The Pool of Fire (The Tripods) (9 page)

He was studied in various physical ways by our scientists. I was present at some of these sessions. He never showed any sign of resistance, or even of displeasure (though it is doubtful if we would recognize displeasure any more than other emotions in him), but submitted to the probings and blood-lettings and staring through magnifying glasses as though these were not happening to him at all but to another. The only
complaints he did make, in fact, were about the water or the room itself not being hot enough. The scientists had rigged up a form of heating by this thing called electricity, and I found the room stifling, but by his standards it was cold.

His food and drink were also tampered with. The intention was to see what effect certain substances might have on him, but the experiment did not meet with success. He seemed to have some way of sensing the presence of anything which might be harmful, and in those cases simply refused to touch what was put in front of him. On one occasion, after this had happened three times in succession, I spoke to Beanpole about it.

I asked him, “Do we have to do this sort of thing? At least we were given food and water, even as slaves in the City. Ruki has been nearly two days without anything. It seems unnecessarily cruel.”

Beanpole said, “It’s cruel to keep him here at all, if you care to think of it that way. The cell is too small, and not warm enough, and he does not have the heavy gravity he was used to.”

“Those are things that can’t be helped. Putting stuff in his food and making him go without when he won’t eat it is not quite the same.”

“We have to do everything we can to find their weak spots. You found one yourself: that place between mouth and nose where a blow will kill them. But it does not help us much, because there is no way of being able to strike them all at that point at the same time. We need to find something else. Something we can use.”

I saw the point, but was not entirely convinced.

“I’m sorry it has to be him. I would rather it were one like Fritz’s Master, or even mine. Ruki does not seem so bad as most. At least, he was opposed to using men as slaves.”

“So he tells you.”

“But they do not lie. They cannot. I learned that at least in the City. My Master could never understand the difference between story tales and lies—they were all the same to him.”

“They may not lie,” Beanpole said, “but they do not always tell the full truth, either. He said he was opposed to slaves. What about the plan to turn our air into the choking green gas they breathe? Has he said anything about being opposed to that?”

“He’s never said anything at all about it.”

“But he knows about it: they all do. He has not spoken of it because he does not know that we know. He may be not quite as bad as some of the others, but he is one of them. They have never had wars. The loyalty they have to their own kind is something which we probably do not understand any more than they can understand the way we fight among ourselves. But if we do not understand it, we must still reckon with it. And we must use every weapon we can against it. If this involves putting him to some discomfort—if it involves killing him—that is not so important. Only one thing is important: winning the struggle.”

I said, “You do not need to remind me.”

Beanpole smiled. “I know. Anyway, his food will be normal next time. We do not want to kill him if we can
help it. There is more chance of him being useful to us if he remains alive.”

“Not much sign of it so far.”

“We must keep trying.”

We had been sitting out on the ruined seaward battlement of the castle, enjoying an afternoon of still air and pale wintry sunshine; the sun was an orange disk dropping toward a haze-filled western horizon. The peace was interrupted now by a familiar voice, bawling from the courtyard behind us.

“Parker! Where are you, you useless lump of awkwardness? Here! And at once, I tell you.”

I sighed, and prepared to stir myself. Beanpole said, “Ulf is not getting too much for you, I hope, Will.”

I shrugged. “It would be all the same, if he were.”

He said, “We want you and Fritz as Ruki’s attendants because you are both used to these creatures, and so are better at noticing anything strange. But I do not think Julius realized how much friction there would be between you and Ulf.”

“The friction you get,” I said, “between a log of wood and a saw. And I am not the saw.”

“If it is too difficult . . . it would be possible for you to be transferred to other duties.”

He said it diffidently, as much as anything else, I think, because he did not wish to emphasize his own higher status—that he could in fact arrange something like this. I said, “I can put up with him.”

“Perhaps if you did not make such a point of doing just that . . .”

“Doing what?”

“Putting up with him. I think it makes him angrier.”

I was astonished. I said, with some indignation, “I obey orders, and promptly. What more can he ask?”

Beanpole sighed. “Yes. Well, I’d better be getting back to work myself, anyway.”

•  •  •

I had noticed one difference in the Ulf of the
Erlkönig
and the one who now made my life a misery at the castle. The old Ulf had been a drinking man: the whole business of Beanpole and me leaving the barge had started when he did not return on time and his assistant suspected that he had gone drinking in one of the town’s taverns. Here he did not drink at all. Some of the older men would take an occasional nip of brandy, against the cold as they said, but not him. He did not even drink the beer which was a more common drink, or the rough red wine that was served with our dinner. At times I wished that he would. I felt it might sweeten his temper a little.

Then one day a messenger from Julius came to the castle. I have no idea what message he brought, but he also carried with him a couple of long brown stone jars. And it seemed that he was an old acquaintance of Ulf’s. The jars contained schnapps, a raw colorless spirit which was drunk in Germany and which, it seemed, he and Ulf had often drunk together. Perhaps it was the unexpected sight of an old friend which weakened Ulf’s resolution, or perhaps it was just that he preferred schnapps to the drinks that had been available in the castle. At any rate, I noticed the two of them sitting
together in the guardroom, a jar between them and a small tumbler in front of each. I was glad to have Ulf distracted by anything, and happily kept out of the way.

In the afternoon, the messenger went on again, but he left the remaining jar with Ulf. Ulf was already showing signs of intoxication—he had not bothered to eat anything at midday—and he broached the second jar and sat drinking on his own. He appeared to have settled into a melancholy mood, not talking to anyone and seemingly not noticing much of what was going on around him. This was, of course, very wrong in a guard commander, though it might be said in his defense that things had settled into a routine in which we all knew our duties and carried them out. For my part, I was not concerned either with censuring or finding justification for him, but simply glad of the absence of his raucous voice.

It had been a somber day, and dusk came early. I prepared Ruki’s meal—a porridge-like mess, more liquid than solid—and crossed the guardroom with it on my way to the corridor leading to his cell. The natural light in the guardroom came from a couple of windows, high up and now quite dark. I could only just make out the figure of Ulf, behind his table, with the jar in front of him. I ignored him, but he called to me, “Where d’you think you’re going?”

His voice was slurred. I said, “Taking the prisoner his meal, sir.”

“Come here!”

I went and stood in front of the table, holding the tray. Ulf said, “Why haven’t you lit the lamp?”

“It’s not time yet.”

Nor was it. It wanted another quarter hour to the time laid down by Ulf himself. If I had lit it early, on account of the day’s early darkening, he would have been as likely to pick on that as a breach of one of his rules.

“Light it,” he said. “And don’t answer me back, Parker. When I tell you to do something, you do it, and do it fast. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir. But the regulations say . . .”

He stood up, swaying slightly, from his seat, and leaned forward with his hands on the table. I could smell the spirits on his breath.

“You’re insub . . . insubordinate, Parker, and I won’t stand for it. You’ll take an extra guard tonight. And now you’ll put that tray down, and light the lamp. Is that clear?”

I did as I was told, silently. The lamplight gleamed on his heavy face, flushed with drink. I said coldly, “If that is all, sir, I will proceed with my duties.”

He stared at me a moment. “Can’t wait to get in to that pal of yours, is that it? Chatting with the big lizard is easier than working—that right?”

I moved to pick up the tray. “May I go now, sir?”

“Wait.”

I stood there obediently. Ulf laughed, picked up the tumbler, and emptied it into the bowl of food prepared for Ruki. I looked at it, without moving.

“Go on,” he said. “Take your pal his supper. Got a little something in it to liven him up now.”

I knew perfectly well what I ought to have done. Ulf was indulging in a silly drunken jest. I should have taken the tray out and made up another bowl for Ruki,
throwing this one away. Instead, I asked, in the most obedient but contemptuous fashion, “Is that an order, sir?”

His anger was as great as mine, but hot where mine was cold. And his mind was blurred by drink. He said, “Do as you’re told, Parker. And jump to it!”

I picked up the tray and left. I had a glimpse of what Beanpole had meant—I could have mollified Ulf with a little effort, and passed the whole thing off. I am afraid that what I was thinking was that this time he had put himself in the wrong. Ruki would refuse the food, as he refused anything which differed even slightly from what he was used to. I would have to report on this, and the incident would then be brought to light. Simply by obeying orders and acting according to regulations, I had my chance to get my own back at my tormentor.

As I reached the airlock, I heard Ulf bellowing something in the distance. I went through, into the cell, and put the tray down. I left it there, and went back to see what the yelling was about. Ulf was standing unsteadily on his feet. He said, “Belay that order. Make another supper up for the lizard.”

I said, “I’ve taken the tray in, sir. As instructed.”

“Then bring it out again! Wait. I’m coming with you.”

I was annoyed that my scheme had misfired. Ruki would eat the substitute meal, and so there would be nothing that I would be obliged to report. Reporting Ulf simply for being drunk on duty was not a thought that appealed to me even in my present state of resentment. I went with him in silence, bitterly conscious of the fact that he was going to get away with it, after all.

There was barely room for two in the airlock. We were forced to jostle against each other, putting on the face masks which we must wear inside the cell. Ulf opened the inner door, and stepped through first. I heard him give a grunt of surprise and dismay. He went forward quickly, and I could see what he had seen.

The bowl was empty. And Ruki was stretched out, full length and motionless.

•  •  •

Julius came back to the castle for the conference. He seemed to be limping worse than ever, but was no less cheerful and confident. He sat at the center of the long table, with the scientists, including Beanpole, clustered around him. Fritz and I sat inconspicuously at the end. André, the Commander of the castle, addressed the meeting first. He said, “Our best plan always was to attack the Cities from within. The question was: how? We can get a certain number inside, but nowhere near enough to fight the Masters, on their own ground especially. We could wreck some of their machines, perhaps, but that would not amount to destroying the City as such. They could almost certainly repair them, and we would be worse off than before—because now they would be warned, and ready for any second attack we tried to launch. The same applies to any attempt to damage the Wall. Even if we were able to cut through, which is doubtful, we could not do it on a large enough scale—either from outside or within—to prevent the Masters making good the damage, and hitting back.

“What has been needed was a way of striking at the
Masters themselves, all of them and at the same time. One suggestion was to poison their air. It might be possible, but I don’t see a chance of our developing anything in the time available. Water offered a better opportunity. They use water a lot, for drinking as well as bathing. After allowing for the fact that they are twice the height and four times the weight, they have a fluid intake four to six times that of the average man. If we could get something into their water supplies, it might do the trick.

“Unfortunately, as we have established with the prisoner, they are sensitive to adulterants. This one simply refused anything which might harm him. Until, by a lucky chance, some schnapps was poured into his food. He consumed the food without hesitation, and was paralyzed in less than a minute.”

Julius asked, “How long did it take him to recover from the paralysis?”

“He began to show signs of consciousness after about six hours. He was fully conscious after twelve, but still lacking in coordination and fairly obviously confused. Within twenty-four hours, recovery was complete.”

“And since then?”

“Apparently normal,” André said. “Mark you, he’s still worried, and alarmed, by what happened. Not quite so confident as he was about the hopelessness of our efforts, I think.”

Julius asked, “How do you account for it? The paralysis?”

André shrugged. “We know that with men alcohol
interferes with that part of the mind that controls the working of the body. A drunken man cannot walk straight or use his hands properly. He may even fall over. If he has taken enough, then he becomes paralyzed, as Ruki did. It seems that, in this respect, they are more sensitive and more vulnerable than we are. Equally important, the discrimination against harmful substances doesn’t work in this case. The amount of alcohol apparently can be quite small. There were only the dregs of a glass in this case. It gives us a chance, I think.”