فصل 10

Ten

Under the Golden Wall

I stood by the pool for a moment, trying to think of what to do. I was dazed from being dashed to the ground, and dazed also by what I had achieved. With much the same blow that had dispatched my opponent in the final at the Games, I had knocked out one of the Masters. Now that I had done it, it seemed incredible. I stared at the great fallen figure with wildly conflicting feelings. Astonishment and pride were mixed with fear; even without being Capped, it was impossible not to feel awe for the power these creatures had, for their size and strength. How had I, a mere human, dared to strike at such a one, even in self-defense?

These feelings faded, though, into a more acute and practical apprehension. What I had done had been unpremeditated, forced on me by the predicament in which I found myself. My situation now was only to a degree less urgent. By striking a Master I had irretrievably shown my hand. I had to decide what action to take next, and decide quickly. He was unconscious, but for how long? And when he recovered . . .

My instinct was to flee, to put myself as far from this place as possible, as quickly as possible. But to do that, I realized, was merely to exchange a small trap for a larger one. I would be tracked down, and easily enough in a place where I could not long survive without going into a refuge or a communal place—where the other slaves, once alerted, would be watching for the fiend who had dared raise a hand against the demi-gods.

I looked across the room. All was still, except for the sparks rising, one by one, in the small transparent pyramid by which the Masters measured time. He had not moved. I remembered again what he had said: a Master could be hurt by being struck in that spot. A Master might even be killed. Was it possible? Surely not. But he had not moved; his tentacles stretched out limp against the floor.

I had to know the truth, which meant examining him. There were places, as with men, where veins ran close to the surface, where, despite the abrasive toughness of their skin, one could feel the slow heavy beat of their blood. I must check for that. But at the thought of approaching him, fear came back, redoubled. Once again I wanted to run for it, to get out of the pyramid at least while the going was good. My legs were trembling. For a moment, I could not move at all. Then I forced myself forward, reluctantly, to where my Master lay.

The tip of one of the tentacles lay nearest to me. I reached down, fearfully, touched it with a shudder, drew back, and then, making a great effort, lifted it. It was slack and fell limply when I dropped it again. I went closer, knelt by the body, and felt for the vein which ran to the base of the tentacle, between it and the central eye. There was nothing, I pressed again and again, overcoming my repulsion. No throb at all.

I stood up and away from him. The incredible was more incredible still. I had killed one of the Masters.

• • •

Fritz said, “Are you quite sure of it?”

I nodded. “Positive.”

“When they sleep, they look as though they’re dead.”

“But the pulse still beats. I’ve noticed it, when he fell asleep once in the garden pool. He’s dead, all right.” We were in the communal place at his pyramid. I had sneaked into his Master’s home, attracted his attention without the Master seeing me, and whispered that we must meet urgently, and talk. He had come down a ninth later. He had guessed something important had happened, because neither of us had approached the other in this way before. But the truth stunned him, as it had earlier stunned me. Following my assurance that the Master was dead, he was silent.

I said, “I’ll have to try to get out somehow. I thought I would try for the Hall of the Tripods, even though the chances are against it. But I thought I’d better tell you first.” “Yes.” He braced himself. “The Hall of the Tripods is no good. The best chance is the river.” “But we don’t know where the outflow is.”

“We can look for it. But we shall need time. When is he likely to be missed?”

“Not until his next duty.”

“When is that?”

“Tomorrow. Second period.”

It was late afternoon. Fritz said, “That gives us the night. It is the best time for searching, anyway, in a place where slaves are not expected to be. But there is something that must be done first.” “What?”

“They must not discover that someone wearing a Cap is capable of attacking a Master.” “It’s a bit late, now that I’ve done it. I don’t see how we could get rid of the body, and even if we did, he’s going to be missed.” “It might be possible to make it seem an accident.”

“Do you think so?”

“We must try. He told you that being struck in that place might kill, so it has probably happened in the past, perhaps accidentally. I think we must go there at once and see what we can do. There is an errand I have been saving up, which will be my excuse. But better not together. You go, and I will follow in a few minutes.” I nodded. “All right.”

I hurried back across the City, but found my steps faltering as I reached the familiar pyramid, and stood outside in the corridor for several seconds, trying to make up my mind to press the button that opened the door. Perhaps I had been wrong. Perhaps there had been a faint pulse which I had not detected and by now he had recovered. Or perhaps he had been found by another of the Masters. It was true their lives were solitary, but they did sometimes visit each other. It could have happened, by ill luck, today. The impulse to run away was strong. I think it was only the realization that Fritz was coming after me that nerved me to the point of going in.

And nothing had changed. He lay there, motionless, silent, dead. I stared at him, once more bemused by the awareness that it had really happened. I was still staring when I heard Fritz’s approaching footsteps.

He, too, was awed by the sight, but quickly recovered. He said, “I have an idea which might work. You told me he used the gas bubbles?” “Yes.”

“I have noticed with my Master that he is confused when he has taken many—in his movements as well as his mind. Once he slipped and fell in the garden pool. If it could seem that this had happened with yours . . .” I said, “He’s a long way from the pool.”

“We must drag him over there.”

I said doubtfully, “Can we? He’ll be a tremendous weight.”

“We can try.”

We dragged him by his tentacles. The touch was hateful, but I forgot that in the effort to move him. At first he seemed rooted to the floor, and I thought we should have to abandon the idea. But Fritz, these days so much weaker than I, was straining his gaunt body to take the load, and it shamed me into pulling harder. He moved a little, then more. Slowly, panting and sweating even more profusely than usual, we dragged him, with many rests, across the room to the pool.

We had to get into the pool ourselves to complete the job. It was very hot, only just bearable, and an unpleasant ooze squelched beneath our feet at the bottom. The water came up to the belt that secured our masks. We waded out, brushing our way through rubbery-like plants, some of which clung to us. We really had to heave now on the tentacles, concerting our pulls and moving the body over the side in sharp jerks. Then suddenly the point of balance was reached, and he half toppled, half slid after us, rolling into the water like a heavy log.

Climbing out, we stared down at him. The Master floated on the steaming water, three quarters submerged, one eye staring sightlessly upward. He took up almost the full width of the pool.

I felt too exhausted to think. I could have dropped to the floor, and lain there. But Fritz said, “The gas bubbles.” We opened half a dozen, pressed them to release the brown murk, and scattered them about the edge of the pool, as the Master would have thrown them after use. Fritz even thought of climbing back into the pool and attaching one of the bubbles to him. Then together we went to the refuge, stripped off our masks, washed and dried ourselves. I needed a rest, and urged Fritz to do the same, but he said he must get back. It was more important than ever to take no unnecessary chances. Night was almost on us; the lemon-green lamps would be lighting up outside. He would return now. When I was ready, I must follow, and wait for him in the communal place at his pyramid. He would come down when his Master was in bed, and together we would go in search of the river.

When he had gone, I lay down for a while, but I was afraid of falling asleep—of waking, perhaps, to find another Master here and the death discovered. So I roused myself and made my preparations. I tore out those pages of the book on which I had scrawled notes, placed them in an empty container, and disposed of the rest of the book in the cupboard which destroyed waste. I stoppered the container and put it inside the mask before I strapped it on.

A thought struck me, and I took two more small containers and left the refuge. I filled one with water from the pool, allowed the other to fill with the Masters’ air, and sealed them both. Then I returned to the refuge and put these, too, inside the mask where they rested against my collarbone. Julius might find them useful.

That was, of course, providing we got out of the City. I tried not to think of the odds against it.

• • •

I had to wait a long time for Fritz and when he did come I saw that his back and arms were newly marked with welts. He said yes, he had been beaten for being late on the errand. He looked tired and ill. I suggested that he stay behind and rest while I searched for the river on my own, but he would not hear of it. I was hopeless at finding my way in the City and would only wander around in circles. This was quite true: I had only slowly learned to trace a path through the maze, and then just to certain familiar spots.

He said, “Have you eaten lately, Will?”

I shook my head. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“But you must eat, all the same. I have brought food down. Drink as much as possible, too, and take a salt stick. Change the sponges in your mask before we go out. We do not know how long it will be before we can breathe good air again.” This was true also, and I had thought of none of it. We were alone in the communal place. I swallowed the food he gave me, crumbled a salt stick and ate it, drank water until I thought I was likely to burst. Then I changed the sponges in the mask and strapped it on. I said, “I suppose there’s no point in wasting time.” “No.” His voice was muffled by his own mask. “We had better start right away.”

• • •

Outside it was dark, except where the lamps cast small circles of sallow luminescence; I thought they looked like gigantic glow-worms. The heat had not abated, of course. It never did. Almost at once sweat began forming inside my mask. We walked on, with the rolling lurching gait that slaves developed as the best way of coping with the heaviness in their limbs. It was a long way to the sector where Fritz thought the river might make its exit. One of the carriages would have taken us there quite quickly, but it was unthinkable for slaves to travel in a carriage unless a Master were with them. We had to make it on our own plodding feet.

There were few Masters about, and we saw no slaves. On Fritz’s suggestion we split up, with him traveling ahead of me, just within range of visibility. One slave out at night could be explained as being on an errand for a still active Master—two together would seem odd. I saw the point in this, though I regretted the separation, and was hard put to keep him in sight while staying the necessary distance apart. We moved from one circle of light to the next, and there was a stage between where one walked through near blackness, with no more than a dim green glow ahead. It was a strain on eye and mind alike, particularly in the follow-my-leader role.

One detected the approach of a Master some way off. Their three round splayed feet made a distinctive flat slapping sound on the smooth hardness of the road. I heard this behind me as I passed under a lamp. It grew louder, since they moved faster than we did. I thought it might come abreast of me in the dark patch, and wanted to dodge away. But there was no side turning here, and anyway it might look suspicious. There was the possibility of losing touch with Fritz, as well. I walked on, remembering a few lines of poetry I had found in an old book at home: Like one that on a lonesome road

Doth walk in fear and dread,

And having once turned round walks on,

And turns no more his head;

Because he knows a frightful fiend

Doth close behind him tread.

I had not turned around, but then I did not need to, knowing very well what it was that followed. We were in a part of the City entirely strange to me, and I suddenly realized that if I were questioned I had no sort of answer to give. I tried to think of one, but my brain had gone blank.

The dark patch came, and the sounds were still behind me. He should have been up with me by now, I thought, and had a dreadful conviction that he had slowed his progress deliberately, that he was examining me and preparing to accost me. I went on, expecting every moment that the Master’s voice would boom out from behind, a tentacle grasp me and swing me off the ground. I could see Fritz’s figure dimly, fading into the darkness past the next light. I felt horribly alone, the more so because of the follower, whose slapping footsteps now were right behind me. I wanted to run, but somehow kept to my resolution. And then the huge grotesque shape shambled past me, and I felt like collapsing in the weakness of relief.

But it was not yet over. Fritz had vanished into the next patch of darkness, and the Master disappeared in turn. I made my way after them. Light faded, leaving nothing but the distant glow. This brightened again. I could see the globe of the lamp, lifted on its long angular arm. And just beyond it . . .

The Master was there, and so was Fritz. They stood together, the Master towering over Fritz. I heard a distant sound of speech.

I wanted to turn back into the shadows, but that might attract his attention. I had to go forward, whatever happened. And retreat would mean abandoning Fritz. I marched on. If he were in trouble . . . I did not think much of my chances of landing another sucker punch like the one that had killed my own Master. I found myself trembling, with fear and resolution. Then, with a second flush of relief, I saw the Master move on and Fritz, more slowly, follow.

He waited for me in the next shadows. I said, “What was it? What did he want to know?” Fritz shook his head. “Nothing. He thought he recognized me as the slave of someone he knew. I think he had a message to give. But I was not the one he wanted, so he went on.” I drew a deep breath into the mask. “I thought we were sunk.”

“So did I.”

I could not see him in the darkness, but I could hear a tremor in his voice. I said: “Do you want to rest?”

“No. We must press on.”

• • •

An hour later, we did rest. There was an open place with a large triangular garden pool, to one side of which trees—something like weeping willows only on a massive scale—drooped their branches down to the ground beside the pool, screening us, once we were inside their shelter, from the view of anyone who passed. Though in fact we had seen no one on the streets or ramps for some time now, and there was no sign of a Master in or near the pool. We stretched out, under the ropy fronds that, although there was no wind or breeze in the City, from time to time brushed lightly against us. The ground pulled us down still, but it was bliss not to fight it, to lie flat and motionless. I would have liked to clear the inside of my mask of sweat, but of course that was impossible.

I said, “Have you been in this part of the City before, Fritz?”

“Once only. We are not far from the edge.”

“And opposite where the river comes in?”

“Roughly opposite.”

“So when we find the Wall, we can start looking for the outflow.”

“Yes. We shall have to be more careful from now on. It is late to be on a night errand, and we are reaching the part where the Masters who have no slaves live. We must go more warily.” “They don’t seem to travel about at night, either.”

“No. That’s lucky. But we can’t be absolutely sure of it. Do you feel thirsty?” “A bit. Not too badly.”

“I do. It does no good to think about it, though. Since there are no slaves in this part of the City, there will be no communal places.” He rose slowly to his feet. “I think we had better get on, Will.” • • •

We saw strange things in our search. One of these was a vast pit, a triangle a hundred yards along each side, where, far down, green light gleamed on a seething viscous liquid in which, at intervals, bubbles slowly rose and popped. In another place there was a complicated structure of metal rods and catwalks, looming up into the dark night, pointing, it seemed, to lights that flashed high above our heads. Once, turning a corner ahead of me, Fritz stopped, but beckoned me to come up with him. I did so quietly, and together we stared at the scene. It was a small garden pool, with only a few low-lying plants. In it were two of the Masters, the first we had seen since coming into this sector. They were locked together in what looked like deadly combat, tentacles interlocked, heaving against each other, the water turbulent with their struggling and rolling. We watched for a moment or two and then, making nothing of it, turned silently and went another way.

In due course we reached the Wall. We came down a ramp between two small pyramids, and it was there. It stretched away on either side, golden even in the dim greenish light of the lamps, curving inward slightly as it was lost in the distance. The surface was smooth and hard and unbroken, offering not even a toehold, and upward as well as to the sides it showed no interruption as far as the eye could see. It was discouraging to look at it.

I said, “Do you think we are near where the river ought to be?”

I saw Fritz’s thin ribs rise and fall in the lamplight. I was exhausted, but he much more so. He said, “We should be. But the river would be below ground.” “Will there be a way of getting down to it?”

“We must hope there is.”

I looked at the featureless wall. “Which way do we go?”

“It doesn’t matter. Left. Do you hear anything?”

“What?”

“The sound of water.”

I listened intently. “No.”

“Nor do I.” He shook his head, as though to rouse himself. “Left will do.”

Thirst began to attack me soon after. I tried to dismiss the thought, but it came back insistently. We were searching for water, after all. I thought of it, cold, crystal clear, like the streams that ran down below the White Mountains. The picture was a torment, but I could not put it out of my head.

Wherever there was a ramp leading down, we investigated it. We found ourselves in weird labyrinths, some piled high with crates, drums, metal spheres, others packed with machinery that whined and hummed and sometimes sparked. Most of it was untended, but in a few places there were two or three of the Masters doing things at boards covered with little holes and pimples. We were treading warily, and they did not see us. In one great cavern, gas bubbles were being made. They rolled out of the jaws of a machine down a sloping V-shaped channel and dropped into boxes, which, as they were full, closed themselves and were automatically moved away. In another place, even bigger, food was being manufactured, and I recognized it, by the color and shape of the bag, as being a kind of which my Master was especially fond. Had been fond, I corrected myself. The thought provided a twinge of panic. Had the body been found yet? Were they already looking for his missing slave?

Going back up a ramp to the surface, Fritz said, “I think left was wrong, perhaps. We have come a long way. We must turn back, and try in the other direction.” “Rest first.”

“For a few minutes.” He sounded discouraged. “We have not much time.”

So we plodded back along the way we had come, stopping every now and then to listen for the rushing sound of distant water but hearing only the noise of the machines. We reached the point at which we had come to the Wall, and toiled on. I became aware of a difference and looking up saw the blackness of the night behind us faintly tinged with emerald. The night was coming to an end. Dawn was breaking, and we were no nearer to finding a way out, no nearer to the elusive river.

The day brightened. Thirst overrode hunger, but physical weakness at times seemed greater than either. The green globes winked out. We saw a Master in the distance, out in the street, and hid behind the edge of a garden pool until he had gone. A quarter of an hour later, we had to dodge two more. I said: “The streets will be swarming with them soon. We shall have to give it up for now, Fritz, and get back to a place where we can take our masks off and eat and drink.” “In a few hours they will find him.”

“I know. But what else can we do?”

He shook his head. “I must rest.”

He lay down, and I lowered myself to lie beside him. I felt giddy with weakness and thirst tore at my throat like a furious animal. Fritz seemed to be in an even worse state. At any rate, we must not stay here. I told him we ought to get up, and he did not answer. I got to my knees, and pulled his arm. Then he said, his voice suddenly kindled with excitement, “I think . . . Listen.” I listened, and heard nothing. I told him so. He said, “Lie down, and put your ear to the ground. Sound travels better that way. Listen!” I did and, after a moment, heard it: a thin rushing sound that might be the whisper of distant waters. I pressed my ear closer to the surface of the road, hurting my face against the hardness of the mask. It was there, all right, though far away, a tumultuous torrent. Thirst was sharpened even more by the tantalizing sound, but I felt able to ignore that, too. At last we had found the river. That is to say, we knew approximately where it was. The actual finding could take quite a bit longer.

• • •

We systematically tried all the downward ramps in the area, testing them by listening to the ground. Sometimes the noise was louder, sometimes fainter. Once we lost it altogether, and had to cast back on our trail. There were avenues which were deceptively promising but which proved useless, leading to dead ends. More and more often we had to dodge Masters, or lie low till they had passed. One promising ramp led to a huge hall in which a score or more of them did things in front of benches: the river might well be somewhere at the far end, but we dared not go through. And time was passing; above ground we were in full day. Then, quite unexpectedly, we came on it.

A very steep ramp, on which we found ourselves slipping and in danger of falling, led across a level space and dipped again, curving around on itself. Fritz clutched my arm, and pointed. Ahead lay a cavern with an arched roof, in which there were stacks of crates the height of a man. At the far end, only dimly visible in the light of the lemon-green globes which hung at intervals from the ceiling, water gushed from a huge hole and formed a pool, some fifty feet across.

“Do you see?” Fritz asked. “The Wall.”

It was true. At the end of the cavern, beyond the pool, there was the dull gleam of gold, unmistakably the inner surface of the barrier which ringed the City, and on which the great dome rested. The pool frothed against it. The water gushing in was that which had circulated through the City, the waste and overflow of hundreds of garden pools. Steam rose up from it. It filled the pool, and from the pool . . . it must go out, under the Wall: there could be no other explanation.

Cautiously we made our way along the cavern, between the stacked crates, to the edge of the pool. There were things like vertical nets in the water, we saw, and we saw also that the water only steamed at its entry point. Nearer to the Wall, Fritz reached down and put a hand in it.

“It is quite cool here. The nets must take the heat out, so it is not lost to the City.” He stared down into the churning depths, green from the lamps hanging over them. “Will, let the current take you. Before you go, I will put sealer on the air vents of your mask. There is enough air inside a mask to give you five minutes’ breathing: I have tried this out.” What he called “sealer” was a substance the Masters used for closing containers that had been opened. It came out of a tube liquid, but dried and hardened almost right away.

I said, “I’ll do yours first.”

“But I am not coming.”

I stared at him. “Don’t be silly. You must.”

“No. They must not suspect anything.”

“But they’ll do that when they find I’ve gone.”

“I do not think so. Your Master died, from a fall, an accident. What would a slave do then? I think he might go to the Place of Happy Release, because there is no point in him going on living.” I saw the force of the argument, but said dubiously, “They might think that, but we can’t be sure.” “We can help them to think it. I know some of the slaves in your pyramid. If I tell one that I saw you, and you said that was where you were going . . .” I saw that, too. Fritz had worked things out very well. I said, “If you escaped, and I went back . . .” He said patiently, “It would not help, would it? It is your Master that is dead, not mine—you who should go to the Place of Happy Release. If you go back, they will question you. It would be fatal.” “I don’t like it,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter what you like, or I like. One of us must get away, to take the news of what we have learned back to Julius. It is safer if it is you.” He squeezed my arm. “I will get out. It is easy now I know where the river is. In three days, I will tell the other slaves in my pyramid that I am too sick to work, and therefore have chosen the Happy Release. I will hide out of the way, and come down here at night.” I said, “I will wait for you outside.”

“Wait three days, no longer. You must get back to the White Mountains before winter sets in. And now you must hurry.” He forced a smile. “The sooner you dive, the sooner I can get back, and have a drink of water.” He spread the sealer on the air vents of my mask, after first telling me to take a deep breath. In a few seconds he nodded, indicating the seal was hard. He pressed my arm again, and said, “Good luck.” The sound was fainter, more muffled than usual.

I dared delay no longer. The surface of the pool was about six feet below the top of the low containing wall. I climbed up on this and dived down, deep down, into the swirling waters.