The Pool of Fire (The Tripods) (4 page)

We headed southeast, away from
the winter that had closed in over the land. There was a stiff climb, encumbered by drifts of snow, through the mountain pass that took us to the country of the Italians, but after that the going was easier. We traveled across a rich plain, and came to a sea that beat, dark and tideless, against rocky shores and little fishing harbors. So southward, with hills and distant mountains on our left hand, until it was time to break through the heights to the west again.

As peddlers, we were welcomed almost everywhere, not only for the things we brought with us but as new faces in small communities where people, whether liking or disliking them, knew their neighbors all too well. Our wares, to start with, were bolts of cloth, and carvings and small wooden clocks from the Black Forest:
our men had captured a couple of barges, trafficking along the great river, and made off with their cargoes. We sold these as we went, and bought other things to sell at a further stage of our journey. Trade was good; for the most part, these were rich farming lands, the women and children anxious for novelties. The surplus, apart from what we needed to buy food, accumulated in gold and silver coins. And in most places we were given board and lodging. In return for the hospitality we were shown, we stole their boys from them.

This was a thing that I could never properly resolve in my mind. To Fritz, it was simple and obvious: we had our duty, and must do it. Even apart from that, we were helping to save these people from the destruction which the Masters planned. I accepted the logic, and envied him his single-mindedness, but it still troubled me. Part of the difficulty, I think, was that it fell to me more than to him to make friends with them. Fritz, as I now knew well enough, was amiable at heart, but taciturn and withdrawn in company. His command of languages was better than my own, but I did more of the talking, and a lot more of the laughing. I quickly got on good terms with each new community we visited, and moved on, in many cases, with real regret.

Because, as I had learned during my stay in the Château de la Tour Rouge, the fact that a man or a woman wore a Cap, and thought of the Tripods as great metal demigods, did not prevent him or her from being, in all other respects, a likeable, even lovable, human being. It was my job to beguile them into accepting us and bartering with us. I did it well, I think,
but would have been happier if I could have remained more detached from the purpose behind my blandishments. It was not easy to make friends with them, to recognize their many kindnesses to us, and at the same time to pursue our objective: which was, as they would have seen it, to seek their trust only to betray it. I was often ashamed of what we did.

For our concern was with the young, the boys who would be Capped in the next year or so. We gained their interest in the first case by bribery, giving them small presents of knives, whistles, leather belts, things like that. They flocked around us, and we talked to them, artfully making remarks and putting queries designed to discover which of them had begun to question the right of the Tripods to rule mankind, and to what extent. We rapidly grew skilled at this, developing a good eye for the rebellious, or potentially rebellious.

And there were far more of these than one would have guessed. At the beginning I had been surprised to find that Henry, whom I had known and fought with since we were both able to walk, was as eager as I to break loose from the chafing confinement of life as we knew it—as apprehensive as I was of what our elders told us was the wonderful bliss of being Capped. I had not known, because one did not talk about these things. To voice doubts was unthinkable, but that did not mean that doubts did not exist. It became clear to us that doubts of some kind were in the minds of almost all those who found the Capping ceremony looming up in their lives. There was an intoxicating sense of release for them in being in the presence of two who while
seeming to be Capped, did not, like their parents, treat the subject as a mystery that must never be spoken of, but instead encouraged them to talk and listened to what they said.

Of course, we had to be careful. It was a matter, at the outset, of veiled hints, inquiries—seemingly innocent—whose effect depended on the look that went with them. Our procedure was to discover the one or two who, in each village, best combined independence of mind and reliability. Then, shortly before we moved on, these were taken to one side, and briefed and counseled.

We told them the truth, about the Tripods and the world, and of the part they must play in organizing resistance. It was not a matter now of sending them back to one of our headquarters. Instead, they were to form a resistance group among the other boys in the village or town, and plan an escape before the next Cappings. (This would be long enough after our visit for there to be no suspicion that we were concerned in it.) They must find places to live, well apart from the Capped but from where they could raid their lands for food and their youth for new recruits. And where they could wait for new instructions.

There could be little definitely laid down: success must depend on individual skill in improvisation and action. Some small help we could offer, by way of communications. We carried pigeons with us, caged in pairs, and at intervals we left a pair with one of our recruits. These were birds that could return, over vast distances, to the nest from which they had come, and
carry messages, written very small on thin paper, tied to their legs. They were to be bred, and their descendants used to keep the various centers in touch with each other and eventually with the headquarters group responsible for them.

We gave them signs of identification, too: a ribbon tied in a horse’s mane, hats of a certain kind worn at a certain angle, a way of waving, the simulated cries of certain birds. And places, nearby, where messages could be left, to guide us again, or our successors, to whatever hiding place they had found. Beyond that, we could do no more than leave it in the hands of providence; and go our way, further and further, on the path Julius had prescribed for us.

At the beginning, we had seen Tripods fairly frequently. As we went on, though, this happened less and less. It was not a matter of the winter making them inactive, we found, but a real effect of distance from the City. In the land called Hellas, we were told that they appeared only a few times in the year, and in the eastern parts of that country the villagers told us that the Tripods came only for the Capping ceremonies, and then not to every small place, as they did in England: children were brought great distances by their parents to be Capped.

This was reasonable, of course. The Tripods could travel fast—many times the speed of a galloping horse—and without stopping, but distance must take a toll even on them. It was inevitable that they should police those regions close to the City more thoroughly than far-off places: each mile represented a widening of
the circle of which it was the center. For our part, it was a relief to find ourselves in territories where we could be well nigh certain—at this time of year—that no metal hemisphere on its three jointed legs would break the skyline. And it raised a thought. There were two Cities of the Masters, at either edge, more or less, of this vast continent. If control grew more tenuous the farther one traveled from a City, might there not be a part, midway between them, where control did not exist at all—where men were un-Capped and free?

(In fact, as we learned later, the arcs of control overlapped each other, and the area falling outside them was mostly ocean in the south and wastes of frozen land in the north. Those lands, farther to the south, which they did not control, they had laid waste.)

Our task did not, as one might have thought, become easier where the Tripods were less common. If anything they seemed, perhaps through their rarity, to inspire a more complete devotion. We reached a land at last, beyond an isthmus between two seas, near which stood the ruins of a great city (it was relatively little overgrown with vegetation, but looked far more ancient than any other we had seen), in which there were great hemispheres of wood, set on three stilts and approached by steps, in which the people worshiped. Long, involved services were conducted there, with much chanting and wailing. Above each hemisphere stood a model of a Tripod, not painted gold but covered with the beaten leaf of the very metal.

But we persisted, and found converts there, also. We were becoming more skilled at our job all the time.

•  •  •

There were tribulations, of course. Although we had moved south, into sunnier, warmer lands, there were times of bitter cold, particularly in the higher regions, when we had to huddle close to the horses at night to keep the blood from freezing in our veins. And long arid days, in near-desert regions, when we had to look anxiously for a sign of water, not just for ourselves but for our beasts. We depended on them absolutely, and it was a staggering blow when Fritz’s horse sickened and, a couple of days later, died. I was selfish enough to be glad that it was not my own horse, Crest, of which I was very fond; but even more concerned with the difficulties that faced us.

We were in bad country, too, on the edge of a great desert and a long way from habitation. We transferred as much of our baggage as possible to Crest, and plodded off, walking now, of course, in the direction of the nearest village. As we went, we saw large ugly birds drop from the lazy circles they had been making in the sky to rip the flesh from the poor creature’s bones. They would be picked clean within an hour.

This was in the morning. We traveled all that day and half of the next before we reached a few stone huts clustering about an oasis. There was no hope of replacing our lost animal there and we had to trek on, another three days, to what was described as a town, though no bigger in fact than the village of Wherton, where I was born. Here there were animals, and we had gold with which to pay for one. The difficulty was that horses, in these parts, were never used as beasts of burden, but
only as gaudily caparisoned steeds for persons of high rank. We would have bitterly offended local custom if we had bought one and then put packs on it.

What they did have here was a creature such as I had never seen before, nor imagined could exist. It was covered in coarse light brown hair and stood higher than a horse, and had a huge hump on its back, which we were told contained a store of water on which it could live for days, a week if necessary. Instead of hooves it had great splayed feet with toes. The head, at the end of a long neck, was hideously ugly, with loose lips and big yellow teeth and, I may say, foul breath. The animal looked awkward and ungainly, but could move surprisingly fast and carry huge loads.

Fritz and I had a disagreement in regard to this. I wanted us to purchase one of these beasts, and he opposed it. I suffered the usual frustration that took place when we were at odds over something. My passionate statement of my argument was met by stolid resistance on his part. This made me indignant—my indignation made him more sullenly obstinate—which increased my indignation further . . . and so on. My enumeration of the animal’s advantages was answered by the simple counter that we had almost reached the point at which we should turn and start our return swing toward the caves. However useful it might be in these parts, it would look bizarre in places where it was not familiar, and the one thing we must not do was attract undue attention. It was also likely, Fritz pointed out, that, being accustomed to this particular climate, it might sicken and die in more northerly lands.

He was, of course, quite right, but we spent two days wrangling before I could bring myself to admit it. And to admit, to myself at least, that it was the very bizarreness which had, in part, attracted me. I had been envisaging myself (poor Crest forgotten for the moment) riding through the streets of strange towns on the creature’s swaying back, and people flocking around to stare at it.

With the same amount of money we were able to buy two donkeys—small, but hardy and willing beasts—and loaded our goods on them. We also had enough to purchase the wares of this country: dates, various spices, silks and finely woven carpets, which we sold very profitably later on. But we made few converts. We could buy and sell and barter in sign language, but one needed words to talk of liberty and the need to win it from those who enslaved us. Also, the cult of the Tripods was far stronger here. The hemispheres were everywhere, the larger ones having a platform under the Tripod figure at the top, from which a priest called the faithful to prayer three times a day, at dawn and noon and sunset. We bowed our heads and muttered with the rest.