The Pool of Fire (The Tripods) (3 page)

This course, obviously, involved a risk of alerting
the Masters to the opposition that was developing. It was possible that they would not bother much about it, since their plan for extermination was so far advanced. But we had to be prepared for countermeasures. We must not have one headquarters, but a dozen, a hundred, each capable of carrying on by itself. The Council would split up, its members traveling from place to place, only meeting occasionally and with due precaution.

So much for the first part of the Plan—the urgent need to mobilize all available forces for the struggle, and to reconnoiter and establish colonies within reach of all three enemy Cities. There was another part, perhaps even more important. Means had to be devised for destroying them, and this would involve much hard work and experimentation. A separate base was to be set up, but only those allotted to it would know where it was. That was where our ultimate hope lay. We dare not risk its discovery by the Masters.

“Now,” Julius said, “I have told you what I can. Later, you will be given your individual instructions, and the things, such as maps, which you may need to carry them out. I will ask now: are there any questions, or suggestions?”

No one spoke, not even Pierre. Julius said:

“Then we can go our ways.” He paused. “This is the last time we shall meet together, in such an assembly, until our task is completed. The only final thing I would say is what I have said already. That which we have to do is a tremendous and frightening task, but we must
not let it frighten us. It can be done. Yet it can only be done by each one giving his all. Go now, and God go with you.”

•  •  •

It was Julius himself who gave me my instructions. I was to travel to the south and east, posing as a trader with a packhorse, winning recruits and seeding resistance, and reporting back to the center.

Julius asked, “Is it clear to you, Will?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Look at me, Will.”

I raised my eyes. He said, “I think you are still smarting, lad, from some of the things I said, after you had told your tale to the assembly.”

“I realize that what you said was true, sir.”

“But that does not make it easier to bear, when one has told a story of courage and skill and high endeavor, and finds it afterward painted a somewhat different color.”

I did not answer.

“Listen, Will. What I did, I did for a purpose. The standards we set ourselves must be high, to a point of near impossibility. So I used your story to point a moral: that carelessness, in one man, can destroy us—that enough is never enough—that there can be no complacency, however much is achieved, because there is always more to achieve. But I can tell you now that what you did, you and Fritz, was of tremendous value to us all.”

I said, “Fritz did more. And Fritz did not come back.”

Julius nodded. “It is a thing you have to suffer. But what matters is that one of you came back—that we did not lose a year out of the brief time we have. We all have to learn to live with our losses, and to use our regrets to spur us on in the future.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “It is because I know you that I can say you did well. You will remember it, but you will remember my criticism more clearly and for longer. Isn’t that true, Will?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I think it is true.”

•  •  •

The three of us—Henry, Beanpole, and I—met at a place we had found where there was a fissure high up in the rock, through which a little weak daylight filtered—just about enough for us to make out each other’s faces without the need of lamps. It was some distance from those parts of the caves which were in general use, but we liked going there because of the reminder that the world outside, normally only glimpsed during guard duty at one of the entrances, really did exist: that somewhere there was light and wind and weather, in place of this static blackness and the rumble and whisper and drip of underground water. One day, when there must have been a violent storm blowing outside, a fine mist of rain was driven through the crack and filtered down into our cave. We turned our faces up to it, relishing the cool dampness, and imagining we could smell trees and grass in it.

Henry said, “I’m to go across the western ocean. Captain Curtis is taking us, in the
Orion.
He will pay off his crew in England except for the one who is false-Capped like himself, and those two will sail her down to
a port in the west of France, where we shall join them. Six of us. The land we are going to is called America, and the people there speak the English tongue. What about you, Will?”

I told them briefly. Henry nodded, clearly thinking his own the better and more interesting mission. I agreed with him in that; but I did not care much either.

Henry said, “And you, Beanpole?”

“I don’t know where.”

“But they’ve allocated you, surely?”

He nodded. “To the research base.”

It was what one should have expected. Beanpole, obviously, was the sort they would need to work things out for the attack against the Masters. The original trio, I thought, really would be split up this time. It did not seem to matter a great deal. My mind was on Fritz. Julius had been quite right: it was what he had said in criticism that I remembered and, remembering, was shamed by. With another week or so to prepare, we might both have escaped. It was my carelessness that had precipitated matters and led to Fritz being trapped. It was a bitter thought, but inescapable.

The other two were talking, and I was content to let them. They noticed this in time. Henry said:

“You’re very quiet, Will. Anything wrong?”

“No.”

He persisted. “You’ve been quiet altogether lately.”

Beanpole said, “I read a book once about those Americans to whose land you will be going, Henry. It seems that they have red skins, and go about dressed in feathers, and they carry things like hatchets, and play
on drums when they go to war and smoke pipes when they want to be peaceful.”

Beanpole was usually too much interested in objects—in the way they worked or could be made to work—to pay any great attention to people. But I realized that he had noticed my unhappiness and guessed the cause of it—after all, he had shared with me the vain wait outside the City, and the journey home—and was doing what he could to distract Henry from questioning and me from brooding. I was grateful for that, and for the nonsense he was talking.

•  •  •

There were many things to do before I could set off. I was instructed in the ways of a packman, taught something of the language in the countries I would visit, advised on how to set up resistance cells and what to tell them when I moved on. All this I took in conscientiously, and with a determination to make no mistakes this time. But the melancholy I felt did not lift.

Henry left before I did. He went in high spirits, in a party that included Tonio, who had been my sparring partner and rival before we went north to the Games. They were all very cheerful. It seemed that everyone in the caves was, apart from me. Beanpole tried to cheer me up, but without success. Then Julius called me to see him. He gave me a lecture on the futility of self-recrimination, the importance of realizing that the only good lesson to be learned from the past was how to avoid similar errors in the future. I listened, and agreed politely, but the black mood did not lift. He said then:

“Will, you are taking this the wrong way. You are
someone who does not easily bear criticism, and perhaps least of all from yourself. But to settle into such a mood is something that makes you less capable of doing what the Council requires of you.”

“The job will be done, sir,” I said. “And properly this time. I promise that.”

He shook his head. “I am not sure that such a promise will serve. It would be different if you were of Fritz’s temper. Yes, I will speak of him, even though it hurts you. Fritz was melancholic by nature, and could tolerate his own gloom. I do not think this is so with you, who are sanguine and impatient. In your case, remorse and despondency could be crippling.”

“I shall do the best I can.”

“I know. But will your best be enough?” He looked at me, in slow scrutiny. “You were to have started your journey in three days’ time. I think we must delay it.”

“But, sir . . .”

“No buts, Will. It is my decision.”

I said, “I am ready now, sir. And we do not have the time to waste.”

Julius smiled. “There was something of defiance there, so all is not lost. But you are already forgetting what I said at the last assembly. We cannot afford false moves, or plans or people who are not fully prepared. You will stay here a while longer, lad.”

•  •  •

I think I hated Julius in that moment. Even when I had got over that, I was bitterly resentful. I watched others leave, and chafed at my own inactivity. The dark sunless days dragged by. I knew that I must change my
attitude, but could not. I tried, attempting to put on a false cheerfulness but knew no one, Julius least of all, was deceived. At last, though, Julius called me back.

He said, “I have been thinking about you, Will. I believe I have found an answer.”

“May I go, sir?”

“Wait, wait! As you know, some packmen travel in pairs, for company and so as to protect their goods better from thieves. It might be a good idea for you to have such a companion.”

He was smiling. Angry again, I said, “I am well enough by myself, sir.”

“But if it is a question of going with another, or staying here—which will you choose?”

It was galling to think that he regarded me as unfit to be sent out on my own. But there was only one answer that it was possible to give. I said, not without sulkiness, “Whatever you decide, sir.”

“That’s good, Will. The one who is to go with you . . . would you like to meet him now?”

I could see his smile in the lamplight. I said stiffly, “I suppose so, sir.”

“In that case . . .” His eyes went to the dark shadows at the edge of the cave, where a row of limestone pillars made a curtain of stone. He called:

“You can come forward.”

A figure approached. I stared, thinking that the dimness of the light must be deceiving me. It was easier to disbelieve my eyes than to accept that someone had come back from the dead.

For it was Fritz.

•  •  •

He told me later all that had happened. When he had seen me plunge into the river that led out of the City, under the Golden Wall, he had returned and covered my traces as he had said he would, spreading the story that I had found my Master floating in his pool and had gone right away to the Place of Happy Release, not wishing to live once my Master was dead. It was accepted, and he was ready to make the attempt to follow me out. But the hardships he had suffered, together with the extra exertions of the night we had spent searching for the river, had taken their toll. He collapsed a second time, and a second time was taken to the slaves’ hospital.

It had been agreed that, if I got out, I should wait three days for him to follow. More than that time had passed before he was fit even to rise from his bed, and he thought therefore that I would have gone on. (In fact, Beanpole and I waited twelve days before despair and the coming of the snow drove us away, but Fritz could not know that.) Believing this, he began, as was typical of him, to think the whole thing through again, slowly and logically. He guessed that the underwater plunge through the City’s outlet vents must be difficult—it would have killed me if Beanpole had not been on hand to fish me from the river—and knew the weakness of his own condition. He needed to build up strength, and the hospital offered the best chance of doing that. While he was there, he could avoid his Master’s beatings and the heavy tasks that normally were laid on him. He must, of course, be careful not to
arouse suspicion that he thought differently from the other slaves, which meant that he had to calculate with care the length of time he could stay. He made it last a fortnight, shamming, for the others, a weakness which increased rather than diminished as the days went by; and then, sorrowfully, declared that he realized he could no longer serve his Master as a Master should be served, and so must die. He left the hospital late in the day, heading toward the Place of Happy Release, found somewhere to hide till night fell, and then made for the Wall and freedom.

At first, all went well. He came out into the river on a dark night, swam exhaustedly to the bank, and went south, following the route we had taken. But he was a couple of days behind us, and fell further behind when a feverish chill forced him to lie for several days, sweating and starving, in a farmer’s barn. He was still desperately weak when he started again, and not long after was halted by a more serious illness. This time, fortunately, he was found and looked after, for he had pneumonia and would have died without care. A lady took him in. Her son, some years before, had turned Vagrant after his Capping. She cherished Fritz because of that.

At last, when he was well and strong, he slipped away and continued his journey. He found the White Mountains swept by blizzards, and was forced to hide out near the valley villages for some time before he could make his way painfully up through deep snow. At the Tunnel, he was challenged by the single guard that Julius had left there, just in case. The guard had led him, that morning, to the caves.

All this I heard from him later. At the moment of our meeting, I merely stared, incredulous.

Julius said, “I hope you and your companion will get on together. What do you think, Will?”

Suddenly I realized I was grinning like an idiot.