a carriage
stood, pushing Lalette into the back seat There were three horses, one in
front of the pair, according to the Mancherei fashion. One of the hooded men
cracked his whip, and they were off at a bumping pace, as Demadé Slair said;
"It is as well you were placed in arrest and proclaimed this afternoon. We
should not have known how to find you otherwise."
"Who sent you Dr. Remigorius?"
A shadow winked across the man's face, even in the dark. "The High
Center; I say the revolt has begun and they are in rule. But you shall be
told everything soon." He would say no more; the carriage bumped across [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]